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Kartik helps me into the seat next to my sleeping father.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Doyle."

When we reach home, the lamps are lit, which is an ominous sign. Tom is waiting in the parlor. There's no way to hide what has happened.

"Gemma, where have you been at such an hour? Why are you dressed in my clothing? And what have you done to my best trousers?"

Kartik moves into the room, supporting Father as best he can.

"Father!" Tom says, taking in his semi-clothed, drugged state."What has happened?"

My words rush out in a terrified torrent. "We found him in an opium den. He'd been there for two days. Kartik wanted you but I didn't want to scandalize you at the club and so I--I--I . . ."

Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Jones arrives, her night bonnet still on her head.

"Is anything the matter, sir?" she asks.

"Mr. Doyle has taken ill," Tom says.

Mrs. Jones's eyes say she knows it's a lie, but she immediately springs into action."I'll fetch tea at once, sir. Should I send for the doctor?"

"No! Just the tea, thank you," Tom barks. He gives Kartik a hard look."I can manage from here."

"Yes, sir," Kartik says. For a moment, I don't know whether to go to my brother or Kartik. In the end, I help Tom and Mrs. Jones

get my father to bed. I change out of Tom's clothes, scrub myself of the soot of East London, and dress in my own nightclothes. I find Tom sitting in the parlor, staring into the fire. He takes the twigs that are too small to be of any good, snaps them in half, and feeds them methodically into the angry flames.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't know what else to do," I say. I wait for him to tell me how I've disgraced the family and that I shall never leave this house again.

Another twig lights. It screams in the fire and hisses down to cinder. I haven't any idea what to say.

"I can't cure him," Tom says so softly I have to strain to hear. "A medical student is a man of science. He is supposed to have the answers. I cannot even help my own father conquer his demons."

I lean my head against the wood of the doorframe, something solid to catch me should I slide right off this earth and keep falling. "You'll find a way, in time." I mean to be reassuring. I am not.

"No. Science is broken for me. It's broken." His head slumps forward into his hands. There's a strangled sound. He's trying not to cry, but he's helpless against it. I want to run across the rug and hold him tightly, risk his disdain to do it.

Instead, I turn the knob quietly and leave, letting him save face and hating myself for it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

THE SOUND OF DISTANT CHURCH BELLS WAKES ME. It is Christmas morning. The house is quiet as a morgue. Father and Tom are still asleep after our long night, and Grandmama has chosen to stay in bed as well. Only the servants and I are awake.

I dress quickly and quietly and make my way to the carriage house. Sleep still hangs about Kartik in a sweet, charming way.

"I've come to apologize for last night. And to thank you for helping him,'' I say.

"Everyone needs help sometimes," he says.

"Except for you."

He doesn't answer. Instead, he hands me something illwrapped in a scrap of cloth. "Merry Christmas, Miss Doyle."

I am astonished."What is this?"

"Open it."

Inside the cloth is a small blade the size of a man's thumb. Atop the blade is a small, crude totem of a many-armed man with a buffalo head.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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