The weight of worry Effie had been carrying these many weeks began to ease. She had been afraid for her former teacher. Frightened she would die. It had made no sense at the time, given Effie’s bitterness toward Miss Corvus. But it made sense to her now.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” she said. “Will you take me to her?”

“Of course.” Nell escorted Effie through the hall. The painting of Judith Slaying Holofernes loomed large ahead of them. So, too, the portrait of Miss Corvus standing in the doorway. Effie glanced at them as they passed, taking comfort from their familiarity.

Arriving at the iron-banded wooden doors that marked Miss Corvus’s private chambers, Nell knocked once.

“Come!” Miss Corvus called out.

Nell opened the door. The faint, sickly sweet fragrance of decay emerged, tickling Effie’s nose just as it had when she’d opened the medieval books in Compton’s library.

“Miss Flite has come to see you, ma’am,” Nell said. “Shall I—”

“Send her in,” Miss Corvus replied tersely.

This time, Effie didn’t quail at the sound of her old schoolmistress’s voice. On the contrary, she was rather impatient to face her. Squaring her shoulders, she entered the cool, black-shrouded darkness of Miss Corvus’s rooms.

Nell moved to close the door after her. “I shall give you privacy.”

“There’s no need,” Effie said. “Indeed, I had rather you joined us.”

• • •

Seated in the armchair across from Miss Corvus, Effie related what she’d learned about her mother, leaving out only the parts that overtly involved Gabriel Royce. She owed Nell and Miss Corvus honesty, but some things were lately too private to share. Gabriel was one of them.

It had been but a short time since Effie had left him on the train. Less than an hour altogether, yet her heart was still aching with love for him. It wasn’t a burdensome ache. Quite the reverse. Knowing he cared for her and that she cared for him in return was a powerful elixir. It bolstered Effie’s courage, giving her the strength to face Miss Corvus and to recount the awful details of what Mrs. Young had shared in Trowley Green.

Nell remained standing by the black-curtained window as Effie finished her tale, her arms folded and her face gone pale with sympathetic anguish.

Miss Corvus was similarly solemn, though it was irritation that etched her hardened countenance, not fellow feeling. She hadn’t expected visitors today. Rather than her usual black silk, she was dressed in a gray flannel dressing gown. A linen handkerchief was crumpled in her hand.

“How much did you know of all this?” Effie asked her.