Trinket rushed Emma inside, locking the door and then helping her into the parlour. Emma thanked her as she sat on the settee, her eyes trained on the floor. As Trinket tried to make her comfortable, she couldn't keep her gaze from straying to the girl's finger and the unnatural position it was in.
"Mr. Larkin," Emma muttered. "I need his help."
"I'm sorry, he's not at home right now."
Emma moved to face her and winced as she jostled her finger. "When . . . when will he be back?"
"I don't know." Desperate to ease the girl's pain, Trinket grasped at whatever options there were. "I could go find him. Or send someone out to find him. Or—"
Emma shook her head and closed her eyes, steadying her breaths. "No. No, it's fine. I can . . . wait."
There was a long silence as Emma concentrated on her breathing and Trinket stood by uselessly. Finally, Trinket kneeled by the table, afraid to sit on the settee for fear she would upset Emma's hand and cause her more pain.
"Emma, what happened?" she asked softly.
Again, Emma shook her head. "Nothing. Just an accident. At the shop."
"You make tea. What sort of accident could lead to this?" She motioned at her broken finger.
As Emma looked down at her damaged hand, her pale face turned a shade of green, and she quickly closed her eyes. "It was just an accident. Nothing to worry about."
Her finger being horizontal seemed like something to worry about. Trinket was about to object when she noticed a strange smoke drifting down the hallway. Thinking it another hallucination, she nearly ignored it. But then she remembered the kettle. Bolting from the room, she ran into the kitchen to find it completely immersed in steam from the overboiled water still on the stove.
"Thank goodness it wasn't soup," she mumbled to herself as she grabbed a rag and removed the kettle from the heat.
She tried to fan away some of the steam, but she was worried about leaving Emma alone for too long for fear she should faint from the pain. Just as she was about to return to the parlour, she heard the front door open and close.
"Trinket?"
Tossing the rag onto the table, she rushed into the hallway to find Booker removing his coat and hat. He caught sight of her and heaved a heavy sigh.
"No sign of him," he said as she raced towards him. "I wonder if he slipped out—why is there smoke everywhere?"
"You have a patient," she said, nearly colliding with him in her haste to bring him to Emma.
"A patient? Who—"
He knit his eyebrows together when he saw Emma sitting on the settee, cradling her hand. Then he noticed her finger, and he turned to Trinket questioningly. Without explanation, she took his arm and led him into the parlour.
Emma glanced up at them and rose to her feet. "Mr. Larkin, I need—"
"Yes, yes, I can see," Booker said, his eyes locked on her hand. "Please, sit down. Trinket, my bag."
Before he could even sit down to examine the injury, Trinket was stumbling down the stairs to the laboratory. Having fetched the bag a number of times, it took her mere seconds to retrieve it and run back to the parlour. Emma was biting her lip while Booker gently touched her wrist.
"As I'm sure you have guessed, it's broken," he said as Trinket laid the bag down on the table. He glanced up at Emma. "How did this happen?"
"An accident," Emma replied, a tremor in her voice.
"Well, I assumed you didn't purposely injure yourself. What kind of accident was it?"
She shook her head. "Just a work accident."
Booker gave a harsh laugh. "You really expect me to believe you broke your finger and wrist mixing tea leaves? Try again."
Still, she shook her head.
"Oh, or were you referring to your other work? The one that involves mixing a different sort of elixir?"
The tremor in her voice had now seized her entire body, but she refused to speak.
"Those little mixtures of yours that give your customers a lovely high but leave them begging for more? The mixtures that the police have been trying to track down due to the violent behavior displayed by those who can't afford another dose? Is that the work you were referring to?"
Emma choked on a sob, and Trinket could bear it no longer. "Booker, please," she said.
"Who did this to you, Emma?" he asked firmly, ignoring her pleas.
"A customer," Emma gasped. "A customer, it was a customer."
"A tea customer? Or—"
"I've been selling him my special mixtures. For several months. Today . . . today he came and was mad. He was mad and he said I told someone. He wanted to know who."
"Told someone what?"
Her eyelids fluttered. "I don't know. I don't know what he meant. He was mad and he grabbed me and he . . . he smashed it. My wrist. On the counter. Kept yelling about who I told. I didn't know, so he smashed it again and again until someone came in and he ran."
"Who was it?"
She shook her head.
"Emma, who was this man?"
Licking her lips, she opened her eyes. They darted about the room frantically, filled with pain and fear.
"Booker, please," Trinket tried again.
He leaned forward. "Tell me who it was."
When she didn't answer, he applied pressure to her wrist, and she let out a horrifying cry. "Booker, stop it!" Trinket objected.
"Tell me, Emma," Booker said, his eyes fixed on the girl as he applied a little more pressure.
Tears ran down Emma's cheeks, and without thinking, Trinket pulled the ether out of Booker's bag and doused the rag with it. Pushing Booker away, she held the rag to Emma's nose and mouth. It took a few moments, but the girl's eyes closed, and her breathing slowed. Gently, Trinket laid her down on the settee, careful not to upset her hurt hand. When she was certain she was no longer in pain, she turned to Booker, rage pulsing through her veins.
"How dare you," she said. "How dare you use her pain against her?"
"How dare you interrupt me like that? I was trying to get important information out of her."
"She doesn't have that information."
"How do you know?"
"And even if she did, she's in excruciating pain and isn't thinking clearly. Why would you think any answer she gave would be true?"
Gritting his teeth, he looked away.
"I know you engage in less than legal activities, and you tend to be selfish in your pursuits," she went on. "But I never took you for a cruel man."
His eyes darted to her briefly but then quickly turned to the floor. She was seething. She didn't even know she could be this angry. And it wasn't just anger. There was something else inside of her, something heavy that made her want to cry.
Booker cleared his throat and moved towards the settee. "I'd best set her finger and wrist before she wakes up."
Sucking in her lips to restrain the heated words on her tongue, Trinket begrudgingly assisted him. They were both silent as he maneuvered the bones into place and then wrapped the hand in a bandage. She helped him to sit Emma upright so that he could make a sling for her arm, and when they were finished, he collected his things and retreated to the laboratory. The rage and heavy, tear-inducing emotion she still had yet to name would not subside. She tried to distract herself by counting Emma's breaths and watching for a sign that she was waking.
Finally, a groan escaped the girl's lips, and her eyes opened slowly. They fell upon Trinket first, and she offered the shopkeeper a reassuring smile. Emma's gaze then traveled down to her arm. She lifted it carefully, examining the sling and bandages. Relief washed over her face when she saw that her finger had been returned to its natural position.
"Thank you," she breathed, turning back to Trinket with a weak smile. "Thank you so much."
"You may be a tad groggy from the ether," Trinket said softly. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Shaking her head, Emma attempted to stand but wobbled slightly. Trinket took hold of her arm, helping her to stay upright. "Thank you, Miss Trinket. And Mr. Larkin. Where—"
"He had other matters to attend to," Trinket said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
Emma nodded. "What do I owe?"
"I'm sure he'll contact you about payment later. Are you sure you don't want to stay for a while? Just until the ether wears off?"
"No, no, I left the shop all alone. I'd best get back before some street rat robs me." She hesitated. "Miss Trinket?"
"Yes?"
"The man. The one who did this to me. He was the same person who was in the shop that day you came to talk to me and I rudely dismissed you."
Trinket's heart skipped a beat. The young man with the dirty fingernails and the white teeth. "Can you tell me any more about him?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't recall very much about him. I make it a habit not to commit my customers to memory. For both my safety and theirs."
"I understand."
There was a slight pause as Emma hesitated. "Oh, and Miss Trinket?"
"Yes?"
"I think it might be best for both of us if you buy your tea elsewhere from now on."
Trinket gave a sad smile. "Of course."
She escorted Emma to the door and watched as she walked back to the city center, still swaying slightly on her feet. When Trinket finally closed the door and leaned against it, those awful feelings resurfaced. Tears stung at her eyes, and she swiped at them with her sleeve. Returning to the kitchen, she set about boiling water once again. As she moved about the kitchen, occupying her hands and mind by tidying shelves and sweeping the floors, she heard footsteps approach from the hallway. For once she hoped they might just be another hallucination.
"Trinket."
Setting her jaw, she turned to the stove where steam was pouring out of the kettle. As she removed it from the heat and set it on the cutting board, she felt Booker move closer, but she was determined to ignore him. Waiting for the water to cool, she wiped away the drops that had sloshed onto the table, scrubbing meticulously in her attempt to avoid meeting his eyes. He reached out and laid a hand over hers, and for some reason, his touch was enough to still her.
"Trinket, I'm sorry."
She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she stared at his hand, trying to decide what to do. His hold on her hand was light, and if she had wanted to, she could have easily pulled away. But she let his fingers linger. Apparently this encouraged him, and he tightened his grip, likely with the hope that she would listen. Finally, she turned to him and took a deep breath to keep her emotions in check. The muscles in his face relaxed when she met his gaze, but he looked so uncertain as he stood before her.
"I don't think I should be the one you're apologizing to," she said quietly.
"I was just desperate to get that information."
"At the expense of an innocent person's well-being?"
His typical sarcastic expression returned. "The girl makes dangerous drugs. She's far from innocent."
Clenching her jaw once more, Trinket pulled her hand away and went to the dresser. She heard him heave a sigh and follow, but she focused on rearranging the tea jars. He was right behind her now, and she could feel his breath against her neck. She refused to allow herself to be swayed, despite the goose pimples running along her skin.
"You're right. I shouldn't have hurt her like that," he said. "No doctor should cause a person harm unless it's in the name of helping them."
Her hand rested on the jar of black tea. She swallowed, waiting to hear what else he had to say.
"Please don't be mad at me," he said.
She turned and stared up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm not mad. I'm . . ." She struggled to name this emotion that made her feel like a fool. "Disappointed."
The word seemed to affect him as much as the idea of her being angry with him did. He twitched and pulled away. "I'm sorry. I am. I just . . ."
She took a step towards him, and her close proximity startled him. "You get too wrapped up in this game of yours. You're so focused on finding Benedict and proving to him how brilliant you are that you forget human lives are involved. Human lives that bleed and hurt and die."
His eyes wandered back and forth. "There haven't been that many human lives I've been all that concerned about."
"Then what if it was someone you knew well? Like Gin or me. What then?"
He inhaled sharply and swallowed. "That's completely different. I would never hurt either of you."
"When you hurt innocent people in your pursuit of information, you hurt me."
Silence settled over them as they held each other's gaze. The tears of frustration kept threatening to leak out of Trinket's eyes, but she held them back for fear of looking weak. At last, Booker released a long breath and let his shoulders sag.
"I won't do it again," he whispered. "As long as you promise to stay."
His words took her by surprise almost as much as the way in which he spoke them. There was a bit of desperation and a slight tremor in his voice. His eyes continued to wander as he waited for an answer.
She sighed and shook her head. "I never had any intentions of leaving, Mr. Larkin."
Clearly relieved, he let a hesitant smile spread across his face. "Thank you, Trinket."
Feeling relieved herself, albeit slightly perplexed, she moved back to the table where her cooling water sat. "On another subject, the man who hurt Emma was, in fact, the same one who was in the shop the last time I was there. The one with the dirty fingernails."
He followed her and leaned against the table as she poured the water over the tea leaves. "How did you find that out?"
"She told me," she said as she removed the strainer and added a spoonful of honey.
"Why would she do that?"
Taking a sip of the tea that was cooler than she would have liked, she lifted her eyes to him and quirked an eyebrow. "You'd be surprised what a little compassion can do."
He smiled softly and leaned over to brush away a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. His touch was both warming and a tad alarming. "Thank goodness I have you to remind me of that."