When the Walls Fell
WHEN THE WALLS FELL
a novel by Monique Martin
© 2011
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
WHEN THE WALLS FELL. Copyright © 2011 by Monique Martin. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Cover Photo: Karen Wunderman
Cover layout by: TERyvisions
ISBN 10: 0984660704
ISBN 13: 9780984660704
For more information, please contact
[email protected]
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http://moniquemartin.weebly.com/
Acknowledgements
This book would not have been possible without the help and support of many people: Robin, who’s been there since before the beginning and has custody of half my brain. Sandy, Michael, KC, LK, and Vicki for helping me make good better, Terry for her wonderful work on the cover, My mom, George, Edd & Carole for their encouragement and support. Greg from The Winkley Company for his generosity and kindness and my dad for being there every step of the way.
I’d also like to thank the thousands of people who help preserve the past through books, websites, museums and sheer will.
Prologue
London, 1900
A
deep, red smile of blood oozed from the gash at the guard’s temple. She raised the manacles over her head, ready to strike him again. The iron was heavy and sure.
Through the screams, she heard noises down the corridor. She looked down at the guard as he lay on the cold hospital floor. His eyes had rolled back in his head. His arm stuck out in front of him, frozen in a moment of fear. If it had been Nurse Fletcher instead of the guard, she would have swung again. And again. And again.
That was the one part of the plan she didn’t like, but he’d been right. She wanted to be the one to kill Fletcher, but if she’d had the chance, she would have gladly forsaken freedom to savor the sweetness of that revenge. At least this way, Nurse Fletcher would be just as dead; he’d promised that, and she would be free. Free to do what she’d spent the last decade dreaming of. Outside these walls a sweeter vengeance waited.
Heavy footfalls echoed down the hall. The other guards were coming. She stepped over the body of the dead guard and took the large ring from his belt. Dozens of keys slipped around the metal, but she knew what she was looking for.
She turned the lock and opened the heavy door. Cold, sooty London air bit through the thin material of her gown, but she felt only freedom. She tossed the key ring onto the guard’s body and ran. She ran into the shadows of night. She ran barefoot across the wet grass and cold gravel. She ran toward freedom.
Dogs barked in the distance. They’d gone to the kennel. She had to hurry.
She flattened herself along the thick, stone wall of her prison. The barking grew louder, closer.
A large horse-drawn carriage moved past on the street just outside the gate. She knew this was her only chance. She ran toward the back of the carriage, but she bumped into someone, something. She didn’t dare look back. She grabbed on to the carriage and pulled herself onto the small ledge. She curled up inside the luggage box and pulled the black fabric flap down to cover her. The carriage rolled down the street and into the heart of London.
The dogs would lose her scent. She was free.
And he was going to pay.
Chapter One
T
he sun peeked through the sheers as unwanted as the morning. Simon had woken Elizabeth in the cool grays of predawn light to make love before the rest of the world stirred to life. He’d been dreading this day, and not just because the private bliss of holiday was soon to be overrun with fatuous students and soporific lectures, although that was reason enough. He’d greedily savored their time alone where they could live cloistered from the world, where her smile was only for him.
He was a selfish bastard really, he thought as he gazed down at her still wrapped in dreams. The morning light caressed her cheek and like a jealous lover, he raised his hand to block the sun. The shadow of his fingers traced the contours of her face. As if she could feel his ghostly touch, she nuzzled closer to his body. Simon closed his eyes and pulled Elizabeth more securely into his embrace. The day could wait a little longer.
Time, tide and the new winter quarter wait for no man, and the alarm clock finally sounded. With a swift movement Simon silenced the painful country western music station Elizabeth insisted they set the damnable thing to. He mumbled something rather rude about the singer’s wife-cousin and dog, Chet under his breath and dropped his head back onto the pillow.
Elizabeth gave a husky laugh that did nothing to further Simon’s desire to get out of bed.
“You have a decidedly twisted sense of humor,” he said, hoping to steal a few more minutes next to her sleep-warmed skin.
“That’s why you love me,” Elizabeth said, giving him a quick kiss.
“In spite of that.” He caught her and pulled her into his arms. “In definite spite.”
After a long, far from sufficiently satisfying kiss,
Elizabeth eased back and arched an eyebrow. “Why Professor Cross, I think you’re stalling.”
Simon tried to frown, b
ut she was right. He was due at University for pre-term office hours, which, to his mind, were a complete waste of time. It was an odd sensation, this sudden urge to shirk his responsibilities. Although, he hadn’t exactly embraced many of his professorial duties, he’d never wanted to toss them aside for more pleasurable pursuits. Then again, he thought as he looked down at the woman in his bed, he’d never had such a pleasure to pursue before. He shook his head in defeat and pulled back the covers. “All right, Miss West, up with you then.”
She clutched at the quickly receding blanket. “But it’s cold.”
“If I have to suffer, you have to suffer.”
She huffed out her breath in dramatic indignation. “You’re very Simon Legree today.”
He chuckled and tossed her robe. “Come along, Cassy.”
“Very funny.” She put it on and tied the sash. “I almost forgot. Can you give me a lift to the mechanic’s? My car should be ready today.”
Simon shrugged on his dressing gown. “I don’t see why you insist on throwing good money after bad.”
“It’s a classic,” Elizabeth said as she started for the bathroom.
Simon followed closely behind. “It’s a bloody death trap.”
Elizabeth splashed water onto her face. “But a classic death trap.”
He handed her a towel and glared at her reflection in the mirror. Why was she so intransigent? “Elizabeth, I really wish you’d let me buy you another car.”
Her expression was lost in the towel, but he could hear the frown in her voice. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”
“I live with irrational hope that someday you’ll be rational about it.”
She handed him the soggy towel and slipped past him to turn on the shower taps.
“I don’t see why you won’t let me give you something that’s well within my means to give. Not to mention the fact that I wouldn’t have to wonder if you survived each trip to university.”
She stared into the shower for a moment before answering. Her voice was so soft he barely heard it above the running water. “Because it’s mine.”
They’d been down this path before and he still had yet to fully comprehend her reservations. “What I have
is
yours.”
“I know that,” she said as she turned to face him. “And I appreciate it, but it’s…”
Simon sighed and finished her sentence for her. “The first and only thing that’s ever truly been yours.”
He knew how little she’d had and how much the little she did have meant to her. He simply could not understand why she balked at his attempts to give her more. He would give her the earth and everything on it if she asked. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms about her waist.
She seemed ready to give some very pithy response, but merely ducked her head briefly in temporary defeat and gave him a fleeting kiss before stepping into the shower.
Simon watched the glass door close between them. Perhaps it was the way her lips brushed against his, or the sixth sense a lover has for his partner, but Simon knew that something else was wrong. With the practiced and stalwart nature of a man long on the short end of things, his chest tightened and he pretended not to notice.
In the nearly four months since their return from 1929 New York City, Simon had grappled with the changes in his life—from exclusive to inclusive, from the periphery to a center he was sure could not hold.
