As the seconds melted into moments and minutes, and beyond.

And he did not come.

A loneliness so strong gripped her heart that Myrtle found her legs unable to support her weight, and she sank onto the edge of the window seat.

He—

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement, and happiness and hope brought her heart rising as she searched over the grounds below for him.

And then she froze.

Her maudlin and mournful thoughts about Val forgotten in an instant, she tunneled all her focus on the figure below. A man who was decidedly not Val.

But rather two men. Two men who, even from where she sat inside, and where they dashed about below, she recognized in a moment.

They were dressed in garments as black as Val’s, from the black bowler caps to their breeches; the lanky figure sneaked with a surprising furtiveness, matching the movements of the smaller fellow beside him.

At last, she managed to get her legs unstuck from their immobile state and dived onto the floor.

With a little whine, Horace, still seated at the fireplace, popped his head up.

Myrtle lay flat on her belly with her left cheek pressed to the cool hardwood floor and her face turned toward the window.

They were here.

I knew it. I knewwwww it.

She’d suspected they had nefarious intentions from the moment she’d found them inventorying her father’s collection.

Being right about them, however, proved not so very satisfying. She’d have vastly preferred to have been wrong on this one and to possess the overactive imagination her parents, and Val, had ultimately suggested she had.

Myrtle silently ordered herself to gather her wits about her.

Think.

Think . . .

Calling out to her mother or father or another fictionally present family member would hardly be believable to them this time.

Forcing herself up from the floor, Myrtle darted along the row of curtains, pulling them back as she went and following the purposeful steps of the two strangers outside.

At last, they stopped, and Myrtle raised her voice. “Aliiiiiice,” she called, raising her voice loud enough to be heard outside. “Will you fetch my copy of Pride and Prejudice? I’m afraid I’m unable to sleep.”

Horace cocked his head and groaned a canine whine of confusion.

“I have company,” she whispered for the dog’s benefit, even as she stole another peek outside.

And then, Myrtle went absolutely motionless.

Fear snaked through her, freezing her where she stood.

A low growl emanated from behind her, and it was as if Horace at last understood the threat. For he bounded over and jumped up so that his front paws rested upon the window seat. Sniffing at the air, he moved his head about, and then his gaze locked on the two men outside. The dog’s lips drew back, revealing a terrifying display of teeth.

Then he released a loud, angry bark.