Like the exterior of the house, the interior of the formal entry hall was composed of aged stone, worn over the centuries to a buttery sheen. Faded carpets covered the floor, and moth-eaten tapestries adorned the walls, along with two large, gilt-framed oil paintings. One was an excellent reproduction of Gentileschi’s Judith Slaying Holofernes. It had been there since Effie had first arrived at the Academy as a girl. A terrifying painting for a child to behold.

The other painting had been there as well. It was a portrait of a dark-haired woman in a lusterless black dress, standing tall and strong in the silhouette of a doorway. But it was no ordinary rendering, made to flatter its subject. The woman in this portrait had her back to the viewer. Her face was completely hidden from view.

Effie had once heard Miss Corvus offer an explanation of the portrait to a questioning gentleman who had come to inspect the premises on behalf of the parish council. “The modest woman conceals her face,” she’d told him.

It was as good a story as any, and one that had well satisfied the pious man. But it wasn’t the truth, as Effie would learn.

She deftly removed her bonnet with one hand, still holding her carpetbag in the other. Franc scanned the hall, his liquid brown eyes unblinking as he took in his strange surroundings. He offered another low growl.

There was no one about to inspire it. At this time of day, the inmates of the Academy would all be in their classes, sectioned off into the various rooms of the house like busy little bees in a hive.

But what of the Queen Bee?

When last Effie had faced her, Artemisia Corvus had been in her fourth-floor study—a remote tower room filled with books, antiquated papers corded with ribbons, and a bewildering filing system, the secret of which was known only to its equally secretive inventor.

“Where is she?” Effie asked, moving toward the broad, blackened oak staircase at the edge of the hall. “In her study?”

“Not there.” Nell set a hand on Effie’s sleeve, gently arresting her step. “She’s in her private quarters.”

Effie’s brows lifted. Miss Corvus never received any of the girls in her private rooms. Not even the teachers. At least, she hadn’t during Effie’s tenure. Miss Corvus’s rooms had always been sealed off, as impenetrable as a tomb, behind an impassable set of tall, iron-banded wooden doors. Not even the canniest members of the Academy had dared attempt entry.

Nell directed Effie down the hall. “She caught a fever some months ago. It weakened her considerably. Stairs have become difficult.”

Effie’s already uneasy stomach jolted at the news. She couldn’t fathom Miss Corvus being weakened by anything. To Effie, the Academy’s proprietress had always seemed invincible. “Is she—?”