Tombstone nodded.
Gwynnie groaned. A part of her had believed that catching Renard would be enough to force Fitzroy to pay for his crimes.
“Renard is dead,” Tombstone said simply.
Gwynnie staggered away and reached for the wall.
“I can get you out of this.”
Gwynnie lowered her hand, glowering at Tombstone, not daring to believe it. “What did you say?”
“I can get you out,” he repeated, his words fast. “We only have a minute —” he glanced at the yeoman — “so listen carefully. You have been an informant in this palace for me. I can persuade Pascal and Cromwell that you are of use. You are only guilty of theft. I can bargain for your life.”
“What is the bargain?” Gwynnie held her breath, fearing what was coming next.
“That you continue to act as my informant.”
She brushed his hand off her shoulder. He held up his hands, as if he was dealing with a wild animal, and took a step back.
“Work for me,” he continued, speaking quickly. “I always need someone listening in the palaces. You’d be shocked at what goes on. Agree to work for me, be my informant, and they’ll let you live.”
Gwynnie held a hand to her throat once more. It was freedom, was it not? Not the sort of freedom she craved, not a life in France living off the sale of the jewels they had stolen, but at least she would not be dead at the end of a noose. Surely, she had little choice.
“What about my mother?” she asked, gesturing back to the cell.
Tombstone grimaced and shook his head.
“You cannot leave her in there.”
“It is not within my power. Your mother is wanted for murder. It has been known for years that one of the Shadow Cutpurses killed, and she confessed that it was her to protect you. The tales are written in ballads, and the body was found. I have seen the papers that talk of it. It cannot have been you, Gwynnie. You are too young. It must have been your mother.”
Gwynnie turned on the spot, her hands in her hair. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t accept Tombstone’s bargain, agree to work for him, only to watch her mother hang for murder.
“It was justice,” Gwynnie muttered, but there was little feeling in the words now. “It was what she always said.”
“I cannot do anything,” Tombstone said. “I shall come to you tomorrow morning.” He looked up, for the yeoman was walking back. “Give me your answer then. It will give me time to make the arrangements.”
The door was unlocked.
Tombstone released her and Gwynnie stepped past the yeoman. Her eyes flitted over his weapon belt, and she saw a small dagger hanging by his hip.
She acted fast, pretending to trip on the threshold of the door.
“Oh, excuse me.” She grabbed onto the yeoman’s arm, steadying herself.
“Get in,” the man ordered and shoved her off him.
Gwynnie kept her hands by her sides as she staggered into the room. She caught a brief glimpse of Tombstone’s face, then the door was shut.
“What was that about?” Emlyn asked, sounding defeated.
Gwynnie turned to face her mother and held up the small dagger she had taken from the yeoman’s belt. “A way out of here.”
The tall tallow candle had nearly burnt out, with the flame close to the stub and all the wax having dripped onto the stone floor. Gwynnie used a hessian sack as a cloak, and she and Emlyn leaned against one another, trying to stay warm.
“I do not wish to do it.” Emlyn broke the silence between them.
It had to be dark outside now, judging by the fact that no shaft of light shone beneath the door. They had discussed their plan for hours, but as soon as darkness had fallen, they had both gone silent, until now.
“What choice do we have?” Gwynnie asked under her breath.
They had overheard about an hour or so before that Esme was to be moved to Newgate. The yeomen had argued loudly about the best way to get her out of the palace and to the wherrymen on the dock. It had given Gwynnie and Emlyn the confirmation they were looking for, that the wherrymen were working again.
“If you stay, they’ll take you to Newgate and hang you.”
“It means leaving you.” Emlyn swallowed uncomfortably. “I cannot imagine that.”
Gwynnie smiled sadly. She did not want to think about it either. Since they had lost her father, they had never spent a day apart.
“What is the alternative?” Gwynnie asked. “If I come with you —”
“I know.”
They had already discussed their limited options. It would be easier for one woman to sneak out of the palace than two. Easier as well to get a boat across the Thames. There was also the possibility that if Gwynnie stayed here, and Tombstone or Pascal ever caught wind of Emlyn’s whereabouts again, Gwynnie could interfere with the information. She could secure her mother’s freedom, in a way that she couldn’t if she ran with her now.
“I cannot deny one thing.” Emlyn took Gwynnie’s hands, gripping so tightly that it hurt Gwynnie’s knuckles.
“Well, that’s a soft touch,” Gwynnie said with sarcasm. “Ow!”
