Her throat closed on a raw swell of emotion. It was the final straw, seeing Franc looking so much at the mercy of the world. He was wholly depending on her. They had only each other. There was no one else to rely on. No one else to trust.

She crossed the room to him. Hearing her familiar tread on the carpet, Franc roused himself from his slumber. His pom-pom tail quivered. Effie picked him up, allowing him to lick her face in greeting. She kissed his head in return.

“It was dreadful,” she told him. “The wire walker fell, the Gardens were in chaos, and Mr. Royce—” Moisture burned in her eyes. “He is not our friend.”

Franc licked the hot tear that rolled down her cheek.

“I have been unforgivably stupid,” Effie said, struggling not to cry. “But no longer.”

Franc blinked up at her in canine inquiry.

She forced back her tears. She’d already wept once this evening over poor Mr. Galezzo. Her own troubles were minor in comparison. She refused to cry over them. “I shall formulate a new plan,” she said. “Tomorrow I shall start anew.”

“Miss Flite?” Lady Belwood entered, not bothering to knock. “Oh, but it is insupportable. I don’t wonder you are in tears. That you should have been exposed to such a sordid and gruesome scene! Cleeves? A hot bath for Miss Flite. And Mary? Fetch the bottle of laudanum from my dressing table.”

“I thank you,” Effie said. “I don’t want a bath. Nor do I want any laudanum.”

“You cannot know what is best in your current state. A lady isn’t meant to endure such troublesome sights. It can have a grave effect on her constitution.”

“But I am not a lady,” Effie said.

Lady Belwood recoiled at the unwelcome reminder.

Effie held Franc tight. “All I require is my bed. If you please, ma’am.”

Lady Belwood pursed her lips. “If that is what you wish.”

Mary appeared at the door with the laudanum.

Her ladyship waved her out. “It won’t be necessary, Mary. You may go.” She turned back to Effie with stiff dignity. “Sleep well, Miss Flite.”

Effie waited until Lady Belwood had gone before setting Franc back down on the bed. While he returned to the warmth of her pillow, Effie stripped out of her evening dress, petticoats, corset, and crinoline. She unpinned her hair, placing her glass dragonflies on the dressing table as carefully as if they’d been diamonds.

All of her clothes were similarly disposed, skirts and bodice draped with exquisite preciseness over a chair and stockings meticulously rolled. It quieted her mind, going through the motions required of any woman acting as her own lady’s maid. She couldn’t allow her clothing to wrinkle, else she’d be the one obliged to press it. And she couldn’t leave her hair unbrushed or it would fall to her to unsnarl the tangles in the morning.