“This way!” he called out to Leo in a whisper-shout, motioning toward the alley, and Leo followed him.
But then another shout came from behind them: “They’ve gone to the alley! Quick! Surround them! We can cut them off!”
“The roofs,” Winston hissed, pointing at a barrel that stood against the side of one of the buildings. “Climb the barrel then scale up the wall using the window. You can then escape on the roofs.”
“But—” Leo looked at Winston’s arm which was still bleeding freely and hung at a strange angle by his side. “How will you climb with your arm?”
“Do not worry about me,” Winston said at once. “I will find a way up.”
He helped hoist Leo up then looked around for his own escape route.
He’d meant what he had said to Leo: he was not afraid of being caught. But apart from not particularly wanting to pay a fine for teaching Lord Tallow a lesson, he knew that if he were caught, he would have to put an end to these nights of vigilantism.
And with so many men in thetonstill mistreating the women in their lives, Winston was nowhere near ready to give up his crusade.
Not when I have not yet atoned for my sins.
As he looked to his right, his eyes fell on a small opening that he had not seen before. Rushing forward, he saw that it was a very thin alleyway that connected to the street beyond. It would give him a way out—at least for now.
Quickly, he hurried down it, keeping his eyes peeled for any pursuers and his ears alert. At the end of the tiny alleyway, he paused, checking carefully around the corners. Then he saw it: a set of short stairs leading up to a red door. Raising his eyes, he saw a building with large, curved windows, supported by Corinthian columns, above which seemed to float a bell tower.
Winston knew this building. It was St. George’s in Hanover Square, his own parish church. He was in Mayfair.
“Down the alley! Quick!”he heard the Bow Street Runners call out behind him, and Winston only had a split second to make up his mind. He ran across the street, sprinted up the stairs, and pulled open the door. Deftly, he slid inside, closing the door just in time.
The church inside was quiet. Only his steps echoed in the cavernous space as he moved from the sanctuary and down the steps into the nave. To his left, he spotted the confessional, and he hurried toward it, seating himself before pulling the curtain closed behind him.
At last, I can breathe.He sat back and closed his eyes, letting his breathing settle and his nerves calm themselves.I’m safe here.Safe from the Bow Street Runners at least, but far less safe from God Himself, whom he had been avoiding these past ten years at least.
It’s been a while since I’ve been inside a church,he thought as he stared at the fabric of the curtain.I’m probably the least worthy person to step foot in here after all the things I have done.
Memories began to flood Winston’s mind—memories he absolutely did not want to have right now. But as the excitement of the chase began to dissipate, the empty place left behind began to fill with all the things he did not wish to remember.
And then, just as he felt himself starting to shake, he was interrupted by someone opening the curtain on the other side of the confessional, slipping inside, and sitting down across from Winston.
Winston froze.
Someone is in the confessional.But it was so early in the morning! Who would come to confess at this hour—unless they had something very dire to confess?
The person on the other side of the confessional shifted as they knelt on the stool, and Winston heard the rustle of fabric.So it is a woman.His interest was piqued.
A woman—a lady, no doubt, considering they were in Mayfair—had come, alone, at what was basically still night time, to confess her sins.
Now, this will be interesting.
A wicked smile curving his lips, Winston pulled open the divider, revealing the latticed opening between his side of the booth and hers.
“Good evening, my child,” he purred.
On the other side of the divider, the woman stirred. He could not make her out fully, but he could see her outline. She seemed slight and delicate, but it was hard to tell. Her bowed head and the hood of her pelisse obscured her face.
“Bless me, for I have sinned,” the woman murmured, and Winston felt a thrill go through him at the sound of her voice. Itwas soft and buttery and, best of all, lowered in supplication, and he felt both powerful and protective as he looked down upon her.
The woman waited, and Winston realized he was supposed to say something—but he could not remember what.
“Go on,” he said when nothing else came to him, and the woman twitched, as if she were about to look up. However, she restrained herself.
“I confess to Almighty God, to his Church, and to you, that I have sinned by my own fault in thought, word, and deed, in things done and left undone,” she began, and Winston recognized this from when he was a child. “I am…” her voice broke slightly. “I am considering going against the wishes of my father and mother.”
