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T hat evening, Athena was awakened from a feverish and fitful sleep by the arrival of a young physician who introduced himself as Dr. Harris.

“I’ve come from York at the behest of Ian Vernon,” he explained, gracefully removing his top hat from his head of light-brown hair.

Athena blinked up at the doctor in surprise. “How did Mr. Vernon know that I am ill?” Her mouth was dry and her voice so low and scratchy, she hardly recognized it.

“I told him first thing this morning, before he and Mrs. Hillman left for York,” Selena admitted. “I thought they should know.”

“Vernon and I met in school,” the doctor explained. “I treated his sister while she was in hiding and delivered her child. He insisted that I attend you without delay.”

Athena was astonished that Mr. Vernon had sent a physician to help her. Did it mean he had forgiven her? “Thank you for coming, sir.” She took a sip of water from a tumbler, adding, “Did Mr. Vernon send a note?”

“He did not,” Dr. Harris admitted.

Athena frowned. Of course there was no note. How could she ever hope for his forgiveness, when she could never forgive herself? Mr. Vernon hated her, but he had done the gentlemanly thing and had sent a doctor. For that, she was grateful.

Dr. Harris dedicated the next few hours to Athena’s care, employing new and unfamiliar techniques.

He began by throwing open all the windows in the room, saying that fresh air was a necessary inducement to healing.

He promised that there would be no bloodletting, a practice he decried as being antiquated and barbaric.

He demanded every last fragment of ice from the icehouse and had Athena immersed in a cold bath—“to help reduce her fever,” he said—an experience which was a shock to Athena’s system at first but then felt better than she’d expected.

He brought with him a variety of medicines that he said had come from herbs, some of which he applied to her wounds, and others which he administered orally.

“I believe these remedies will reduce your fever and help to cure your infections,” Dr. Harris explained. “If I’m right, you should be well on the way to healing in two days’ time.”

When Athena awoke on the second morning, her fever was indeed gone. She required a few more days’ bed rest, the doctor said, and plenty of fluids. Her wounds still ached and needed to be redressed daily. But she was no longer in mortal danger. Her staff could take over her care from there.

Selena saw the doctor out. Athena’s spirits were still at an all-time low.

Apparently, she wasn’t going to die. But the prospect gave her no joy.

Nothing else had changed. Their school had failed.

Harold Sinclair’s killer was still free.

Mr. Vernon would never speak to her again.

And Caroline Vernon was going to hang. Athena curled up in bed and wept until her throat was raw.

*

Sometime later, Selena reappeared and sat on one of the chairs beside Athena’s bed. “Dearest,” she said softly, handing Athena a handkerchief. “The mail has come. There’s a letter for you from Damon.”

They hadn’t heard from their brother in months. But Athena was too wretched to care. Wiping her eyes and nose, she said tonelessly, “Leave it.”

“I was hoping you would read it now.”

“I’ll read it later.”

“Please, Athena?” Selena gazed at her with pleading eyes. “Sit up, won’t you, and read the letter?”

With a disgruntled sigh, Athena sat up in bed and opened the letter.

Brick Lane

Spitalfields, London

My dearest Athena,

Selena wrote and said you are ill—that you were attacked by dogs and suffered many injuries. I am so sorry to hear this and I am praying for your speedy recovery.

I’m sorry as well to hear about your troubles with the school.

But, Athena—nothing worth doing ever happens without great effort and some bumps along the way.

You have hit a setback, and a very distressing one at that.

But things will improve if you stick to your goals and try again.

It’s a philosophy I have learned to embrace in recent years.

Keep trying and never give up. It’s the only route to success.

Selena mentioned something else that is quite distressing—a murder that has cast a shadow over Thorndale Manor.

I know I used to criticize you when we were children, about all those little mysteries you and Diana and Selena were so determined to solve, missing jewelry and people and such.

I believed, back then, that such pursuits were unworthy of the effort you put in—that you had more important things to do with your time.

You were all certain that there was wickedness afoot that must be rooted out.

I thought you were wrong in that, too. I believed then—and I still believe—that most people are inherently good.

In my work here over the past decade, however, I have discovered that there is also real evil in the world.

I understand now that when confronted by malevolence, it is indeed a worthy endeavor to try to find and stop the perpetrator.

If that fails—if nothing we say or do can make a difference—if the criminal keeps offending and the law does nothing to prevent them—the only recourse is to protect the people in danger as best we can.

Are you still intent on solving a crime? If so, I applaud your bravery and determination. The truth, I believe now, is worth seeking. And yet you must also consider the risk. Selena may be right. The dogs who mauled you may well have been set loose by someone who wants you out of the way.

Please proceed with caution, sister dear. Think of your safety. I shudder to think what might happen if the villain attempts another such attack.

With best regards,

Your brother,

Damon

Athena handed the letter to Selena and waited while she read it. When her sister had finished, Athena said, “You wrote and told him everything?”

“Not everything. Just enough, apparently, to grab his interest.”

Athena sighed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late. Trying to solve this mystery has gotten us nowhere. Caroline Vernon is going to die.” She glanced listlessly at her sister. “Did I tell you that she is Pryor Corbett?”

Selena stared at her. “What? Who is Pryor Corbett?”

“Caroline Vernon. Mr. Vernon told me, that day the dogs got me. That’s why I found that manuscript page in the attic.”

Selena’s eyes widened. “You don’t say! Caroline Vernon? Oh! It makes so much sense now. We should have guessed that Pryor Corbett was a woman. All those stories about heroines who ride and shoot and do good deeds and fall in love and have adventures—she was living out her fantasy life.”

“I think she was. She found a way to deal with her forced confinement and was very successful at it.” Fresh tears pooled in Athena’s eyes. “And now, thanks to me, there will never be another Pryor Corbett novel.”

“I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself.”

“How can I not? It was so stupid of me to go up into that attic.”

Selena seemed to be about to reply when Mrs. Lloyd entered the room. “Miss Taylor, Mr. Chapman is downstairs, hoping to see you. What shall I tell him?”

Athena frowned. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk with a visitor. “Tell him I’m not up to receiving anyone.”

“Athena, this is the third time he’s come,” Selena told her. “You’ve been so ill, I sent him away. But I think it’d be good for you to have a visitor. He’s been such a good friend to us.”

“I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“Like what? You just survived an attack by malicious dogs and nearly died. Considering all that, you look like the belle of the ball.”

“He brought flowers, miss,” Mrs. Lloyd remarked with a persuasive nod.

Athena heaved a sigh. “Fine. Show him up.”

A few minutes later, the housekeeper returned and presented Mr. Chapman. He hesitantly entered, carrying a bouquet that looked like it came from a hothouse. “Miss Taylor. I have been so worried.”

It took all of Athena’s willpower to muster a small smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Chapman.”

He offered Athena the flowers. She thanked him and gave them to Mrs. Lloyd, who withdrew. Mr. Chapman removed his hat and took a seat in the second chair by Athena’s bedside. “Are you feeling better, I hope?”

“Physically, yes. Mentally, I have never felt so wretched in my life.”

“Miss Selena told me that all your pupils have been withdrawn from the school?”

“They have. I’m sorry to say that we no longer require your services, Mr. Chapman.”

His brow furrowed. “Surely, you don’t mean to close your doors? Can’t you find other students?”

“Under the present circumstances? I sincerely doubt it.” Athena shook her head. “We must face facts. No one will send their daughters here now. There can be no girls’ school at Thorndale Manor.”

“What an appalling state of affairs! And not just about the school. Miss Selena told me that you were mauled by dogs on the Woodcroft House grounds? I don’t understand. Don’t they lock up their animals?”

“The Master of the Hounds assured me that they do.”

“It’s our belief that someone let the dogs out on purpose,” Selena put in.

Mr. Chapman stared at Selena. “You think this was another attempt on Athena’s life?”

“I do.”

He frowned. “Just like the runaway carriage.”

“And the attack in the attic at Darkmoor Park. Someone deliberately tried to defenestrate me.”

“‘Defenestrate’ you?” He stared blankly at Athena.

“He grabbed me and tried to throw me out a window.”

He gasped. “Dear Lord! I had no idea. Are you certain it was a man?”

“No. It was pitch black. I couldn’t see. Whoever it was, they were very strong.” Athena recalled something else. “Margaret Quince is as tall and broad-shouldered as a man. I’ve seen her lift heavy boxes.”

They all exchanged a glance.

“Who knew that you were going to Darkmoor Park that night?” Mr. Chapman asked.