The Devil's Workshop

“Well, anyway, you shouldn’t give this back. Not ever.” Fiona held the coverlet up to the light.

“I won’t.”

“Good,” Fiona said. “I’ll help you hide it if they ever come visiting. Your family, I mean.”

“Let’s make a pact.”

“We should have a code. I love codes.”

“I don’t know any,” Claire said.

“We’ll think of one.”

Claire winced and Fiona leaned toward her.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Claire said. “A cramp, is all.”

“That’s normal enough. My father says there should be some cramping this far along, but we need to fetch him round if they start coming regularly.”

“How regularly?”

“Ten minutes, I think. Every ten minutes or so.”

“Well, it’s not that. It’s only every so often. I’m sure I’m fine.”

“I could send for him now. Just to be safe.”

“No, I really am fine. Just tired. The sun will be up soon, won’t it?”

“Yes,” Fiona said. “You should try to sleep.”

“I think I’ll just rest a bit. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’ll be just down the hall. And Constable Winthrop is right downstairs.”

“Thank you.”

Fiona stood, and Claire stretched out under the coverlet and closed her eyes. Fiona leaned across her and blew out the candle. She picked up the water cup and carried it back to the washstand. She eyed the pail of dirty water suspiciously, then bent and grabbed it by its wire handle and took it to the door.

“Fiona?”

She stopped and looked back. “Yes?”

“Thank you. I mean, really. Thank you.”

Fiona smiled and said nothing. There was no way to respond that would adequately express how she felt. Language was often frustrating when it came to simple human emotions.

“And Fiona?”

“Yes?”

“Nevil Hammersmith has the longest eyelashes I have ever seen on a man. Have you told him how you think about him?”

Fiona nearly dropped the water pail. She hunched her shoulders and the water sloshed about, but none of it spilled.

“Good night, Claire,” she said.

“Good night.”

Fiona stepped into the hallway, pulled the door shut behind her, and let out a huge sigh. Then she went looking for a place to dump the dirty water.

17

After a long walk underground, Jack and Cinderhouse came up to the surface inside a small obelisk at the corner of the St John of God cemetery. The door that was set back in the obelisk was ancient oak banded with iron, and the hinges squeaked and stuck. They were only able to open it halfway, and they squeezed through the crack into the grey predawn. There was not a person in sight in any direction they looked. The sky was overcast and there was a cool spring breeze blowing through the grass and along the tops of the tombstones.