Finally home, Elsbeth sat at her study table, a pile of medical journals spread before her. She angled the open book to catch the afternoon sunlight streaming through the grand window overlooking the garden. Around her, the main house lay quiet except for the occasional creak of floorboards and her mother''s soft murmurs from the parlor.
For once, it felt good to be home. Too many long nights and a lack of sleep had taken their toll. The thought of sleeping in her bed tonight—sinking into the deep embrace of the mattress, swaddled in clean sheets and blankets—sounded luxurious. It was almost worth enduring her mother''s constant barbs, nitpicking, and the drama that would surely unfold at tea.
Though terse and academic, the journals provided an odd comfort. Her years of study had become a grounding ritual that kept her isolated and away from her mother''s prying eyes.
Here, she found sanctuary among knowledge and science, with her father ensuring a steady flow of fresh material. He took pride in her abilities and saw himself in her, and despite her mother''s intentions, he constantly reinforced that she must find her path.
As if summoned by her thoughts, her father entered, a folded letter in hand, his step lighter than usual.
Dr. Wren was a man of quiet authority, his presence commanding without effort—but tonight, a trace of mischief glimmered in his eyes.
“You’re always buried in those journals,” he said, setting the letter before her. “Not that you’ve spent much time at home lately. I hope you’re still seeing daylight?”
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Father, you of all people should understand the value of study.”
“True,” he admitted. “But even scholars deserve a reprieve. Open it.”
Elsbeth hesitated before sliding her finger beneath the envelope’s crisp edge. As she unfolded the letter, her breath caught.
Queen’s College, London.
Her heart pounded as her eyes traced the elegant script.
“Father…” she breathed.
“An acceptance letter,” he confirmed, his smile widening. “Biology, chemistry, anatomy. I’ve watched your interest grow—now you’ll have the chance to pursue it formally.”
She clutched the letter, unable to believe it. “But how?”
“I’ve been speaking with colleagues,” he said. “Queen’s College is one of the few places where a young woman can study sciences in earnest.”
A shadow of doubt crept in. “Mother…”
His expression softened. “She’ll come around. She loves you, but she has her own ideas about your future. I trust you to decide for yourself.”
Elsbeth set the letter down and reached for his hand. “Thank you.”
He squeezed it gently. “All I ask is that you pursue this with the passion and tenacity you’ve always shown.”
She nodded, determination rising in her chest.
Footsteps in the hall made them both look up. Her mother entered, eyes immediately landing on the letter. A flicker of suspicion crossed her face.
“What’s this?” she asked, her tone guarded.
Before Elsbeth could answer, her father rose and took his wife’s hand. “An opportunity for our daughter,” he said. “One I hope you’ll support.”
Her mother’s expression wavered, torn between pride and apprehension. After a long moment, she exhaled.
“We’ll discuss this later,” she said, but her voice lacked its usual steel—almost as if she knew the battle was already lost.
"Our guests have arrived, and it is rude to keep them waiting—but you received another letter today. It was hand-delivered by a young man, quite handsome and dressed in his finest, although his clothes were a touch old-fashioned. He was trying to make a good impression. Mrs. Leford left it for you on the table in the foyer."
Then, she turned toward the parlor and her waiting guests. "Don''t be long, dear; You will like this young gentleman. He''s studying to be a doctor."
Elsbeth released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as her mother left the room. Her father’s reassuring smile remained.
“You’ve earned this,” he said. “Don’t let anything stop you now.”
<hr>
Dinner had come and gone, but Cordelia had not joined them. Elsbeth wasn''t concerned, but she was anxious. She had important information to share: the second letter had revealed that a man named John Ashcombe had leased the farm. Though the name meant nothing to her, combined with what Cordelia had learned from Henry Wright, this lead might get them closer to understanding why Oliver Wright was dead.
Elsbeth sat in the parlor, listening to the quiet sounds of her mother’s needle pulling the fine thread through linen. The subject they weren’t discussing hung in the air like a specter—the acceptance letter to Queen’s College.
For all her mother’s careful politeness over supper, Elsbeth had expected at least one disapproving comment or an attempt at coaxing her toward a more conventional path. And yet, not a single word.
It was unnatural.
Her mother sat on the sofa, her posture flawless, the silver thimble on her finger catching the glow of the oil lamp. She worked with delicate precision, stitching the hem of a fine tablecloth, her face composed in quiet concentration.
Elsbeth slouched in a high-backed chair by the fireplace. She thumbed through a medical text, though she had long since given up reading the words.
“Elsbeth, dear, sit up straight,” her mother said without looking up.
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Elsbeth sighed but obeyed, shifting her posture and closing the book.
Her mother’s voice softened. “What’s bothering you, darling? You’re even more pensive than usual. Is it a matter of attending college? We can talk about it if you like.”
Elsbeth studied her mother. There was something different about her tonight. Not disappointment, nor anger—it was something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. A sense of resignation, perhaps.
She had expected a battle. Instead, her mother stitched, quiet and serene, as if everything was already decided.
“Thank you, Mother. I’m fine, just feeling more tired than usual.”
She hesitated. “I want to talk about Queen’s College—but the news is sudden. It would be best if I slept on it. We could discuss it over breakfast if it won’t give you indigestion.”
She expected a sharp quip or a wry remark about the absurdity of her request. Instead, her mother smiled—a genuine, warm smile.
“Of course, my dear,” she said, accepting.
Elsbeth blinked. This was not how they played the game or fought their battles. Her mother gave in without a fight, which unsettled her more than any argument would have.
“I’m waiting for Cordelia. I won’t sleep if I go to bed now.”
The rhythmic pull of thread through linen paused.
"Did you open the letter from the young gentleman?"
"I did—it was information about a man who leased a property near Acton. Something Father pointed me toward a few weeks ago. Nothing interesting, I''m afraid. I''m keeping an eye on it in case that changes."
"Is this related to Cordelia''s work?"
"That was Father''s thinking, but as I said, nothing of consequence."
"Well, I doubt anything could match the drama of that case with the young boy—though its end seems straightforward enough; the father will face his punishment for what he did to his child."
The words stopped Elsbeth cold.
She hadn''t known her mother was aware of Cordelia''s involvement in the Henry Wright case, but that wasn''t what struck her. Will face his punishment. She was right. Henry Wright would hang regardless of his guilt or innocence. It was the judgment of a public that knew nothing of the man and cared even less. Henry Wright would die, and the world would continue as it always had, one soul lighter mere moments after the platform dropped away beneath his feet.
As if sensing Elsbeth''s unease, her mother shifted subjects.
"Is the young man who delivered the letter someone of interest?"
She stared at her mother, expression blank, as she struggled to adjust to the abrupt change in topic.
"Arthur? I''ve only met him once. He works with deeds. Friendly but far too boring, if you ask me. If he is interested in me, I assure you it isn''t returned."
"Well, I overheard him conversing with Mrs. Leford, and he seemed quite nice. I could invite him for tea, hmm?"
"Of course, Mother. I''m sure you two will have a lot to talk about. Be sure to tell me how it went—in case I need to console Father."
She smiled to let her mother know she was only teasing.
"Well, he was quite the handsome devil. Your father should be worried if he takes a fancy to me."
Elsbeth waited for the smile to appear on her mother''s face, but it never came as she remained focused on her needlework. Trouble in paradise? She pushed the question aside. It was a subject that Elsbeth had no interest in thinking about. She faked a yawn.
“I’m heading to bed. I hope Cordelia returns soon. Either way, I’ll see you at breakfast.”
Elsbeth stood, smoothing down her skirt, then hesitated. Struck by a rare impulse she hadn’t indulged in since she was a little girl, she leaned down and kissed her mother’s cheek.
Her mother stilled for a moment, then patted Elsbeth’s hand.
“Goodnight, darling.”
She checked Cordelia''s room, but it was empty. Closing the door, she let out a long sigh. Her anxiety dissolved into annoyance. Her mind buzzed with details of the case, but so many pieces were missing that the puzzle refused to take shape. She knew that in this state, despite her physical exhaustion, sleep would elude her.
<hr>
She entered her room and lit two candles near the washstand. She avoided the mirror''s reflection—afraid of what she might see.
Before she could undress, she heard the sharp rattle of pebbles against the window.
Cordelia.
She moved to the window and saw Cordelia standing near the wall of rose bushes. She gave a slight wave and opened the window.
"Els, come down. Hex and Percy are waiting with the carriage. I have a plan."
What? Another plan? Why wasn''t Hex in bed recovering?
She gave Cordelia a stern grimace but closed the window and headed for the servants'' stairs near the kitchen. The stairs led away from the parlor where her mother stitched. The house boards creaked despite the carpet that ran the hallway''s length. Her movement would not go unnoticed, but at least she could avoid any immediate questions. Tomorrow at breakfast would be a different story.
She stepped out the back door into the cold air to find Cordelia holding her coat.
“I thought you might want this,” she said, holding it open so Elsbeth could slip into it.
“What I wanted was a nice quiet evening snuggled in bed. I should have known that such a simple thing was too much to ask for.”
“We’re going to see Henry Wright together.”
Elsbeth stopped, confused.
“I thought you went to see him today? Can we step back so I can understand what’s going on?”
“Right. So, Durry and I went to see Henry Wright. We were escorted to see him in his cell. They supervised our conversation. They have him in solitary, under constant watch, for his protection.”
A worried look crossed Cordelia’s face.
“Els, his face and neck are covered in bruises. He’s being beaten- regular beatings from the looks of it. He refused to talk in front of the keeper. He has a guard posted outside his cell. A mean bastard if I ever saw one. One of the other keepers says he was a special hire to watch Henry.“
Then Cordelia finished the pitch with a hard sell, Cordelia style.
“Our man knows something, Els, but he won’t say it before the keepers. We have to get him alone.”
There was a simple way to do that, and Elsbeth felt it necessary to ask the obvious.
“Well, why didn’t Durry set up a meeting in the solicitor’s room?”
“He tried. They wouldn’t allow it. I’m surprised they let us in at all. Cost Durry 4 shillings to get us in the front door.”
Elsbeth raised her eyebrows. Four shillings. A steep price for access to a client.
“So now, the plan is for you and me to walk into the Gaol unannounced and sway the keepers into allowing us a private chat with Henry Wright?”
“Yes, but not exactly.”
“Okay. So how is it supposed to work? What is the plan if we don''t waltz in relying on our beauty and charm? Do you have a plan, or will we make it up as we go along?”
Cordelia looked hurt. “Els, why do you put so little faith in me?”
“Tell me the plan.”
“I’ll do you one better; I’ll show you.”
Cordelia withdrew two flat black stones from her pocket and placed one under her tongue. Then, without a word, she wasn’t there. Like, disappeared, wasn''t there.
Elsbeth stepped back in surprise.
Her eyes pressed into the spot where Cordelia stood, and all she could make out were slight ripples of shadow.
Cordelia spoke, the sound muffled and distorted. “The magic mutes sound within a small area as well.”
Then Cordelia reappeared, stones in hand.
Elsbeth was too stunned to speak. The effect was terrific.
“What do you think? Bloody amazing, right?”
“You were standing right before me, and I couldn’t see you. It was like you were invisible.”
“Yeah. And you were looking right at me. At a less direct angle, I would have been invisible.”
“How does it work?”
“Magic, of course. It’s an enchantment of the stone. Distorts light. It works well in daylight, too, but the effect is different. At night, or in low light, it’s almost invisibility.”
Elsbeth was impressed. By the magic of the stone. Not the plan.
“So the plan is to use the stone to sneak into the Gaol and see Henry Wright. What about the keepers guarding him?”
Cordelia reached into another pocket and produced a perfume bottle with a small bulbous pump. “Sleeping potion. A bit of this near the face, and they’ll be out like a light.”
“Pretty basic. What’s the plan when the plan falls apart? Like when you spray your face by accident?”
Cordelia frowned. “Stop. If I spray anyone ''accidentally, ’ it will be you.”
"Have some confidence in me, Els. The plan is to make the plan work; we don’t need a backup plan.”
Elsbeth was skeptical. “And when has the plan ever worked out as planned?”
Cordelia shrugged again. “Tonight will be our lucky night. After last night, the goddess owes us one.”
Elsbeth sighed. “All right, let’s go. I have some news as well. I’ll tell you in the carriage.”