Gabriel turned away, swearing quietly under his breath. James knew what he was thinking. Sophie might be convinced of Thomas’s innocence, but not everyone would be.

“We need to see Thomas,” James said. “Before everyone else gets here. Especially the Inquisitor. Aunt Sophie,” he said, seeing the uncertain look on her face. “You know he’ll want to see us.”

Sophie nodded. “All right, but only you, Christopher, and Matthew. And be quick. I expect Charlotte will be arriving shortly with her entourage, and the Inquisitor won’t want to find anyone in the Sanctuary. The rest of you will have to wait here—”

“Well, I shan’t be doing any waiting,” Anna said, in a voice like ice crystals. “Were there any witnesses to what happened, Aunt Sophie? Lilian’s death, or why Thomas was there?”

Sophie shook her head. “He says he heard her screaming when he passed by, but she was already dying when he reached her. There were no witnesses.”

“That we know of,” Anna said. “I have my own ways of discovering information. Aunt Sophie, Father, I’d rather make my own inquiries than remain here and have to see Bridgestock’s face.” She glanced at Christopher. “And if he is rude to you, let me know. I will cut his sneering nose off.”

Anna turned without waiting for a reply and stalked out of the room. James could hear her boots clattering away down the hall. A moment later, Matthew and Christopher headed for the door; James paused to glance back at Lucie and Cordelia, who were watching them with grim expressions.

“Tell Tom we all know he’s innocent,” said Lucie.

“Yes,” Cordelia agreed. Her expression was fierce. James knew she couldn’t be pleased about being left behind in the library, but she gave him an encouraging nod nevertheless. “We’ll stand by him.”

“He knows,” James said.

He caught up with Christopher and Matthew in the corridor, and together they raced downstairs, hurrying through the sloping hallways of the Institute until they reached the recessed vestibule outside the Sanctuary. The passageway ended here in a high pair of doors made of blessed iron, studded here and there with adamas nails. The keyhole in the left-hand door was carved in the shape of an angel. The key itself was currently in the hand of a dark-haired girl in a green dress, standing beside the doors and scowling.

It was Eugenia, Thomas’s sister. “Took you lot long enough to get here,” she said.

“What are you doing down here, Genia?” Matthew asked. “Surely Bridgestock wouldn’t have asked you to guard the door.”