“But it is! Far more than the facts of your parentage are. We none of us can be distilled to the circumstances of our birth.” Nell again squeezed Effie’s hand, taking the sting out of her words. “You’re too bitter, that’s the trouble. You persist in blaming Miss Corvus for the conditions that brought you here. And she’s accepted that blame—foolishly, I feel—in the mistaken belief that your anger would fuel you. Instead, all it’s done is cloud your judgment. It’s made you suspicious of everything you’ve learned. Perpetually dissatisfied, imagining there’s something better waiting just around the corner, if only you could be free of this place.”

A knot formed in Effie’s stomach. She hated that Nell could read her so easily.

“If you must be angry,” Nell said, “be angry at men like Lord Compton.”

Effie met Nell’s eyes. It was difficult to reconcile the picture Miss Corvus had painted of the viscount’s misdeeds with the gray-haired fatherly figure Effie had met at the ball. “What do you know about him?”

“I know of his opposition to reforming the women’s property law, and…I know he once callously destroyed the hopes and reputation of a vulnerable young lady.”

“Then it’s true, the things Miss Corvus told me?”

“Yes.” Releasing Effie’s hand, Nell stood from the bed. She limped to her desk. “I can’t be entirely certain, but…I suspect the young lady was Miss Corvus herself.”

Effie stared after her friend, stunned. “What?”

“It must have been decades ago,” Nell said. “Long before she started the school. Indeed, it may well be the reason she started it. Unless I’m mistaken, she went abroad for a time, her reputation in tatters, and came back quite another person. But she hasn’t forgotten what he did to her. And she won’t allow him to do the same to all women—to prevent us having our measure of security and independence in this world. It’s important someone stop him.”

Effie shook her head in reflexive disbelief. “How do you know all of that? Has Miss Corvus told you—”

“No. She keeps that part of herself a mystery. But since her illness has worsened, I’ve had to assume some of her duties. She was constrained to explain the fundamentals of the filing system in her study. I’ve seen things there which I daresay I was never meant to.”

“What things?”

“Old letters she wrote to her half brother, returned to her unread. They paint a damning picture. The rest of the tale I’ve pieced together myself.”

“Is it a very dreadful one?”