Grace groaned as the carriage wheels struck a rut in the road.

“Will she be all right?” Midge asked, eyeing her as though she might die on the spot.

Mrs. Templeton rubbed her hand in a circular pattern on Grace’s back. “Once we get her to Master Chow, yes,” she answered. “Which we should have done an hour ago,” she added repressively.

Grace bent at her waist and kept her gaze on the coach floor, afraid Midge might discover this was all a charade. An urgent missive from Marcus had been waiting for her when she’d arrived home. Smuggled in by way of one of the housemaids, the letter stated that Marcus had something extremely important to share with her. With less than twelve hours to confirm the Kingsmen’s plan, Grace knew she had no other choice but to pay the man a visit.

Mrs. Templeton had been enlisted to concoct a story that would convince Midge to allow Grace to leave Aylworth House. She never dreamt the woman would use Grace’s monthly courses to embarrass the man into submission.

“Why does she have to go out to see the doctor?” Midge asked, concern in his voice. “Surely I could have fetched him to the …”

Grace felt badly for deceiving Midge. She could only imagine what the young man assumed Master Chow would prescribe her. Potions? Lotions? Eye of the tiger and tongue of a serpent?

“Master Chow cannot provide treatment unless he examines the lady for himself. And once he has, it is necessary for him to have access to all of his herbs and such,” Mrs. Templeton answered with a huff. “We are not all alike, Mr. Midge. Some of us suffer from back pain while others bloat up like spoiled fish—”

“All right!” He cut off Mrs. Templeton, an audible sigh escaping his lips. “I should not have asked after such things.”

Grace let out another groan just as the carriage came to a stop.

“Wait here,” Midge instructed, opening the carriage door and jumping out.

Grace looked at Mrs. Templeton pointedly. “Did you have to embarrass the man?”

“It worked,” Mrs. Templeton countered proudly. “And besides, we women have very little in the way of weapons. Might as well use what is at our disposal.”

“Come,” Midge said, offering his hand to Grace and assisting her from the coach.

Grace hunched over and stretched to press her hand to her lower back, managing a pitiful moan. “Do hurry, please.”

Midge did not bother helping Mrs. Templeton. Instead, he simply grabbed her about her thick waist with both hands and lifted her to the ground, gently setting her next to Grace. He took each woman by the arm and hustled them toward Master Chow’s shop.

A young Chinese girl opened the glass-paned door and stepped aside to allow them in.

Midge nodded in abrupt thanks to the girl and gently pushed Grace over the threshold first, Mrs. Templeton following closely behind.

“Mei, my child, you’ve grown,” Mrs. Templeton said to the girl, wrapping her arms about Master Chow’s daughter and hugging her tightly before letting loose.

Mei looked suspiciously at Midge before giving Grace an enchanting grin. “Lady Grace, we have missed you.”

“And I you, Mei,” Grace answered the dear girl, reaching for Mei’s hand and clasping her tiny fingers in hers. “I would like nothing better than to talk with you, Mei, but I am in need of your father’s help. Is he here?”

“He is, my lady,” Mei answered, casting one more suspicious glance in Midge’s direction. “Come, I will take you to him.”

Mei pulled Grace toward a narrow set of stairs to the right of the door.

Midge started after them.

“And where do you think you are going?” Mrs. Templeton asked the man in a loud voice. “Master Chow will need to examine my lady, Mr. Midge. I believe Mr. Clark would be quite displeased to learn you accompanied Lady Grace on such an intimate errand.”

Grace looked over her shoulder and caught sight of Midge. The poor man looked about to explode from worry and indecision.

“Tell Master Chow to be quick about it,” he said through tight lips.

Grace nodded, looking away from him just in time to manage the first stair tread. Mei’s steps hurried faster as they ascended. She was practically running by the time they reached the landing and turned down the hall toward Master Chow’s study.

Mei stopped in front of his door and knocked gently.

“Come,” Master Chow answered.

Mei opened the door and stepped inside, dragging Grace behind her.

“Close the door,” Master Chow told his daughter as he rose from behind his large lacquered desk and walked to Grace. “Lady Grace,” he said, bending at the waist and bowing low before her. “Mei and I feared we would not see you again.”

Grace smiled at the man with genuine pleasure. “As did I. But that is of no matter now, is it? I am here, in one piece.”

“Yes, you are,” Master Chow said, his stoic facade betrayed by the shimmer of tears in his eyes. “And I cannot tell you how happy my heart is to see you. But I would urge you to go. Mr. Mitchell still resides upstairs. It is too dangerous for you here.” From the day Marcus had moved into the Chows’ apartment for let above the shop, Master Chow had decided he did not like him. Marcus was a member of the Kingsmen, and in Master Chow’s eyes that meant he was not to be trusted. Even though Grace had assured her friend that Marcus was different from his fellow gang members, Master Chow would not change his mind.

“He lives here because he believes you have magical powers,” Grace told her friend, knowing the Chinese doctor’s ego was not above a bit of stroking.

Master Chow pursed his lips at Grace’s attempts. “He lives here because his fellow Kingsmen are fools who believe the tales they’ve been told.”

“Then you do not possess the gift?” Grace asked, rather sure herself that the man had hidden otherworldly talents.

Master Chow was a man who knew when he’d been beat. “He is at home. Go quietly. Do not stay long. And promise you will call on us again.”

“I promise, Master Chow,” Grace replied, fully intending to keep her word.

She turned to Mei and kissed her on the forehead. “Stay close to your father until we’ve gone.”

Mei nodded and noiselessly opened the door.

Grace stepped out to the hall and went toward the landing, carefully picking her way across the aged wooden floors.

Mrs. Templeton’s voice drifted up from the shop below. “Try some tea, Mr. Midge. It will do you a world of good.”

Grace placed one foot on the first stair tread and nimbly stepped up, taking two stairs at a time thereafter. She made quick work of the flight and hurried toward Marcus’s door.

Knocking quietly, Grace listened for sounds from within the apartment. The scuff of a chair leg against a bare floor was followed by footsteps, and finally the door creaked open.

Marcus’s eyes widened and he stared, an alarmed expression on his face when he realized it was Grace standing in front of him.

Grace clapped her hand across his mouth before he was able to utter a word and pushed him back into the room. She closed the door with her other hand and looked at him sternly. “We must be very quiet. I am going to remove my hand from your mouth now.” She relaxed the muscles in her fingers and slowly pulled her hand away.

Marcus’s mouth remained closed as he walked around Grace and locked the door. He turned back and frowned at her.

Though they’d been allowed to spend very little time alone together, Grace had thought of Marcus often and wondered at the little details that come together to form a person. His quarters were neat and elegantly furnished, a preference for the finer things in life evident in such possessions as the deep brown silk coverlet upon the bed in the room beyond the half-closed door and the ornately carved period desk situated in front of the window. Even the carpet upon which she stood spoke of Marcus’s good taste. The wooden floor beneath it was no doubt as scarred and neglected as those throughout the building, but the expensive Persian rug hid such truths.

Marcus beckoned Grace over to a chair and waited while she sat down.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” he asked, his tone low but lethal.

Grace shook her head in confusion. “Marcus, your letter asked that I come straightaway. You promised information that would help our cause.”

The half-closed bedroom door suddenly opened and two men walked in.

“Mitchell here knows nothing of the letter, Widow Crowther,” the first man said, his sharp, broken voice shocking Grace’s senses. “Because he didn’t write it.”

“Crow,” Marcus said as he abruptly stood, “what is going on?”

Grace pushed her chair back, the legs screeching across the planked floor. “Marcus?”

“The King was right about you, Mitchell,” Crow growled. “You, too, Widow Crowther. Seems you two are thick as thieves.”

Marcus casually walked around Grace and roughly shoved her chair in. “What do you mean, ‘the King was right’?”

“The King suspects you’ll turn traitor and let the Widow go,” Crow’s accomplice said, a gap-toothed grin breaking across his face. “And you know what the King does with traitors.”

Marcus claimed the chair next to Grace. “While this might be difficult for a man of your limited mental capability,” he began, staring down at the gap-toothed man with superiority, “I do hope you’ll try your best to keep up. The Widow and I are close. And do you know why?”

The accomplice shrugged his sloped shoulders.

“Because that is precisely how I want it to be. If I deliver the Widow to the King, he will be most grateful—so grateful, one might even say, he would consider allowing me to leave the Kingsmen. But first, it was necessary to gain the Widow’s trust. Without it, I could not have pried her away from Mr. Clark.”

Marcus offered the two men a condescending smirk, while beneath the table he reached out and clasped Grace’s hand in his. “And then you two showed up, tromping about my rooms while Clark’s men wait below.”

Crow quickly glanced at the door, unease in his eyes. “I knew you didn’t have it in you to go against the King.”

“Thank you?” Marcus replied, squeezing Grace’s hand reassuringly. “Now, what is your plan? Clearly the King does not intend to meet Mr. Clark’s demands.”

“The King’s tired of playing games,” Crow began, pulling a menacing knife from an interior coat pocket. “Pushed him too far, Mr. Clark did. Destroying the Four Horsemen was a mistake, and the King’s intent on making the man pay.”

Grace listened to the man, his distinctive voice cutting through her mind, forcing her back to the hidden room in the house on Bedford Square. Her flesh crawled as she watched his mouth form the explanation and realized she stood before the man who’d taken Timothy’s life for no reason. Killed an innocent boy simply because he wanted to. And he’d enjoyed it. She looked about the room frantically, searching for a weapon.

“I assume there is more to your explanation,” Marcus announced, anger seeping through his tone.

Crow eyed his partner and chuckled, the sound low and gargled. “He thinks he can tell us what to do, doesn’t he?”

The gap-toothed Kingsmen sneered at Marcus. “Always has. Can I tell him?”

“And deprive me of the pleasure?” Crow asked, moving closer to Marcus and Grace. “Not a chance.”

He scratched his chin with the hilt of his knife. “The King wrote a letter to the Widow. Said there was information to be had and she better come quick. He signed your name, Mitchell, because he suspected the Widow just might do what you asked. And he was right, wasn’t he? She came running as fast as she could. Smart man, the King.”

Grace looked hard at Crow, sizing up his knife.

“You were there, weren’t you?” the man asked her, his eyes narrowing. “In the house when I killed the doctor and the boy.”

Grace nodded, unable to find her voice. She cleared her throat, loosening the hatred and disgust boiling within her. “I was. I heard everything. Timothy did not deserve to die. There was no reason for you to murder him.”

“You needn’t bother trying to make me see the error of my ways, Widow,” Crow replied dryly, his indifference palpable. “I’ve killed those who didn’t deserve to die before, and I’ll do so again. Makes no difference to me. You can keep your shame and force it on the next person who does you wrong.”

Grace lunged forward and slapped the man in the face as hard as she could. “You will pay, one way or another, Crow. I will see to it.”

Marcus yanked her back then held up his arm to ward off Crow. “She won’t be of any use to us dead.”

“Will be hard to do while locked up in the hull of the Resurrection. But I’ll enjoy watching you try,” the man spat out, gingerly fingering his red cheek.

“We best be going,” the second man urged as he moved toward the window. “Before anyone comes looking for her.”

“So that is the King’s plan? Take the Widow by force? Then what?”

“Mr. Clark wasn’t going to let the woman go—you know it as well as me,” Crow answered, gesturing for Marcus and Grace to join the second man across the room. “This way, he has no choice in the matter. He’ll be right upset, I imagine, too. And before you know it, we’ll have him on board as well. Like I said, the King is a smart man. Wouldn’t you agree, Mitchell?”

Grace looked up at Marcus with determination. If he disagreed, Crow would take him for a traitor and end his life right then and there. But if he agreed and played along? There was a chance both of them could stay alive—and even catch the King. She squeezed his hand hard.

“That is why he is the King,” Marcus confirmed stonily.

“Good,” Crow replied.

The second man opened the casement window and peered out, waving his hand as if sending a signal.

Crow pointed to the window. “Now, jump.”

Marcus hauled Grace up and shoved her toward Crow. When they drew nearer, both stuck their heads out and looked down. A cart, piled high with hay, stood in place beneath the window. And two Kingsmen waited.

“You cannot be serious?” Marcus asked incredulously.

Crow nodded. “Afraid? It’s only two floors. We can’t risk running into any Hills Crossing men on the stairs. And we won’t put up with no screaming either, Widow,” he said, looking pointedly at Grace. “Go quickly and quiet-like, or I’ll kill you here.”

“You wouldn’t,” Grace countered, though she knew the answer.

Crow smiled at her bravery. “Oh, I would, and you know it.”

Marcus leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You will be safe, I promise you.” He helped her up onto the ledge, holding her waist tightly. “Don’t go and break your neck.”

Grace looked down at the cart once more and signaled for Marcus to release her. And then she jumped, landing squarely in the middle of the hay.