Murmurs of agreement met that statement.
They reached the last door in the corridor and slid aside the body section of its brass octopus handle, revealing a large keyhole. Opening the door, they unceremoniously deposited Miss Tarabotti and the supine form of Lord Akeldama inside the room. Alexia landed hard on her side and attempted not to cry out in pain. They slammed the door shut, and Alexia heard them chatting as they walked away. “Bodes well for a success in the experiments, eh?”
“Hardly.”
“What do we care so long as the pay is good?”
“Too true.”
“You know what I think? I think... “
And then their voices became faint and faded to silence.
Miss Tarabotti lay wide-eyed, staring about at the chamber in which she now found herself. Her pupils took a while to adjust to the blackness, for there were no oil lamps here and no other source of illumination. The cell did not have bars, just a seamless door with no inside handle, and felt more like a closet than a prison. Nevertheless, she knew instinctively that it was a prison. It had no windows, no furniture, no rug, and no other decoration of any kind—just herself and Lord Akeldama.
Someone cleared his throat.
With difficulty, her limbs being tightly bound and her physical dexterity further impeded by her dratted corset and bustle, Miss Tarabotti wiggled from lying on her back to lying on her side, facing Lord Akeldama.
The vampire's eyes were open, and he was staring at her intently. It was as though he were trying to speak to her with simply the power of a glare.
Alexia did not speak glare-ish.
Lord Akeldama began undulating toward her. He managed to writhe his way across the floor, like some sort of purple snake, the velvet of his beautiful coat slippery enough to aid his progress. Eventually he reached her. Then he flipped about and twiddled his bound hands until Miss Tarabotti understood what he was after.
Alexia flipped back over, inched down, and pressed the back of her head to his hand. The vampire was able to undo the gag tied over her mouth with his fingertips. Her wrists and legs, unfortunately, were manacled with steel bonds, as were his. Such cuffs were beyond even a vampire's ability to break.
With great difficulty, they managed to reverse positions so that Miss Tarabotti could untie Lord Akeldama's gag. Then they were at least able to talk.
“Well,” said Lord Akeldama, “this is a pretty kettle of fish. I think those miscreants have just ruined one of my best evening jackets. How very vexing. It is a particular favorite of mine. I am sorry to have dragged you into this, my dear, almost as much as having dragged the evening jacket into it.”
“Oh, don't be so nonsensical. My head is still spinning from that blasted chloroform, and there is no need for you to be tiresome on top of it,” remonstrated Miss Tarabotti. “This situation could not possibly be misconstrued as your fault.”
“But they were after me.” In the dark, Lord Akeldama actually looked guilty. But that could have been a trick of the shadows.
“They would have been after me as well, if they only knew my name,” insisted Miss Tarabotti, “so let us hear nothing more about it.”
The vampire nodded. “Well,” he said, “my buttercup, I suggest we keep that name of yours quiet as long as possible.”
Alexia grinned. “You should not find that a particularly difficult endeavor. You never do use my real name anyway.”
Lord Akeldama chuckled. “Too true.”
Miss Tarabotti frowned. “We may not need to bother with subterfuge. The wax-faced man knows. He saw me in the carriage outside the Westminster hive, and he saw me at my window one night when they came to abduct a known preternatural. He will put two and two together and realize I am the same person.”
“Cannot be done, dewdrop,” said Lord Akeldama confidently.
Alexia shifted, trying to relieve the pain in her manacled wrists. “How could you possibly know that?” she asked, wondering at his confident tone.
“The wax-faced man, as you call it, cannot tell anyone anything. He has no voice, little tulip, none at all,” replied Lord Akeldama.
Alexia narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what he is? Do tell! He is not supernatural; I can tell you that much. “
“It, not him, my lightning bug. And, yes, I know what if is.” Lord Akeldama wore a coy expression, one that usually accompanied his fiddling with his cravat pin. As his arms were cuffed behind his back, and his pin had been judiciously removed, he could do nothing to add to the expression but purse his lips.
“Well?” Miss Tarabotti was itching with curiosity.
“Homunculus simulacrum,” said Lord Akeldama.
Miss Tarabotti looked back at him blankly.