A rather soft-spoken, kindly man had approached me, speaking in languid French and pulling me along by the hand as if I should be going with him. Surprised, confused, I’d gone along, half thinking he’d come in place of my normal driver. We hadn’t left the glow of the flickering streetlight when Marcel Beauchene, who had at last discovered the oversight, came flying out of the shadows with a savage growl, cape fluttering and fist leading the way. One hit and the Frenchman was scrambling to escape, leaving Marcel to put his arm around me and march me toward the rented barouche with all his usual grumbles.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” I said when we’d been seated in the coach.

“What do you take me for?” There was a snap in his words as he jammed the lap blanket tight around my legs. “Of course I came for you. Don’t I always?”

Warmth seeped around the chill inside and drew forth a smile. It was the first time I was truly aware that he cared about me. That he’d be there to swoop in and rescue me, the way a father might.

But now . . . December. I shifted from one swollen foot to the other, mopping my forehead with my apron. I’d never grow used to the way the fabric scratched my skin. Never grow used to so many things at Hurstwell.

Bridget puffed out a breath, bobbing for gowns in the basket and pinning them to the line. Her rhythm was steady as a metronome, clicking off the beats. “It’s no palace, but this isn’t the worst place to be for a time now, is it? You’re safe and fed. And you have a pianoforte,” she added with a whisper.

“You don’t understand. I have a life outside of this place, an entire mission yet to be started, and a whole host of people who need me.” I took a deep, shuddering breath, thinking of all the women I had once planned to rescue. “I must get back to it, Bridget. I’ve been waiting so long for the chance. It’s what I was meant to do.”

“Not right now, you ain’t, because you’re here. And nothing happens without the Almighty’s say-so.”

A note of dissonance in my heart. “I cannot understand, Bridget. Why would he ever want to stop me from serving? From rescuing?”

“He hasn’t stopped you at all. Just relocated you.”

“To a rathole.” I yanked on the crank, spraying water on us both.

She wiped her face with her sleeve and untangled another gown to feed through. “What good’s a candle out in pure daylight, then? You tell me that.”

I froze, hand stiff and sore on the wooden handle.