There was only one place to hide. We crossed the room just as a creak sounded above. Feet upon the old wooden steps.

Evan pulled open the wardrobe doors. I shoved the spent candlestick onto an adjacent shelf, then crammed myself into the other compartment, shuffling to one side as Evan firmly guided Jenny into the cramped space. He deposited the flagon and pressed himself in beside me. It was so tight I shuffled straight into the birch rods, gasping as a sharp tip dug into my hip.

“I’ll go to the back,” Evan whispered, and with some difficulty maneuvered himself behind me, taking the brunt of the stored rods. The smell from Jenny beside me was almost overpowering: fear and sweat and the pungent odor of old urine. I braced her arm to keep her upright, but my touch made her jump and gasp. Underneath my grip her whole body trembled. Dear God, we would be lost if she could not stay still and quiet.

I felt Evan’s hands rest on either side of my waist, and then I was drawn back against his solid chest, our legs positioned in an entirely improper manner. But we had enough room now to close the door. I grabbed the wooden frame, dug my nails into the wood, and pulled the door almost shut, leaving barely a half-inch gap. The sliver afforded me a view of the antechamber but little else. I found a better grip on the wood—the last thing we needed was the door to move or swing open. My heart thudded, hard and fast. Surely Evan could feel it pounding, too, for his body cocooned mine. I certainly felt his warm breath against my ear.

“Can you hold it?” he whispered.

I turned my head slightly and nodded, my cheek brushing against his in confirmation. The unbidden caress was rather hairy—I had forgotten my false whiskers. The surprise of it brought an unseemly rise of mirth, even in the gravity of the situation. I felt his own quick smile against my cheek; then his embrace tightened at the sound of approaching footsteps. All amusement within me vanished.

I peered through the gap.

Two men walked into view. The first was shorter than his companion and wore a new black John Bull hat, its smartness in sharp contrast to his shabby coat and dirty breeches. The second man wore a jaunty blue neckerchief and walked with one shoulder hitched higher than the other.

“This place gives me the collywobbles,” Blue Neckerchief said. “I feel like someone is watching us.” He turned, surveying the room, his gaze passing over the wardrobe.

I held my breath, feeling Evan tense behind me. What if Blue Neckerchief noticed the gap?

“For chrissakes, stop whining,” John Bull said. “You’re givin’ me the collywobbles.” He pushed back his hat. “They always put ’em in there.” He pointed to the antechamber. “Out of the way, like.”