“Thank you.” Seraphina took the girl’s hand, regretting that this kind young woman might lose her position as a result of their actions. “Should the doctor discover we saw Elinor, please don’t tell him my name. But if you encounter any difficulty, write to me in care of my publisher. I can always find a position for a brave young woman.”
“You can count on my discretion,” Miss Smith promised.
Back in the study, Thaïs was prone on the couch, with Dr. Hogue fussing over her.
“Oh, Nurse Best,” she murmured weakly to Cornelia. “I’ve had one of my spells.” She looked up sweetly at the doctor. “Nurse always knows what to do.”
Cornelia knelt over Thaïs and put a hand to her brow, clucking. “We must get you home to your bed, dear, lest the megrim set in.”
Sera wanted to stall, in case Elinor and Jack were still in view of the house. “Doctor, do you have a chair we could use to take Miss Elspeth to the carriage? She is so unsteady after her fits.”
“I’ll get one,” Miss Smith said, disappearing.
“Thank you for your kind attendance, Doctor,” Thaïs crooned to him. “I know my aunt will be in good hands with you.”
The man looked like he did not know what he wished for more—the beautiful woman's adoring smile, or her money.
By the time they met their waiting carriage, there was no sign of Jack and Elinor, save for an overturned wheelbarrow near the edge of the woods.
None of them dared to so much as breathe until they were half a mile from the asylum's gates.
“I saw the baths,” Thaïs whispered, once they were safely down the road. “The treatment rooms are on the second floor. So they can’t escape.” She paused, her fingers screwed up into contorted fists, like an arthritic crone’s. “None of the ladies he showed me seemed mad. Not one of them.”
Cornelia lowered her head into her lap.
Sera only closed her eyes, depleted.
Sometimes the grim realities of womanhood, and the danger of addressing them when one lacked power beyond rage, were so heavy it silenced all discussion. One did not need to name the feeling. One simply felt the weight.
The ride back was somber.
They kept quiet, listening for signs of pursuit. But the wooded road was mostly empty. All they could do was hope that enough time would pass to give Jack a head start before Elinor’s absence was discovered.
When they arrived in the late afternoon at Seraphina’s house, Cornelia looked at both of them in shock. “I’m beginning to think we got away with it.”
A weak ray of hope rose up in Seraphina. “With any luck, they’ll be here soon. Let’s go out to the terrace and celebrate with a drink.”
Cornelia pulled open the terrace doors and stepped outside. “What's this?” she asked, leaning down to look at something.
She screamed.
Sera rushed to see what she was looking at.
It was a basket.
And inside—
Adam paced anxiously up and down the coastal path, trying to clear his head.
He had a stone problem.
The slate he’d ordered from Newquay had not arrived when it was due, and a message sent to the quarryman had been returned with a scattered letter saying it was not expected for a month. A delay like this would cascade down the flow of work, adding hundreds in labor costs while Adam’s crew waited with nothing to do.
He could not afford mistakes like this.
He could not afford Pendrake hearing rumors about delays and excess costs.
A muffled sound from the distance caught his attention. He craned his neck to hear, praying it was not one of his children.
A second, louder sound pierced the air. A shriek.
It was coming from Seraphina’s house.
He turned toward that awful sound and ran, ghastly visions floating through his mind.
If they bloody hurt her—
He found Seraphina and two of her friends standing at her terrace doors gaping at a woven basket. He tried to get a glimpse inside, but their skirts blocked his view.
“Is everything all right?” he called to them.
They were all oddly dressed. The freckled, red-headed woman who had introduced herself as Miss Magdalene the night before was wearing a maidenish muslin dress that contrasted vividly with the daringly low-cut gown she’d had on when she’d sauntered across the room to introduce herself. The elegant, dark-skinned lady, Miss Ludgate, who had been dressed regally the night before in fabrics and jewels even Adam had realized were expensive, wore a drab homespun gown and a cap over her hair. Sera was in a gown made for a more curvaceous woman, and had stuffed the bosom to make it fit.
She whirled around clutching her unnaturally swollen chest, startled by his voice. Her face was drained of color and her eyes were fixed beyond him, blank.
He quickened his pace to reach her.
“What’s happened?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. He wanted to do more—sweep her into his arms and hug away that terrified expression—but he sensed she would not wish for it.
Tompkins crouched down and lifted up the basket. Inside, four wee blue birds with their chests sliced open, lying on a bloodied poster of Seraphina Arden's face.
“Bloody Christ,” he snarled.
Miss Magdalene clutched herself, murmuring about “murdered bloody budgies.”
“They’re kingfishers,” Sera corrected her in a shaky voice.
“I don’t care if they are parrots from the jungle. Someone is leaving them dead on your doorstep. You are coming back to London with us.”
“No, I’m not,” Sera said wearily. “I will not be run out of my own home.”
“Your home is St. Martin’s Bleedin’ Lane,” Miss Magdalene shot back. “Tell her, Cornelia.”
Sera held up her hand to silence them. “This is just harassment, Thaïs. Provocation. And I will not delight the people wishing to scare me by showing them it’s worked.”
Adam shook his head. This had gone too far. “I’m going for my horse and will have words with Trewlnany about his man. This will be stopped.”
“No, you will not,” Seraphina uttered, eyes flashing. “Understand me, Adam. Not. One. Word.”
She held his gaze intently. He’d never seen her look so fierce.
He paused, his pulse beating in his throat. “Why not, Sera?”
“Because I know the people here. I have known them all my life. If they want a battle, I know exactly how to win it, I assure you. And it’s by calmly finishing my book.”
He dropped his shoulders, realizing they were pinned up by his ears with tension. “Fine. But, Sera, I’d like to send a man here, up to your home to keep watch. You have no male servants and the presence of a burly fellow can send a powerful message to those who like to harm wee helpless things. Aye?”
She screwed up her face distastefully.
“Yes, Mr. Anderson,” Tompkins said. “I agree that such a step is prudent.” She shot a glance at Seraphina. “If you don’t want it for yourself, think of your defenseless servants.”
“Oh, very well,” Sera muttered.
And then she turned to her house and kicked the wall so hard bits of plaster sprayed out from beneath her boot heel. “It makes me so bloody angry. Why can’t they leave me well enough alone?”