‘Sarah?’ Charlotte called softly.
‘I have got it out,’ Sarah whispered back from the neighbouring cage.
Despite everything, Charlotte almost smiled.
‘We sewed small pocket knives into the hems of our petticoats.’
She reached beneath her skirt, retrieved the tiny blade, and crouched beside the padlock.
Lucy gave a low whistle.
‘Miss Lucas, you would make an excellent Bow Street Runner.’
At once the other girls stirred with renewed hope. Some crawled closer to the bars, watching intently as Charlotte worked the knife into the lock whilst whispering instruction.
‘Twist it sideways.’
‘No—the other way.’
‘Push harder!’
Charlotte tried every angle she could think of.
Minutes dragged into nearly an hour.
Her shoulders ached from the awkward position, and sweat dampened her brow. Her fingers cramped painfully from gripping the tiny knife.
This was far harder than she had imagined.
Panic threatened to creep in.
No.
She could not panic.
Lord Stanley’s life depended upon her escape.
Charlotte gritted her teeth and forced the blade deeper into the lock.
Then, with one final twist—
A click sounded.
The padlock sprang open.
The girls squealed in delight.
‘Hush!’ Sarah whispered sharply at once, slipping naturally back into her scolding. ‘They shall hear us.’
Charlotte slipped quickly from the cage, her stiff limbs nearly giving way beneath her.
She crouched beside Sarah’s cage and demonstrated the movement that had finally worked.
‘Twist upwards—hard—as though you mean to snap the lock apart.’
Sarah copied her carefully.
A moment later, another click sounded.
