“Bustin’ a coffin takes time. Even my uncles cain’t do it in an instant. And unless you know a couple trustworthy resurrectionists, I’ll be offering up rushed training to whoever’ll be springing us.”

“You are the only trustworthy resurrectionist I know,” Baz said.

“I’m the only trustworthy resurrectionist I know.” She sighed. “I don’t fancy teaching others to do this. It’s a trade I’d favor seeing die, which I realize is a terrible pun.”

Baz nudged her plate closer to her.

“I know,” she said. “I grumbled at you for not eating when you was worried. The least I can do is eat, myself.”

He shook his head. “As a doctor, I would advise against eating yourself.”

Oh, he was good for her heart, helping her laugh when life was painful. “It’s a proper shame we can’t ask Dr. Palmer to set his mind on this puzzle. That bloke don’t let a mystery go unsolved, do he?”

“You’ve been reading ‘Bodies of Light,’” he said.

“I always knew you’d be quality at writing tales.”

“You were the only one who did at first.”

“And you are the only one who thinks I can plan this never-been-done-before resurrection.” She popped a steamed carrot in her mouth, reminding herself she did need to keep her strength up.

“If it can’t be done, Gemma, we’ll simply leave London. Under cover of night or in disguise.”

She shook her head, swallowing quickly. “The Kincaids and the Mastiff will hurt people in their search for us.” She knew he’d no sooner let that happen than she would. “We need to move forward with the wake, with being nailed into our coffins and being hauled into hearses. But it’s what to do from that point on I cain’t sort. I can resurrect in a hearse; I’ve done it—” Her heart refused to let her mouth finish the admission.

He set his hand atop hers. “You didn’t choose the life you lived, love, any more than my mother chose the life she did. I’m not one of those hoity-toity types that assumes every desperate person had all the choices in the world and intentionally picked the worst one.”

“It’s why you work so hard giving those desperate people a choice that’s at least a tetch better.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “And did you consider me ‘a tetch better’ than the choices you’d had before meeting me?”

“A tetch or two,” she said with a shrug.