Jonas struggled to keep a rein on his temper as they left Cavanaugh’s office. He expected the doctor to look smug, pleased by his victory. Instead, Cavanaugh looked slightly sickened by what he’d done. Perversely, it made Jonas angrier.
Beside him, Amelia was silent, seemingly lost in thought.
When they arrived back at her cell, he opened the door, then glanced down the hallway. It was empty. He looked at her. “You didn’t have to agree,” he said. “I would have thought of something.”
“You already thought of the best way,” she said as she stepped inside. “This way, we’ll get to use it. And in the meantime, maybe I can actually do what he wants and find Julia Weaver. And help Elizabeth. Neither of them deserves to be here, either. I can stand it for a month.” She squeezed his arm, and he swung the door closed behind her.
“If we don’t find Julia, what’s to stop Cavanaugh from going back on his promise?”
Amelia caught her lip between her teeth, frowning slightly. “He gave us his word. I think he’ll keep it.”
Jonas scowled. “That’s a thin branch to cling to.”
“I could have misjudged him, but I don’t think so.” She shrugged. “It’s what we have. We’ll manage.”
A nurse approached, and Jonas was forced to leave without further reply.
Worry gnawed at his gut throughout the rest of his shift and made him fidget on the ferry ride back to the city. He sat in a corner of the club’s bustling kitchen that evening, trying to stay out of the way and eating a quick meal before his shift began. Waiters rushed by, carrying trays full of clean glassware for the bar. Their bay rum mingled with the smells wafting from the ovens.
Damn Cavanaugh. He was putting Amelia in danger. And no matter what she said, Jonas didn’t trust him. He scraped the last bite of pie from his plate and shoved it aside. This half-baked plan he’d presented—and that Amelia had agreed to, for some reason he couldn’t begin to fathom—would fail, and Cavanaugh would use it as an excuse not to help her escape.
“Doors in five,” someone called.
Jonas arranged his face into a genial expression, nodded his thanks to the busboy who took his dishes, and made his way to his customary place beside the bar.
He struggled to maintain the mask as the evening wore on. He flirted and joked and made aimless, pleasant conversation, but all the while his mind churned through the problem like a plow through soil, turning up new options and rejecting each when the light revealed some previously unrecognized flaw. There had to be a way he could better their odds.
When his shift ended, Jonas dragged himself back to his apartment and flung himself onto his bed. Too agitated for sleep, he finally glanced at the clock and sighed, then got up to make coffee. He brooded at the table, rereading the telegram from Sidney that had arrived earlier.
There was a bit of good news, at least. Sidney was on his way home. Jonas had never expected to miss him as much as he had. Sidney’s quiet, steady presence should have been dull. Instead, it felt safe. He also had a rigorous, logical mind and a surprisingly pragmatic approach to life for someone who lived—with one notable exception—within the constraints of polite society. What would Sidney counsel, if he were here?
Light was just beginning to show through the front window when Jonas thought of the answer.