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The twitchiness in Cecília’s limbs had grown so bad that she had begun picking at the hair on her arms to keep herself from making a run for the door. Since the start of her imprisonment more than a week before and his promise that he would try to do what he could—whatever that even meant—Tio Aloisio had rarely been around, and no one else had been by to visit. She had to imagine that Senhor Carvalho had forbidden anyone from entering the rooms, same as he had forbidden her from leaving. She might have escaped a cell in Junqueira, but there was certainly no denying that she was a prisoner all the same. And she was being punished.
As the sun sank below the horizon once again, Cecília stood from the side of her bed and moved to the window. She pulled the bed dress tighter around her, supposing it didn’t matter that she once again hadn’t gotten properly dressed. She hadn’t even seen Águeda in two days. Heaven knew where the maid had gone. Perhaps that was part of the punishment Senhor Carvalho had devised, keeping even that contact away from Cecília. But then it wasn’t as though Cecília was going anywhere that required court dress, so she hardly required help dressing.
With the sky going from pink-orange to dark blue, she heaved a sigh and turned to light the lamp by her bed. She could have returned to the book she had been reading—if nothing else, Tio Aloisio had been keeping his shelf remarkably well stocked over the week—but sulking seemed like a far more appealing option.
She had just gotten the wick to catch when something tapped on the glass. She spun back toward the window. Squinting to try to see past her own weak reflection in the lamplight, she made out the shadowy shape of a man. The jump in her chest said who it was. She hurried back up to the window and lifted the latch, swinging it as widely as the chain that had been added would allow. “John?”
“You’re a very difficult woman to see at the moment.”
“What are you doing here?”
He started to answer before he glanced over his shoulder as though worried he had been followed, and given the circumstances, that certainly wasn’t out of the question. “May I come in?”
“The window doesn’t open any farther.” She pulled on the frame to demonstrate.
John’s eyes went to the chain before he leaned back to look down the building. “What about that one?” He pointed to his right. “That’s over your uncle’s desk, isn’t it?”
Cecília frowned. “Do you think you’d fit?”
He judged it for a moment before nodding. “I bet I could manage, if you unlatch it.”
Though the outside door was barred, there was nothing stopping her from going into the antechamber. She nodded back. “I’ll meet you there.”
Without another word, he slid down the side of the building, and she hurried out of her room. With as rare as her uncle’s presence had been, there was no reason to believe Tio Aloisio would pick that exact moment to return, but with her luck lately, she wasn’t willing to chance being caught.
Though the rectangular window didn’t look as wide as John’s shoulders were broad, he somehow managed to maneuver his way through, using the desk as a step down to the floor. Cecília opened her mouth to ask another question before she checked the door to the hall and grabbed his hand to lead him into her room. There perhaps wouldn’t be an easy escape if Tio Aloisio returned while John was inside, but he could at least hide there, unlike in the antechamber.
She didn’t speak until the door was safely shut behind them. “Now, what are you doing here?”
“You aren’t pleased to see me?”
“Of course I am.” After a week of near isolation, she nearly would have been glad to see Senhor Carvalho, let alone John. “But you could get into a lot of trouble, being here.”
“They’re already shipping me out in the morning. I’m not sure there’s much else anyone here could do to me.”
The matter-of-fact way he said it somehow made the information worse, settling into Cecília’s stomach like a lead weight. “You came to say goodbye, then?”
He hesitated for a beat. “Only if you don’t wish to come with me.”
Cecília blinked, the words taking a minute to make sense. “Go with you?”
“They haven’t actually told me what’s coming once I reach London—it’s really anyone’s guess if I still have a job or not—so not an ideal situation by any means, but if you and your brother need to get out of the country...”
She shook her head. “Francisco is in prison. Senhor Carvalho isn’t going to let him leave the country. It’s doubtful he would let me, if we asked.”
“So we don’t ask.” John shrugged as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “You have a letter to get into the prison, don’t you? That’s what your brother wanted?”
“You’re suggesting we break Francisco out of Junqueira Prison?”
“Sounds like an adventure to me.”
“Possibly getting killed is an adventure?”
“What do you think sailing is?” He gave one of his lopsided smiles before continuing. “It’s your decision, of course, but I have a ship leaving port come morning. I was hoping to at least take you, if not you and your brother. I imagine you’d prefer that to waiting in here for the first minister to have a good day and agree to release you?”
For the first time in weeks, something like hope moved through her chest. She moved to the drawer with her papers and pulled out the letter Senhor Carvalho had given her two and a half years before. “This is what Francisco wanted.”
John moved up beside her and looked at the paper from over her shoulder. “It looks simple enough. We change the date on it, and I don’t think we’ll have any issue getting in.”
She chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to play out all the possibilities if they actually attempted a rescue. Of course, the guards at Junqueira probably cared less about people trying to break into the prison. “Getting out is likely the more difficult part.”
“Could we forge something for that? We have the first minister’s signature there. We could make some sort of order to move your brother.”
“And any guard would believe the people Senhor Carvalho sent to move him were an Englishman and a girl?” She turned her head to look at John.
He pursed his lips slightly, saying he couldn’t argue the point. “We need to sneak out, then?”
“It’s a prison. I don’t think there are a lot of windows to go out of.”
“Wasn’t it damaged in the quake? Perhaps we could find a fracture or something that hasn’t been fixed yet?”
Cecília opened her mouth to answer before the thought hit her. “I know where the plans are.”
“What?”
“The plans for rebuilding the prison. They would include what parts are still damaged. We could use those to find a way out.”
John’s eyebrows rose as he nodded. “Where are they?”
“If we’re lucky, the architects’ office. If not, Senhor Ventura has them.”
“Who?”
“The man I was speaking to when you first arrived.”
“Ah.” Recognition moved over his expression. “So it shouldn’t be a problem even if he does have them.”
She shook her head at his tone. “You are going to sound jealous, Mr. Bates, if you aren’t careful. And for no good reason. I don’t think he’s going to go out of his way to help me off two conversations weeks ago.”
“I don’t know. You’re very convincing when you wish to be.”
She sent him an unamused look but moved on. “Do you know where the architects’ office is?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever been.”
“And you likely aren’t familiar with architectural plans.”
“They haven’t been my field of study, no.”
With the architects so close to Senhor Carvalho’s office, it certainly wasn’t a safe place for Cecília to go. But if the first minister already knew John was working with her, someone finding him stumbling around trying to find what they needed wouldn’t be any better for her. If they were going to stupidly risk their lives by trying to break Francisco out of prison, she would have to begin by stupidly risking her life by sneaking into the architects’ office.
“Help me dress?” She opened the chest at the foot of her bed to pull out something that was decent for the halls but less cumbersome than full court dress. “You can change the letter while I look for those plans then meet me in the gardens. Where we went last time?”
Though she wasn’t looking at him, she could hear the frown in his tone. “You don’t want me to come with you?”
“People would likely notice us more moving together.” And you’d still be able to stay out of it if I do get caught before we even leave the palace. She undid the tie to her bed dress and draped it over the chair at her vanity before picking up her stays. “Help me?”
“I’m not sure I make the best lady’s maid.” He moved up behind her all the same.
“Just do the opposite of taking them off.”
“You believe I have a lot of experience with that?”
“You managed fine the first day we met.” She looked at him over her shoulder.
He met her eyes for a moment before he dropped his gaze to the stays and began lacing them. “This likely isn’t the moment to get distracted, unfortunately.”
Cecília felt herself flush more than she imagined she should with their history and looked forward again. “I don’t know where my uncle is, but we shouldn’t linger.”
“And you should pack what you can.” He pulled the laces a little tighter than they needed to be but managed to get the stays up. “I doubt you’ll be able to come back once someone notices you’re missing.”
The reality of what they were attempting hit like a blow to the stomach. Still, she nodded. “Get started with the letter. I can manage the rest of my clothing.” I think. “Then I’ll grab a few things.”
After putting on something that could be called decent, Cecília returned to her chest and pulled out everything she thought she might need that would also be simple enough to carry. Her jewelry, she could easily enough fit in her pockets along with a few other knickknacks she had collected over the years. She would have to live with just the dress on her back, as anything more elaborate would be too cumbersome. But then I won’t need court dress if we aren’t at court.
She reached the little box she hadn’t seen inside in more than a year. Opening it, she pulled out the little misshapen São Cristóvão and slipped that into her pocket as well. Leviathan she could leave with the other banned books on her uncle’s bookshelf, and the letters John had written five years ago... She picked up both and moved to the other papers she had in her vanity.
“What’re those?” John asked.
“Things I’d rather no one go through if they come in here.” She took the entire stack of pages and tossed them into the unlit fireplace. Using the flame from her lamp, she set the papers alight. The rest of the room would likely be torn apart, everything that was left confiscated, but at least all those records and thoughts would be gone, hers alone. Giving a satisfied nod, she turned away from the growing flames. “I’ll leave the lamp lit. With any luck, Tio Aloisio will think I’m still here, if he comes back. Do you think you can help me out the window over the desk? I can’t go out the front.”
“You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
She nodded, trying to look far more certain than she felt. “Just meet me in the garden.”
John didn’t look any more enthusiastic about the plan, but he didn’t argue as he turned for the antechamber.
With his back to her, Cecília took the chance to cross herself, glancing up at the ceiling as she offered a weak prayer then slipped her hand into her pocket. São Cristóvão hadn’t done anything to protect Papai or João, but perhaps he’d keep her, John, and Francisco safe—half-melted or not.
***
THE ARCHITECTS’ OFFICE looked exactly the same as the last time Cecília had been there, and the normalcy of it left her unsettled. Her heart beating in her throat, she forced herself deeper inside the room to what she recalled was Senhor Ventura’s desk.
Thank you, Santo Expedito. She released a relieved breath as she saw Senhor Ventura’s portfolio resting against the table legs. In one motion, she scooped it up and began flicking her way through pages of equations and designs. Finally, she found plans—the new European designs for the buildings going up in the Baixa, the archway that would mark the new riverside plaza, and the prison. She pulled the last free with a jerk, scanning the markings in the dim light. When she had asked to learn what the architects were doing, she hadn’t thought she’d be using the knowledge to be able to break out of a prison. From what she saw on the page, though, she had learned exactly what she needed to be able to do so. As she folded the plans to slip them away, the office door opened.
Cecília froze and found herself staring right at Senhor Ventura.
He recoiled slightly in surprise before he seemed to register who it was. “Senhorita Durante.”
“Senhor Ventura.” She did her best to recover, giving as blithe a smile as she could manage. “I hope you don’t mind my poking through your things. I was running short on reading material, and I remembered you offered to let me see your plans.”
“Of course.” He stepped fully into the room. “I imagine it must make for some long days, being quarantined.”
Quarantined. She repeated the word in her head. So the rest of the court didn’t necessarily know what had happened, then.
“You’re feeling better, though?”
“Certainly on the mend”—she fell into the lie—“but I’m still not supposed to be out. I should get back. Would it be a problem if I took this for the evening? I really need something to do.” She slowly started for the door, not intending to give it back even if he disagreed.
“Feel free.” He turned to continue facing her. “I could come and explain what we’re doing, even, if you’d like.”
“I’d feel awful if I got you ill. In a few days, perhaps?”
“I look forward to it.” He nodded with enough enthusiasm that Cecília had to fight down a new wave of guilt. She would just have to be careful that, if they were unlucky enough to get caught, she got rid of the plans before anyone found them. Keeping Senhor Ventura from being dragged into the mess was the very least she could do for the man. There were already too many people at risk with what she was doing. He walked with her to the door. “Might I walk you back to your room?”
Dear Lord, no. She kept her smile in place. “I’d love that, but like I said, I’m not supposed to be out yet. My uncle would have a fit if he saw me talking to someone.”
Disappointment moved over his face, but he accepted the answer with a polite bow. “In a few days, then.”
“A few days,” she agreed. When we’ll be well on our way to England, I hope.
Doing her best not to look too suspicious, she poked her head out into the hallway to check that no one was outside the first minister’s office before she quickly ducked around the corner to the outside door. She made it to the hedges in record time.
John met her as soon as she turned out of sight of the palace. “I was beginning to worry.”
“I have it.” Cecília didn’t feel the need to recount what had just happened. “You’re certain you want to do this?”
“As long as you are.”
She released a tense breath but steeled her resolve. “We should go, then?”
John nodded and let her turn halfway before he caught her wrist and pulled her in for a searing kiss.
She blinked up at him as he broke it.
“For good luck.” He gave a weak half smile. And in case we don’t make it out of this—the silent addendum seemed to hover between them. “Let’s go. If I recall, it’s a long walk into Lisbon.”