"Good Lord, they are nauseating."

Trinket shook her head as Booker dug through the workbenches in the laboratory. Pieces of mechanical hands and feet were thrown onto the tabletop as he searched for a suitable foot for Alice. After showing the couple to one of the guest rooms, he had requested Trinket's assistance downstairs. She suspected he only wanted her there so he could complain. And she was quite right.

"All of that staring and those wistful looks," he continued, closing one drawer and rifling through another. "I had half a mind to turn them away."

"They're in love," she said, fiddling with a mechanical finger.

"They're adulterers."

He didn't say it with judgement or disdain; it was merely stated as a fact. Which it was. They were adulterers. Alice was married. There was no getting around that. As sweet as they were, they were certainly not innocent.

Booker glanced up at her, apparently noticing her silence as she examined the finger. "Not that it matters," he added. "They're still in love. And disgusting."

"Then why didn't you turn them away?"

He hesitated and returned his attention to the contents of the drawer. "I feel they may have information that would be useful to me."

"But I thought the Wolf came from Broadfall?" she said, the name like thick molasses on her tongue.

Broadfall, Broadfall, Broadfall—

"The Wolf is not the only thing that interests me, my dear."

"Could have fooled me."

"No good." Booker rose up and sighed as he dusted off his trousers. "I'm going to have to make a new one to match her size. She has unusually large feet."

Trinket gave a short laugh. "I wouldn't tell her that. Ladies generally like to be thought of as dainty."

"I'll keep that in mind. Anyhow, it's going to take me at least three days to build one from scratch. In the meantime, the lovely couple can stay here. It's best she doesn't walk on that foot more than she has to, so there's no use in sending them to the Clocktower."

She set the finger back on the workbench. This was the first time they'd had any guests since she started working here. An occasional patient, yes, but no one who stayed long enough for her to feed and entertain them.

"I'll inform them and see if they would like anything to eat," she said.

Booker had already grabbed a pencil and paper and pulled a chair over to the workbench to begin sketching out a diagram of his creation. She assumed his lack of response meant he no longer required her assistance, so she proceeded up the stairs.

"Lock the door behind you," he called after her. "Not that I think our lovesick puppy dog would leave his precious sweetheart, but I don't like to take chances."

She gave a slight frown at his mocking tone but continued up to the house.

Though no one had touched the tea she'd made earlier, she decided to boil the water again and bring it up to the couple anyway. Maybe now that they were more settled, they'd be ready for some refreshments.

As she carried the tray upstairs, the voices relentlessly chanted the name Broadfall over and over to the point where it no longer sounded like a word.

Broadfall, Broadwall, Modwell, Fodmell—

She paused outside the guest room and took a deep breath before knocking. Henry's muffled voice granted her entry, and she carefully balanced the tray on her hip as she opened the door.

Alice was seated on the bed with Henry perched beside her, holding her hands in his own. As Trinket entered, Alice quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and offered a strained smile.

"I thought you might like some tea," Trinket said, setting the tray on the side table.

"Thank you," Alice said with a sniff. "You are too kind."

"Did Mr. Larkin have any luck?" Henry asked.

"I'm afraid he'll have to start from scratch," Trinket said, not adding Booker's comment about Alice's big feet. "It should be finished in a few days. He hopes you'll accept his invitation to stay here. While there is an inn nearby, it doesn't have the nicest reputation, and Mr. Larkin worries about the damage that could be done to your foot if you were to walk on it more than is necessary."

"What does it matter since I'm chopping it off?" Alice sobbed.

Hiccups shook her shoulders as more tears streamed down her cheeks. Henry drew her close and whispered sweet words to her, stroking her hair gently until she was finally able to calm down.

"Infection," Trinket said once Alice's sobs had died down to sniffles. "If the bone breaks through the skin, it will cause an infection. Then he'll have to deal with that, cutting into the time needed to make the foot."

Henry smiled. "Thank you. We would be happy to stay here."

"Yes, thank you," Alice said, running her sleeve under her nose. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so ungrateful. I'm just not myself. I'm so sorry, Miss Trinket."

"I understand completely. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask."

With a respectful nod, she turned to leave. As she closed the door and headed towards the stairs, she could hear Alice's sobs start up again, joined by Henry's whispered words of love. It was probably for the best that Booker had barricaded himself in the laboratory. She could only imagine how he would react to their theatrics.

Look out!

She inhaled sharply and snatched her hand away from the banister where dozens of tiny snails were crawling their way upstairs, leaving slimy little trails behind them.

Huffing a sigh, she ignored them and continued down the steps.

~

After finishing up her daily chores and checking in with their guests, Trinket returned to the kitchen and pulled out a recipe book from the pantry. Though her last attempt at a stew had been rather disastrous, she felt the need to put forth a little more effort than usual for Henry and Alice. It wasn't likely that the couple would be satisfied with crumpets and tea like Booker was.

She frowned at the lists of ingredients and cooking instructions as she skimmed the pages. The various meals were familiar to her, but she'd never realized how much went into making them.

"Ottie deserved more credit than we gave her," she mumbled, discovering a new respect for her family's cook.

Finally settling on what appeared to be a simple potato soup, she went about gathering the ingredients. She only had one onion and was a little low on milk, but she did her best to make it work.

As she sliced the potatoes and tried to avoid nicking her fingers, her thoughts wandered back to the couple upstairs. As annoying as Booker found them, their love and devotion were really quite heartwarming. She'd only ever seen that sort of affection once before in her life.

And she'd destroyed it.

She took a sharp breath, images flashing through her mind:

Sunny picnics.

Giddy laughter.

Stolen kisses.

Bloody hands.

"Ouch!"

Her focus returned to the knife and potatoes. Blood seeped from a small cut in her thumb, and she quickly wrapped it up in her smock and rushed into the scullery to tend to it. As she ran her thumb under cold water and watched the blood circle the drain, she swallowed down a knot in her throat.

So close! Should've aimed for your wrist.

Turning the faucet off, she dried her hand and fetched a bandage.

Do you think you'll ever get it all off?

She gritted her teeth.

Those stains run deep.

Storming back into the kitchen, she resumed her chopping, drowning out her demons with the sound of the knife against the cutting board.

~

A few hours later, she knocked at the guest room door. Henry poked his head out and offered her a gentle smile.

"Dinner is ready if you'd like some," she said,

His eyes flickered back to the room. "Thank you, Miss Trinket, but I'm afraid Alice has fallen asleep, and I'd hate to wake her. She's so exhausted from this whole ordeal."

"Of course. It's important for her to rest."

"Yes, yes it—"

His stomach cut him off with a low, guttural growl. She raised her eyebrows, and his cheeks colored.

"I think she'd be fine for a half hour or so if you'd like to keep me company while I eat," she said, trying to help salvage the gentleman's dignity.

"Ah, yes, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you."

She led him down the stairs and to the dining room before slipping into the kitchen to dish out two bowls of soup. Unfortunately, there was no wine or gin or brandy to serve, so she went about making more tea.

When she returned to the dining room, she found Henry standing by his chair. He smiled sweetly and waited for her to sit across from him before taking his own seat. Quite the gentleman.

"I'm sorry we don't have much to offer," she said as Henry sampled the soup. "Mr. Larkin keeps an unusual household."

"No, no, this is wonderful, Miss Trinket. Thank you, really."

A smile tugged at her lips as she watched him devour spoonful after spoonful. He had to have been famished to find her watery, bland soup wonderful. "You two must be worn out from your travels."

He released a sigh. "Indeed," he said, taking a long sip of tea.

"Is Alice distraught about the surgery?"

The teacup clattered against its saucer as he set it down, his hands shaking slightly. "In all honesty, yes. She's worried she'll come out looking like a monster."

"Mr. Larkin is a very precise surgeon. His work is something close to art."

Henry's mouth twitched into an uncertain smile. "I'm sure his work is impressive, but people are not supposed to be made up of flesh and metal. In the eyes of polite society, someone like that would be considered an abomination."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, there are a lot of things polite society views as abominations. Certain books, mechanical prosthetics, forbidden love."

The color drained from his face. "Ah, yes, I suppose that is true . . ." He heaved another sigh and stared down at his bowl. "Alice doesn't care if society or her father or even her husband thinks that she's hideous. She's just afraid that I'll end up seeing her as a monster."

"Would you?"

"Of course not."

His answer was immediate and certain. "Then why should it trouble her so?" she asked. "If you've never given her reason to doubt your honesty or affection, it shouldn't be a concern."

"I know. She knows. It's just . . . it's just this is all a bit . . . traumatic."

She scooped up a spoonful of soup. "She won't be the only gentlewoman who has a mechanical limb, you know. I've met some of Mr. Larkin's clients. Plenty of the gentry has benefited from his practice."

He glanced up at her. "Is that so?"

"A prosthetic limb is easier to conceal when you're well off."

"How's that?"

"You don't need to worry about submerging your hands in water to wash dishes or clean floors. Gloves are fashionable. And skirts are preferred long. It's not too difficult to hide a mechanical prosthetic when you're already required to cover up."

Henry gave a soft laugh. "I suppose you're right, Miss Trinket." He furrowed his brow. "Trinket. That's a peculiar name your employer chose for you."

"Well, Mr. Larkin is a peculiar man."

"So long as he's discreet and proficient, he can be as peculiar as he like."

When Henry had eaten his fill, she made up another bowl and sent it along with him for Alice when she woke. Thanking her repeatedly, he hurried back to his lover, leaving Trinket to clear the table. As she gathered up the dishes, her foot knocked into something tangled about the leg of Henry's chair.

A locket.

She bent down to retrieve it, and as she examined it, the latch popped open. Inside was a strand of hair that matched Alice's dark locks, tied up with a lovely pink ribbon.

With a sad smile, she tucked the locket into her smock and brought the dirty dishes into the kitchen.

It was late by the time she finished cleaning up. Nevertheless, before heading to bed, she left a bowl of soup and a cup of tea on the table by the laboratory door. It would likely go uneaten, but she had to at least try to keep the mad scientist nourished.

~

The morning found Trinket preparing breakfast for four, although she was certain it would only be three partaking. With plates of toast and crumpets and potatoes and cheese, she knocked on the guest room door and was greeted by the ever-cordial Henry.

Alice was awake and in brighter spirits than the night before. Her smile wasn't quite as forced, and her cheeks were a tad rosier. "Thank you so much, Miss Trinket," she said, her voice like a music box even so early in the morning.

"Did you sleep well?" Trinket asked, setting the tray of food on the side table, Henry's misplaced locket placed inconspicuously by the plates.

"Yes. We were very comfortable, thank you."

"I can fill the wash basin for you," Trinket offered, picking up the empty container. "And if you'd like a bath, the washroom is at the end of the hall to the left."

Henry sat beside Alice. "Thank you, Miss Trinket. Really."

Their gratefulness was enough to be annoying, but unlike Booker, Trinket appreciated their good manners. With a quick smile, she ducked out of the room to leave them in peace.

She took her own breakfast in the kitchen. As she ate, she flipped through her recipe book, trying to decide what to attempt for dinner next. She didn't trust herself with the more complicated yet mouthwatering meals: fillets of beef a la Rossine, curried lamb, chicken a la crea, rice croquettes. Each one sounded delicious, but she knew if she still had a difficult time with soup, she shouldn't even dare to dream about such delicacies. Returning to the safety of what was familiar, she folded the corner of the page for cressy soup and finished her food before gathering her cleaning supplies to tend to the empty guest room upstairs.

Upon entering the room, she fell into a sneezing fit for the dust she stirred up from opening the door. It was empty and cold inside, the thick curtains drawn and the fireplace dirty with grime but certainly not ashes. She doubted a fire had ever been lit in it.

Why did Booker even bother keeping such elaborate rooms if he wasn't going to care for them properly?

A sunny blue sky greeted her as she opened the curtains. The room looked out behind the house where there was something of a yard. A rusted iron fence had fallen into disrepair, the wilted remains of weeds clinging to the gate in protest of winter.

"Not one for gardening, I see," she mumbled under her breath.

Turning her back to the window, which was in need of a good washing, she took stock of the room. It was beautiful, certainly, but not homey at all. The laboratory in the basement was more welcoming. Of course, the folks who came into this house were probably not concerned with the decor and atmosphere considering they were usually ill or maimed.

"Doesn't mean I can't make an effort," she said, picking up a rag and getting to work.

~

Her muscles were sore as she prepared dinner later that evening. Scrubbing the guest room had been a more strenuous activity than she had first thought it would be. It seemed like it would take her a lifetime to finish cleaning all of this massive house. As it was, she had yet to explore beyond the guest rooms for fear of being deemed nosy like the maids who had come before her. Of course, it was unlikely that Booker would be hiding anything too scandalous in the upstairs rooms. Not when he had a laboratory full of surgical tools and various body parts in the basement. If she was going to get in trouble with the mad scientist, it probably wouldn't be for changing his bedsheets.

She reached for another carrot, chuckling at such an absurd notion.

A knock at the door startled her, and she nearly sliced open her thumb in her surprise. She turned to find Henry in the doorway, his face drained of color.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

He wrung his hands anxiously. "Alice is . . . ah, she's looking . . . not well."

"Not well?"

"I think she may be running a fever. She aches all over and says the light hurts her eyes."

She furrowed her brow. "Let me see her."

Henry led her up the stairs and into their room where Alice lay unmoving on the bed. Trinket knelt before her and laid a hand on her clammy forehead.

She was burning up.

Trinket swallowed hard. "How's her foot?" she asked Henry.

"I don't know, I didn't check. I was afraid I would hurt her worse if I tried to touch it."

Rising to her feet, she pulled back the blankets and stifled a gasp. Alice's ankle had swelled to twice its size. She brushed her fingers over the bruised skin and snatched her hand away.

Hotter than her head.

"What do you think?" Henry asked, still wringing his hands.

Alice mumbled something in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering deliriously.

"I think I should go talk to Mr. Larkin," Trinket said, offering Henry what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll return in a moment."

She made a concerted effort to leave the room as calmly as possible, but as soon as the door closed, she practically stumbled down the stairs in her haste.

"Booker!" she called out as she banged on the laboratory door.

Nothing.

Had he fallen asleep? Or collapsed from hunger?

"Booker! It's an emergency!"

Still, no response.

Useless man!

Releasing an exasperated growl, she raced back upstairs and paused a moment to collect herself before entering the couple's room.

"Mr. Larkin is unfortunately preoccupied," she said with impressive composure.

Henry was kneeling beside the bed, gently stroking Alice's hand. "What should we do?"

Good question. What could they do? What had her parents done when she was ill? They had taken her to the doctor. But the only doctor here had locked himself in the basement. Blasted, bloody fool!

She shook her head and concentrated. The fever. They needed to lower the fever. But how would they do that?

A memory from Elysium flashed through her mind.

Strapped down. In a tub. For hours and hours and hours. Resulting in a chill that refused to leave her body.

"Cold water," she mumbled.

"Pardon?" Henry said.

"Cold water to lower the fever. We can put her in the tub. Come on."

As Henry eased his sweetheart into his arms, Trinket hurried into the washroom. Cranking the faucet full-blast, she released a stream of water into the tub. The deafening roar sent a surge of panic through her veins. Voices began to whisper in the background, garbled words filled with anticipation of something. Something bad.

Something very bad.

"Where should I put her?"

She jumped at Henry's voice but quickly pulled herself together. "Right in the tub. Keep her head up."

Henry did as she said, gently setting Alice into the cold water while Trinket removed the lady's dress and tossed it aside. Grabbing a face cloth, she soaked it in the sink and laid it on Alice's forehead.

"How long do we leave her in here?" Henry asked, not taking his eyes off of his beloved.

"I don't know. Let's just see how she responds and then we'll decide."

The faucet dripped continuously as they waited in silence, the echo nearly driving her insane. She began to use it to keep track of the seconds that Alice had been in the water.

She lost count after six hundred and twenty-three.

"I think that should be enough," she said after what felt like an eternity.

Henry lifted Alice out of the water, her petticoat clinging to her flushed body and soaking his white dress shirt. Trinket wrapped her up in a towel and unplugged the drain. They dried her off as best they could and then returned to the guest room, leaving a trail of puddles in their wake.

"She feels cooler," Henry said as he laid Alice down on the bed.

"Let's hope it lasts," Trinket said with a sigh, leaning against the bedpost.

"Oh, my love, all will be well," Henry cooed to Alice, running his fingers through her damp curls.

Trinket let out a long breath, daring to believe they'd narrowly avoided disaster.

And then her gaze caught on Alice's foot.

Her heart stopped.

The bone had broken through the skin. White and glistening, it looked as though it were trying to claw its way out of Alice's body. Blood trickled down her ankle, saturating the bedsheets.

Trinket tightened her grip on the bedpost. How could that have happened? What was she supposed to do? She didn't know how to tie a tourniquet or set a broken bone. How quickly could a person bleed out? Lord, she couldn't do this on her own.

She needed help.

"Henry," she said, her voice trembling, "do not move her."

"What do you—"

His eyes fell upon the injury, and in an instant, his face became a sickly shade of green.

She turned on her heel and ran out of the room, leaving a sick Henry behind her. She flew down the stairs and practically threw herself at the laboratory door.

"Booker!" she screamed, pounding on the door with her fists and twisting the knob uselessly. "Booker!"

Good Lord, what was wrong with this man? How could he just disappear with a sick patient upstairs?

"Blast it all, Booker, open the bloody door!"

At last, the lock clicked and the door swung open. She stumbled into the wall, gasping for breath as the disheveled doctor stepped into the hallway. His appearance rendered her speechless at first. Unshaven and unwashed, dark circles around his dilated eyes—

What had happened to him?

"Lord, Trinket, what's gotten into you?" he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

She gripped her skirts and took a step forward. "Alice has a fever and the bone has broken through the skin."

He drew his brows together and stared at her dumbly. "Alice?"

"Alice. Alice your patient. The one with the broken ankle."

Giving his head a quick shake, he squeezed his eyes shut and ran his twitching fingers through his tangled hair.

"She had a fever," she continued, "and I tried to get you to help, but you didn't hear me, so Henry and I put her in a cold bath—"

"You moved her?" Booker said, snapping out of his stupor.

"The fever was so high, I didn't know what else to do."

He pushed past her and rushed up the stairs. Heaving a sigh, she chased after him.

The room smelled of blood and vomit. Henry was on the floor, wiping away a dribble of puke from his chin.

"What did you morons do?" Booker hissed as he approached the bed.

She held her tongue. Alice's well-being was more important than defending her actions. At least for the moment.

After quickly examining the break, Booker cursed under his breath and dropped his head in his hands. "I need to remove the foot. Now."

"Now?" Henry stuttered.

Booker turned on him. "Yes, now, you blubbering milksop. Blast it, I told you two not to move her."

Henry shrank into the corner.

"We wouldn't have had to move her if you had opened the door when I first called for you," Trinket snapped.

"Excuse me?"

"You locked yourself down in that laboratory and we saw neither hair nor hide of you. What else were we supposed to do? Just let her succumb to the fever?"

Booker stepped towards her, his lips parting as if to respond. But then he froze, and his eyes glazed over slightly before wandering up and down her face.

This was not right. This was not Booker. What had gotten into him?

He clenched his jaw. "Help me bring her downstairs," he said as he went to scoop Alice up.

Henry moved to assist him, but Booker pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"Not you," he said. "Trinket."

He stormed out into the hallway, paying Henry's devastated expression no mind. Casting Henry an apologetic glance, she followed Booker out the door.

They rushed Alice down to the laboratory and laid her on the operating table. Booker wasted no time, tying a tourniquet above the break and tightening it until the bleeding stopped. Alice let out a whimper, the first sign of consciousness since the fever started.

Trinket brushed back Alice's hair as Booker sterilized his amputation tools and laid them out on the table. He poured some ether on a rag and tossed it to her before he went to the sink to wash his hands. She pressed the rag to Alice's mouth and nose, holding it there until her breathing was slow and easy.

"Let's get this over with," Booker said, not even meeting her eyes as he appeared by her side.

The procedure was similar to the one with Fidelia. He left a flap of skin as he cut into the muscles, tied off tiny bits of pieces here and there, and sawed through the bone in a matter of minutes. She caught the foot as it fell off. Her stomach churned at the sight of the bone covered in blood and gore, but she refused to show weakness in front of Booker right now. Swallowing down her disgust, she marched over to the crate of sawdust and tossed the severed foot into it.

Booker was already sewing up the skin with his perfect, tiny stitching when she returned. Tying off the last bit, he cut the thread and laid down his tools. He released a long sigh. All was quiet for a tense moment as he leaned against the operating table.

Her muscles were coiled tight as she waited. Waited for angry, shouted words. Waited for her official dismissal. Waited for him to snap.

"What were you thinking? Moving an injured girl like that?"

His words were eerily calm. She squared her shoulders. "I was thinking her fever was so high that she needed a doctor."

"There was a doctor downstairs."

"Yes, and he refused to answer the door."

Silence.

His stillness was frightening. What was he capable of doing to her with such controlled anger, especially in a room filled with saws and drugs? But surely he wasn't that crazed.

Was he?

"The break was bad enough to begin with," he continued slowly. "Now that I've had to amputate her foot prematurely, not only could infection set in, but it's put me behind schedule."

She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. "I apologize for the trouble and delay my actions have caused. But I had no choice. You wouldn't answer my cries for help. I had to act for fear the fever would worsen."

He crossed his arms over his chest, a spark of fire in his eyes. "You acted recklessly."

She laughed. "That is precious coming from the man who chased a mutant wolf into someone's backyard in the middle of the night."

His eyebrows shot up, and he drew back in surprise.

This was ridiculous. She didn't have to defend herself for trying to save Alice's life. Throwing her hands in the air, she pushed past him and stalked up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"To inform Henry that she's all right. I'm sure he's worried sick."

It took all her self-control to keep from slamming the door behind her. Obnoxious, arrogant man. Acting like this was her fault when he was the trained doctor who had left his patient in the care of a maid.

Her eyes watered, and she angrily blinked away the tears. Why was she crying over this? He wasn't worth it. He wasn't—

Wait. It wasn't Booker who was making her eyes water. It was something else. Was the air smoky? Or was her mind playing tricks on her? She sniffed. Something smelled like it was burning. But what—

She gasped. The soup!

She practically tripped over her own feet as she scrambled into the kitchen. A thick haze filled the room, stinging her eyes and flooding her lungs. Waving away the smoke, she tried to find her way to the stove and bumped into someone.

Henry.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked.

"I came down to see after Alice, but then I saw the smoke, so I just . . . I tossed it . . . in the . . . the . . ."

His words turned to hacking coughs, and she directed him to the window by the dresser. Taking deep breaths of the cold, outdoor air, she set her attention on Henry. Trails of tears streamed down his cheeks. Whether they were from the smoke or his worry over Alice, she didn't know.

But she could guess.

With a gentle smile, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "All went well. She's still under the effects of the ether, but she'll be fine."

Henry's expression crumpled into relief. He choked on a sob, leaning into the dresser to hide his face as his body shook with emotion.

Averting her gaze in an attempt to give him some privacy, she took in the mess around her. It would take hours to set this place to rights. She sighed and pushed back her tangled hair. Something thick and sticky coated her fingers, and she pulled them away to find Alice's blood on her hands.

Her heart skittered.

All your fault, all your fault, all your faaaaaaaault.

No. No, this blood wasn't her fault. It wasn't from death.

Not this time.

"I'll make you some tea as soon as I clean this mess up," she said to Henry as she made her way into the scullery, ignoring the voices' accusations.