“What did you say? Stay with me, man!”
“. . . so proud. So proud of her . . . proud to have been her protector . . .”
Conley cursed, yelling again for help, but the sound faded away until Oliver felt nothing but blissful calm.
Emme’s fingers were bloody and raw as she tried one last, desperate time to unlock the gate with the long hatpin she’d found in the portmanteau. Lysette had removed the pair of shears Emme kept inside, and her tool options were limited. She’d been able to free herself from the manacle using the pin, but the entire plaster cast, already weakened from running in the rain on wet ground, finally cracked and broke. She’d wrenched the thing from her foot, nearly passing out from the pain. Her ankle was swelling again, and her skin showed a dark array of bruises and scrapes.
Her eyes were gritty, and she’d drunk the last of the water and eaten the rest of the crackers in the tin she’d shared with Oliver only days before. She’d been able to keep the small fire going by burning the stool, but it was nearly out now. She’d given up on the worry she might attract an enemy by screaming—she’d been yelling for hours, to no avail. Three mice paused outside the gate and twitched their whiskers at her, but otherwise she was alone.
The pin was bent and broken until it was almost too small for her to insert into the mechanism. She was forced to thread her hand through the bars, though they were so close together the angle was nearly impossible to manage. Finally, after what felt like hours, she managed to slip the pin directly into the center of the lock.
“Yes!” Her heart jumped, and she bit her lip as she twisted as gingerly as possible. She tasted freedom—was nearly there—when the pin snapped off in the lock and she was left holding an inch of useless metal adornment.
The air left her lungs in a rush, and she fell to her knees, her arm still threaded through the bars and twisting painfully. She barely registered the pain, could hardly think. She pulled her arm back to her side and sank completely to the floor, resting against the gate. The tears did not come. She was entirely numb. She would die in this small room beneath the city.
“Oliver,” she whispered, and then the pain hit her with a vengeance that was nearly unbearable. Sobs erupted from her heart, but she was so exhausted the sound was sad and quiet. She closed her eyes, one hand wrapped loosely around a metal bar, and imagined his face. She would think of his face, she would live the few days she had remaining by reviewing every conversation, every interaction she’d ever had with him. She would close her eyes now and leave them closed, and she would imagine him until she breathed her last.
She lay for an eternity against the gate, tears slowing, as she absently hummed a song her mother had sung at her bedside every night when she’d been young. The soft sound echoed through the little room, and she repeated the tune again and again.
“Oh, Miss Emmeline!”
Eyes still closed, she smiled, deciding she was hallucinating. At least she wouldn’t be alone anymore. “Gus,” she whispered. “How wonderful.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’ve nothing to offer for tea . . .”
“Miss Emmeline!” Gus’s voice drew closer, and she felt a gentle touch on her fingers still wrapped around one of the bars. “Oh, my dear sweet girl, can you move? It took me ever so long, but nobody was certain, and then a few of my sources lied out of fear.”
Emme blinked and swallowed. The touch on her hand grew firmer. The light from the fire was nearly extinguished, and she had to squint to make out the features.
She slowly sat up. “Gus? Am I dreaming?”
“Dearest girl, of course not. Oh! We must be quick. You’ve nearly run out of time, but I’ve brought some things, and if we make haste, you’ll arrive before it’s over.”
“What? What—”
Gus released her hand and stood up. He had a large satchel with him, and he pulled out a lockpick, which he used to make quick work of the lock. A few seconds later, the gate swung open, and she stood up and stumbled into his arms.
“Gus! How did you find me?”
“Now, now, we must hurry. Poor Mr. Reed is beside himself, of course, and—”
She clutched his arms. “He’s alive?”
Gus nodded and pulled the large carpetbag closer. “There’s no time, miss. I tasked Miss Josephine with procuring you a suitable dress earlier today in the hope I could finally discover your location.” He withdrew a Tesla torch from the bag and switched it on. He set it down on the floor, and it illuminated the space, chasing shadows into the corners. “She included a few other necessities, and we shall do the best we can under the circumstances.”
He spied the manacle in the corner. “You were restrained?” His lips thinned. “That woman has some explaining to do, does she not?”
Emme nodded and lifted her aching foot that bore traces of her struggle with the manacle.
Gus winced and tsked, and made a swirling motion with his finger. “Turn around. I’ll unbutton and then avert my eyes. At the top of the clothing pile are the layers you’ll need; don the first, and I’ll help with the rest.”
Emme’s eyes burned even as a laugh escaped. She felt the darling little man tugging on the filthy dress. The clothing loosened, and he said, “Very well. Hurry, now!”
She looked over her shoulder to see him bent near the fire. As she quickly changed clothing, he poked at the ashes and looked inside her portmanteau. “She burned your precious books and papers?” His voice was as forlorn and dismayed as her thoughts when she considered the loss.
“Yes. I do not know how I shall explain it
