Free The Mechanical Theater by Brooke Johnson

out here, he may call the bobbies. You need to leave.”
    “What?” Solomon stepped down a stair. “Why?”
    “He found some medicine missing from his personal pharmacy stores—­including the medicine Mrs. Handley has been sending to your sister—­and he’s looking for the person responsible. So you best get on before he sees you and starts asking questions.”
    Solomon backed down the stairs to the street and shook his head. “But it wasn’t me. I haven’t touched his stores. I wouldn’t.”
    “I know,” she said. “But Mrs. Handley gave you a bottle of what’s missing, and no one ever paid for it. If Dr. Handley finds out—­”
    “But we did pay for it,” he said. “I gave Etta the money myself. Please. There must be a misunderstanding. My sister needs that medicine.”
    The maid sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said more kindly. “But unless you can pay for the treatment she needs, then there’s nothing we can do for her.”
    “How much is it—­the medicine?”
    The maid sighed. “More than you can afford, I’m afraid.” A bell rang inside, and she glanced back at the door. “I have to go.” She pursed her lips and her face softened. “I’m sorry about your sister. She’s in my prayers, and Mrs. Handley’s too.” Then she went inside and shut the door.
    Solomon stared at the closed door, the iron knocker swaying back and forth, and shook his head. The maid couldn’t be right. Matron had paid for that medicine with the money he earned at work. She wouldn’t have stolen it. He stuck his hands in his coat pockets and walked backward a few steps.
    Or maybe she would. For Emily.
    He turned his back to the doctor’s house and walked down Andover, kicking a loose cobblestone down the street. Maybe if he worked doubles the rest of the month, with a shift of rest between, he could earn another fifty percent more pay a week—­ if the foreman kept them at twelves for the month. If they went back to tens or eights, shifts would be harder to come by. He’d have to quit the theater. He sighed heavily. If that’s what it took, that’s what he would do.
    Someone shouted behind him. “Solomon!”
    He turned around to see Mrs. Handley running toward him in her house slippers. When she reached him, she thrust a bottle at him with shaky hands. “Here,” she said breathlessly. “It’s all I could get. I’m sorry. He found out what I was doing.”
    Solomon shook his head and tried to push the bottle back her. “Mrs. Handley, I can’t take this. I’ll work enough to pay for it.”
    She exhaled sharply, her lips trembling. “This bottle would cost you three pounds, Solomon, and it isn’t even what Emily needs.”
    He stared down at the glass bottle she’d thrust into his hands, and the meager liquid within. “Three pounds?”
    She nodded slowly. “She needs to be in the hospital. She needs better care, better medicine. If I could get her what she needs, I would, but my husband doesn’t keep that in the house.” She wrapped her coat more tightly around her shoulders. “This is the last bottle. I managed to smuggle it out of his bag before he took everything else back to the hospital.”
    Solomon swallowed. “How much would it cost for proper treatment?”
    Mrs. Handley sighed and shook her head. “At least twelve pounds a night, but likely more.” She raised her eyes to his. “Etta knows this. I know this. You can’t afford that kind of treatment.” She tucked a loose strand hair behind her ear. She drew her brows together and searched Solomon’s eyes. “There are cases of those who survive pneumonia without proper hospitalization.”
    Solomon glanced away, heat growing behind his eyelids. “So, it is pneumonia.”
    Mrs. Handley touched his shoulder and sighed. “Under Etta’s care, Emily has a good chance. And that medicine will help.” She gestured to the bottle in his hand. “One teaspoon a day, every day.”
    He wrapped his fingers tightly around the bottle. Three pounds