Trigger Warning


I stood in front of the mirror in my hotel room slowly unbuttoning my high collared jacket. I sighed deeply as I slid the left shoulder over. Seated just below the curve where my shoulder met my neck two ached lines, dashed with different, yet symmetrical lengths, still glowed red from the pale white of my skin. Despite the aid of the mirror I turned my head, straining to see the marks. I gently ran my finger over them. They were just beginning to grow rough as the scabs formed. I shuttered. I had not taken a case in months, not since that unusually cold morning of December 10th when my father arrived home from a business trip to London with the Duke.


I had been watching from a window of the parlor stitching a thick border of lace onto a handkerchief meant to be a gift for Dinah for the wedding which was then only fifteen days away. We had originally set the date for late June but were forced to postpone when Rev. Underhill suffered a stroke that left him paralyzed on his right side and wholly unable to speak forcing Quentin to assume all of the duties of the Parish immediately as well as assist in the care of his father. We postponed the event until October in the hopes that by then the situation would be settled one way or another and in September it seemed all was as it should have been, Rev. Underhill was mostly recovered but for a slur in his speech and some difficulty with his right arm and leg that occasionally chose not to obey their master as well as a slight drooping to the side of his mouth that never fully resolved. But by the end of that very month I was playing nursemaid in Wales with no hope of reprieve. Quentin was nothing if not understanding, citing Christian Duty as far more imperative, and once more we postponed the date; this time planning for a Christmas wedding. It would be most convenient as we planned to have the family gathered anyhow and Quentin joked that perhaps if we did it in reverence of the Lord's birth he might favor us with good fortune. I knew I should have been quite perturbed by two postponements and yet I found myself entirely unbothered by it. We would marry eventually, of that I was certain, I felt no great pressure to rush the date. As was typical, Quentin was of the same mind as I, finding the whole prolonged affair a mere trifling bother that would eventually be resolved. Father had been away for a month but had promised to return today that he might be present for the wedding preparations. I feigned interest in my work, though every sound from out side found me looking up from my stitching to see if it was his coach.

Finally, I heard the clatter of wheels much louder than usual. I looked up, startled, just as the coach came barreling into drive. I saw Reg, our coachman pull the reins hard and jumps from the driver's seat calling out words I could not quite understand. Reg swung open the coach door with such force it bounced off the side and rebounded back to him but he seemed insensate to it. The footmen rushed to the coach and the three men gathered around the door. Between the three of them they managed to help my father stagger through the narrow portal, his arms wrapped around the shoulders of the footmen. His face was bright red, his expression drawn with pain, I could tell he was drenched in sweat even from this distance. Suddenly he lost his footing on the step, stumbling. The footmen caught him, bearing him up. "Father!" I shouted, throwing my sewing aside. I ran down the hallway to the door where I met them, my father being almost wholly supported by the three men. "Father, are you ill?" I cried.

"Just a touch of influenza," my father spoke through a grimace. "I'll be fine once I lie down. No need to call a doctor."

Reg sent me a look of grave concern as he and the footmen drug more than helped him to the stair.

"But father!"

"Just have the maid send up some tea," he ordered.

I did as commanded but was unable to reassure myself with his words. That evening I went to his room where I found him lying in bed, asleep, the curtains billowing like a ghost from an open window. The room was dark, despite the dimming light there was no lamp lit. I chaffed my upper arms fighting the chill as I approached the window to shut it. I felt the crunch of something beneath my foot. Removing my slipper from the spot I saw a shard of glass broken into three pieces. Strange, I thought, then I noticed another glinting in the fading twilight sun and another. My gaze followed the path of glass to a lamp shattered on the floor, a thick black stain of oil splattered the rug and bedsheets. My first instinct was to pick up the glass but a blast of freezing air from the window reminded me of a more pressing matter.

Just as I put my hands on the frame my father's gruff voice came from the bed where I had believed him to be sleeping, "Don't close that."

"But Father, it's freezing in here!"

"I said-" a fit of coughing broke his words.

"Father!" I ran to his side, ignoring the feel of glass beneath my slippers. He bent double from the fit, I attempted to hold him steady. I could feel his fever burning through the thick soaking wet fabric of his night clothes. His upper body was thrown forward from the force of the cough. I rubbed his back as though that might assuage the cough when I happened to glance up to the lump of upper back just below the neck exposed by his nightshirt. It was covered in spots. "Father, how long have you been ill?"

"Monday," he answered, his cough having temporarily abated. I helped him back down. His flesh had taken on a waxy appearance since this afternoon, sweat glistened on his face which was pale but for the rose of fever on his forehead and cheeks. His eyes were rimmed in crimson as though he had been crying yet those orbits were completely dry. Bordering the edges of his nightshirt I could see more of the horrible pink spots. I rang for the maid.

"Angela, fetch a bowl of snow from outside! And send for the Doctor immediately!" I shouted the moment she arrived at the door.

It was some hours before the Doctor could be procured, it seemed ours wasn't the only emergency call of the night. At ten o'clock he finally arrived, Chet, who had been waiting at the door for him led the doctor to the room where mother and I were tending to father.

"Dr. Hayes, thank God you are here!" I exclaimed. The man appeared exhausted as he walked into the room, the grey in his mouse colored beard set off by the candlelight. I stood, motioning that he should take my seat. He seemed to remove his tools from his bag as a matter of formality, placing the stethoscope to my father's rose flecked chest he listened intently. Mother and I held our breath as though afraid the very sound of our breathing might affect his ability to hear. He examined the inside of father's mouth and pulled the lids of his eyes so as to better see the deep red that surrounded them. He poked and prodded father for a few more moments before he finally drew back, his expression one of resigned defeat. "What is it?" I demanded more than asked.

"It is as I feared. Your father has Typhus."

Mother's hands flew to cover a gasp. She backed up so fast from the bed she knocked over her chair, almost tripping over it in the effort to distance herself.

The doctor continued his merciless explanation, "There's been an outbreak of the disease in London. I have just come from the Wyndham estate."

"Don't tell me the Duke..." mother said.

Dr. Hayes nodded, "Mr. Wyndham is gravely ill." My mother seemed to waiver were she stood.

"What can we do?" I asked, grabbing hold of my mother's arm to keep her up.

"I can give him some medicine that will calm some of the symptoms. Keep him cool. If his symptoms get worse call for me immediately." Dr. Hayes said, packing up the black bag of his trade.

"Chester..." father groaned suddenly, the syllables sounding as though they required a good deal of effort just to expel. "I need Chester."

Chet, who had been standing just outside the doorframe timidly entered the room. "Yes, Father?"

"Sit," father ordered. Chester obeyed. "Leave us," he indicated slightly towards mother and I. We left the room quickly.

I waited for what seemed ages sitting on the top stair where I could have a good vantage point of what transpired just down the hall. I watched as the Steward entered and left a few minutes later. There was the sound of hoofbeats fading into the night followed some thirty minutes later by the sound of a pair of horses. Father's solicitor arrived and followed the steward up the stairs and into Father's apartment. Finally the Solicitor left, followed closely by the Steward. A few minutes later Chet appeared in the doorframe, his aspect pale, his expression stunned.

"Chet!" I cried, getting up I rushed to him, taking his hand in my own where it rested limply.

"He's relinquished control of the business over to me." I could feel his cold hand shaking in mine. "I don't know what I shall ever do without him."

I embraced the stiff form of my younger brother, desperate to provide him some comfort yet unable to articulate words that might bring him solace. What words might I have that were not mere hollow platitudes of false hope? I knew as well as anyone more than half of all people who were diagnosed with the dread disease perished from it and even were we among the fortunate few his health and faculties would likely be irreparably damaged.


Thus the wedding was indefinitely postponed. I spent next month at my father's bedside applying cold compresses to his fevered brow and washing the sheen of sweat from his skin as he lay in a state of delirium only broken by occasional moments of restless sleep from which pain soon enough awakened him into incoherent babbling and moaning. Lucidity had left him in the first few days to be replaced by a madness. By his screams he seemed to desire to do violence but those desires were rendered impotent by the weakness in his limbs until finally he only lay there, whimpering in the most pitiful manner. I could not describe the sensation I felt as I dipped the compress in the bowl of ice cold water, wringing it through benumbed fingers, and laying it across his brow at which point his body would stiffen with the contact and then fall once more into small spasms from the relentless pain. He was always such an imposing figure in my recollection; a tree that would not condescend to bend, let alone be broken. I could see him sitting behind his desk in his lofty office pouring over the ledgers until all hours of the night. To think I might never see him there again brought the sting of tears to my eyes. He seemed so frail now as he teetered on the edge of life, his strength spent by the mere practice of breathing. Mother insisted I allow a nurse to replace me lest I too become infected, but I would not be moved from my watch - I suppose it was that stubbornness that was his inheritance to me. Every minute with him might prove the last and I could not bear to sacrifice even one to a stranger. So I watched as he labored painfully to breath in and out, in and out, and prayed in earnest with every breath for just one more. One more year, one more month, one more day, one more hour - one more breath! A dozen or so mission requests from headquarters lay unacknowledged in a drawer in my room. I expected Quentin had told them of my situation yet still they tried in the hope that the situation might soon resolve itself, one way or the other, and I would then be back to work. Their hope was in vain for Father still lingered on neither showing signs of recovery nor passing into death.

Mother would not see him, nor would she permit Elizabeth and Avery to even draw near the room until such time as they could be parceled off the relatives for the Holidays. Chet attempted to visit father a handful of times in the first week but each time left quickly, a hand veiling his eyes. He threw himself into the business and certainly he found plenty of occupation there with the end of the year finances to tie up and the plan for the coming year still only half written.

Neither of us spared much more than a fleeting thought for the Duke and his plight until late one night, well after the servants had gone to bed, there was an urgent pounding at the door. I only barely heard it from my post beside father's bed. I peeked out from the door to see Chet at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Who could it be this late, Chet?

"I haven't the foggiest."

I quickly took to the stairs, meeting him at the base. I drew to my brother's side, nervously wrapping my arm around his. "Should we ring for someone?"

"No, trouble rarely knocks."

We approached the door, I with visions of Roger come in distress - these I knew to be nonsense for I was among the last people he would come to - in a space of seconds I had already conjured half a dozen ways inwhich I might explain his presence away. But when Chet threw open the heavy wooden door it was not Roger but Arthur. His breath fell heavily, his face white as a sheet excepting for the bright red rims of his puffy eyes - he looked less a man than a specter in the gloom of the night.

"Father's dead." he managed to pronounce before he collapsed forward. Chet and I caught him before he could hit the floor. He made no effort to right himself. I could feel his body shake violently as it was wracked by silent sobs. The three of us slowly folded to a kneeling position on the floor, never having released each other, where we stayed in such manner until the first rays of dawn shone through the windows. With the dawn came confirmation of the news. Arthur, Chet and I had just sat down to breakfast, more from a sense of obligation to the appearance of normalcy than from any desire to eat judging by the untouched state of our plates, when mother came bursting into the room. Her gaze instantly found Arthur sitting between the pair of us. She paused, her lips slightly parted as though she wished to speak but instead she abruptly turned around. I thought I heard a sob catch as she hurried through the doorway. A few minutes later the Butler came in and delivered the message that Mother had gone for the day to be with her dearest Caroline in her time of distress and not to expect her for dinner. I suspected we were also not to expect her for Breakfast the following day. Jet and Arthur retired to the parlor while I went to tend to Father. It was evening before I was able to join them. Perhaps it had been my imagination, but it seemed Father's breathing had become easier.

I entered the parlor to find Arthur in high spirits, telling a rather ribald tale of the daughter of an English Businessman in India. It seemed after the business man had been arrested for something (Arthur knew not what) his daughter had gone and run off with the half-breed footman,

"Seems they had been carrying on the affair for over a year, right under the old man's nose! Accounts from my associate said they weren't even discrete - everyone knew! Said he had even come upon them once in the garden. But the old man wouldn't here a word of it. Apparently the footman somehow had the gall to ask for her hand before and the father rejected it. The daughter wanted to run off by the footman refused. So the daughter set about to punish the both of them by making a whore of herself to every man who walked into the house. Even my associate said he had a taste and he was nearing fifty with no real fortune to speak of! All to get back at daddy!"

Chet laughed uncomfortably.

Arthur spotted me standing in the doorway, "Come in Mina, join us!" he gestured for me to come in. After hearing such a tale I admit I had no desire to join them but a pleading look from Chet convinced me. "Tell us, how is that preacher of yours?"

"He fares well." I said, seating myself in the window seat as far from Arthur as might be managed without seeming rude.

"I was sorry to hear the wedding needed to be postponed once more."

"It was unavoidable." I said coolly, not sure where he was going with this line of dialogue - nowhere good, that was certain from the vicious grin he sent me revealing his sharp canines, like fangs ready to rend their prey.

"I've noticed you have been spending a great deal of time at his residence."

"Dinah is a dear friend of mine and they have lately needed assistance due to their father's illness."

"If you say so. Though this does seem to suggest a situation where the man may not wish to buy the cow if he is already getting the milk for free. If you would like I am sure I could throw some added incentive his way."

Chet started, he looked as though he wished to object but decided against it. Instead he took a swig from a brown bottle I knew to contain Laudanum.

"Mr. Wyndham I know you are impatient to hasten your own nuptials to my sister, but you do not need to worry on our account, we will marry when the time is best for us both and no sooner."

"My apologies, I just didn't want you to be exposed to scandalous talk. There are those who might suggest rather indecent questions regarding your virtue."

I was livid. I wished to object in the most vehement manner but my words escaped me.

Chet stood suddenly, "I apologize Artie, but I must return to my work. You are welcome to remain here as long as you wish." Having said his peace, Chet strode out of the room leaving Arthur and I behind.

We sat for some minutes in silence, I too enraged to speak and he lacking his audience for he knew I cared nothing for his humour. Finally, I stood, "I'm sorry, I need to tend to father." As I passed in front of Arthur, his hand grabbed my arm, halting me. I turned to see what I had not expected, his face was pale, pleading, a desperation shone in his eyes.

"Please stay with me a little longer. I do not wish to be alone right now."

I hesitated. "Perhaps you might go home," I suggested, a cold note still rung in my voice. His hand slid from my wrist, joining its brother at his brow. He nodded his head slightly.

"I cannot go back there. I just-" A sob escaped him, I leaned over quizzically to see tears falling freely from his eyes. "I cannot bear- I cannot bear it!"

I placed my hand upon his quivering shoulder. He reached up and entwined his fingertips with my own. He looked up at me, his face wet with tears. I had known Arthur his entire life and most of my own and in that time I had never once seen in that comfortable, arrogant expression even a flash of the germ that might create the pitiable creature that now sat, openly weeping, before me. I set myself down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He leaned his forehead against my shoulder, I could feel his head lolling from temple to temple.

"I don't know how I shall ever get by without him."

Without ever intending to, I stayed by his side the entire evening. Little was spoken between us, for he was unable and I unequal to the task of providing words of solace. In time, his tears slowed and finally ceased. We sat for quite some stretch of time in silence before I spoke, "If you do not wish to return home tonight, I can ask they prepare the guest room for you."

"I think- I think I will try to go home tonight. I know it would do my mother good." There was a watery quality to his voice, "I do... I do apologize for what I said earlier. There is no excuse for it and I will not insult you by attempting one."

I was stunned. Never had I known Arthur to apologize - but then nothing in the past few hours was in character for the man. The man who was now, at such a young age, a Duke. I was momentarily unable to respond though he seemed to be waiting expectantly for an answer.

The absence of my reply left him crestfallen. He stared at his hands, now entwined between his knees, "Of course, I would understand if you chose not to forgive me - I was unduly cruel to you for no reason, as has been my habit from youth. I know I can never make up for all the wrongs I have done you, but I hope you know they were not out of malice."

No. Of course they had not been. He had enjoyed them far too much for it to be malice from which they had sprung. Still, seeing him in this most miserable state my heart broke for him. "I do forgive you, Arthur."

"Thank you!" Relief swept over his face. "I do hope we might be able to become friends."

"I would like that." I lied. For Chet's sake I might tolerate him, by Elizabeth's wish I could be persuaded to feign friendship, but to desire friendship with a man who, but for his rank and wealth would be rightly called a degenerate - who had christened me "Mad Mina" in my youth, a title I still held with most of the locals - i was not of the mind. But he was in need of kind words and surely such pretexts would fade once his usual favorites had returned.

"Might I come by to see you tomorrow?"

"If you wish. Though I cannot guarantee I will be able to devote much time to you."

"Anything you might give I will be grateful for."


True to his word Arthur did return the following day after lunch had concluded and stayed well into the night, and the next day and the next, until I had become quite accustomed to his presence. Chet spent most of these visits shut up in the study, avoiding his friend, I believed, in an effort to somehow ward off the death of his own father - as though tragedy itself were a contagion and avoidance might work as a charm against it. Thus the task of entertaining our guest fell to me. At first I was a rather unwilling participant but Arthur had such an easy way of conversing and such a knowledge of quite a number of subjects I came to enjoy the time.

"They've set the day for the funeral," he said, apropos of nothing as he titled a book from the shelf to gain a glimpse of the cover. It was the first he had mentioned his father since his death. "It will take place three days from today. There will be a procession through town, midday."

"I will inform Chet. I know he will wish to attend."

"And what about you?" he turned his attention from the shelf, looking at me expectantly. "Will you attend?"

I had no great desire to attend the funeral of that horrible, treasonous man who had thought no more of attempting to run Roger through than he had of drowning those sweet baby kittens one of his Stable cats had born. "If you wish it."

"I do. I would see it as a personal favor."

"Then I shall attend." I said nonchalantly, though I pointedly refused to meet his gaze. The moment was pregnant enough without lending it further power. I had never thought myself susceptible to Arthur's charms, yet I now found myself almost eager to see him waiting for me in the library after lunch had finished. When he had been late the other day I had found I was rather disappointed by his absence. As though the walk to the library had been somehow wasted by the fact he was not waiting there.

"How is your father faring?"

"I am not quite ready to claim it, but I do believe his fever is on the verge of breaking."

"That is a relief. You must be very glad."

"I believe no one is more thankful than Chet. He was in no way prepared to take on the family business just yet." The careless words had left my tongue before I considered their impact. Arthur turned away from me, his shoulders slouched forward. "I'm sorry, I know it has been hard for you."

"I know you meant no harm." he strode over to sit next to me, taking my hand in his. His hands were warm. I had never noticed how large they were. Some part of me still could not expect them to be anything other than the toddler's hands I had held when, at the age of four, I had been the idol to both Arthur and my own brother. I glanced up from our hands. Green eyes met mine. Not a child's eyes. The eyes of a handsome man. My eyes fell back to our hands, I could feel a blush rising on my cheeks and brow. I prayed he might consider it embarrassment at my lose talk than as anything more. "I can't imagine how I might become a fraction of the man my father was. I know I am not half so wise or clever as he. I only just know how to perform my duties as a Duke. I suppose I believed he would live forever, that his position would never fall to me. I don't know why I believed it - I know it was nonsense - but then nonsense was what the thought of his death seemed. That a man like that is anything less than immortal is pure madness to me. I had no doubt he would survive. I was so certain. Any other outcome was simply unthinkable - I literally couldn't think of it, could not conceive it. And then he was gone. I was just sitting beside him reading and sometime between the break of the chapter and the end of the next he breathed his last. And I - I didn't even see it! His life just stopped with none to witness it. I didn't even believe it when I saw it, saw him lying so still! It was strange, like a candle had been snuffed out. And I was alone. In three days he'll be parceled away and laid where I may no longer see him. And he's not going to be there when I get home. He will not be sitting in his chair indulging in a smoke while he waits for my far too late return. He will not be there to guide me, to protect me. To instruct me it the way to go. And I'm scared, Mina."

My heart skipped a beat - it was the first time since I had attained the age of eight he had used my nickname without the intention of torment. The grip of his hands tightened over mine.

"I am so so scared. How shall I ever get by without him? I just don't know."

"You will though. I promise you, you will."

"But will I? It is an easy enough thing to promise but I cannot envision it. How am I to be the Duke over the whole of N-shire?"

"You will manage. You are more cleverer than you think and more capable than you believe. I know you can do it. I have faith in you." And in that moment I truly did. I felt the fire within my breast burning with a heretofore unknown fidelity towards the young Duke. Perhaps it was my inborn loyalty to those of noble rank, or perhaps it was because I believed I saw the spark of nobility within him, finally revealed by trial.

"Do you truly?" he demanded, wringing my hand.

Bravely, I met his gaze, "I do." Perhaps the fire within me shone through my eyes for in the next moment held me in a fervent embrace.

"Thank you, Mina! You have no idea the good it does me to hear you say that!"

To anyone passing by we would have looked quite the sight, he so consumed with emotion to make such a display and I with my arms sticking out awkwardly lacking the wherewithall, in my surprise, to reciprocate the action. It was all I could do to give him a light pat on the back.

After the better part of a minute he loosened his embrace and held me at an arm's length, "So you will come then?" The look in his eyes was so sincere, so anxious, I almost had to stifle a laugh from the sheer surprise of it all.

"I will."

"Thank you. It will be easier to know I do not have to face it alone."

"You will have Chet as well, and your mother."

"But where have they been? In my hour of need it was you who has sustained me and you have my everlasting gratitude."

I should have recognized it for the shameless flattery it was, but alas, I allowed myself to believe those words. For some part of me yearned for his good regard, to continue to hear my name said without "mad" attached to it. Perhaps that I might be elevated from being the subject of whispered gossip about town to one for fitting of a Lady. He was not the despicable man his father was; perhaps his ignominious traits might even be cured by my good counsel and he would become a man of notable virtue. A man fit to wed my sister. A man whose good influence might deliver my brother from his own dreadful habits. And would it not increase Quentin's influence to have such a good connection? To be engaged to a Lady of good standing, not the madwoman of Greenmoor Commons. All that I desperately wanted seemed now to be within my grasp.


I saw little of Arthur in the days leading to the funeral. In that short span Father improved tremendously, his fever broke the second day and by the third he had regained the ability to say simple words though at great exertion of his faculties. With the illness mostly past I decided to take on a nurse to aid in his continued care. I was now able to leave the house and walk the grounds. Assured that her husband was out of danger, Mother had all but taken temporary residence with Mrs. Wyndham whom she said was inconsolable from the grief of losing her husband. On the day of the funeral I spent the entire morning getting Chet prepared while he listed about in a laudanum induced stupor attempting to continue his immoderate consumption until I took the bottle and emptied it out the window. He was none to pleased with my actions but his slurred abuse was more comedic than stinging and I once more comforted myself with the thought that good influence on his friend might bring about change in him as well. At the procession itself he was barely able to remain awake, let alone stand. I had to keep an arm around his waist to hold him steady and twice I found him staring at his hands during the Reverend's remarks only to discover quickly he was not grieving, but asleep. From behind the pulpit Arthur caught my eye. I nodded and he slightly tilted his head in acknowledgement before once more focusing on the preacher.

Chet fell asleep almost as soon as we arrived home. I was only thankful Elizabeth and Avery were not present to witness his debauched state. I quickly checked on Father and, finding him sound asleep with the nurse enjoying a cup of steaming tea while she watched over him, made my way to the Library where I lost myself in a thrilling little Russian novel. I had not even noticed the descent of night upon the household or the progression of it to such an advanced hour until a knock at the door brought me back, from the mind of a murderer to the red velvet chair I occupied.

"Who is it?"

"Miss Moore, it is Mr. Wyndham come to call." the voice of the Butler announced through the oaken slab.

"Do send him in."

Arthur entered the room looking quite well for the day. I stood resting my book, open to the page I had just begun, on the arm of the chair. The moment the door closed and we were alone Arthur strode over, took my hand, and raised it to his lips bestowing upon it a gentle kiss. Not letting it go he raised his eyes to mine, "Thank you. Thank you for coming."

I flushed, a color only probably more pronounced by the firelight. "It was nothing." I murmured, pulling my hand back and going over to tend to the fire. I prodded a few of the logs with the poker sending up a shower of sparks. I felt a pair of large hands, still chilled from the night air, wrap around my upper arms.

"It was far more than nothing," Arthur whispered into my ear. I felt the sensation of his kiss on my neck, another gave me to know I had not imagined the first. My body stiffened. A feeling of revulsion leapt from my stomach to my throat. Another kiss. I could feel Arthur's warm breath next to my ear, "Why are you resisting this?"

"I am an engaged woman!"

"So? He doesn't have to know. I won't tell him."

"I'll know!"

"And you should know once in your life what passion feels like before you resign yourself to a life of mere friendship. I know you yearn for more, I saw it in your eyes the last time we spoke. I felt it in your heartbeat against mine. You cannot deny the attraction. Don't fight it. Even if he does find out he'll forgive you, you know he will."

"You are as good as engaged to my little sister!"

"But we are not yet engaged." he said, laying another kiss on my neck. Suddenly I felt the sensation of his teeth sinking deep into the base of my neck. I reeled around brandishing the poker. I thrust the red tip so that it pointed dangerously at the hollow of his throat.

"How dare you! If you ever so much as lay a finger on me again-"

His initial look of shock melted into a haughty smirk. "You'll what? Scream? Run me through? Tell your sister? My dear, who would believe you?"

"I have the evidence here on my very neck!" I said, tearing at the collar of my dress to show the mark I was sure he had left.

"I'll only say you attacked me and I was forced to do such a base thing in self-defense. Mad Mina. They would put you in Bedlam for sure, assaulting your Duke. And on the day of his Father's funeral no less."

I was at a loss for words. He had me. There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could say. He took a step toward me.

"Not one step closer." I thrust the poker forward menacingly.

Arthur backed off, his hands raised in the air on level with his shoulder, palms facing me in a mocking gesture. "Alright, alright, I've had my fun anyway. Perhaps when I call tomorrow you will be more... accommodating." he said as he turned to leave.

Not until I heard the front door close did I lower the poker to my side. Tomorrow? Tomorrow! And the next day and the next and how long might I hold out against him for? I could not fight him without risking being locked away! I certainly could not kill him. He was right, who would believe me? Who would believe the Duke had made such advances on Mad Mina? Even if I sent for Quentin he would arrive far too late. Perhaps I might go, not that Arthur could not easily track me down at my fiance's house. How had I been so niave? Had I not known what was said about him? Had I not heard tales? I needed to leave, to go someplace I would not easily be found. As I quickly walked down the hall pondering where I might go I heard the sound of the telegraph tapping away. Who could it be at this late hour? I unfolded the door to the diminuative telegraph room and found it printing out a message in code. Explosion at National Colliery in Cwtch - 6 Dead - Agent required for immediate investigation. I ripped off the paper and quickly typed my response: Mission accepted. Will leave first thing in the morning. With that I packed my bag and waited until the first rays of the sun began to light the sky.


I slowly stripped down to my undergarments, I took one more glimpse in the mirror as I stepped out of my dress. I could still see the mark he left standing out a brilliant rose on the field of snowy white. A sense of nausea settled in the pit of my stomach as a I stared at it. A perfect imprint. Undoing my hair, I let it fall about my shoulders, covering the wicked thing. I slid my nightgown over my head and flipped my long hair up and out of the collar. As I crawled into the bed I felt waves of exhaustion come over me. I had been far too anxious to sleep on the train but now I was suddenly hit by the need to. Tomorrow I would see Paul and his family. And then I would be off to Brighton to see Roger. I could stop by and visit Quentin and Dinah the day before the meeting. Or maybe not. That would be the first place Arthur would call when he realized he had been wholly thwarted. For a moment I felt the grip of Arthur's hands on my arms again, the feel of his kiss. I shook the memory from my mind. What Roger would look like now? I wondered. Would he have changed so much since I had last seen the back of him at a distance from my engagement celebration? Perhaps he would have grown a beard? I tried to picture the image, smiling at the comical image I conjured in my mind. It will be good to see him again regardless. And with that thought I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.