A week in which Elias grew sicker still of eggs and foul tea and his little hut. A week in which he stewed on his discovery that Jonah must be a runaway, a fugitive slave. He’d heard Stephen and Mat pass by often enough, their voices echoing as they guided tours, but they’d not collected Elias to...
Yet my first reaction had not been to send word to Father or to rush to Scotland Yard or even find the nearest constable. Rather, I resolved to simply be more careful, to try and evade whoever might be following us. And Caedmon hadn’t suggested otherwise. Something had shifted. We’d become a team...