Gemma walked with Vera to the door but tucked herself out of sight. She took her knife in her hand, just in case, and held her breath as Vera reached for the handle.

She inched the door open, peeking around it.

“Papa!” On that single word, Vera pulled the door open fully.

Mr. Sorokin rushed inside, holding the young girl Gemma had seen with him in the hiding hole. The little boy kept close to his side.

“What’s happened?” Gemma asked, eyeing the girl with concern. She was pale and listless.

His Russian accent more prominent than usual, Mr. Sorokin rushed through his explanation. “She’s had a fever for a couple of days. No appetite. Today, she grew so weak that she’s struggling to get about.”

“Lie her on the sofa in the sitting room,” Vera said.

“She needs a doctor.” Gemma reached for her coat. “I’ll go fetch Baz.”

“I can do it,” the boy said. “I can get word to him.”

“You oughtn’t put yourself in danger.”

“I ain’t meaning to. Doc Milligan, yeah? I know how to get word to him. No one’ll even see me about.”

“You’re certain?” Gemma pressed.

“Full certain.” He hopped out the door and was gone in a flash.

Gemma closed and locked the door. She took a deep breath to settle her pulse. Worrying that a Kincaid had found her had ratcheted up her anxiety. She needed a moment to regain her calm.

By the time she stepped into the sitting room, the girl had been situated on the sofa, and Vera sat in a chair next to her, tending to the patient.

Mr. Sorokin crossed to Gemma. “Did Olly go after the doctor?”

“Oi. Wouldn’t hear a word against it.”

“He’ll be safe,” Mr. Sorokin said. “He moves about as unseen and unheard as a mouse.”

“And Dr. Milligan will come as soon as he hears he’s needed,” Gemma said. “He is as reliable as a lighthouse.”

“Does he know yet that he is about to find himself a widower?”

Gemma nodded. “I got the papers from Peter. I explained it all to Baz. A couple of days before I’m meant to have died, I’ll pike out of London, make a life for Kate Mitchell.”

“And what does the good doctor think of the plan?”

What did he think? He hadn’t objected, but he’d also not declared the idea a rare bit of genius or an excellent escape.

The girl on the sofa moaned, which pulled Mr. Sorokin’s attention back to her. “I wish I knew what to do for Licorice. She’s been miserable.”

“Bringing her here was the right first step,” Gemma said. “The Donnellys’ll keep her safe as an inside pocket. And Baz is here most every day. A person couldn’t do better than to be here with them.”