The walk back to the house above the apothecary felt longer than it should have. The city streets were nearly empty at this late hour, just the occasional drunk stumbling home and the watchman making his rounds. Alistair kept his hand on Elara's elbow, guiding her through the shadows, both of them hyperaware of every footstep behind them, every figure in a doorway.
Silas could be anywhere. Watching. Waiting.
But they made it to the narrow door beside the shop without incident. Alistair's key turned in the lock with a soft click that sounded deafening in the quiet. They slipped inside, and he bolted it behind them with shaking hands.
The hallway was dark, but a thin line of light showed beneath the door to the small sitting room. Mrs. Dobbs was still awake.
Of course she was. It was past midnight, and neither of them had returned when expected. The good woman would be frantic with worry.
Elara's hand found his in the darkness. Her fingers were cold, trembling. "Are we really going to do this?" she whispered. "Tell her tonight?"
"We don't have a choice," Alistair whispered back. "Silas's deadline is noon tomorrow. We need her on our side before then."
"She'll have questions. So many questions."
"Then we answer what we can." He squeezed her hand. "Together."
Before either of them could lose their nerve, he opened the sitting room door.
Mrs. Dobbs was in her usual chair by the fire, her sewing in her lap, though it was clear she hadn't touched it in hours. The moment she saw them, she was on her feet, her round face creased with relief and worry in equal measure.
"Doctor! Miss Elara! Thank the Lord you're safe. I've been half out of my mind." She rushed forward, her hands fluttering over Elara as if checking for injuries. "When you didn't return for supper, and then the hours kept passing, I thought perhaps... oh, I don't know what I thought."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dobbs," Elara said softly. "We didn't mean to worry you."
"Sorry? Child, you're pale as milk. Come, sit by the fire. Both of you. You're chilled through." She was already pushing Elara toward the warmth, fussing over her like a mother hen. "I'll make tea. Or something stronger. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Mrs. Dobbs," Alistair said, his voice more serious than she'd likely ever heard it. "Please. Sit down. We need to talk to you about something. Something important."
The older woman froze, her eyes darting between them. Whatever she saw in their faces made her slowly sink back into her chair, her hands gripping the armrests. "What's happened? Is it Clara? Has she taken a turn?"
"No, Clara's fine. She's sleeping peacefully." Alistair moved to stand by the mantle, needing something solid to lean against. "This is about Elara. About why she's here. About... her family."
Mrs. Dobbs's eyes widened slightly. In all the weeks Elara had been living under this roof, they'd maintained a careful fiction. A distant cousin. A physician's referral. Nothing too specific. Nothing that invited questions.
But Mrs. Dobbs was no fool. She'd known there was more to the story. She'd simply been too kind, or too wise, to ask.
"Perhaps," the housekeeper said carefully, "it's time I heard the truth."
Elara took a shaky breath and sat in the chair across from Mrs. Dobbs. Alistair stayed standing, a silent support at her shoulder.
"My name is Elara Vane," she began, her voice quiet but steady. "My father was a merchant. Textiles. He died when I was sixteen, and my mother remarried a widower. A man with a son of his own from his first marriage."
Mrs. Dobbs nodded slowly, her expression unreadable.
"When my mother died two years later, I was left in my stepbrother's care. My inheritance was held in trust until I turned twenty-five, or until I married with his approval." Elara's hands twisted in her lap. "Silas. His name is Silas Vane."
"And this Silas," Mrs. Dobbs said quietly, "he wasn't kind to you."
"No." The word was barely a whisper. "He wanted control of my inheritance. He tried to force me to marry one of his business associates. A man three times my age. When I refused..." She looked up at Alistair, drawing strength from his presence. "He tried to have me declared dead."
Mrs. Dobbs's hand flew to her mouth. "Dead? But how... child, you're sitting right here."
"I was ill," Elara continued. The lies and the truth were so tangled now she hardly knew which was which. "Very ill, with a fever. The consumption was already in my lungs, but the fever made it worse. I remember very little. But I remember Silas standing over my bed. The doctor he'd brought. And then... darkness."
This part was true. The terrible, suffocating darkness of the grave.
"When I woke," and here she had to choose her words carefully, "I wasn't in my bed anymore. I was in a coffin."
Mrs. Dobbs gasped, her face draining of color. "Sweet merciful Lord."
"I managed to..." What? Dig herself out? Impossible. "I made noise. Enough noise that someone heard. A groundskeeper. He pulled me out before..." She couldn't finish that sentence.
"Before you were buried alive," Mrs. Dobbs finished, horror etched in every line of her face. "That monster. That absolute monster."
"I had nowhere to go," Elara said, and this was the truest thing she'd said all night. "My stepbrother controlled my home, my inheritance, everything. If I went back, he'd find another way to... to be rid of me. So I came to the only person I could think of. A physician I'd heard of who treated consumption. Who might help me without asking too many questions."
She looked up at Alistair. His face was carefully neutral, but she could see the tension in his jaw.
"Dr. Finch took me in," Elara continued. "He's been treating my illness. Giving me a place to stay. Keeping me safe."
"And never once told me the full truth of it," Mrs. Dobbs said, but there was no accusation in her voice. Only a weary understanding. She looked at Alistair. "You were protecting her."
"I was trying to," Alistair said quietly. "But tonight, her stepbrother found us. He knows she's alive. He knows where she is. And he's threatening to expose her. To expose all of us. Unless she signs over her inheritance to him."
Mrs. Dobbs was on her feet again, her shock transforming into righteous fury. "Over my dead body. That man tried to murder you, child. He belongs in prison, not making demands."
"That's what we hope to accomplish," Alistair said. "Tomorrow. We plan to go to a magistrate. To tell him everything. But we need..." He paused, choosing his words. "We need someone respectable to vouch for Elara's character. Someone the authorities will believe."
Understanding dawned in Mrs. Dobbs's eyes. "You need me to testify."
"Only if you're willing," Elara said quickly. "We would never ask you to lie, Mrs. Dobbs. Only to confirm what you know to be true. That I've been living here, recovering from illness. That I'm of sound mind. That Silas came here tonight making threats."
"He was here?" Mrs. Dobbs's eyes widened. "In this house?"
"No," Alistair said. "We were staying at a boarding house. Temporarily. To draw him out."
The housekeeper sank back into her chair, her mind clearly racing. "This is..." She shook her head. "This is beyond anything I could have imagined. A man trying to have his own sister declared dead for money. It's..." She looked at Elara, and her expression softened. "But you're alive, child. You're here. And that's what matters."
"So you'll help us?" Elara asked, hardly daring to hope.
Mrs. Dobbs reached across the space between their chairs and took Elara's hand in both of hers. Her skin was warm, rough from years of work, achingly maternal.
"My dear girl," she said firmly, "I've watched you sit with Clara night after night when she couldn't sleep for the coughing. I've seen you help the doctor save her life when I thought we'd surely lose her. You've become part of this family, strange as it may be. Of course I'll help you. I'll march into that magistrate's office myself if I have to."
Elara felt tears prick her eyes. She blinked them back furiously, but a few escaped anyway, tracking hot lines down her cheeks. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
Mrs. Dobbs pulled her into an embrace, and Elara let herself be held. Over the housekeeper's shoulder, she met Alistair's eyes. He looked as relieved as she felt.
They had their witness. Their anchor in the storm.
When Mrs. Dobbs finally released her, the older woman was wiping her own eyes. "Now then," she said, her voice brisk again, restored to her practical self. "We need to prepare. What time is this meeting with the magistrate?"
"We need to be there before noon," Alistair said. "Before Silas can make good on his threats."
"Then we should all get some rest," Mrs. Dobbs said firmly. "Miss Elara, you look dead on your feet. Up to bed with you. And Doctor, you as well. You'll be no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion."
It was sound advice, but Elara doubted any of them would actually sleep. Still, she stood, swaying slightly. The events of the evening were catching up with her. The confrontation with Silas, the walk through dark streets, the confession to Mrs. Dobbs. It had drained her completely.
"I'll check on Clara," Alistair said. "Make sure she's still resting comfortably."
"I'll walk Miss Elara to her room," Mrs. Dobbs said, taking Elara's arm. "Come along, child."
As they climbed the narrow stairs to the second floor, Mrs. Dobbs spoke quietly. "You know, when you first arrived, I thought you were just another of the doctor's charity cases. He's always been soft-hearted that way, taking in strays." She paused at the landing, looking at Elara in the dim light. "But I was wrong. You're not a stray. You're a survivor. And I'm proud to know you."
The words hit Elara harder than any of Silas's threats. She had to swallow hard before she could speak. "I'm not brave, Mrs. Dobbs. I'm terrified."
"Brave people usually are," the housekeeper said wisely. "It's the fools who have no fear." She opened the door to Elara's small room. "Now, into bed. Try to rest. Morning will come soon enough."
But after Mrs. Dobbs left, Elara couldn't bring herself to lie down. She stood at the window, looking out over the dark city. Somewhere out there, Silas was sleeping, confident in his power over her. Confident that she would come to him at noon, broken and defeated.
He had no idea what was waiting for him.
A soft knock at her door made her turn. Alistair stood in the doorway, his jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked as exhausted as she felt.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked.
"No."
He stepped into the room but left the door open. Propriety, even now. Even after everything. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. Tonight was..."
"Terrifying. Necessary. Both." She turned back to the window. "Do you think it will work? Our plan?"
"I think we have a better chance than we did this morning." He came to stand beside her, looking out at the same dark streets. "Mrs. Dobbs is a formidable ally."
"She thinks I was pulled from a coffin by a groundskeeper," Elara said quietly. "Not by a resurrection man digging for spare parts."
"She thinks what she needs to think to help you," Alistair said. "The truth would only hurt her. And it wouldn't change the important part."
"Which is?"
"That Silas tried to kill you. That he needs to be stopped. The how of your survival matters less than the fact of it."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching a cat slink across the street below.
"When this is over," Elara said, "if we survive it, what happens then?"
Alistair was quiet for a long time. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I suppose that depends on what you want."
"I want to live," Elara said. "Really live. Not as a ghost. Not as someone's victim. Not as a secret hidden in a basement." She looked at him. "Is that possible? After everything?"
"Yes," he said, and he sounded certain. "It's possible. It won't be easy. There will be questions, scandal, difficulties. But yes, Elara. You can have a life. A real one."
"And you?" she asked. "What do you want?"
His expression was unreadable in the shadows. "I want Clara to keep improving. I want to redeem myself for the terrible things I've done. I want..." He trailed off.
"What?"
"I want you to be safe," he said quietly. "That's all I've wanted since the moment I realized you were alive on that table. Everything else has been in service of that."
The words hung between them, heavy with meaning neither of them was quite ready to examine.
"We should rest," Alistair said finally, stepping back toward the door. "Tomorrow will be difficult."
"Alistair," Elara called as he reached the threshold. He turned back. "Thank you. For everything. For not going through with it. For helping me. For..."
"Don't," he said, his voice rough. "Don't thank me. Not for that. I'm the one who put you on that table in the first place."
"And you're the one who's been trying to save me ever since," Elara countered. "That has to count for something."
He looked at her for a long moment, something painful and complicated crossing his face. Then he nodded once and left, pulling the door gently closed behind him.
Elara finally lay down on the narrow bed, still fully dressed. Through the thin wall, she could hear Clara's soft, even breathing in the next room. The sound that had seemed impossible just weeks ago. The sound that proved miracles could happen, even in the darkest places.
Tomorrow, they would face Silas. Tomorrow, they would fight for her freedom, her life, her future.
But tonight, in this small room, listening to the proof that desperate science and desperate courage could sometimes save a life, Elara let herself believe that perhaps she deserved to be saved too.
That perhaps the woman who had crawled out of a grave could walk into the light.
That perhaps, impossibly, she had already won.