“Prudent, indeed. Prudent, indeed. I take it you were able to restrain yourself from flinging my apprentice off the first available clock tower?”
She lowered her brows in mock gravity. “It required every ounce of my better judgment and fear of imprisonment to resist the temptation, especially those first few days when he was such an impertinent hobgoblin.”
Grand chuckled. “And what do you think ought to be done with the hobgoblin now?”
“I should like to keep him.”
“My, my, that is a surprise. You don’t still wish me to dismiss him?”
“Stars, no. I might have to reconsider accepting his suit if he’s no longer gainfully employed.”
“Well, then I shall keep him on. We don’t want to go breaking the lad’s heart, now do we?” Something behind Clara caught Grand’s eye, dousing his smile with confusion. “I say. What are you—”
A swift arm hooked Clara’s waist and yanked her against a solid figure. Before she could scream, a second hand snaked around and held a knife to her throat. She stiffened, her breath severed in gasps. The blade smelt of chicken. A glance toward the table, the only movement she dared though her arms remained at liberty, confirmed the set of silver wasbereft of one knife. Grand had gone ashen, but his coloring returned in a rush of red. His fists clenched, and he took a step forward.
“Stay back, old man!”
Spittle seared Clara’s ear, and her stomach roiled.Mr. Forrester.She swallowed, and the blade scraped against her skin.God, preserve us.
Hot breath steamed her neck. “Give me the letter, and I’ll release her.”
The wrinkles along Grand’s brow furrowed. “If you mean the letter about my son’s fate, you’ve come too late. Its tidings of sorrow have been laid to rest in the river. Washed away, washed away.”
A curse shattered into a rumbling growl in Mr. Forrester’s chest. His arm cinched tighter around Clara’s waist. “Fine. Then I’ll be keeping a hold of Miss Stanton while you lead us to wherever you’ve hidden the owl.”
Grand’s eyes widened. “Why do you want—”
“Take me to it. Now!” Mr. Forrester’s shout reverberated through her skull. “I’m not leaving without that machine. I have to have it!”
Trembling from hairpins to boots, Clara begged Grand with her eyes not to comply. Nothing good could come of acquiescing to Mr. Forrester’s demands and removing themselves to wherever Grand had secreted the owl. It was sure to be far away from prying eyes and any hope of aid. They needed to stay here, in plain view of the inn. She needed to distract Mr. Forrester until Theodore came outside.Help me, Lord.
“Rupert ... how did you get away? What happened to the men guarding you in Strasbourg?”
“I ... It was an accident. I never meant to hit him so hard. I never meant for any of this.” The fiery rage in Mr. Forrester’s voice crumbled to ashes of regret. Slowly, the blade fell awayfrom her neck to her chest, hovering near enough to menace but far enough to reveal the shaking in his hands. “I was just trying to survive another day. Just doing what I had to do to keep from going back to debtor’s prison. To keep from...”
To keep from dying there, just like his mum.
A sob wrenched itself from Mr. Forrester’s chest and racked his whole body.
Clara ached for the little boy she’d never known. For the young man she’d once adored with the whole of her naïve heart.Lord, help me get through to him.“What happened to your mother was a tragic injustice. I can’t fathom how—”
“Of course you can’t!” He lashed out. “You, born into privilege and security. You, with your fine house and enough food to waste on vermin. You’ve never known what it is to go without.” Mr. Forrester sneered. “You know nothing of loss.”
Clara bit her tongue. Apparently the deaths of Uncle Fritz and Granny Drosselmeyer were of no account.
“I know what it is to lose a mother.” Mr. Theodore appeared on the cobbles, pistol drawn and aimed at Mr. Forrester.
Dragging in a breath, Mr. Forrester stoked the coals of his anguish. “Do you know what it is to have her die in your arms?”
“Nay, but I know what it is to be the one who caused her death. That is its own pain.” One cautious step at a time, Mr. Theodore approached them, speaking in a soothing cadence, as though to calm a skittish colt. “I also know what it is to spend your days striving to outrun a past that’s shackled to your feet like a ball and chain. No matter how you try to ignore the cold weight slicing into your flesh at every turn, the blasted thing can’t be shaken. But it can be unlocked by the One who holds the key. I know what it is to finally have that ball and chain removed. To be given a second chance. You can have that same chance now, Forrester. Just put down the knife and release Clara.”
Shaking his head, Mr. Forrester wiped what must be tears against Clara’s hair. “No. Nothing ever comes to me so easy. I was born out of chances.” The knife, though quivering with hesitation, remained clutched in his white-knuckled grasp. An unrelenting threat.
He wasn’t going to surrender. Clara could see that now as clearly as she saw Theodore’s determined green eyes. She held the gaze of the man she loved and mouthed two words.Be ready.With the slightest of nods, Theodore communicated his understanding. His willingness to fight alongside her for however many days God saw fit to give them.
Help us, Lord.
Slowly, Clara reached for her chatelaine and found her sewing shears. Drawing from strength not her own, she fisted the handle and slammed the blades into Mr. Forrester’s thigh.
