“To tell me anything about how to live my life and protect myself. You tell me that you do not ask for the power you were born with, and yet you wield it like the Great Gentle Sword of Mother Albion, coming in to tell the simple primitives how they should be living their lives! You couch your motivations under the banner of protecting me, when it comes down to the fact that you think you are better than I am and more equipped to rule my life.”

His eyebrows raise. “That is not fair.”

“No, it’s not fair. None of this is fair. But I will decide what to do with the lack of fairness in my circumstances.”

“There is more at stake here than your well-being. You don’t understand the elements at play, the lives that hang in the balance. Downpike isn’t only after you. He has his sights set on inciting conflict, perhaps even war, and I alone stand in opposition!”

“If I don’t understand, it’s because you think me unworthy of the knowledge and that is where you fail.” I stand. “Now, if you will show me the front door, I’ll be on my way.”

He leans against the bookshelf, arms crossed, face set. “And where, pray tell, will you go? He will have you in an instant if you return to the hotel. Is that what you want?”

I try not to blanche at the idea of being back in Lord Downpike’s horrible room. “I have other options. You needn’t concern yourself.”

“I can’t help it!” For a moment, his coolness cracks and he looks beside himself with anguish. Then his smile slides back into place. “I am afraid I cannot show you to the door.” He taps his cane against the floor, perhaps thinking I do not notice the motion. “They are all locked at the moment.”

We both stare, eyes hard, neither breaking down or backing off. Then I sigh, putting on the meek face I gave to Mama when she needed to be right. “Very well. I’m not agreeing to anything, but I’m in no condition to argue right now.”

He lifts his cane, pleased. Clearly he does not know me if he thinks I am ever in a condition where arguing is not possible.

“I’m feeling faint. I’d like to wash my face with some cool water.”

“Of course!” He walks ahead of me, and I take Sir Bird’s book and tuck it into the robe, crossing my arms in front of its hidden bulk.

“Thank you,” I say, entering the washroom. “Is there a bed you could prepare for me? I would be grateful.”

He nods, all polite concern now that he is getting what he wants, and closes the door behind himself. I roll my eyes at how easily he accepts me as meek and courteous. I play an Alben woman well when I want to. I cross to the window overlooking a park in the city, push it open, and climb out.

Thirteen

THE GRAY-HATTED WOMAN UNDER THE BATTERED umbrella cannot seem to understand what I am asking.

I repeat myself. “The park, madam. What is it called? What area are we in?”

She looks nervously from side to side, as though unsure whether to call for a constable to deal with me. I am a sight, in my man’s dressing robe, bare feet, single glove, and undone hair, but one cannot be expected to be fashionable under such circumstances.

I wait as calmly as I can manage. Finn will check on me soon, and I’d prefer to be far removed. But if she calls for a constable, I’ll have to run. No telling where they would take me if I answered their questions honestly. Yes, sir, I am hiding from two mad magicians, one of whom tortured me, and the other of whom wishes to set me up in a beautiful estate with servants and anything I require.

“The park?” I repeat.

“Greenhaven. Greenhaven Park. In the southern neighborhood of Kingston. Can I . . . do you need . . . would you like my umbrella?” She holds it out. The handle is worn but sturdy.

For some reason this small gesture from a woman I don’t know, whom I assumed was judging me, puts me on the verge of tears. “Thank you. You are so kind.” I take the umbrella, because I do not have it in me to pass up such a simple generosity.

She pats my hand and smiles. “You’re young yet. These troubles are never as serious as we make them out to be.”

I sniffle, nodding and holding back a laugh. “I’m certain you are right.”

“Well, then.” She seems to stand a bit straighter—in spite of the drizzle now hitting her hat—and walks away.

Kingston. It’s on the opposite end of the city from where I live, but something feels familiar. I laugh. I do have other places I can go. A few minutes later, I stand on the front steps of a beautiful dark stone town house in a stylish Kingston neighborhood, my umbrella dripping a halo of water around me. The butler, a stout man with polished glasses and hair brutally combed into submission, blocks the door with a perplexed frown.

“And you know Miss Eleanor how?”

“She gave me her card and told me to call on her.”

“Do you . . . have the card with you?”

“I am afraid my purse was stolen. Along with my shoes.”

I can tell he thinks me mad—with good reason. He would sooner set me out with the rubbish bins than allow me into the parlor of Eleanor’s fine town house, but if my story is true, he might earn the ire of his mistress by being rude and dismissing me.

I have a feeling I will be standing on this porch for a long time.

A man’s voice comes from behind me. “What in the queen’s name is going on here, Mr. Carlisle?”

I turn to find Ernest trying to figure out who exactly I am. When he finally connects me to his dance partner at the gala, the realization is written in humorous clarity across his face. He immediately looks to either side as though caught doing something wrong.