He finished off the food before he asked Elizabeth the question he’d been holding. “Why didn’t you run?”

“I don’t like the cold,” she said.

“A flimsy reason. Any one of those men gathered out there would’ve helped you.”

“Help from men is what I do not wish. Anyway, I didn’t care to be mauled by your associate. And there’s another reason that you probably should take into consideration.”

“What might that be?”

“I am staying with you,” she said, “in order to uphold my vow of loyalty to another Broodie. But when Samson catches you, I won’t be able to save your life. I am staying with you—and I will not attempt an escape—so that I might plead to Samson that you deserve a quick death.”

“Oh, well I’m relieved to hear that,” Matthew said with a twist of his mouth.

“I’m absolutely serious.” Her calm, level gaze said she was. “He will kill you. He has to, not just for taking me and the book but for destroying the plans. Your associate—Julian—will likely wind up back in the pit with RakeHell Lizzie. You, on the other hand, will receive a bullet to the head if I’m successful.”

“If I had a cup of ale,” said Matthew, “I would offer a toast for your success.”

“Make humor if you please, but this is the best I can do for you. I would say I’m sorry, if there were any other way.”

“Don’t be sorry on my account. I plan on getting to Fell’s village alive, with the doctor and the book … and you as well, because you’re right about Julian doing you harm if you tried to run. That would put me in a very difficult spot.”

She nodded, watching him thoughtfully. “If you were in my place, would you have done for me what I’ve done for you?”

It was a good question, and one that Matthew could not honestly answer in the affirmative. Opening the door in the passageway was a real act of Broodie sisterhood that might have cost her her life, and might yet if Lash figured out the connection. “I appreciate all that you’ve done,” he said. “And especially that you didn’t kill me.”

“Kill me … monsters … both of them … monsters,” Firebaugh muttered in his stupor. His eyes opened and he sat up as if not realizing where he was. Then fresh pain hit him, he made a sobbing noise and curled himself up once more. Matthew tossed the banyan robe over him, and moving in slow increments the pitiful doctor drew it around his body like a shroud, even though its plaid was so gaudy it wouldn’t be suited for a Scottish funeral.

“What’s all this about the Monster of Plymouth?” Elizabeth asked, as she took another biscuit from the breakfast offerings.