"And?" Seth placed his hand on the doorknob but didn't open the door.

"And he decided that my future does not lie at Lichfield Towers."

"You're going to live with Lady Harcourt?"

"No. I'll find somewhere else."

"Where?" Gus blurted out. "There ain't no work in the factories, you ain't trained for domestic work, and you're too bloody stubborn besides."

"Perhaps I'll offer to speak to the souls of the dying as they pass away. I wonder how much one ought to charge for such work."

"That's not funny," Seth growled. His face was surprisingly grim.

I patted his arm. "I'll think of something. Don't worry about me."

"Don't you think about goin' back to live on the streets," Gus warned. "That ain't no life for you. I'll hide you in the stables myself, if necessary."

I took his hand. "Thank you, Gus, but it won't come to that."

"I'll speak to him." Seth pointed his chin over my head back up the corridor. "He won't throw you out."

Gus snorted. "He won't listen to you. Or me. He don't even listen to Lady H."

"It's all right," I told them. "I just need some time to think up a plan."

"And what if he don't give you time? He's just as likely to toss you out the minute Frankenstein is caught. That could be as soon as tomorrow."

"I'm sure he'll give me more time. He's not that heartless."

"Isn't he?" Seth shook his head. "I'm not so sure." He opened the door and offered me a grim smile. "I'll bring you some tea, shortly."

I thanked him and entered my room—my cozy room with the pile of books, clean clothes, and soft bed. I sighed as they shut the door and left me to contemplate my uncertain future.

***

Fitzroy had recovered enough to leave the house the following morning with Seth and Gus. They were going to investigate the warehouse where Frankenstein kept his creatures. He wouldn't be drawn on whether they would attempt to capture him today or simply investigate.

I tried to read but my mind kept wandering. When I did manage a few pages of the new book, however, I had to set it down altogether. It was about a girl who learned she was adopted. At least her father wasn't a murderer.

I closed my eyes. Perhaps that wasn't fair. Frankenstein had seemed to genuinely care for his creatures. And what if the men whose parts he'd used were dying, as he claimed? Some deaths were prolonged and painful, and I could well see why the dying would beg him to end their pain. Did it really matter that he'd then used parts of them to create something else, something akin to another life?

And what of Mr. Calthorn, the spy master, the man with the knowledge to bring down the government and the crown? The brutal man who'd hurt his wife. If Frankenstein told the truth—and that wasn't a certainty—was he a bad person for ridding the world of such a monster?