The Chemickal Marriage

sorts of things – perhaps more about your own troubles than you. But if you expect me to help you must say what you divulged to Colonel Bronque.’
    Gorine snorted with disbelief. ‘How can you help me?’
    ‘I have already untied your hands.’
    ‘And I thank you. But tonight my place of business has been destroyed, my friends – my family – have disappeared, others whose welfare is my charge have been thrown to the law.’
    Miss Temple crossed to the door. ‘Obviously first we must quit this shed.’
    ‘It is bolted from the outside – and made to withstand the strength of a horse.’
    ‘But I am not a horse.’ Miss Temple dropped into a far from ladylike crouch.
    ‘One wonders
what
you are.’
    Miss Temple smiled, for she took pleasure in being wrongly doubted. This was hardly the first time she had been shut in a stable. As a girl, being a routine nuisance, she’d often found the door bolted behind her by some resentful groom. When Kelling had pushed her in, she had noticed the similarity to her father’s stable: instead of a wooden bar across the front, the doors were joined by an ostensibly stronger metal bolt, waist-high, which was further pinned in place by an iron pole sunk into the ground. Unable to shift the bolt, the young Miss Temple discovered that one
could
lift up the pole. Doing so while carefully pushing outwards opened the doors in tiny increments and eventually slid the bolt from its socket.
    It took her a minute of grunting effort to raise the pole. She stood, wiping the rust from her hands and glanced over at Gorine. He had not moved. She began to rock the doors forward.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Gorine called. ‘Where did you learn that?’
    The door scraped free of the bolt. Miss Temple caught it before it swungwide and peered out. The derelict courtyard was empty as before. She looked back at Gorine.
    ‘It’s almost dark. With any luck –’
    Miss Temple shrieked at the figure who appeared out of nowhere in the doorway. Gorine leapt to her defence, but Miss Temple had already turned with an outstretched hand. ‘A friend – it is a friend!’
    ‘I thought it might be you, mistress. We’ve little time.’ Cunsher’s voice was but a whisper, and Miss Temple was chagrined at her shriek, especially as she had been doing so well.
    ‘This is Mr Gorine,’ said Miss Temple, making it plain that she could whisper too.
    Cunsher narrowed his eyes, then nodded. ‘Mrs Kraft.’
    ‘How do you know that?’ asked Gorine.
    ‘Mr Cunsher has my complete confidence,’ she said pointedly, and then explained to Cunsher, ‘I arrived in the custody of the Contessa, who may be either the prisoner of Mr Schoepfil or his ally. I believe she intended to depart with the contrivance of Mr Pfaff.’
    ‘How I’m here, miss. Cardinal Chang set me on Pfaff, while he went off with the Contessa.’
    ‘But the Contessa has been with me these hours. What happened to Chang?’ Her voice had risen and she felt Cunsher’s touch on her arm.
    ‘I cannot say. Pfaff has a carriage. Beyond the southern wall, under a stand of trees. He creeps into the courtyard every few minutes, and even goes so far as to peer into the windows.’
    ‘Did you see the German doctor?’ Both Miss Temple and Cunsher turned to Gorine with surprise. He held up his hands. ‘I am sorry, I should have been more trusting – I arrived in chains with Doctor Svenson. The child was with him – she was killed, in the fire.’
    ‘Doctor Svenson is
here
?’ hissed Miss Temple.
    ‘What did Svenson say?’ Cunsher demanded. ‘Anything at all –’
    ‘He went to the Institute, with Mrs Kraft. She has been without her mind – the Doctor knew of a laboratory at the Institute. He said she has been restored.’
    Cunsher’s sharp gesture brought them to silence. Miss Temple glimpseda shadow flit past a window, far across the courtyard. Cunsher moved in pursuit, pulling the others after him.
    The skulking shadow led them ably around a guard post and a strolling pair of gentlemen with cigars. Cunsher paused and motioned Miss Temple and Gorine near.
    ‘There is a postern gate,’ he whispered. ‘His coach waits on the other side.’
    Ahead of them Pfaff edged along the outer wall, in his orange coat like a fox skirting a farmhouse. Cunsher followed just as deliberately, with Gorine at his heels. Miss Temple let them creep away. Their attention fixed on Pfaff, the men had not noticed an unwatched doorway back into the Royal