Chapter Thirty-Three
They went to Bartholomew’s Yard burial ground in two hackneys. It was less than ten minutes from the inn. Which was fortunate, because the journey brought Mordecai’s headache back.
He should have been first out of the hackney, should have helped Eleanor to descend; instead, he was last, and when he made it to firm ground he had to lean against the carriage for a moment, fighting dizziness, fighting nausea. Eleanor didn’t notice. She looked numb with grief, blind with grief. Reid gave her his arm, and Mordecai blessed the man silently, and then closed his eyes for a moment and gritted his teeth. I am not going to throw up. When he opened his eyes, Letitia Reid was standing beside him.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I’ve had better days,” Mordecai admitted. He pushed
