Dear Readers,

I am back with another chapter, and find this rather surprising. These events have long played on my mind, and many days have I spent writing them, but to see over 6,000 words before me is rather shocking in the most pleasant way imaginable.

I would like to offer a very special thank you and dedication to bookfaerie, whose exponentially helpful encouragement truly spurred this along for me. I do hope you will enjoy this and thank you ever so much!

To everyone who stops by, I do hope you too attain some enjoyment and find this satisfactory!

Always,
Margo

O Hamlet, what a falling off was there,

From me whose love was of that dignity

That it went hand in hand even with the vow

I made to her in marriage, and to decline

Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor

To those of mine!

Here the apparition of Hamlet's father desisted as a sharp rap upon the door of the Growlery roused John Jarndyce's own spirit.

"Ada," the startled gentleman addressed wingedly as that young lady slipped into the mahogany refuge and eased the door shut, surprisingly alone. Her guardian touched the binding of the leathern book against his desk several times before allowing it to fall limply atop it.

"I've a letter here from Esther," the young widow related, excitedly cutting the air upward as she swooped the folded parchment into Mr. Jarndyce's line of sight.

"Do you?" He inquired all the same. This query was doubly worthless, for earlier that morning Harriet had dispatched to him the very same message. She also had waited patiently as her master perused it and stuck upon its surface a brand new seal to offer the maudlin girl some flicker of happiness, however briefly it might linger for, through the ability to open it anew.

Ada unfolded the paper once again as a means to verify the information she would proceed to offer.

"They're having a splendid time in Wales," she candidly explained. "Esther is very fond of Allan's relations there, and the weather is cooperating."

Her yellow curls bobbed as she raised her head to smile at her guardian, who mimicked the gesture. "What's better than that, though, is that they plan to conclude the bridal tour with a return to London by the month's end. Allan has received a sabbatical of some sort from the hospital to instruct at a medical school there. Truly, I'm only surprised that they did not request him earlier - what with him being a great hero of the sea and all."

They both laughed at this, though only one of the pair did so earnestly.

Mr. Jarndyce cleared his throat. "Should you like to venture to London then? To meet them?"

Brightness reflected from Ada's deep pools at the proposition. "Yes, of course. So long as you wish to go."

Mr. Jarndyce rose from his seat to the place where Ada stood. "Absolutely, my dear." He clutched her empty hand. "In fact, we can depart next week, perhaps, and enjoy the anticipation of their arrival."

The warmth and trueness from his smile impelled the young woman to plant a kiss upon his cheek before taking her leave. Turning back upon his desk, faced only with Shakespeare for company, Mr. Jarndyce's lips soon fell flat again. Flipping the yellowed pages over cumbersomely, he eventually recognized the one he had last read.

Though his eyes continued to outstrip the lines, though Horatio and Marcellus made their entrances, John Jarndyce was too busy contemplating Ada to pay them much attention. How close he had grown to the fair-haired girl since she had returned to Bleak House! The pesky wounds of old had closed their gaps, and the perceptive man knew well that had Ada been a daughter of his own flesh and blood she could bring him no greater joy.

It was for this reason that he contrived so many crafty ways to mend her spirits. What a beautiful girl she was - far too much so to be swamped in such misery and left devoid of her own identity. Mr. Jarndyce had made it his personal ambition to revive her decaying spirits, spurred on by memories of the liveliness that once embodied her - and his own personal guilt as well. For he never did expect to reconcile with himself over past events. If only he had not tried to mediate them, perhaps they would have turned out far better than they had.

Realizing the level of anxiety was rising fast within him, Mr. Jarndyce sighed in an attempt to release it in his heavy gust. He returned to his oppressive book, contemplating once again the ghost of Hamlet's father. Was he truly the good soul who wished to aid his beloved child, or was he an incarnate of the devil?

To the casual observer on London, the scene perhaps never changes. True, the exact plebeians involved therein may vary from day to day, and nature herself may powder her face with a different shade, but like a much-revered and long-running play, the scenes continue flawlessly to form identical performances, despite what alterations to the cast are made, to the great enjoyment of even the most regular viewers.

However, to one of London's figurative performers, this lofty view was not maintained.

It proves rather difficult, after all, to possess such spirits amidst the daily toils of a squalid existence - or so thought Jenny the Brickmaker as fate harried her down the mucky streets of the oft revered city's outskirts. Despite having traversed the labyrinth every day for a great many months, there were times still when the tired woman lost sight of her destination. Increasingly it grew harder for the poor soul to label herself with an identity, much as she was lost to the rest of the world. No longer was she a brickmaker, for once her husband had succumbed to the demon spirits of gin and whisky, Jenny fled St. Albans once and for all, seeking betterment in a new situation. Such pursuits were what kept days dissimilar from one another. With the rising of a new sun was a new opportunity born. What an optimist such as young Jenny would not readily admit was that likewise as the sun set, each chance became enshrouded in the darkness of expiration as well. But one day, absurd as the notion may have seemed, did the forgotten lady feel a claim to some happiness would be hers.

Also to one Mr. William Guppy, an actor with the slightly more substantial role of fledgling barrister, the day proved to be unique from those previous. His most prominent client stood patiently in his office as he threshed about in his best attempts to serve her.

"A thousand apologies, Miss Bottomley, for my ostensible incompetence. What with my enterprise still awaiting its true efflorescence you would think I might not be experiencing such . . . mortifying difficulties." The young lawyer prattled this off most sincerely, never ceasing in his destruction of the room to find the quill he mislaid moments before.

The lady's matronly radiance danced upon him. "Nonsense, Mr. Guppy. What with sending your clerk to collect my ward, it is my doing that you are left in such a distressing state."

Finally laying claim to the elusive item, Mr. Guppy paused momentarily and smoothed back his hair with a controlled hand.

"Mr. Clamb does enjoy a bit of fresh air around midday, though I can't be sure where he finds it in this city. I prefer the evening myself - but! Nonetheless, he'll be back momentarily I'm sure. If Miss Jain's coach was due in at half past twelve, you may rely on punctuality. And once you sign these couple of papers for me, we shall nearly be finished."

The pen being offered to her, Concordia scrolled her name across the two papers before returning it to the inkwell, lest it be lost amidst animation once again.

"Most excellent," the lawyer assured with a grin of accomplishment and a renewed burst of energy. "Now then, I believe you also mentioned your want to revise-"

"Not today, Mr. Guppy," the client insisted with quickness. "We'll save that for another time. Allow me to settle accounts with your for now." Without giving the young man a chance to reply, Concordia Bottomley produced a note from the pocketbook she kept clenched tightly within her gloved hands and offered it to Mr. Guppy. He accepted it with the utmost courtesy until he focused upon it and gasped.

"This is, of course, far too much, mum," he recovered. "You certainly don't mean to give me a one hundred pound note."

"Yes, I do," she affirmed. "Put it toward payment for future services, Mr. Guppy, and it shall save you a bit of time and trouble."

Mr. Guppy better understood the innocent gleam protruding from her eyes than the words from her lips as she spoke, though regardless he was all too grateful for the monetary advance the lady was offering his beginning firm, and perhaps more so for her elegant discretion.

"If you insist, Miss Bottomley. Us Guppies owe you due homage, indeed. I could bow to your feet right now."

The lady simpered. "You best not do that, sir. Look, there."She touched anxiously at the heavy leaden necklace that adorned her.

Mr. Guppy turned to gaze out the window as Miss Bottomley directed. There quite visibly was Mr. Clamb with the woman's agreeable ward clasped around his arm as he ushered her toward the entrance.

In a suave flourish, Mr. Guppy produced his argent pocket watch from his shirtwaist. "What did I tell you, Miss Bottomley," he beamed. "It's just a bit after one o'clock now. Clockwork, that's what it is."

In another moment, the pair seen externally was entering the office of Mr. Guppy, and Concordia advanced to meet them cordially.

"Mr. Clamb," she addressed gratefully, at which the named person tipped his head. She turned to the lady with amber skin at his side. Concordia's glance swept over the black hair upon her head, which proved more formidable than silk to the two virid jewels that were her eyes, the finest pair of such specimens that Miss Bottomley had ever seen. How she had grown since last they were together!

"Miss Jain," she said lightheartedly, taking her ward's hand in hers and latching the other onto her arm. "How was your journey?"

"Very well, madame - most pleasant," Miss Saffney Jain responded meekly, though she nonetheless was delighted to see her mistress once again.

"I believe Miss Jain mentioned that her luggage had been sent ahead, Miss Bottomley?" Mr. Clamb interjected cautiously. Both ladies turned their attention to him.

"Yes, Mr. Clamb, thank you very much," the flaxen-haired one confirmed.

Mr. Guppy, who had been flitting about behind the scene, checked his watch once again. "Very well, indeed. Being as we are all squared away - I beg your forgiveness, but I must prepare to appear in court by the top of the hour." He took the younger lady's hand before offering, "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Jain," and likewise taking the older lady's Mr. Guppy insisted, "Always such a pleasure, Miss Bottomley. Good day!"

With that, the overwrought lawyer exited to the foyer, through which Mr. Clamb led the pair of women to see them out. Before reaching the door he held ajar, however, Miss Bottomley remembered herself.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Guppy, for just half a minute longer," Concordia requested turning back. Mr. Guppy dropped what he was doing.

"But of course. What else may I do for you?"

She retreated into her pocket book once again. "I realize how very pressed for time you are, and I do not seek to impede you. However, I am still relearning my way around London, and there is a person I should like to contact immediately - another solicitor. I call upon him not due to business, of course, but to obtain a more direct form of contact with his client. Should you or Mr. Clamb be able to attend to it, I would be most obliged."

Mr. Guppy took the letter Miss Bottomley extended and placed it upon Mr. Clamb's desk with respect fit enough for the Magna Charta. "It shall be seen to forthwith, Miss Bottomley. You have my assurance."

"Thank you, Mr. Guppy," she extolled. "Good day."

With that, the two at last took their leave, allowing the barrister to continue about unabashed and the clerk to resume his duties.

Closer to two o'clock, as Mr. Guppy prepared to leave for Chancery Lane, he approached Mr. Clamb at his desk.

"If you get the chance this afternoon, Mr. Clamb, would you take care to deliver Miss Bottomley's inquiry?"

"Of course, sir," the clerk responded, rolling his eyes from the book in front of him, to Mr. Guppy, to the discarded message.

"Who's it for, anyway?" The towering young man inquired, thrusting his tongue into his cheek. "A lawyer we know? Kenge, perhaps?"

Mr. Clamb focused upon the parchment's inscription. "Not a lawyer, but an accountant, sir." Here, the clerk hesitated.

"Mr. Joshua Smallweed."

"Miss Concordia Bottomley."

The wizened profiteer nearly shook in his chair with the excitement that had burst from Mr. Clamb's message.

"Very intriguing, indeed. Most fascinating. And just how did we come upon this little piece of wonderment, sir?" For a moment, Mr. Smallweed broke his firm gaze from the paper to scrutinize the chary clerk, whose neck steadily bent under the increased pressure of the knowledge contained within his head.

"From Mr. Guppy, of course, Mr. Smallweed," he elucidated.

"Of course. Who else would so valiantly help a lady in need?" Mr. Smallweed snickered, though it was much more menacing than delightful.

"It just so happens, sir," Mr. Clamb offered after receiving the strength of renewed courage, "that Miss Bottomley is my employer's most affluent client. He's said as much himself."

"That doesn't say very much to me!" The moneylender snapped, devouring all traces of what humor he had been entertaining. "Where's she from? Who are her relations? What's the size of her 'olding? That sort of thing would speak volumes! Out with it!"

The gentle fellow all but winced at Mr. Smallweed's booming threats, regretting very much getting himself into such a predicament. "In truth, I haven't a very great knowledge of her situation myself. From what I deduce, she has no living family of her own. She has spent the greater part of her adult life abroad, and resides somewhere on Bond Street."

"That makes a great deal of sense, it does. But no reg'lar pauper lives on Bond Street, Mr. Clamb. I've a feeling Mr. Guppy's found himself some affluence somehow. But how did he manage to do that? She must swoon for him, eh? Shake me up, Judy!"

With that, the woman who had been lurking about the old Rag and Bottle Warehouse seized her grandfather gruffly, a scowl rooted deeply between her cheeks.

"Not so rough, you little fiend!"

Mr. Clamb cleared his throat. "I never did know her in connection with my previous employer, but Miss Bottomley was in fact one of Mr. Tulkinghorn's clients. His sudden death sent her into a bit of worriment as she was overseas at the time. Upon her return, she somehow came into contact with Mr. Guppy and found him to be a suitable replacement."

Mr. Smallweed contorted his mouth in disgust. "A rather bad move, that was. But you need say no more. The mention of Tulkinghorn is enough."

He paused a moment in contemplation. "All right, Mr. Clamb, here's what we'll do. As far as anyone in your circle is concerned, you dutifully delivered the message to the address indicated and assume that the person said message was addressed to received it, though you've got no inclinations one way or the other. What happened to it after that, you certainly don't know and would have no way o' knowin'. We'll keep it at that for the time being. Is anything at all unclear about that, sir?"

Feeling very much unable to bear passing much more time under the offensive glares of the Smallweeds, Mr. Clamb had no intentions of prolonging the agony. "No, Mr. Smallweed." He insisted. "Good day to you, then."

"Should this matter develop any further, Mr. Clamb, I am fully expectin' you to inform me of such - privately!" Came a shrill call after him, forcing him to halt in his advancement and acknowledge the request. A moment more and he was gone, leaving the proprietor to display his much-suppressed grimness.

"You're not going to pass the message along then, grandfather?" Judy inquired, deeply puzzled.

He turned to her, fully planning to reprimand her but not having the stomach to do so. "No, Judy, I'm not." With that, Mr. Smallweed proceeded to tear the parchment to bits.

The girl looked on, amazed. "I don't understand. Who did Mr. Guppy's client want to contact?"

"Silvestra Much!" He boomed, though he knew the name would be lost on his granddaughter. Purpling, the old man elaborated to spite himself. "Our friend in the city! More like our friend in Bareilly. Years ago she left me her entire account to manage while she was away. She's got no plans of returning, Judy, and it takes money to make money! Only she doesn't quite realize just how profitable her lot's bein' for me."

He stopped, absorbing Judy's shock with great pride.

"And we intend to keep it that way."

"So what do you think of Terminus Pointe so far?" Concordia Bottomley inquired of Saffney, who sat beside her on the settee.

Just then, the maidservant Elise entered the subdued room with the evening tea tray. The burnished set gleamed enough that the women could only query if the feeble girl had rushed outside to collect stars from the evening sky to offer them, her dedication being so great that this would not have been surprising.

Despite having spent only a few hours within the great London townhouse, Miss Bottomley's ward already understood much about the abode's lone servant, namely that despite being mute, Elise was quite capable of performing brilliantly. She also seemed to understand well the commendation of Saffney's lovely smile, whom anyone would feel honored to receive.

The girl having exited once again, Miss Jain resumed the conversation.

"Very well, to be sure. I find the people fascinating so far." She glanced into her cup of tea, as if the events of the day reflected off its surface, allowing her to relive them once again. "Your lawyer is certainly an amusing character."

They shared a look and a knowing chuckle besides. "God bless his soul, he tries so hard. Mr. Guppy is curious, indeed, but that's only a result of being very human. I can't fault him for that. You would not have found enjoyment in my earlier solicitor. A more inexorable man I never knew, but very human, too - in an antithetical way to Mr. Guppy."

Soon thereafter, Concordia discarded her pensiveness. "Mr. Clamb was Mr. Tulkinghorn's clerk, too. Very coincidental, don't you think? I never did realize that before Mr. Guppy mentioned it."

"He is rather grim himself, is he not?" Saffney ventured.

Her mistress contemplated the character for a moment. "He appears to be, though I tend to feel that may be because he has had a rather depressing life. Careworn, you might call him. I daresay the look on his face as he escorted you to the office was the closest I have ever seen him come to smiling. But then, my own happiness has been increased tenfold since you arrived."

Miss Bottomley smiled upon the girl who then embraced her respectfully, displaying how similar her own feelings were. It brought the older woman insurmountable gratification to be cared for so by the one she treasured most. Examining Saffney, Concordia could hardly believe she was once the little child who had been abandoned by her mother in India. Many years in Europe's finest institutions turned her into an elegant young woman, but in her heart Concordia Bottomley knew that Saffney Jain would have become a lovely girl without such fineries to aid her. The world would be hers to invest her future in as she wished.

"What do you want from London, Saffney?" Concordia questioned, bringing the girl's glossy braid onto her shoulder.

"To be near you, or course, madame," was her earnest reply. "What are you doing here? Still doctoring?"

Miss Bottomley made a noise expressive of humor. "No, not exactly, Saffney. That's not as welcomed here as it is in India. But I've been busy enough, doing what good I can. Help is necessary enough that I might never tire."

The beautiful ward smiled feebly. Concordia looked into her perfect glass eyes before continuing. "But I believe you are beginning to, my dear, and rightly so. You're day has been rather long and it grows late. Retire then. I hear the beginning of rain falling upon the eaves. I fancy a quick stroll, and then I shall retire myself."

With that, the affectionate pair exchanged kisses upon the cheek before advancing their separate ways. Awaiting no assistance, Concordia crept to the foyer's closet and fastened her cloak around her neck, just below that gaudy piece of jewelry with its many weighty pendants. Slipping out the front door, the woman lifted her tired eyes to the night sky, allowing the descending raindrops to advance upon her face. Employing the hood of her cloak, Concordia Bottomley advanced into the refreshful solitude of the rainy night.

The faint glow of the lamplight cast just enough luminescence on the towering edifices of Bond Street's locality to make them recognizable. The pensive woman gazed from the wigmaker's to the chandler's storefront, noting how queer the darkness made them appear. In daylight Concordia would find them perfectly distinguishable; now they were like viewing a great society lady with her hair down for the evening.

The rain intensified a bit from its indeterminate drizzle, the increased flow dripping off the marquee of an alien inn and down the woman's back far below despite the spine's continual protest. Whereas this consequence had chased nearly everyone else indoors, Concordia did not mind it in the least. Rainfall provided the only true time she could enjoy the world yet not feel imprisoned by it. Her opponents were too busy seeking shelter to assail her. Not a soul could interrupt her thoughts. A good deed could not go amiss, and the chilly waters helped to numb the pain of such an action gone unrequited against her.

But perhaps, Concordia Bottomley thought on this picturesque night, perhaps she was far too selfish. Her return to London had done nothing but negate her feelings of how malicious mankind could be. Certainly many beautiful people looped around her on this new path of life. A smile, a kind word, an affectionate gesture - this truly was all it took to make the humble woman happy. She would offer likewise to anyone who sought as much from her and many more who did not. Most certainly Concordia Bottomley had been wrong in her judgement upon the world.

She cherished it all. The sentiment only grew as she continued on her way and passed even the more unkempt shops of the bootblack's and chandler's. They were beautiful, too, in their ability to contain hardworking individuals as they assisted others receive the basic necessities of life. The urban life proved not so intolerable as the missionary once believed. She would certainly always love it, and perhaps if she was truly lucky, it might even love her in return.

Up ahead beneath the lamplight, Concordia could detect the outline of another soul who presumably was partaking of the tranquility of the rain. How strange it was to encounter another person. It was something the mistrustful woman was trying hard to overcome upon her return to England. She passed the cloaked person with great composure, despite the fact that a nagging tug strained against her heart. The emotion began to subside as Miss Bottomley retreated further away from the shape.

It was not until a weighty arm wrapped around her figure that she realized the person had indeed followed her. Being compact and a good deal stronger than most ladies after years of labor, Concordia's mass alone was almost enough to free her from her captor - who did not seem particularly immense himself. She kicked violently backward, catching the aggressor off guard. With the next thrust, the determined woman's heel caught the kneecap of the other with a resounding click, causing him to release his grasp. Concordia immediately took advantage of the opportunity and ran as fast as her feet would allow. Her heart raced continually as well, though the captive felt certain she had escaped harm. Amidst these thoughts did Concordia Bottomley slip on the inundated walkway, her ankle twisting sharply and sending her to the ground. Knowing she must continue on despite the searing pain, the poor victim attempted to rise again. Before she could bring herself to stand, however, the attacker returned upon her. Violently did the pair battle with appendages flailing about incongruously. For how long the frantic woman did not know. Concordia's spirit refused to succumb.

But then, as fate would have it, the assaulter caught hold of the back of the lady's heavy necklace, pulling the decoration wildly as a means to rip it from her neck. Concordia Bottomley thought to herself that the piece was too strong to budge. The sharp pendants dug unmercifully into her throat. She struggled hard to gasp but was ultimately incapable of such an action. The thief was relentless in his struggle with the article. The beautiful world grew even darker around the woman. She could feel her upper body falling upon the wet, grainy path, but soon thereafter, the ability to feel anything escaped Concordia Bottomley.

Despite the continuing darkness of the early morning, and the fact that the woman had not yet caught a moment's sleep, Jenny was aware that a new day had commenced. Her eyes grew heavy as she advanced further down the avenue, exerting herself more so than someone with a true motivation may have been compelled to. How she wanted to cry out in despair with the feeling of such worthlessness weighing down upon her, but Jenny convinced herself she would not buckle under the pressures of this life until she could no longer resist them.

Her depressive line of thought was interrupted abruptly, however, as she rounded the corner into a narrow bystreet. There upon the ground did her eyes catch sight of a limp form. Focusing on the body for a second longer, Jenny discerned that it was in fact that of a woman' and knelt beside her. The woman's complexion was ghastly pale compared to the deep color of her cloak. The lips were a complimentary blue; the eyes never stirred. Instinctively, Jenny fingered the neck for a pulse. Feeling about for a moment, the woman felt sure a faint beat could be distinguished from beneath the cold skin. Withdrawing her hand momentarily that she might reposition it brought to Jenny's attention the fact that her fingers were daubbed with blood.

Aroused from her shock, the need for action hit Jenny with full force. She dragged the pitiful body into the recess of the nearest building, her mind racing all the while. An idea soon thereafter struck, and while its fruition seemed implausible, it would like be the last chance this woman would receive.

Since her chance encounter, time to Jenny seemed to move by rather quickly, though in truth only twenty minutes had passed between discovering the woman left for dead on the street and conveying her to the treshold of her only salvation. It was divine chance that Jenny had received all of the necessary information at such a late hour, and when her blows to the door brought forth an investigative butler, the quaint soul truly realized just how lucky she had been.

"I'm sorry, truly I am. But I'm told Mr. Woodcourt is here at present, and this lady is very like to die unless he has the mercy to attend upon her!" Jenny delivered through a laborious effort to catch her own breath. When the man rushed away without slamming the door shut her amazement only grew, but after considering the type of folk Jenny was dealing with this did not seem so bizarre after all. By the time Jenny fully allowed her mind to wander, Mr. Woodcourt was already standing in the doorway - looking disheveled in his rushed attempt to dress but giving off his usual gentlemanly aura none the less.

Before she fully became aware of his presence, Mr. Woodcourt was already attempting to relieve Jenny of her burden.

"I'm sorry to-" she began in recognition, shifting the woman's form onto the physician.

"Don't worry about that," he assured, rebalancing himself. "What about her?"

"Her throat!" Jenny spat as he retreated within the townhouse. "She's been badly choked! It might be too late."

Mr. Woodcourt continued up the stairs rather swiftly despite the burden, and simultaneously a maid came forth from a room aside the foyer to lead Jenny to the kitchen, seeing that something was necessary to stifle the girl's trembling.

"Who was that at the door?" Mrs. Woodcourt inquired, following her husband into the vacant bedroom with his medical bag in tow.

"You know, I think it was Jenny," he sighed, lowering the limp form onto the bed. He began tearing away the strings of her cloak.

"What else can I get for you?" Esther inquired, growing more anxious for the creature all the while.

"Scalding hot water would be a good start." Off the woman rushed without further delay.

The quick-thinking servants, bless their hearts, had apparently begun the task of heating water soon after the interruption jolted the somnolent doctor to wakefulness. Due to this stroke of luck, Esther was able to reenter the room after the good doctor had discovered a pulse and wrenched the patient's cumbersome necklace from around her bloody throat.

"My God, this is bad," Allan admitted, pausing only for a moment to examine the best course of action. "That's a terribly deep cut. The skin's ripped open, surely, but it goes deeper than that. The larynx has probably been ruptured and God knows what else." He ran a disgruntled hand through his tousled hair.

"I'm not sure I can save her."

Esther readjusted her shawl about her. "You will try, won't you?" She inquired, looking into his eyes as she placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Of course," he assured her.

She took a step back. "Then I'm going to help you."

Throughout the early morning as they grappled to restore vitality to the patient, Esther and Allan pondered if the other members of the household should be informed of the situation - least of all Mr. Jarndyce, whose personal home they were in fact utilizing. Ultimately, the couple decided that a more propitious soul did not live among them, and that Mr. Jarndyce would not mind the intrusion all that much. Little Rick was sleeping rather soundly, too, and neither wanted to deprive Ada of a restful night's sleep. Holding down the situation well enough, the Woodcourts decided against interrupting the others until it was absolutely necessary.

Thus it came to pass that Mr. Jarndyce, always an early riser, did not stumble upon the curious happenings until a few hours later as he entered the hallway en route to the library. Baffled, he knocked upon the door and was startled at how fast Esther swung it open. From behind her, Mr. Jarndyce could just make out the small woman dressed in white and the glimmer of golden hair. For a moment, his heart stopped, believing the ensconced form to be Ada's in his moment of surprise.

"What in the world is going on here?" He whispered, worriment creeping into despair.

Esther wrapped a hand around his arm to calm him. "Last night Jenny - you remember her? - found this woman lying in the street half-dead. Allan was the only one she could think of to help. I still don't know the entire story but apparently Mr. Snagsby keeps her cousin on as a maid. She directed her here and Allan says if she had arrived a half hour later, the woman would have died.

Leaving his patient's side for a moment, the doctor advanced to Mr. Jarndyce. "She might still very well die. She had a very queer necklace that apparently someone tried to pilfer. It did an extraordinary amount of damage to her throat, it's badly gashed and bruised. I stitched up what I could of it but the more internal injuries can only heal on their own accord.

"She is breathing, but shallowly. She's not yet been conscious and I fear she is running a fever."

Mr. Jarndyce stood positively stunned. "Is she badly injured otherwise?"

"Not very, surprising as that may be. Her left ankle was swollen very badly - a severe sprain, perhaps a fracture. We scalded it, brought it down quite a bit, and wrapped it as best we could. Otherwise there is not so much as a scratch, but I should think what she's retained is enough."

The elder gentleman bowed his head, biting his lip in consternation. "Do you know yet where Jenny is to be found?"

"I believe the servants have put her up for the night in their quarters," Esther offered. "She was terribly fatigued and I was sure Allan would want to speak with her about the situation once she was revived."

"An excellent thought," Mr. Jarndyce mused. "And what's more, as long as we have her with us here, I don't think it would be unwise to send for Mr. Bucket."

All were in agreement that the proposition was an ingenious one, and so not long after the first light of dawn, Mr. Jarndyce's family, joined by the inspector and the primary witness, were assembled in the room where the victim remained unchanged. He had gently questioned the nervous Jenny as much as he dared at present - which admittedly was not very much - when he refocused his attention upon the reposed woman.

His eyes swept the wide purple and blue band around her throat, which was interrupted by the vertical series of stitches Mr. Woodcourt had been forced to make to keep her together.

"Do you 'ave the necklace she was wearing, then, Mr. Woodcourt?" Inspector Bucket questioned. The doctor unwrapped a white cloth bundle he had set on the end-table to reveal the piece of jewelry, still tinged with blood. The inspector walked over to the location when Mr. Woodcourt seemed reluctant to move it.

There he observed the sizable gray band and its many diamond shaped pendants of the same leaden material. It was eye-catching, to be sure, but not at all beautiful. Inspector Bucket lifted it and scoffed at the weight of it.

"What could ever convince 'er to wear that, I've no inkling whatsoever. Might I see her clothes then, sir?"

The inspector was ushered to a chair on which the woman's dress was spread out. He fingered the ornate embroidery around the cuffs and neckline and decided this intricate green dress was much more fashionable. He moved then to the brocaded boots that stood on the floor. They had been a pearly white with gold designs at one time, before the debris of the street had tainted them. Picking up the left boot, Inspector Bucket became aware of a slit that ran down the side of it.

"To free 'er ankle then, Mr. Woodcourt?" He questioned.

"Yes, sir. The swelling had been considerable."

Inspector Bucket set it down with its mate and observed the cloak. Seeming common enough, the investigator returned to the items' owner, whom he privately considered to be a person of some standing.

The silent delegation watched him as he glanced down her hairline, into her face and to that wretched neck. He ran his fingers down the sides of it, almost gauging the size of the cut. His eyes flashed, and in a moment he seized her hand.

Inspector Bucket held it gently, rubbing a sympathetic thumb over its knuckles.

"You don't know who this is then, Mr. Woodcourt?" He asked, never taking his eyes away from her.

"To be sure, I don't, Inspector," answered the doctor, surprised by the sudden change in the other man's voice.

Inspector Bucket ran his thumb down the woman's fingers.

"That surprises me, it does," he admitted. "No, perhaps it doesn't."

The inspector was rubbing over the cuticles when Mrs. Woodcourt broke her silence. "You know her then, Inspector?"

"About as much as you do," he admitted, dropping her hand and turning to face the lot of them to resume business. "Miss Concordia Bottomley," he explained, "a houseguest of yours under more pleasant circumstances."

As Allan entered the makeshift hospital after returning from the medical school that evening, he was unsurprised to find his wife at Miss Bottomley's bedside, clutching her hand as if life might be delivered to her through such intervention.

Unaware of his presence, Allan was able to creep to Esther's side and clasp her free hand. Feeling his warmth radiate across her skin, she turned to smile upon him.

"I still can't believe we did not recognize her," she admitted, allowing that smile to drift away.

"We all can't have minds as sharp as Bucket's," Allan reasoned. "And being in her state, we had other issues to resolve before we began identifying her."

Esther squeezed his hand. "You are very right. You've done so much for her, more surely than anyone else would have."

He smiled before casting his gaze to the floor. "I've seen this often enough, you know - too often. If she ever comes to again, it's not because of anything I did. It's because there's something she's meant to do yet before she dies."

The couple looked once again upon the woman, their great sympathy for her being gradually replace by empathy.