From The Ashes (The Ministry of Curiosities #6)(49)

Bell's gaze flicked to Lincoln. "I…don't know."

The policemen directed Lincoln and me to walk between them. I lifted my collar to my nose but it didn't keep the chill at bay. It felt like I was drowning in fog, so much like the airy stuff spirits were made of.

"Whatever that man stole from you, he took with him," Lincoln said to Bell. "I'm sorry, but we're victims too." If anyone could look at Lincoln and think him a victim, they weren't looking very hard. Even captured as he was, he showed no signs of worry. It was as if he were having a stroll on a pleasant evening.

"I doubt it," Bell growled. "But I won't press charges if you tell me how you did…that."

"Ain't up to you," the sergeant said.

Bell, however, didn't seem to hear him. He grabbed Lincoln's sleeve. Even in the weak light of the streetlamps, I could see the glimmer of something in his wide eyes. Madness? "Please, you must tell me. I'll give you my entire commission if you'll share your process with me."

The sergeant pulled him off Lincoln. Dr. Bell growled in frustration, but walked meekly the rest of the way to the station. I no longer felt so cold, or so anxious about our fate, because now I knew it wasn't all for naught—Dr. Bell had been commissioned to bring the dead back to life. His reaction proved it.



"Let her go," Lincoln said after we arrived at the Snow Hill Police Station. "She's done nothing wrong."

"Neither of us has," I said. "That man, Mannering, forced us."

"We've only got your word on that," said the sergeant. "Wait 'till morning. The detective will sort it out. If he thinks you're telling the truth, he'll let you go."

"The morning!" I cried. "But that's hours away. What will you do with us until then?"

"Put you in the holding cells."

Bile surged up my throat. I put my hand out to steady myself. Lincoln stepped toward me, but a policeman held him back while another caught me.

He laughed. "The cells aren't too bad, miss. There's worse in the city, believe me. We keep ours clean and check 'em regular to make sure there ain't no misbehavin'."

I nodded numbly and blinked at Lincoln. He stared back, his eyes as black as London's starless winter night, and just as grim.

"There's only two others in the women's cell," the constable went on cheerfully. "It's always quiet this time of year. Too cold to be out sinning."

Had it really only been six months ago that I'd sat in a cell in the heat of summer? That time, I'd been thrown in with the men. Men who'd seen me as a toy to pass around, and then fight over. Men who wanted my body, even though they thought I was a boy. The spirit of a dead man had come to my aid then, and helped me escape. I had him to thank for being alive, and for changing my life, too.

"Charlie?" Lincoln said softly. "Are you all right?"

I forced a smile. "It's only for a few hours. I can manage until then, and when the inspector hears our story, he'll let us go." I hoped he understood that I was asking him not to make a scene, that I had faith in other, legal, methods.

"Let her go," he said again to the sergeant now steering Dr. Bell to one of the desks. "She's a young lady who doesn't belong in a place like this."

The sergeant sighed. "I agree, but I can't let her go until the inspector has spoken to her. I am sorry, miss." He offered me a smile. "Just a few hours."

It was a good sign that he was treating me gently. It meant he believed our story. I just hoped the detective inspector was as gullible.

Lincoln and I were separated, searched and placed in holding cells next to one another. They might as well have been on opposite sides of the city. We couldn't communicate in any way.

Lincoln had probably disposed of the paperwork in the coach before getting out, so I wasn't concerned about the police finding it. I was more concerned with staying warm in the freezing cell.

My two fellow prisoners were both whores going by their painted faces and low-cut bodices. One, a scrawny figure whose age I couldn't determine in the poor light, sat with her chin resting on drawn-up knees. The other's snores were in danger of waking all of London. She did not rouse when the door slammed shut behind me.

The sleeping prisoner occupied the only bed so I sat on the floor nearby because it was as far from the other woman as possible. It soon became apparent why she'd moved to the opposite side of the cell. The sleeping princess on the bed reeked of gin and vomit.

"I don't smell much better," she said, as if she could read my thoughts. "But I don't have lice." She nodded at the woman scratching her head in her sleep.

I shuffled away from her and closer to the scrawny woman on the floor. She looked to be about my age. Her oily black hair hung around a face marked by the pox, and her shawl was so thin I could see through it in patches.

"You in for stealing too?" she asked.

"Yes, but there's been a mistake."

She snorted. "I tried tellin' 'em that too, but it didn't work."

I hugged my knees as she was doing, but didn't dare close my eyes. I needed to keep my wits about me in case she wanted to attack me and steal my coat. The policemen had left it with me after they'd searched it.