He hesitates, and then as he pulls his sword, I’m about to plead again, but he only lifts it for me, giving me the longer blade. I dart in to take it, sheathing my gladius, and as Nicolas presses his sword into my hand, his fingers grasp mine for a moment.

“You have this, crécerelle,” he whispers. “I know you do.”

I sidestep Jenkins’s next attack and drive him away from Nicolas and Emily with one of my own. Behind me, Nicolas speaks to Emily, urging her to stay alert, to stay with us. I concentrate on Jenkins. Earlier, I dismissed the man’s sword as a mere fashion affectation. I only wish it were so. He is not as accomplished a swordsman as Rodgers, but he is better than me, and I am already distracted by Emily’s and Nicolas’s injuries. Jenkins lands several strikes. I do not feel them, which means Emily might not be the only one suffering from shock.

Blood wells up on both my arms. He has also struck at my torso and legs, but my gown protects me there, and I would be much gladder of that if it did not also inhibit my movement.

I leap back, only to tangle in my skirts and stumble.

“Miranda!” Nicolas shouts, and there’s a scrambling, as if he is rising.

“I have this,” I say. “Look to Emily and yourself. Please.”

“Jenkins,” Nicolas snaps. “Your daughter is in mortal peril. Do you not care?”

Jenkins doesn’t even flinch. “If she dies, then you will have killed her. You and this woman who struck my arm and made my blow go wild.”

“Is that what you tell yourself about the boy?” I say. “That you did not do the deed yourself?”

That makes Jenkins stumble, and I get in a blow.

“Emily can hear us,” Nicolas says as he tends to her. “Shall we tell her what a monster her father truly is? Shall those be the last words she hears?”

Jenkins swings at me, his face twisted in such rage that the blow goes wild, and I evade it and come back with an attack that has him hissing in pain. I drive him back, and he trips over the outstretched legs of Rodgers, now dead on the floor.

“Then there is Rodgers,” I say. “Another death at your door. Or was that also not your fault?”

“Ignore them,” says a voice behind us.

I have forgotten Lord Thomas, who has been silently watching. Silently watching as Jenkins tries to overpower me . . . so he can kill the man who is keeping his granddaughter alive. I did not think it was possible to hate them both more. I was wrong.

“They are trying to distract you,” the ghost says. “Just kill the girl and be done with it.”

“Yes, kill me,” I say. “Kill me and be done with it. What’s another death at your doorstep? Rodgers, Andrés . . .”

“What did he do to Andrés?” That’s Emily, her voice weak. “He told me they had taken the boy to York. That is what I told Dr. Dupuis.”