A Golden Fury

world. I had seen the path to success, steep and treacherous. I had seen a man fall from it to his death. The cost was too great. Now all I felt was its weight, pressing down on me so heavily that I considered lying down on the bench to escape it in sleep. But I knew I couldn’t. We had to leave as soon as Dominic had his absolution. I glanced at the door and tried to estimate how quickly the police might have found out where we went. Surely the coach station would have been one of the first places they went after they didn’t find us at the laboratory. And the station master would have told them we took a coach to London. From there, all it would take was for our London cabdriver to tell them we had gone to the chapel. We had taken the last coach of the day out of Oxford, but the police could surely have commandeered one. It was possible they were only an hour or two behind us. Not enough time.

I fidgeted. I watched the confessional, expecting Dominic to emerge at any moment. I should have told him to hurry. I should have told him how little time we might have. He was intelligent enough to work it out himself, surely, but his mind was clearly not fixed on escape. All he cared about right now was making things right with his God. It occurred to me that he might very well emerge from the dark wooden box and declare his intention to turn himself in. Perhaps the priest would insist on it. That seemed to me like the sort of thing a priest might do.

Well, if that happened I would simply have to talk Dominic out of it, as I had before. The thought of him swinging from a rope for this made my stomach turn and my knuckles whiten on the pew in front of me. And that wasn’t counting the trouble I would find myself in. I didn’t know what the penalty for abetting a fugitive was. Not death, probably, but perhaps quite a long time in prison. I swallowed, and my throat felt very dry.

Dominic’s question came back to me. Why was I helping him? He had been very kind to me, but we had not known each other long. My father clearly hadn’t considered that I might have done something as foolish as this, or he would not have left me alone with Dominic while he went to the authorities. But at the thought of my father, I found my answer. He had not hesitated to throw his innocent apprentice to the gallows, because he cared for no one but himself. I was not like him, no matter what my mother had sometimes said. Surely this proved it. My resolve hardened again.

Dominic emerged, the priest behind him. I jumped to my feet and went to them.

“We have to go,” I said. “They might not be far behind.”

The priest looked steadily at me for a moment, then to my surprise, he nodded.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he asked.

“We do,” I said.

“I will not ask you where,” he said. “And I cannot promise you that it will be safe for you to return here. But I can give you a little money, and I will pray for you both.”

Dominic’s eyes were red and his face blotchy, but he was calmer now. He took the coins the priest offered and slid them into his pocket.

“Thank you, Father,” he said. “I hope this doesn’t bring you trouble.”

“It won’t,” the priest replied. “If they come, I will tell them the truth: that you came, that you left, and that I do not know where you went. Go now. God be with you.”

9

I took Dominic’s hand and pulled him from the chapel, but once we were in the street, he didn’t need any more prodding.

“What now?” he whispered. “Where is this friend of yours who knows how to hide?”

“I only have the address,” I said. “Twelve Sharp’s Alley, St. Giles.”

“St. Giles?” Dominic’s face flashed alarm.

“Is something wrong with St. Giles?” I asked.

“It’s a slum. Everything’s wrong with it,” he said. “Though I reckon a slum is what we need. It’s not so far.”

We ran at first, eastward, until I was too dizzy and breathless to run any longer. Dominic took my arm, and we walked. The smell of the streets started to thicken unpleasantly, and the paved roads gave way to dirt, then mud. As the hazy sky lightened with the dawn, we came into a large intersection with a tall pillar in the center. The sun peeked past the buildings that faced the road. The one across from us was clearly a public house of some kind. The one next to us was as well, I realized, when a drunk man stumbled out of it and nearly tripped over another passed out at the foot of the stairs.

“Seven Dials,” said Dominic. “Seven streets meet here, a gin shop on each.”

Squinting at each of the intersections, I realized he wasn’t exaggerating. The sun was coming up on more inebriated men than I had ever seen at once, even in Paris. A loud, drawn-out retching noise came from behind me. I stopped myself from turning to look. I was beginning to understand where the terrible smells were coming from.

We skirted the edge of the circle, and I pulled my shawl over my bonnet. There was nothing I could do to hide my dress, which was much too fine for the neighborhood, but at least it was dusty and rumpled. In any case, the only people out of doors seemed too bleary-eyed to care. The only exception was a woman in a ragged, low-cut dress, whose drunken exhaustion didn’t prevent her from seizing Dominic’s arm and attempting to pull him inside a dilapidated doorway.

“Been a long night, hasn’ it, lovely?” she cooed at him with a ghastly, forced smile.

Dominic