“What is it?”
“Miss Chen could shatter your hand up to where the metal ends, and perhaps Miss Wyndham’s healing power can regrow it. There isn’t a recorded example of a full hand being grown back, but fingers have been restored. Heads can’t be regrown, though. So we’ll be able to learn more about where the limits of Miss Wyndham’s capabilities lie, too, which is very fun!” Mr. Adeoti gave an optimistic grin.
Mr. Kent looked at his hand. Then me. Then back at his hand. “Well, looks like I’ll be living with this forever.”
“Oh no! Don’t be alarmed,” Mr. Adeoti said. “Fingers are closer to hands, so if I had to guess, it would grow back—”
“I like my hand very much,” Mr. Kent interrupted. “It’s my third-favorite body part and first and second would not be appropriate replacements. I’d rather not rely on a guess. Now, who wants some tea?”
After everything we’d been through, we all did.
Downstairs, our tea was a peaceful scene of domestic bliss. Mrs. Tuffins joined us in the sunlit parlor and distracted Laura and Emily with the simple activity of needlepoint, giving guidance with a motherly warmth. For the rest of us, she supplied soothing tea, delicious cakes, and happily mundane stories of her previous boarders. It was almost enough to forget about the world outside for a little while.
Until the topic turned to the Queen’s speech that would be held tomorrow.
“Now, it’s very unusual for her to speak!” Mrs. Tuffins said, her kind face a little troubled. “But then … well…” She hesitated, realizing that we had all been at the ball the Queen would be referencing.
“I would like to go see it,” I ventured, taking a long sip of my tea.
“I think we all know that, Evelyn.” Catherine gave me a slightly sour look. Out of everyone, she seemed the most reluctant to stay in London, let alone put ourselves in Captain Goode’s path.
But no one could say much right now with Mrs. Tuffins here. So I pressed the advantage.
“I think some of us, at least, should go and hear her. It might be quite edifying.”
I felt their glares but took a bite of cake instead. It was perfectly light, the jam was perfectly tart, and I decided to enjoy it. Tomorrow we might be able to kill Captain Goode, after all.
“It might be … unsafe. The crowds, you know,” Catherine tried to interject.
“You know I have to. It’s my duty. As a … proud Englishwoman. I’m sure you understand.”
Miss Chen gave me a wry look at that, and Emily snorted.
“I think…” I stopped, wondering how to communicate the next part. We certainly didn’t need Laura or Catherine there, too easy a mark with their lack of powers. And I didn’t want Rose there, either, though that was less of a problem considering I did not think she would be likely to come and no one else would want her in harm’s way.
“I think those of us with more … unusual pride … should go.” Did that work?
Judging by the strange looks, no, it did not.
“Oh dear, I’m afraid I hadn’t considered going; does that make me a terrible Englishwoman?” Mrs. Tuffins was fretting, looking guilty, and I immediately smacked myself—mentally, at least.
“Oh no, not at all!” I gulped, looking around the room for help. But they let me flounder out of my own mess. “I just—well, if she is going to mention the ball, and it seems she will—I think some of us, specifically, have a duty. As people who were … there.” I finished to a solemn silence.
“Oh, my dears. Of course you want to hear your queen speak about that.” Mrs. Tuffins covered my hand with a warm pat and pulled Laura to her on her other side, letting her cuddle in.
“I think we should be safe from … the crowds,” Miss Chen began, “as long as we stay back a bit.”
“Maybe we can find an obliging rooftop,” Mr. Kent said, nodding discreetly toward Emily.
“And if the crowd is too disruptive, we can break through or … float. Away.” Miss Chen frowned and seemed to mentally review what she had said, then looked around to see if we understood her reference to her and Emily’s powers.
“I suppose,” Catherine said finally.
“Though I don’t think all of us could go,” I added. “Rose, maybe you, Catherine, and Mr. Adeoti could stay here with Laura.” A little part of me was disappointed that Laura did not even argue. The others just nodded.
Although no one could voice their discomfort, I could feel it around the room.
Rose stared down at her tea, sipping it slowly and carefully. Catherine was pretending to listen to Mrs. Tuffins, but she kept glancing worriedly at my sister. Emily was subtly trying to slide bits of cake to Laura, who was focusing intently on her needlepoint. Miss Chen, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Adeoti began to speak in lower voices, whispering more concrete plans for tomorrow and compiling a list of necessary supplies.
And Sebastian was, of course, next to me, his leg touching mine, a constant reminder of his power. I snuck another peek at him, hoping to see signs that he was improving, and found myself inexplicably delighted to see him slowly eating a plain bun. That showed some sense of care. Or self-preservation at the very least.
Maybe tomorrow he would allow himself to eat a plum bun. And the day after that even a jelly cake. Perhaps all my Sebastian-pastry fantasies would come true if we found a way to stop Captain Goode tomorrow. We’d stop whatever terrible plan he had in mind, and, while we were there, we might as well stop him for good by stopping his heart.
As we finished our tea and cakes, I took Mr. Kent’s list and added one final item.
Perhaps he would be so obliging as to find me a gun for tomorrow. For safety, of course.
Chapter Six
THE SCENE OUTSIDE Westminster Abbey was a staggering sight. It couldn’t quite be described as crowded. Operas and balls were crowded. This needed an entirely new word.
Thousands of people packed the streets to their very limits, flooding into every open space available. Members of the ton settled into their exclusive and costly spots by the windows of every surrounding building. Nimble children shimmied up gaslights and climbed onto awnings. Policemen lined the street to preserve order. The whole city seemed to be out for the spectacle.
Sebastian, Mr. Kent, Miss Chen, Emily, and I were gathered on the roof of the Westminster Palace Hotel, watching over the abbey’s western entrance across the street from us. We had been fortunate enough to secure our places early in the morning without any trouble. Tuffins had retrieved the Kent carriage and proven himself to be an excellent driver, which surprised exactly no one. He’d let us off as close as possible and no one had recognized Sebastian nor the rest of us along the way, thanks to our disguises.
I had decided it better not to ask Mr. Kent how he came by our elaborate costumes. He’d found simple enough secondhand dresses for Rose, Catherine, and Laura, so they could be comfortable at home in clothing that hadn’t been worn for the three worst days of our lives. But for the rest of us, he’d concocted detailed alternative identities with rather more imagination than was strictly necessary.
For me, he’d decided I would be a world-traversing photographer, wearing a well-worn English traveling coat along with a Chinese silk scarf and Indian-style bracelets. Miss Chen was a pioneer woman from the American West in thick leather boots and a wide-brimmed hat. Emily, wearing multiple layers of blue shawls and a white bonnet wrapped around her thick dark hair, was an Irish milkmaid.
I suspected this was how he thought of each of us.