“Of course not. Cain’t be done.” But she knew that was the answer. She knew. “So that’s what we’re going to do. I’ll get myself out of my coffin, then I’ll help get you out of yours. And we’ll have the length of a single hearse ride to do it.”

She abandoned her barely touched meal and made for the secretary desk, pulling out a sheet of parchment and the nub of a pencil.

“We’ll need someone who knows the scheme to act as the driver of the hearse,” she said.

“Kumar worked for a time as a hackney driver,” Baz said. “He’d do it.”

She began making a detailed sketch even as she kept talking. “And we’ll need to find a hearse what’s wide enough for holding two coffins. They aren’t unheard of, but it’ll take effort, effort that’ll need to be kept quiet.”

Even if they managed to get out of their coffins before the hearse reached the churchyard, they would be seen the moment the doors were opened if there wasn’t a place to hide.

“We’ll need someone who’s a dab hand at carpentry to make a false bottom inside it, far enough above the actual bottom for the two of us to lay flat, side by side, inside of it but low enough that no one glancing would realize it were there. Flowers and such can help hide it.”

“Dominique worked as a carpenter. He’s one of us too.”

She snatched up another sheet of paper. “He’ll need to modify the coffins as well so we can get them open from the inside but so as nothing looks amiss from the outside.” She began sketching what she had in mind.” This was the most terrifying part. If they couldn’t get out of their coffins, they might be buried alive.

So many things could go wrong. Even if they managed to get out of their coffins but didn’t hide themselves in time, they would be caught and the whole thing would fall to bits. Anything amiss, anything deviating from what the Kincaids expected, would change everything.

She paused in her sketching, uncertainty undermining her determination. “What if something goes wrong?”

“We have to at least try,” he said.

She shook her head. “Resurrectionists don’t resurrect people who ain’t dead. Tools slip. Delicate efforts turn destructive. But those things don’t usually matter. Cain’t kill someone who’s already dead.”

Baz pulled a chair up beside hers at the desk. He sat and put his arm around her, something he did naturally and regularly now.

“Let’s at least talk this through before we abandon it,” he said. “What else would we need?”