Page 45

Hodge's expression didn't change, but his gaze flicked to the purse. "The duke is scheduled for evaluation at dawn. No exceptions."

“I must speak to him. There is much at stake.” She withdrew a second purse and set it next to the first. The admiral made a strangled sound next to her.

I’d make a deal with the devil himself to see Graham.

“Five minutes. Please,” she added and held the man’s gaze, willing him to understand the dire circumstances.

Hodge's hand moved toward the purses, then stopped. "If Dr. Wrenn learns of this?—"

"He won't," Abigail promised. "Not from us."

He hesitated only a moment longer before pocketing both purses with a smooth motion and stood. "Five minutes. This way."

As they followed Hodge deeper into the asylum, the distant sounds that had been muffled in the antechamber grew more distinct—muted sobbing, unintelligible muttering, and occasionally, a piercing wail that made Abigail's skin crawl.

The corridors twisted like a labyrinth, each passage identical to the last—stone walls slick with condensation, iron-bound doors set at regular intervals.

"Your husband's quarters," Hodge announced, stopping before a heavy door with a small viewing slot. He produced a ring of keys and selected one. "Five minutes. When I return, you leave—without protest."

"Understood," Abigail agreed without hesitation.

Hodge unlocked the door and pushed it open just enough for them to enter.

The stench rolled out—mildew, urine, blood.

Abigail swallowed hard, bracing herself against the wall for a heartbeat before she could cross the threshold.

She stepped into the cell, the admiral close behind her.

The door clanged shut behind them. The only light came from Hodge's lantern, casting long shadows through the grate.

Graham crouched in the far corner, knees drawn to his chest, eyes glassy and unseeing. A smear of dried blood marked the wall beside him. He rocked back and forth as if in time to an unheard song.

It was as if the man she loved—there was no doubt left that she loved Graham—had been scraped away, leaving only this shell behind.

“Graham.” Abigail choked out his name on a sob and moved toward him, but Elias grabbed her arm.

Graham’s head snapped up. His gaze was wild, unfocused. He went utterly, preternaturally still, just staring at them.

“Don’t move,” Elias whispered. “On your feet, soldier.” He barked the order and his grip on Abigail’s arm tightened.

Graham flinched at the command. He rocked harder. "Redchester, Graham. Surgeon Lieutenant. Naval Division 14." The words tumbled out mechanically, his gaze fixed on some distant point.

"Stand and report, Redchester," Elias commanded, moving to stand right in front of Graham.“I said stand up,” the admiral braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest.

Graham shuddered, blinking at Elias before he struggled to his feet, using the wall for support.

His hands trembled violently. He mumbled something low under his breath as he drew himself up.

Abigail stood statue still. Her heart shredded at the struggle as he clawed his way back through god knew what horrors.

Swaying unsteadily, Graham flexed his hands, reopening the cuts on his knuckles. Fresh blood trickled down his fingers.“I am Graham Redchester," he said, each word deliberate, measured. "I am in London."

“Just so. Steady on,” Elias nodded.

"Impeccable timing as always, Admiral." Graham's voice was sandpaper-rough, but a ghost of his usual composure flickered across his face—then vanished as his gaze shifted to Abigail. Horror and shame replaced recognition. He turned away sharply. "Take her away."

Abigail stepped back, giving him space, wrapping her arms around herself to keep from running to him. "I wanted you to know that you're not alone," she said.

Graham paused, his back rigid. "Leave now, Abigail. Please." The last word almost broke her. It bled with his humiliation, his shame.

You stubborn man. Let me help you.

"No. I won’t leave you." Her voice was quiet but resolute. "I'm not skilled with a sword, but I'll stand beside you as you fight your demons."

"And what happens when those demons hurt you?" he demanded, still refusing to face her.

"That's my chance to take." Abigail stepped forward again. "I'm not going anywhere, and we've only got five minutes to figure out how to get you out of here and stop Hollan. Do we waste them arguing or strategizing?"

At the mention of Hollan, Graham's posture changed. He turned slowly, focus sharpening in his eyes.“What’s happened?”

"Nedley's exhausted every legal avenue," Elias said grimly. "We need another approach. You are a guest of this fine establishment until an evaluation is completed. No way around it.”

Graham heaved a sigh.“A Dr. Wrenn is supposed to evaluate me at dawn.”

“Yes, well, I doubt he’ll rush through his breakfast kippers to get here in a timely manner,” Elias said.“Your duchess browbeat the simpleton at the door and bribed the guard to get us this far. I believe we’ve leveraged as far as we’re able.”

Graham's brows shot up, and Abigail raised her chin.“The rules of decorum do not matter when those I love are in peril.”

A shadow of a smile crossed Graham’s mouth.“And they call me dangerous.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.“If only they’d taken me to Bedlam.”

"It's a sad day indeed when one would prefer accommodations at Bedlam to their current circumstances," Elias said.

“Lincoln Wallace is there,” Graham said.

"The alienist?" Elias's brows rose.

"The very same. I speak with him occasionally—professionally." Graham paced the small cell, energy returning to his movements. "He specializes in maladies of the mind, particularly those afflicting soldiers.”

“Will he come here?” Abigail asked, seeing the faintest flicker of light on the vast, dark horizon.

Graham nodded.“He has privileges in all the best madhouses.” He pinned Elias with a look.“You look like hell, Admiral, but can you manage this one more thing?”

The old soldier drew himself up.“I’ll drag him by the coattails if I have to, but getting him here in the middle of the night, in this weather. That’ll take some doing.”

"You'll find a way," Graham said, and it wasn't a question.

The scrape of a key in the lock signaled their time was up. Hodge's sour face appeared in the doorway, lantern held high.

"Time's up. Out."

Abigail moved toward Graham, desperate for some final connection, but he stepped back, his expression closing like a door slammed shut.

"Get her out of here," he said, his voice flat and cold.

He needed space more than solace. Pride more than pity.

If stepping away is the price of his dignity, I’ll pay it—bleeding all the way.

She kept her head up and eyes dry as Elias guided her toward the door. At the threshold, she turned back.

“You’re not alone, Graham.”

Graham's only response was a curt nod before he turned away, retreating to the corner where they'd found him.The door shut with a finality that echoed through her ribs. Like a heartbeat turned to stone.

"This way," Hodge said, already moving back toward the entrance.

Abigail planted her feet, forcing the men to stop. "No."

They turned to stare at her.

"Your Grace," Elias began, his tone cajoling.

"I'm staying right here." She stepped back toward Graham's cell door, placing her hand against the rough wood.

Hodge's face darkened. "Now see here?—"

"I will not leave him alone in this place."

"By God, I've had enough of pushy nobs for one night," Hodge exploded.

Abigail exchanged a glance with Elias. "What do you mean?"

"First you two, now another pair of dukes in my office demanding access." Hodge threw up his hands. "This ain’t a bloody tea house for the titled."

Hope flared bright in Abigail's chest. "My brothers-in-law."

Elias was already moving. "Take me to them. Now."

Hodge hesitated, looking between them.

"You can't stay here," Hodge said, advancing on her,his expression thunderous.

"I'm afraid I must." Abigail held her ground.

Hodge reached for her arm. "Come along now?—"

Before his hand could close around her wrist, Abigail slid down the wall to sit on the floor, her skirts billowing around her. The move—learned from countless standoffs with recalcitrant children at Beacon House—caught Hodge entirely off guard.

"What in blazes are you doing?"

"Making myself comfortable," Abigail said, arranging her sodden skirts. "I'm staying right here until my husband is released. And I should warn you, Mr. Hodge, I'm as stubborn as a mule and nearly as heavy when I choose to be."

From the other side of the door came a low, rough laugh. Hodge stared at the door, then at Abigail, clearly at a loss.

"Mad," he muttered. "The lot of you."

He stomped off down the corridor with Elias right behind him, leaving Abigail alone in the dim hallway. She leaned her head back against the cold wood of the door, trying to still her shaking hands and bleeding heart.

"Abigail?" Graham's voice, muffled but close, came through the door. "Are you still there?"

"Always," she said, pressing her palm flat against the wood as if she could reach through to him.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sounds mad men made in the night.

"I don't suppose," he said finally, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it, "you might have some of that brave I could borrow just now?"

Tears welled in her eyes, sliding silently down her cheeks. "You can have it all," she promised, her voice breaking on the last word.

She closed her eyes, imagining him just on the other side, his hand pressed to the same spot as hers, separated by inches of wood but connected by something stronger than asylum walls or iron bars.

The minutes passed as the long night crept toward dawn.