Lifting the statue of Plato from its place on the bookshelf, I removethe tiny key that rests under it. I’ve heard the doctor hide it there duringtherapy sessions. This small tool unlocks the metal box, bringing its contentsinto my possession. But the Book is too large for the pocket in my drawers. Itear a strip off my ragged shawl, pull down the front of my shift, and tie thebook to the top of my abdomen, where my breasts used to be before my curvesdiminished and became gaunt planes. Then I draw the shift back up and wrap theshawl around my middle.
Titus stops walking the hall—around the general area of themen’s room. Lifting my chin, I gauge the distance. Maybe fifty feet or so tothe south? The guard doesn’t step all the way into the water closet. I hear himpolishing something on his uniform, primping in front of the mirror. He muttersabout a stain on his lapel and pulls a towel off the rack. Oh, please. Staywhere you are for another moment, won’t you? I’m not quite done here.
The metal box feels too light. What to do? Faust will know theBook is missing if he touches it. Turning to the wood bin, I reach inside,taking out a pile of old papers that the doctor uses for starting fires. I liftmy hand, balancing the paper stack against the heft of a book.
It will have to do. I’ve run out of time.
The papers go into Faust’s box, and I close the lid, locking itwith a soft snick and shutting the desk drawer. Plato finally gets his keyback. I then drop on my knees by the fireplace and shove the last of the woodinto the bin, hoping it looks neat enough.
As the meal bell tolls, Titus wanders back to the door andlooks inside. “Let’s go, princess. Supper’s on.”
He pulls me to a standing position. For a heart-stopping moment,I worry that the Book will fall out from under my shift. I hug my chest inalarm, pressing the leather-bound rectangle into my flesh, but the evidence ofthe doctor’s crimes remains hidden.
I’d be dead if it didn’t.
“We can do this, can’t we?” Anna Loveridge whispers, hervoice trembling.
I give her an affirmative squeeze. “Of course,” I wish I couldsay. “All is well, dear Anna. We simply cannot fail.”
My hand rests on her shoulder as we creep through the emptycorridor in the Violent Unit. Water drips steadily and the atmosphere smells ofmold, in addition to a hundred other things that are far worse. Cold air pushesagainst my skin, and I start to shake. Only men on this side of the compound.How many, I wonder? A few of them mutter in sleep, turn in their beds, snore.It is well past midnight, and Hershel Watts is waiting around the corner toopen the door for us in exchange for the necklace and pearls. Hopefully, hewon’t guess this is the end of his secret salary and imagines that an inmatewith deep pockets still resides at Ironwood, planning another job for thefuture.
Reaching beneath my skirt, I open the secret pocket in mydrawers and remove the pendant and earbobs. They represent everything valuablein the world at this moment, and I clutch them tightly. Just a few feet away, Ihear Harry Swinton’s voice in his cell, whispering his five names. Alreadydistraught, I jump at the sound, and then there’s a soft pinging. Somethingrolls across the floor and plops onto a liquid surface.
“Show yerself,” Harry says.
Anna and I continue moving through the darkness, and he laughs.“Oh, I know yer women, sweetings. Come over and visit ol’ ’Arry.”
No other men at this end of the passage. He must be insolitary, kept away from the other inmates for their protection. Harry rattles hischains, and I push Anna to go faster. We nearly collide with Watts at theasylum door, but he unlocks it slowly, oblivious to danger.
“Necklace first. Then the pearls.”
Opening my right fist, I offer the ruby necklace to Anna andshe takes it. Earlier this afternoon, we made a pact, Anna and I. The first oneout that door runs like hell. No second thoughts, no turning back to help. Wedo what must be done to get free.
“Bless you, Hester,” she says, hugging me.
I hug her tightly in return, my closest friend in the days ofmy captivity.
During our display of emotion, Hershel Watts inspects the necklace.“Very pretty piece. Better than I thought.”
Satisfied with the ruby, he opens the door and pushes Anna out.I listen as she races to the canal and climbs down into it. Good. She’llbe with her son in no time.
Then the asylum door shuts with a clang. “The pearls?”
Opening my hand, I realize something’s wrong. What? Just oneearbob, not two? I give the pearl to Watts and check for its mate in the pocketof my drawers, not caring about modesty or whether the guard is looking. Damn.Nothing there either.
“Need ’em both,” he grumbles.
Sitting down, I pull off my boots, checking for the missingpearl inside. My paper and pencil fall out. Watts grabs the old envelope,evidently recognizing it from our many exchanged messages.
“It was you? You put all this into action? Scheming andbribing and bossing me around.” Watts sounds rather angry, as though everythinghas been done with the sole purpose of humiliating him.
As he begins to curse, I realize where I lost the missingprize. That pinging sound, after Harry frightened me. It was the pearl
