“Bung your eye,” she muttered. “Are the Kincaids sweeping in a lot of brass with this arrangement?”

“They seem to be,” Mr. Sorokin said. “And they’ll bring in even more money if the scheme continues. That, however, depends on them having enough hands to do the increased work.”

“I’ve cousins enough.”

Mr. Sorokin shook his head. “Your uncles are getting a lot of work, Gemma. A lot. And it’s worth a great deal of money. They need hands with more experience than your cousins have. They need someone who can take the lead on a resurrection.”

Her lungs turned to stone. With what little breath she could manage, she asked, “Someone like . . . me?”

He didn’t answer aloud or nod. He didn’t need to.

She rubbed at her forehead. “I ain’t crossed paths with any of my family in years. I’ve made blasted sure of that.”

“Be very careful, Gemma. If the whispers are true, and I suspect they are, the Kincaids are the Mastiff’s resurrection men.”

A shudder rushed through her body. The Mastiff. She knew who that was. Anyone who lived in poor neighborhoods and worked on the dangerous streets of London knew who he was. Feared him.

“Are you hiding the stork bundles here because of the resurrection men?” she asked. Resurrectionists sometimes saved themselves a spot of bother by creating a corpse rather than searching one out. And she had yet to meet a resurrection man who had any qualms about plying the trade against children.

“The Mastiff is the one who threatened them, but he has tentacles everywhere. I’ve kept these little ones hidden because I don’t know the entirety of the threat. I suspect the Mastiff is not at all what he seems.”

That was the way of the world of crime, death, and terror. Nothing was ever what it seemed.

“Now, why is it you need your husband to think you’re dead?” Mr. Sorokin asked.

“Not just him.”

Again, a hint of humor touched his expression. Few things gave her more joy than making people laugh, even silently. “Him and the government.”

“And the church,” she added. “Cain’t forget that.”

From behind them, one of the children laughed. She’d take that as a success.

“My husband didn’t marry me on account of wanting to,” Gemma said. “And now there ain’t no way of wriggling out of it unless one of us takes a pine-box ride to the churchyard.”

“Ah.” Mr. Sorokin nodded. “You need to be declared dead so the man could marry again, if he wanted, without the law objecting.”

“Or the church,” the girl behind them tossed out. “Cain’t forget the church.”

Mr. Sorokin smiled fully. Despite the heavy topics they were tossing around, Gemma’s heart lightened. There weren’t anything in the world quite like seeing someone happy. That’s what she wanted for Baz. And, blast it all, for herself too.