It was a short walk to the other end, but she couldn’t do it without illumination. Candle in hand, she closed the bookcase and moved forward along the passage, which included a brief flight of stairs down, until she met the other door, which opened into the mezzanine. From there, she made her way to the ladies’ side.

A narrow door tucked into a corner led to another flight of stairs up to a doorway just outside her office. Lucien had installed this passageway so they could easily access each other’s offices, particularly on busy club nights.

A wave of nostalgia and sadness washed over her. She and Lucien had worked so closely on the success of the club. It was mostly him, but she’d been an intrinsic part. She was going to miss it more than she could say.

She particularly loved her office, from the flower-shaped pulls on her desk drawers to the daffodil-colored chairs to the small landscape painting hanging behind her desk between the windows that looked down to the garden. The painting had belonged to her mother and was one of the few things that had survived their journey from France.

Evie went to the painting and gently touched the frame, which she’d had redone before hanging it here. When she was younger and they lived in their two-room lodging in Soho, the frame had been broken. Evie didn’t remember much about her mother, but she recalled her staring at that painting and crying. Later, Nadine had explained that her mother-in-law—Evie’s grandmother—had painted the landscape, and it depicted the estate her father’s family had owned. This and a simple cross necklace made of coral were the only items they had of any importance. Heloise had the necklace, and Evie had kept the painting. To think that their once-grand family had been reduced to those things and just the two of them made her sad. Which was probably why Evie rarely contemplated it.

She supposed they might have family, particularly in France if they’d survived the Terror. Or perhaps they’d escaped—either to England or America. Evie wouldn’t know how or where to begin searching for people whose names she didn’t even know. Her past was of no use or worth, so she typically left it where it belonged: behind her.

Turning from the painting, Evie looked around at what she might take with her from the office. Most of these things belonged to the Phoenix Club, not to her. There were books she would take, and she decided the small statue of Venus near the fireplace belonged to her. Lucien had gifted it to her when the club had opened. Again, a part of her life was being reduced to things.