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device with my blessing. Better yet, I’ll make one for all of us. Regardless of what Sam says, Griffin will not tell us if there is something wrong until it’s verging on too late. Sam’s so caught up in worrying about me that he can’t see his best mate’s in trouble.”
    She didn’t want to think about what “too late” might include. “Had a chat with Mr. Morgan, did you?” She began walking down the corridor and Emily fell into step beside her. Intentions of eavesdropping were forgotten for the time being.
    “Yes. I think we’re finally beginning to understand each other. I just wish…”
    “What?”
    Emily looked away. “That I could make him as happy as he makes me.”
    “Happiness is an individual pursuit, Em. He has to let himself be happy first. You spend far too much energy worrying about him.”
    “I lo—I care about him.” She gestured at Finley. “I may not be listening at doors, but I worry about him.”
    “Meow. Retract those claws of yours. I don’t care if you write sonnets about his eyes and rhapsodize about his hair. I’m just suggesting that maybe if you stopped trying to make him be happy he’d find happiness on his own.”
    “How?”
    “Well, maybe he’d realize that you accept him as he is. Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe part of the reason he’s unhappy is that he thinks you’re unhappy with him?”
    Emily stopped—obviously she hadn’t considered that at all. “And perhaps Griffin keeps secrets from you for the same reason you’re afraid of him discovering yours—that you’ll think less of him.”
    Now there was a thought. “I hadn’t entertained that possibility.” She hadn’t thought that perhaps Griffin had insecurities of his own. She was too busy secondguessing herself and worrying that he might not like her if he really knew her.
    Sometimes she did reckless things just for the sheer joy of it. And sometimes she fought the urge to get into street brawls with men twice her size. Other times she felt guilty about keeping books from Griffin’s library in her room because no one else could read them. It was no more fun being too good than it was being too bad. But would Griffin still want her if she was sometimes bad? He never seemed to do the wrong thing, while she sometimes deliberately set off in the wrong direction.
    Although, that blatant display of his abilities at the dock had been incredibly daring.
    “You want to see if cook’s made any cakes?” she suggested, tired of thinking. Did blokes have any idea just how much of a bother they were? “We could make some tea and eat ourselves silly.” That was the “good” option. The bad was jumping on their velocycles and driving into the east end for a little danger and excitement.
    “Actually, I have another idea.” Emily stopped and turned to face her. “Let’s go to the St. Pancras station.”
    “I thought we weren’t going to go until we discussed it with Griffin?”
    Emily tilted her head to one side. “How long do you reckon it will be before that happens?”
    She had a point there. Besides, it was something to do that would take not only her mind off Griffin, but Emily’s off Sam. Lord knows they could both benefit from that!
    Finley shrugged. “Why not?” She had nothing better to do. “Can we have cake first, though?” She was starving.
    Her friend grinned. “Of course. One of us needs to take a por-tel with us. I told Sam I would.”
    Emily had created portable telegraph devices for all of them that made communication so much easier. They were also very helpful if one of them found themselves in a spot of trouble and needed help.
    They stopped by the kitchen for cake and tea—Finley made a pig of herself while Emily watched with amusement. Then, they grabbed jackets and whatever supplies each needed for poking about the station. They were going to look for clues as to where the mysterious automaton-girl had been taken, and by whom. They met at the stables—where the