From the journals of Jacob Frye, dated 30 January 1866

Forty-seven days.

It would seem like such a trivial amount of time, but for the fact that I've spent every one of them wondering: what happened to her?

Each day feels like a lifetime.

She left with father on that Friday afternoon, and we have heard nothing of her since.

It's past half one in the morning. I can only seem to sleep when exhaustion finally takes me.

It has always been easy to think of her, but since that day when I last saw her, it's a torment. She haunts my thoughts, now.

I recall more halcyon days, when she was still here with us—with me. I think of what we had together, all of the things we had done, and things we had yet to do. All the plans we had made… all of it, now gone to dust.

I ache for the loss of her. It's as if I've lost a part of myself.

I suppose I have.

I loved her. With every piece of my heart, I loved her.

I still do.

Some of our memories I can recall as vividly as if I had experienced them just yesterday. Others are foggier, but she remains steadfast in all of them.

Ellie. My girl. My sweetheart.

Where are you now, love? What happened to you?

I ask the questions to these pages, as if I might divine some answers here. As if I might ever find the answers I seek.

The first time we met, it was a warm afternoon in July.

She had just arrived to England from India a few weeks earlier, with her parents. The three of them had returned with our father, whom Evie and I had only just met, ourselves. He brought us along to her parents' estate to meet them.

I have always found English summers to be warm, but I remember watching her tug at her mother's trouser leg.

"Mum, I'm cold," she whispered. Her mother hushed her, and wrapped her up in a little woolen shawl. She smiled gratefully. Such a radiant smile, even then.

She stuck her hand out towards us.

"Hello! I'm Ellie. You must be Evie and Jacob? Your father told me about you."

"Hello, Ellie," Evie said, shaking Ellie's hand. I was next. I was curious how she could find it cold, but I was more curious about the scar on her lip, still red and raw.

"What happened to your face?" I asked her as we shook hands. Evie elbowed my ribs, and I would get an earful from my father for that later on. Ellie didn't bat an eyelash.

"I fell out of a tree," she said with a broad smile, as if she were proud of it.

The three of us were sent out into the gardens to play under the watch of Ellie's nursemaid, Anita. Ellie threw off her shoes and shawl at the threshold, and dashed outside, up into the boughs of a giant willow. I found it bizarre—hadn't she just said she'd fallen out of a tree?

We followed after her. Eager as we were, we couldn't keep up. She came back down to help, offering her hand, and kind words of encouragement.

"Here, take my hand, I'll pull you up."

"Won't you fall?" I remember being nervous. I thought that if she took my hand, she'd surely lose her grip, and we'd both go toppling out of the tree.

"You can trust me," she said, crossing over her heart. "I promise, I won't let you fall."

She was so assured. I can't say why, but I did. I trusted her.

I took her hand, and she hauled me up onto the branch next to her, then reached for Evie.

As we climbed up further, she got away from us again. She coaxed us higher.

"Put your foot in the knot there—yes, that's it. See? You're doing just fine."

We both climbed higher than we had meant to, spurred on by her encouragement. She made it all the way to the highest boughs before realising we had stopped much further down, too nervous to climb any higher into the younger branches.

Evie and I pressed close to the trunk. I looked to Ellie, tiny and fearless little thing she was, as she swung and hopped down the branches back to us.

"Are you alright?" She asked. We both nodded, but it was Evie who spoke.

"How can you do that?"

Ellie smiled with mischief as she sat down next to me, then reached into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out an old shilling.

"Here," she said, showing it to us.

"What's that?" I asked.

"My good luck charm! My friend gave it to me. I always keep it with me. It keeps me safe."

"Would you lend it to me so I can get down?" I mumbled.

She smiled. "You can borrow it, if you think it'll help, but I know you can do it on your own."

There was no doubt in her voice. I believed her.

I don't know why her kindness surprised me, but it did.

I quickly learned that Ellie was, at her core, genuinely kind. I had seen adults be kind to others with an expectation of reciprocity, even as a child. Ellie was kind for the sake of it.

Growing with her, one also learned that she was never too proud or too stubborn to offer help, or to ask for it, however rare the latter was. Her parents had already begun her training in India, so she already outpaced us by some two years by then. She had trained under our father for a time, as well.

Evie and I were around age eight when we began the practice of climbing things besides trees. Ellie was still ahead of us, but attended our lessons from time to time. She offered bits of advice and tricks to help us improve when she could, and praise or encouragement when she couldn't.

"Stay closer to the wall when you climb. Yes, exactly like that. Very good."

"The strength of your grip has improved. It shows in how quickly you can climb, now. Well done."

I hung on to her every word then, as I continued to for years thereafter. I was as eager to hear her advice as her praise.

I must have been about nine years old when I learned to love the sound of her laugh. As the three of us grew and learned more each day, we often fumbled and made mistakes—as children are wont to do. We all did, the three of us, but when she made a misstep, she would laugh.

"I'll try again, and do better next time," she would always say.

I remember Evie and I trying to emulate her enthusiasm. My father made that difficult as he pressed us harder, but we persisted. She always looked so pleased whenever she succeeded at a task, but just as much when I or Evie did, too. I refused to squander the gift of her bright smile.

My next memories are around the practice of learning to fight properly. We were eleven, I think.

I had begun to catch up to Ellie in martial ability, though I had room for improvement yet—she still surpassed me on most days.

I wondered then, as I do now, if she didn't throw some of the matches I won in those days, just to give me more confidence. I wonder whether she would ever admit to it, if I asked?

Watching her spar was always a pleasure. A finesse fighter, always, she was so graceful.

It was a knack I could never quite pick up, no matter how hard she tried to teach me.

She never put me down for that, though. Instead, she focused on other things I did well—how strong I was, my resourcefulness, my ability to come back. I reveled in such praise. I didn't realise until later that I needed it.

I needed her.

It was at fourteen when I realised that I was falling in love with her. Our friendship had always been effortless and natural, but I knew there was more I wanted. When I brought up my feelings for her to my father, he told me to stay silent.

"Don't bother her with it—it's a passing fancy, Jacob. She's familiar, that's all. You'll move on to someone more suitable soon enough."

I kept my feelings to myself, more out of fear of rejection than of obedience to my father. Concealing them made no difference—they continued to grow on their own, and I still recall the excited flutter in my stomach whenever I was with her.

It didn't matter whether she was telling me one of her grand stories, or smiling at me across a room, or demonstrating a manoeuvre. It became a pleasant ache as time wore on, and while unsettling in the beginning, I was happy to let it stay. I wanted it to stay.

I wanted to stay with her.

In the late muck of that winter, she told me she was to go away with her parents—a sabbatical for her mother, whose health was ailing at the time.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To Portugal," she said. "We're to stay with Anita's family, in the Douro Valley."

It didn't really matter to me where she was going; I only knew that I ached at the thought of being without her.

For eight years, we had stood side by side. I couldn't imagine her no longer being there.

It's only temporary, I told myself. She'll be back when her mother's recovered.

What if she doesn't? What if they stay in Portugal forever? Better to tell her now. Let her know.

I held my tongue. I took her hand and told her, "I'll miss you, Ellie."

She smiled at me, but I could see it was forced—it didn't reach her eyes. I convinced myself I was imagining it, but it seemed like a sad longing in her gaze. I held my breath.

She embraced me, and said, "Don't worry, Jacob. I'll write often, I promise."

After a pause, I remember the fluttering feeling in my chest when she softly added: "I'll miss you, too."

Such things could go unsaid, for the both of us. And yet…

When I went to Crawley Station to see her off with my father and sister, I was melancholy. She embraced me again.

"I have something for you, darling. A parting gift," she said, her smile filled with mischief. I was curious—what sort of gift could she have for me? I wasn't too proud to be eager to see what it was. She offered me a small pouch, and I took it.

"Should I open it now?" I asked in a conspiratorial whisper, glancing over my shoulder to my father and Evie, who were distracted by her parents.

She nodded, looking hopeful. I tugged on the drawstrings and emptied the contents into my hand, and I remember the hard, unyielding lump that formed in my throat when I laid eyes on it.

It was a shilling.

"Is this…?" I stared at her, and couldn't finish my sentence, overwhelmed and embarrassed at the quake in my voice. She had put a hole through it, and attached it to a cord.

She smiled, but looked a little nervous, too. "It is. I thought perhaps you might be able to make better use of it in the coming days," she said.

I remember trying to swallow around the lump in my throat. My eyes were wet, and I couldn't meet her gaze. She held my hands in her own as she went on.

"I thought it might be pertinent to make sure it was difficult for you to lose. Take care of it for me, will you?"

It was given under the pretense of safekeeping, but I knew that if she had just wanted to keep it safe, she wouldn't have given it to me at all—it was safer with her than it ever would have been with me. I looked at her, my chest aching to do it, though I'd managed to fight off my tears.

"I'll keep it safe," I promised with a stalwart nod. Ellie smiled brightly, but she giggled at me. She must have thought it funny, how serious I was being all of a sudden.

"I hope you will," she said, taking the cord to secure it around my neck. Her fingers brushed against it where it sat on my collar, and I felt heat rising in my cheeks under her touch. She looked a little flustered as she spoke, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

"I'd like to think of this as part of me staying with you. So, even if we're apart, we'll still be together. I hope that's alright?"

Again, I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I wanted to speak, but what could I say? I nodded.

She smiled, and I could see the relief on her features as she took my hands and squeezed them. The movement of leaning forward to put a kiss on her cheek was unconscious—it felt natural, even. I don't know whether I imagined it, but I remember at the time that it seemed as if she had leaned into it. She didn't shy away, at any rate, but we both seemed to realise at the same moment what had happened.

We froze, waiting to hear the shouts of my father, or her parents. We heard only silence, but for the bustling crowds around us. I glanced over my shoulder—my father and her parents were still speaking. Only Evie, whose hand drew to her mouth in surprise, had seen what had happened. I turned back to Ellie. She was flustered as she spoke.

"Please take care of yourself, Jacob," she said, squeezing my hands again before we finally parted. As she walked away from me, I wanted to throw my arms around her, and beg her to stay.

Please don't go. Please don't leave me behind.

Again, I held my tongue.

To consider that moment now, I realise how deeply entrenched my feelings were for her. I loved her then, as I love her now. As I always will.

I missed her so fiercely, even as we wrote often. Evie and I had both relied on Ellie in many ways—as a friend, as a confidante, even as a mentor of a kind. She was my best friend after Evie, and I think Evie looked at her the same way.

I could tell Evie missed her just as much as I did. We leaned on each other more than usual, in Ellie's absence. As time wore on, though, Evie began to form a bond with our father that he and I lacked. She began to lean on me less, even as I leaned on her more.

"When will you return?" I wrote to Ellie each time.

"Soon, I think," she would always promise.

At fifteen, in the dead of winter just before Christmas, I recall the shock and delight of receiving an invitation to her parents' estate for a holiday gathering.

She was finally back, and I was nearly beside myself with ineffable excitement in the days preceding the celebration. The day we were to attend her parents' estate is a blur of preparations. I do remember my father scolding me endlessly, but I didn't care—I was too eager to see her again. I wanted to hear her voice and listen to her stories, to see her face and that lovely smile.

I don't really remember a great deal about the other guests, or even what happened before Ellie arrived. She entered the drawing room—fashionably late, of course—but oh, what a picture she painted. I hardly recognised her at first for how different she looked. She was no longer a girl in presence nor in appearance, but a woman in both. She held herself like a queen, graceful and regal. Always quite small of stature, she still managed to cut a formidable figure in that cream-coloured gown.

I know it's rude to stare at anyone, and especially at a lady, but I couldn't help myself, so in awe I was. She picked me out in the crowd of guests as if I were the only one in the room, and rushed towards me with an eager smile.

To my delight—and the chagrin of my father and other nearby guests—she cast aside propriety and threw her arms around my neck. I caught her in my arms, and it was all I could do not to bury my face into the furrow of her shoulder.

"It's so good to see you!" She cried. She was so beautiful, as she always had been, and the faint smell of her jasmine oil made my heart swell with joy. Here she was again, finally. I had missed her so. She embraced Evie next.

"How are you, Evie? Oh, I've missed you!" She said as she took Evie's hands, then embraced her. The both of them were all smiles and laughter.

"I'm well, Ellie. You must tell us more of the Douro Valley! Your letters were so beautifully crafted."

Evie did always love a good story, didn't she? Ellie nodded to her, then took a step back. The bright smile on her face reached her eyes as she turned back to me.

Joy. Affection. Adoration.

Surely that isn't all for me? I thought. It didn't matter—I was selfish enough then, just as I am now, to believe it was. She took my hands and I knew my cheeks were ruddy with colour when she did.

"How are you, darling?" She asked. I couldn't speak right away, so she went on. "I've missed you terribly. Come, you'll tell me everything, won't you?"

"You look lovely," I stammered finally. What else could I have said? I was astounded by her. Evie elbowed my ribs, and I flinched, but I couldn't take my eyes off Ellie.

She smiled, gracious as ever. "Thank you, Jacob. Come, then, let's all of us sit down and have a chat. I'll tell you of my exploits in the Valley, and you can tell me all the things I've missed in Crawley."

I only nodded, unconsciously giving her hand a squeeze. Ellie cast her gaze to me briefly at that, but smiled again as she led us both to a settee.

I stayed quiet for most of the night thereafter. I listened, instead. She told story after story, and I don't know if it was because I hadn't heard her voice in so long, or if her voice had changed along with the rest of her, but it was immensely pleasant to hear her speak. I hung on her every word, as I often seemed to. Her stories were always a delight, and this was no exception. I listened to her tell stories of her time in the Valley, and new legends and fairy tales she had learned.

I tried not to admire her too closely—the last thing I wanted was my father to drag me out on my ear, or for Evie to mock me. It wasn't either of them who noticed, however, but rather Ellie herself. I remember how she flustered, and the anxiety I felt rise up in my throat.

After a moment, she only smiled at me and took my hand, giving me a soft squeeze. The gentle affection in her eyes set me at ease. She looked and moved so differently, yet she was still the same girl with dark hair and freckles that I remembered.

As the evening wore on, I found my frustration mounting. I wanted little more than to steal her away to speak privately. Not for any spectacular or ulterior reason, just that I wanted her to myself for a few minutes. To hear her voice only for me, and look at her without worrying if someone else was watching. Of course, such things are dreams, and I wasn't so lucky that evening.

As the night came to a close, our families exchanged their goodbyes. She and Evie exchanged theirs, and then Ellie turned to me. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pressed her face into the crook of my neck. I put my arms around her, and I saw Evie make a bit of a face as she turned away. pretending to be interested in something on the nearby shelves.

Ellie stood back, and pressed her fingers against the shilling at my collar with an impish smile.

"I see you're still wearing it."

I can't be certain if she was trying to tease me or not, but it didn't matter. I nodded, quite serious, even though my face was becoming rosy under her gaze.

"Of course," I said, suddenly very sure of myself. "I always want you with me."

I meant it then, as I would mean it now. I always wanted her with me. It was a delight to watch how she flustered at that. My fondness for making her blush never left.

We carried on together thereafter for some months. Her sabbatical to Portugal made me realise how much I cared for her—how much I wanted to be with her. How much I needed her. I didn't want to have to imagine my life without her, ever again.

It was at her sixteenth birthday, anxious as I was, that I decided I would confess. In a manner of speaking, at least.

I managed to slip her away from the crowd of guests demanding her attention that night, under the guise of taking some air on the balcony. I could tell she had seen through my ploy, but she played along. As we reached the balcony outside of the ball room, she took my hand and asked me, "Is everything alright, Jacob?"

What could I say? I swallowed.

"I'm very fond of you, you know," I said. Rather, I blurted it out. I said it as if that should have been enough to make my intention clear. She looked perplexed, and tried to smile, but I could see the bewilderment in her expression.

"I'm very fond of you, too, Jacob," she assured me.

"No, I mean… I'm fond of you," I insisted.

At the time, my fear of her rejection clouded my thoughts. I was so certain of a forthcoming refusal that my confession was made that much more difficult—even painful. I had already decided that she wouldn't—couldn't possibly—feel the same.

She nodded as her brow furrowed. "Yes, I understand what being fond of someone means," she replied. She squeezed my hand. "You seem like you're upset, darling. What's on your mind?"

"I mean, Ellie, that I'm fond of you in a way that… that a man is fond of a woman." I tripped over my words as I spoke, hardly able to finish my sentence. It was embarrassing. It was terrifying.

How else was I meant to say it? To say 'I love you' felt premature, and much too heavy a burden to lay upon her. Especially when I still hadn't reconciled it, myself.

After a moment, she smiled and started to laugh. Then she began to tremble. She didn't say anything, but put her arms around my neck and drew me against her. I didn't know what else to do, so I returned the gesture. She clung to me, and I couldn't fathom what that meant.

When she decided that she'd held me long enough, she stood back. Her smile was radiant, and it reached her eyes, but they were wet with tears. Fretful and worried, I reached out and wiped at the tears on her cheeks with my thumb. It was an unconscious action, and it seemed to startle her, which only made me more nervous.

I was nearly frantic, distressed at the idea that this could have gone so wrong. I pulled out my kerchief, and she laughed out a sob as she took it, dabbing at her eyes as she took my hand.

"I'm so glad, Jacob…" she took a breath as she looked at me. "I feel the same way."

I froze.

"What?"

She took my surprise graciously, laughing a little more as she nodded.

"I've always been fond of you, darling," she said, her voice quivering. "We've been friends nearly our entire lives, but…"

A beat passed as she glanced away. "There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

My grip on her tightened. "Yes."

It was all I could manage to say. I was overwhelmed. I was elated. I thought perhaps I might even be delirious.

That she shared my feelings was more than I ever could have hoped for. I remember the swell in my chest as she put her arms around me again.

I love you. Those words repeated themselves in my thoughts, over and over again. Not yet, I chided myself. It's too much. It's too soon.

After a moment, she leaned back, but only far enough to press her forehead against mine. I looked at her, her eyes closed, and I felt her trembling.

To hold her that way felt divine.

She tilted her head and pressed a delicate kiss against my cheek. It was an innocent gesture, pure in its simplicity, but it closed a door for me. I was hers, and always would be, no matter if she chose me or not.

"What's going on here?" The demand of Evie's voice interrupted our reverie. She'd snuck up on us, hands on her hips.

The both of us scrambled to untangle ourselves, and Evie looked so stern that for a moment I believed she really was angry. When she saw that we were sufficiently mollified, she began to laugh.

"Honestly, you two! You need to be more careful. What if it had been our parents, instead? Or one of the guests! Heaven forbid, there would have been a scandal!" Her voice was light, as if she were joking, but we all knew how serious she was.

Ellie and I looked at each other, but neither of us could say anything. I knew my face was red, and I could feel my ears burning. I couldn't see Ellie's blush, but her expression betrayed her. Evie went on.

"I am glad you finally decided to speak to each other. Listening to the both of you go on about the other in private all these years was beginning to grow tiring." She was teasing us, but I still looked at her as if she'd betrayed me. Ellie started to laugh.

"Yes, I'm sure it must be exhausting to listen to someone carry on about the person they fancy, Evie. Have you spoken to Nathaniel yet this evening?"

I had never seen my sister turn so red so quickly. She looked as if she had swallowed her tongue, and I couldn't help my laugh. The tension dissolved as Ellie embraced her. We all laughed, at ourselves and each other.

"Honestly…" Evie mumbled, but she still smiled at the both of us.

She took Ellie's hand and looked very serious all of a sudden. "Better if you come back with me, I think. You've been gone long enough that coming back with Jacob would raise eyebrows and turn heads, to be sure." Ellie nodded her agreement, and Evie turned to me. "Jacob, wait a few minutes before you return to the ball room."

I nodded—such an arrangement worked just fine for me. I needed some minutes to find my composure again.

I had no idea what would happen next for us, but at that moment, it didn't matter. All I cared was that she shared my feelings, and I was intent on not making her regret that.

The months after that confession were slow for us. I don't know whether she was apprehensive, or unsure, but we moved slowly with our affections. I was nervous of moving too quickly and scaring her off, but even more than that, I was nervous of doing something wrong.

Physical affection was not new territory for either of us, having grown up doing these things, but they took on a different meaning in the aftermath of that evening. Much as things were just the same as they had always been, there were subtle differences now.

The way our fingers twined when we held hands. The way we put our hands on one another when we embraced. Even the way we linked arms was different.

I remember in the clearing of that spring, sitting together along Broadfield Brook. We had stolen away earlier in the afternoon to hide together under the shade of some trees. Ellie fidgeted with the buttons of my waistcoat, as she often did, and I played with the end of her braid, rolling it through my fingers.

At a glance, there was nothing particularly special about that afternoon—it was much the same as many other afternoons we had shared with each other before then. I pressed a kiss against the top of her hair, and she looked at me, a little sleepy, but still that same soft, lovely smile.

I drew my fingers up under her chin, and she spread her hand out over my chest, kneading her fingers into me like a cat. She glanced sidelong, and I knew she had something to say. I waited patiently, happy to let her come into it in her own time.

She looked back at me finally, and I'm certain I could see the slight ruddiness beneath her freckles.

"Would you kiss me, Jacob?"

Suddenly, the afternoon seemed very different.

I kissed her, and she met me. It felt natural to do it, despite our inexperience. I remember the warmth that spread out over my body. I remember the small sound of delight she made.

Loving her had always been effortless, and this was no exception.

When we parted, we were both breathless. I cupped her cheek, brushing my thumb along her cheekbone. She smiled and turned into my hand, kissing my palm. The intimacy of that gesture, simple as it was, incited me.

I love you. It was all I wanted to say to her, so that she understood—so that she knew.

The progression of our intimacy in the aftermath of that first kiss remained slow, but we began to open ourselves up to more clandestine acts of congress. Moving from kissing to caresses, and then more meaningful touches was as exhilarating as it was nerve-wracking. I was eager to explore more of her body, and eager to let her explore more of mine.

I remember the cold October afternoon when I came to call for tea, and her parents were summoned to the Estate by the Elders. They were hesitant to leave us alone—Anita and Barty were away in Portugal, and Constance was still out at the shops. Ellie charmed her parents, as she often did.

"Don't worry, mum. Connie will be back soon. Jacob and I will clean out the ovens, and start the fires in the scullery for supper."

I believed her, just as her parents seemed to. My assumption was innocent, and perhaps that was for the best—if I'd had an inkling of her plan, I probably would've ruined it with my anticipation.

"Very well, darling," her mother said, leaving a kiss on Ellie's forehead. "We'll be back soon." And with that, they departed, though her father did glance back at us a few times.

They were both young once. Our fraternizing wasn't exactly a secret, by then, but neither was it openly acknowledged. I can only assume they both suspected that we might not be going to the scullery right away.

Ellie waited for a moment, watching through the parlour window as they climbed into a carriage and set off. As I began to roll my sleeves up in anticipation of cleaning the ovens, she surprised me by throwing her arms around my shoulders and kissing me.

I stumbled, trying to catch her and kiss her without toppling to the floor.

"Ellie?"

She laughed and kissed me again, then took my hand and pulled me towards the stairs. I didn't resist, though I'm sure my bewilderment showed.

"Aren't we going to tidy the scullery?" I asked. Ellie stopped and looked at me, her grip on my hand slackening.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I thought…" She looked terribly embarrassed, and I felt awful—what did I say?

The realisation dawned on me in that moment—how could I pass such an opportunity? Every time our bodies had met before then had been rushed and awkward, often in tight quarters, with little room or time to properly explore each other for fear of being discovered. Now, we had been left alone in comfort, though we didn't know for how long. What did it matter? I was suddenly very, very eager to take advantage of the situation at hand.

"Well… I'm sure the ovens won't take that long to clean out…" I mumbled, trying to salvage things.

She smiled, demure as always, but maybe it was a little wicked, too.

That moment was a catalyst for us. In the aftermath of it, we gave ourselves over to passion at every opportunity. Being allowed to see more of her—not just her body, but her most private thoughts, too—was sacred to me.

I miss her. Not only the shapes and curves and lines of her, but the sound of her voice. Her laugh, and the smell of her skin, the soft tresses of her hair. I miss the stormy green colour of her eyes. I could get lost in them, and often did, in our moments of solitude.

I loved everything about her. I miss everything about her. I hate the very idea that she might be gone, yet some sinister part of me keeps shouting that she is. I can't let go. I can't believe she's gone, but what other explanation is there?

My most recent—and perhaps most painful—memories are only some weeks ago, now. We had just turned eighteen. Ellie had pushed herself as hard as she could to be ready to take on her first target—she had to be blooded before the Council would approve of her going to London.

Our father told Evie and I that we were training for the same purpose. I had assumed we would be going with her. Our birthday came and went, with no arrangements or discussions. Ellie's birthday came, and within days, she had received her first mark.

It was the fifteenth of December when she departed with our father in the early afternoon. Evie and I distracted ourselves with our chores and our studies, martial and theoretical. We cooked supper together, and waited. We played some card games, and waited. We found topics of discussion to pass the time, and waited. Finally, at half eleven, Evie decided she no longer wanted to wait.

"Father and Ellie can tell us of her success in the morning," she insisted as she stretched and groaned. It wasn't that I didn't have faith in Ellie's abilities, but that I worried. I needed to know she was safe.

It was nearly two in the morning before my father finally arrived home. He looked exhausted, disheveled, distraught. There were dark stains on his overcoat—was it blood? Something wasn't right.

"What's happened?" I tried not to sound too demanding, but my worry rose up in my throat like bile. "Where's Ellie?"

"What are you still doing up, Jacob? You've drills to run at dawn."

"Answer my question," I demanded. He shrugged off his overcoat and rolled his eyes.

"Go to bed," he growled back. His expression brooked no argument as he stalked away from me, but I chased after him.

"Where is Ellie?" I demanded again. He ignored me once more, stomping up the stairs. Ideas began milling through my head about what could have happened, harkening back to those dark stains on his overcoat.

In my mind, she was infallible. What could have happened? The shilling around my neck suddenly felt cold, and I felt sick. Some loud, ugly, sinister voice inside of me began taunting me.

She's gone.

I couldn't bear that thought. I still can't.

I followed after my father as he stalked his way further into the house.

"Please, just tell me what happened. Where is she?" I needed to know. More than needing to know where she was, I needed to know that she was safe. That she was alive. He still ignored me, and even bristled a little.

"Shut up," he snapped. "You'll wake your sister. Now, do as I say and go to bed."

What could I do?

Fighting with my father seems almost as commonplace as breathing, now. If we're speaking with each other, it's likely that we're disagreeing about something.

It's come to the point where he almost never takes me seriously. This time was no different.

He slammed the door to his room, and left me alone in the dark.

I wondered then, as I wonder now, whether I could have done anything to save her? If I had been better prepared, if I had been there with her, would she still be here with me now?

I went to bed as my father insisted, but I didn't sleep. I lay in bed, angry tears stinging my eyes as I clutched at my pillow. I stayed awake into the grey light of early morning.

Evie entered my room as the sky lightened, looking unsettled.

"Did father say anything to you about Ellie?" She asked. At the sound of Ellie's name, some dam within me cracked.

"No."

I was angry, and embarrassed, and I tried to stop myself from sobbing. I failed.

"Is she… is she gone?" Evie whispered. I didn't want to believe she was. I still don't.

"No. I don't know."

Evie put her arms around me, and I clung to her.

Where are you, Ellie? What happened? I've no answers.

My father carried on, ignoring any requests for information from either of us, and handily changing the subject whenever Ellie was brought up. I resented him for it. I resented him for not giving me the answers I so desperately needed.

Evie and I quietly hoped Ellie's parents would send an invitation to our family for Christmas. Christmas came and went, with no word.

Perhaps for the new year, we posited. Again, the new year came and went, and there was no word. I thought to take matters into my own hands.

It was the afternoon of the fourth of January when I arrived at the door of her parents' estate, ringing the doorbell and waiting. Barty answered, a little bewildered.

"Mister Frye. We weren't expecting you," he said. I doffed my cap as I fidgeted. I was nervous. What was I doing there?

"I'm sorry to intrude, Mister Pereira. Is Ellie at home?" I just needed to hear that she was alive. I heard the chiming of a service bell—someone in the house was calling for him.

"Is there something I can do for you, Mister Frye?" He asked. I couldn't tell if he was ignoring my question, or if he was distracted by the chiming of the service bell.

"What about Mister or Mrs. Blair? May I speak with one of them?" I asked. I thought perhaps if I could at least speak to her parents, I could glean something of what had happened. The sinister voice came back, as it often did, and still does—she's gone.

"The Blairs are indisposed at the moment," he replied.

"May I leave a message? I'd like to speak with them about Ellie, if I may."

Barty's brow furrowed in sympathy, but he nodded. I felt my chest fluttering with anxiety. It was the first time anyone but Evie had bothered to acknowledge Ellie's existence to me in weeks. Still, I felt angry.

Why wouldn't anyone tell me what happened?

I never received word back from her parents.

I'm still angry. I'm so, so angry. About a great many things, yes, but most of all, I'm angry at my father. I'm angry at him for not telling me the truth of what happened to Ellie. For not telling me anything at all. He would have been the last person to see her alive. What happened?

I don't want to believe that she's really gone, but what alternative is there?

No. I can't. And I won't.

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