Chapter 17 - The Second Gown
*Bang!*
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed brick vault.
Thomas had lunged forward at the exact instant Beatrice pulled the trigger, his shoulder colliding with her arm. The bullet went wide, ricocheting wildly off the massive iron frame of the Jacquard loom, sending a shower of orange sparks across the wooden floorboards.
"Julian! Grab the black gown!" Thomas shouted as he wrestled Beatrice to the ground.
Despite her age, Beatrice fought with feral, desperate ferocity, clawing at Thomas’s eyes with ceramic-tipped nails while trying to wrestle the gun back toward him. "You won't leave this room alive, Thomas! The demolition charges are set! Arthur’s men planted them three hours ago!"
"Clara, run!" Eleanor suddenly screamed from the floor. She scrambled across the stones, throwing her entire weight onto Beatrice’s legs, pinning her mother’s hips to the floor. "Get out of here! She’s telling the truth! The charges are on a five-minute timer!"
Julian dashed toward the mannequin holding the midnight-black Mourning Dress. With a single sharp pull, he lifted the entire frame from its wooden base, hauling the heavy, dark garment into his arms. "Clara, move! The stairs!"
I hesitated. I looked down at Eleanor, the sister who had made my entire childhood a living hell, who had mocked me, demeaned me, and attempted to steal my future at the altar only two hours ago. She was bleeding from a gash on her temple, her hands desperately clawing at her mother’s designer slacks, weeping uncontrollably.
"Eleanor, get up!" I yelled, reaching down to grab the collar of her ruined ivory dress. "Let her go! We have to run!"
"I can't!" Eleanor sobbed, her fingers locked like iron clamps around Beatrice’s ankles. "I let you take the blame for everything for twenty years, Clara. I knew Julian loved you. I knew you were the only real designer in that house. I just... I couldn't bear to be nothing!"
Beatrice brought the butt of her pistol down hard against Eleanor’s skull. A sickening crack echoed in the chamber. Eleanor’s eyes rolled back, and her grip slackened as she collapsed unconscious onto the damp floor.
"Eleanor!" I screamed.
Thomas threw a brutal right cross into Beatrice’s jaw, knocking the older woman flat against the cobblestones, the gun spinning across the floor toward my feet. He grabbed me by the arm, his grip bruising through my sleeve. "She’s gone, Clara! We have less than three minutes before the structural supports collapse! We have to go NOW!"
Julian grabbed my other hand, pulling me toward a narrow emergency escape tunnel behind the loom that led toward the estate’s outer perimeter.
Behind us, Beatrice stirred, coughing blood onto the white stones. She dragged herself toward the Jacquard loom, a manic grin stretching across her battered face. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small black detonator with a glowing red LED.
"If I can't have the formula," Beatrice rasped through broken teeth, "nobody leaves the Lyon lineage alive."
She pressed the switch.
A low, deep rumble shook the earth beneath our feet. The brick arches above the loom cracked like eggshells, sending tons of masonry and ancient timber crashing downward.
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"RUN!" Julian roared, shielding my head with the heavy black silk of the Mourning Dress as the world behind us dissolved into dust, fire, and falling stone.
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