This was taking too long. Every minute was crucial.
The top finally gave. There were only two nails left, both at the foot.
She folded the crinoline cage on itself, giving her more room to move. Gemma shifted and adjusted, needing to get her jemmy bar into the back end of the coffin and begin prying the lid there.
But she couldn’t.
There wasn’t room enough to sit up or change the direction she was facing. She couldn’t reach it.
No, no, no.This had to work. Hers weren’t the only life on the line.
If she couldn’t get the jemmy bar where she needed it, then she’d have to get something else wedged in that gap. The toe of her boots could work, but only if she created enough space. If she got the lid loose enough, she might be able to kick it the rest of the way. Thathadto happen while the hearse was still on the busy and noisy streets. But she’d risk damaging the lid.
One side, then the other, she worked the lid open farther and farther toward the foot, as far as she could reach. As a gap appeared at the bottom, she did her utmost to jam her foot inside it. Bit by tiny bit, she created space. A quick upward kickknocked it loose. With her hands and knees, she lifted and slid the lid to the side.
Light and air spilled in. She could hear the wheels on the cobblestone. And a knock from inside the coffin next to hers. Baz needed her help.
Gemma sat up. There was little room, the very reason her family’d think this escape couldn’t be managed. The lid she’d removed was now on top of Baz’s; there was nowhere else for it to go.
She balanced herself on the lip of the coffin and slid toward the front of the hearse where they’d stowed the sandbags. She hefted them, one at a time, into her coffin and spread them out. With all three in place, she slid the lid back on top of her coffin, giving her access to Baz’s.
His lid was sticking at the feet, just as hers had. She crawled atop her coffin, its lid precariously in place. She had to lay there, as there weren’t enough room overhead for anything else. She pushed her jemmy bar into the tiny gap Baz had managed to make on his own. Careful not to cause any obvious damage, she pried the last nail out, whispering, though he likely couldn’t hear her, “I’m here Baz. I’m here.”
After a moment, the lid popped free. She slid out of the way as Baz pushed it up and over onto her coffin. Two coffins in one hearse was tight, even in one designed to hold two.
In a low voice, she said, “Snatch the sandbags. Getting out took longer than it ought. I’d wager we’re nearly to the churchyard.”
He set to work without hesitation. When the bags were in place, he moved the lid back. Tied to a hook at the front of the hearse was a hammer and a small bag. They had to work quickly. Baz pounded nails in near him. Gemma pounded near her.
The hearse was slowing. They were approaching their destination. They both scrambled to the front of the hearse and the hinged flap that gave access to the false bottom. It wouldn’tbe easy to fit in the small space; the gap couldn’t be made very large without leaking the entire scheme.
They wriggled and twisted and bent, trying to slide into their hiding place.
The hearse stopped.
No words passed between Gemma and Baz. They had to get out of sight, and they had to do it now.
Voices could be heard on all sides.
This was their final chance.
They managed to slide themselves in and pull the hinged door closed in the very instant the voices outside became clear. The doors at the back opened.
In the darkness, she felt Barnabus’s hand brush against her arm, an unspoken reassurance that he was there and they were together.
The hearse jostled and shifted. Gemma held her breath. Only when she heard the hearse doors slamming shut did she dare take even the shallowest intake of air.
After a moment, all was still. Even the voices that had sounded on either side of the carriage could no longer be heard. The procession had gone into the chapel. She and Baz had only the length of a funeral before everyone would exit again and make their way to the graveside.
She still needed to wait for a signal from Kumar, though, before moving.
Footsteps sounded on the gravel around the carriage. Was someone examining the hearse? Was Kumar simply checking the area for someone suspicious?
Baz’s hand found hers. He squeezed it.
The carriage shifted.
In a tone that indicated he was talking to himself but loud enough to be overheard, Kumar said, “Might as well have a bite to eat.”