Trinket slipped out of the house early the next morning under the guise of shopping for breakfast, but in truth, she was trying to buy herself more time before she had to face Booker. Though she knew she'd been out of line in how she had acted the night before, she couldn't deny feeling justified in her outrage.

"You're a maid," she mumbled to herself. "It's not your place to question him. You just need to be good. Remember, you're only a servant."

And yet that righteous indignation still festered inside of her.

After picking up bacon from the butcher and purchasing some new teas and a jar of honey from the tea shop, she wandered through the city center and prepared herself for the inevitable confrontation with Booker. What would he say to her? What would she say to him? Would he dismiss her? And if he did, where would she go? What would she do?

As she contemplated her dilemma, she spotted Gin weaving her way through the bustling crowd. Her hair was stuffed under her bowler hat, which cast a shadow over her face. A fashionable couple passed by the urchin, and with a fluid, almost unperceivable motion, she pulled a pocket watch from the man's coat and slipped it into her own oversized jacket. Turning to flee in the opposite direction, she froze when she caught sight of Trinket watching her. The girl's eyes widened momentarily before she ducked her head down and darted towards her.

"That would be called stealing," Trinket whispered teasingly when the girl was within earshot.

"Yeah, well, out here it's called surviving," Gin said, glancing about nervously. "I reckon you're gonna turn me in?"

Trinket gave a soft smile. "No, I'm not."

Gin's eyebrows went up. "You aren't?"

Shaking her head, Trinket replied, "No. I have no right to judge you. I'm not in your situation. Who's to say that if I were I wouldn't do the very same thing?"

With a disbelieving laugh, Gin said, "You're not half-bad, lady. So what, Booker ain't here with you?"

At the mention of the callous doctor's name, anger and anxiety flared up in Trinket's chest again. "No, I'm just picking up supplies. The master of the house doesn't typically accompany his housemaid on her errands."

"No, but Booker isn't a typical master of the house."

"You are right about that."

Trinket glanced at the little urchin, and a thought began to form in her mind. Well, more like a scheme that might delay the conversation with Booker she knew was coming. At least for an hour or so.

"Say, Gin," she said. "Would you like to have breakfast with us? There's more than enough."

Gin narrowed her eyes. "I don't take charity."

"It's not charity. It's an invitation to a friend of my employer. You are Booker's friend, are you not?"

Averting her gaze in uncharacteristic shyness, the urchin cleared her throat. "I don't know that what we are is friends exactly. I do his dirty work for him and he helps me out where I need it."

Trinket shrugged. "You seem like friends to me. But that's fine. If you'd rather not, then I'll be on my way."

Turning away, she headed in the direction of home. She couldn't help but smile as she heard Gin's soft footsteps chasing after her. Glancing over her shoulder, she found the girl scowling at her back.

"Well, as long as it's not charity, there's no point in passing up a good meal," she mumbled.

When they reached the house, Trinket brought Gin inside and took her dirty coat. "You're welcome to go wait in the parlour," she said to the urchin as she hung both of their coats up. "Booker's probably downstairs. I'm sure he'll be up shortly."

As if on cue, the laboratory door creaked open. "Ah, Trinket, there you are. I wanted—"

Spinning around to face Booker, she gestured to Gin and said, "We have a guest, Mr. Larkin."

Though he raised a suspicious eyebrow, he turned to the urchin and smiled. "Good morning, Gin. Do you have any news for me?"

Gin scuffed the hardwood floor with her boot. "Sorry, nothing yet."

His expression suddenly darkened. "Is something wrong? Are you in trouble? Do you need help?"

"She's here for breakfast," Trinket said, her heart softening slightly at his obvious concern for the girl's well-being. "I invited her."

His muscles visibly relaxed. "Ah. Is that so?"

"Unless you're busy," Gin said, moving back towards the door. "I don't wanna be in the way or anything."

"You could never be in the way, Gin," Booker said. "Besides, it's good for me to sit down for a meal once in a while."

"Or ever," Trinket mumbled under her breath before she could stop herself. She gasped and covered her mouth. Oh, she was most definitely going to lose her job.

But instead of taking offense, Booker gave a lopsided grin. "Such a saucy housemaid I've employed, eh, Gin?" he said, his playful gaze on Trinket.

"I think a housemaid would have to be saucy to work for you, Booker," the girl replied.

A smile tugged at Trinket's lips. "I'll go get started on breakfast."

"Saucy but hardworking," Booker said, putting an arm around Gin and guiding her into the parlour. "A splendid combination if I've ever seen one."

Gin snorted. "Better than your other maids."

Smothering another smile, Trinket made her way to the kitchen and got to work fixing some eggs and bacon.

~

As she waited for the tea to steep in the kitchen, Trinket set the table in the dining room. Even though she'd cleaned it that week, she still had to wipe a thin layer of dust from the tablecloth. Glancing about the room, she took in the pale blue wallpaper embossed with dark, leafy designs and the elegant tapestries that hung alongside the elaborate sconces bearing the candles she'd just lit.

Were any of these things ever appreciated by others? It was clear Booker wasn't the type to hold dinners and parties. So why did he even bother to keep such a lovely home?

She sighed and fidgeted with her apron. Perhaps it was part of blending in with the rest of society. If anyone were to come inside Booker's house, they wouldn't suspect him of hiding a laboratory beneath all this fine decor. She herself knew that the best way to hide abnormalities was to try to look as normal as possible.

"I'm more like him than I thought," she mumbled as she returned to the kitchen.

Maybe she had no right to question whether his behavior was appropriate or not. Surely he had his reasons for why he acted as he did. After all, she hadn't reproached Gin for stealing from the gentleman in the city center. How could she condemn Booker for his seemingly selfish priorities when she hardly knew him or his situation?

She brought the trays of food and tea into the dining room and placed them on the table before opening the parlour door a crack. Booker and Gin were playing cards on the settee. Despite her age, there was an air of professionalism in the way Gin held her cards at just the right angle to assume nonchalance while obviously scheming her next move. She was not the pitiable waif some may mistake her for. Appearances, as Trinket well knew, were often deceiving.
So maybe Booker wasn't as heartless as he put on.

She opened the door wider and announced, "Breakfast is served."

"Thank goodness," Booker said as he laid his cards down on the table and got to his feet. "I'm not certain my coffers could handle another round with this one."

"What, you want me to go easy on you?" Gin teased, following him into the dining room.

Trinket inched towards the kitchen door as they took their seats, but before she could slip away unnoticed, Booker called out to her. "Going somewhere, Miss Trinket?"

"I was just—"

"Getting a third plate and cup? Good idea, as it seems you miscounted and only set the table for two."

He lifted his eyebrows expectantly, and she let out a short breath and nodded. "My mistake, Mr. Larkin."

She quickly fetched more dishware from the kitchen and returned to the dining room. Sitting in the chair nearest to the kitchen door, she poured herself a cup of tea and stole a glance at Booker as he took a sip from his own cup.

He puckered his lips. "Is this new?"

She added some bacon and eggs to her plate. "Yes, it's lemon-flavored. I bought a few more teas this morning. Is it not to your liking?"

"No, no. Just different," he said as he sipped it again. "Certainly excites the taste buds."

"I like it," Gin said, taking a large gulp from her cup.

"Honey may help to curve the tartness," Trinket said, passing Booker the jar.

He furrowed his brow as he examined it. "Did you take this out of my bag?"

"No, I bought it specifically for the kitchen. Believe it or not, some people use honey for tea and food as opposed to cuts and gashes."

Adding a spoonful to his cup, he gasped in feigned astonishment. "Well, I'll be. You learn something new every day, don't you?"

"Adelaide always put a shot of whiskey in her tea," Gin said through a mouthful of eggs.

"That doesn't surprise me in the least," Booker said, stirring the honey into his tea.

"Who is Adelaide?" Trinket asked.

"She used to work at the Clocktower," Gin said. "But most people knew her cuz of her work on the side. You know, on her back."

Trinket nearly choked on her tea.

"She's not around anymore," Gin continued, ignoring her reaction. "Turned up dead one day. Stabbed. Ring finger was missing, too."

This didn't seem like the right sort of conversation for breakfast. "The poor woman," Trinket muttered.

Gin shrugged. "That's what happens when you mess with the wrong people. Or when you're not clever enough to talk your way out of trouble."

"Did they find out who killed her?"

"She was a night flower. No one really cared. But it was probably the Mice. They have a thing for cutting off fingers. Right, Booker?"

He nodded as he sipped his tea.

"Adelaide was one of Booker's favorite informants," Gin said with more than a little resentment.

"She did love to talk," Booker said. "And I certainly loved to listen."

Gin waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I'm sure listening was all you did."

Booker cleared his throat, his cheeks going slightly pink. "Now, now, I'm a proper gentleman. I don't mix work with pleasure. Besides, her teeth were far too big for my liking."

"What do her teeth matter when it comes to tupping and wapping?"

"You, however," he said, pointing his fork at Gin, "are the best informant I've ever had. I'm quite pleased to have found you. Or rather, that you found me."

She practically glowed at his praise. "Adelaide liked being the center of attention. That's what got her killed. You can't be known as a gossip or else you'll get caught. And you need to have a good network. Either that or work alone."

"That's true. She was very popular with the men, and her 'friends' didn't seem to like that. I'm not surprised someone stabbed her in the back. Both metaphorically and literally."

"And how do you know she didn't betray you?" Trinket asked.

He shrugged. "She may have, but I was never fully truthful with Adelaide."

"Do you lie to all of your informants?"

"No," Gin snapped defensively.

Booker smiled at the urchin. "No, only the ones I know I can't trust."

"Why even have dealings with those who are untrustworthy?" Trinket asked.

"Just because they may sell me out, doesn't mean they don't have valuable information. Besides, I have a knack for being able to differentiate between the untrustworthy and the worthy."

He gave Trinket a quick wink, and she turned her eyes down to her food. Did he think her trustworthy? And if so, did that mean she'd still have a job by the end of the morning?

"I'm happy she's dead," Gin said.

Trinket dropped her fork in surprise as Booker burst out laughing. "Should you speak of the dead like that?" she said.

"What's she gonna do? Come back and haunt me? Anyway, with her out of the way, my talents were really able to shine through."

"And your talents are endless," Booker said, raising his cup to her.

~

When they had finished eating, Trinket began clearing the table and bringing the dishes into the scullery. Stepping back into the dining room to fetch the rest, she nearly crashed into Booker as he came through the door, his hands filled with dirty plates.

"Thank you," she said, taking them from him and retreating to the scullery.

He followed her and leaned against the sink as she started scrubbing a pan. "You seem less angry with me than you did last night. Did a pleasant night's sleep improve your mood?"

His condescending tone went right through her. "Mr. Larkin—"

"Please, if we're going to argue, at least call me by my name."

She sighed and wiped her wet hands with a dish towel before turning to face him. "Why haven't you dismissed me yet?"

He drew his brows together. "Dismiss you? Why would I dismiss you?"

"For my insubordinate behavior."

"What, you mean because you're mad at me? If I cut ties with every person whose feathers I'd ruffled, my social circle would be non-existent. But I do like to know why people are upset with me. So tell me, what is it about me that so disgusts you?"

She winced, recalling her blunt words the night before. "I'm sorry, Mr. Larkin—"

"Booker," he corrected.

"Booker. I'm sorry for what I said. I was out of place to speak to you in such a manner."

"Believe it or not, my dear, I actually enjoy a good verbal spar once in a while. I'm not offended by your words or actions."

Staring at him for a long moment, she shook her head slowly. "You are a very unusual employer, Booker Larkin. My mother would've had a fit if I'd spoken to her like that. If I'd been her maid, she would have sacked me in a heartbeat."

He smirked. "Well, reliable help is hard to find, so I can't go sending my maids away after every disagreement. Come now, tell me exactly what it was that elicited your rather icy response yesterday."

She sucked in her lips and let out a heavy breath. "I was just shocked to hear that you would put your love for adventure above the lives of your neighbors."

"Is that all?"

Was that all? It seemed like a fairly glaring fault. "Yes, I suppose."

Booker scoffed. "I'm not a good man, Trinket. I assumed you were smart enough to realize that."

She bristled slightly. "You're a tad eccentric, true, but—"

"There's no 'but.' I'm callous and calculating. Yes, I can put on the charm if it suits my needs, but the welfare of those around me isn't all that important. I've always been that way. My work comes before all else."

Eyeing him warily, she considered those brief seconds back in the foyer when he'd thought Gin was in trouble. The look of panic and concern on his face. Surely that hadn't been put on. What had he to gain from pretending to worry about an urchin?

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "But I understand. My personality is not for everyone. If you don't think you can handle me, then I can—"

"No."

His mouth snapped shut at her quick response. Even she was a bit surprised by her lack of hesitation.

She chewed on her lip and turned her eyes downward. Maybe she was as bad as he was. She was willing to selfishly put her concern for Booker's neighbors aside just to keep her job. And then breaking out of Elysium. That had to have been her most selfish act of all. After everything she'd destroyed, after everyone she'd hurt, what right did she have to seek a better life? Didn't she deserve to be locked up forever? Wasn't it selfish to try to escape her punishment?

Selfish whore.

Hypocrite.

Liar.

No, she had no right to judge Booker. The voices were right. She was as much a deviant as he was. Worse, even.

She lifted her head and offered Booker a gentle smile. "It's fine. I was just taken aback. I'll try not to react so vocally next time."

"I don't mind you disagreeing with me, so long as it doesn't affect your work as my assistant."

"It won't. I promise."

With a devilish grin, he raised an eyebrow and leaned towards her. "So I don't have to worry about you stabbing me?"

Her stomach twisted at the joke that hit a little too close to home, but she forced a laugh. "No, you don't."

He rubbed his hands together. "All right then. Now that that's cleared up, Gin and I are about to play charades. Would you care to join us?"

She nodded at the sink. "I have dishes to wash."

"They can be washed later."

"If I don't scrub them now, the eggs will be impossible to get off."

His shoulders slumped. "Trinket, please, come play with us. Charades is exceedingly more interesting with three people, especially when Gin's involved. She's delightfully inventive."

She glanced over at him and smiled. Untying her apron and draping it over the sink, she followed him out of the kitchen and into the parlour where Gin was waiting.

~

After an hour of the most uncanny game of charades Trinket had ever played—with words such as "cadaver" and "butcher" and "frostbite"—Gin decided it was time to take her leave, saying she had some important appointments to keep.

"You're not so bad, you know," Gin said as Trinket accompanied her out the door.

Trinket smiled and rubbed her arms against the cold. "I'm happy you approve of me."

"If Booker likes you, it must mean you're something special."

"I don't know if it's so much that he likes me as he sees how I can benefit him."

Gin shrugged. "That's Booker's way. But I think him using us is the closest he comes to liking someone."

Trinket sighed, her breath coming out in a plume. "You may be right."

"But you know, he can use me all he wants. He's the only person I'll be loyal to till the day I die. And if that day has to come, I just hope I'm lucky enough to die for him."

There were no words to respond to such a dark sentiment. Trinket could only stare as the young urchin tipped her hat and scampered off into the snowy street.

"I see Booker's not the only morbid one in this city," she said as she closed the door.