Tommy’s mouth fell open. “What? That may be an excuse, but it’s still scandalous. If I am caught, no one will think anything of it. But if you are caught, you won’t have the life that you want.”

“I don’t have the life I want now.” Philippa’s voice shook from three and twenty interminable years of being excluded from what she wanted most. “Please do not make my choices for me.”

“I’m not trying to,” Tommy said. “I just don’t see—”

“Once I am wed, I won’t have opportunities like this, to do something important and to help my friends. I may not be allowed to have my friends. Agnes and Katherine had no one to stand up for them. I want to be that person, whilst I can.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “I understand wanting to decide your future and the desire to be useful.”

Philippa’s shoulders relaxed. Even their disagreements were tolerable. Tommy listened to Philippa’s viewpoint and believed her feelings to be relevant and important. It was heady and empowering.

She seized her chance. “Like you said, no one will think twice if Great-Aunt Wynchester is seen wandering the halls. Northrup already thinks you’re my chaperone. If I notice your absence, it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to go and find you.”

“Your logic holds,” Tommy admitted. She drew in a visible breath. “You are your own person, making your own decision.”

“No,” Philippa said softly. “We are a team, making decisions together. Two brains are better than one.”

“Yours is undoubtedly the cleverest.” Tommy tilted her head. “Come along, you knavish bluestocking wench. Show me where you will absolutely not be meeting that despicable blackguard later.”

Philippa’s legs wobbled with relief. Tonight, she would be a heroine. An active participant in the adventure. Even if such a moment never repeated, she would always remember with pride the time she brought justice to Damaris and public recognition to Agnes and Katherine.

She hurried out into the corridor. “Come along, Aunt. Tut-tut.”

“I’m not your aunt,” Tommy muttered, but hobbled quickly for an arthritic old lady with poor vision. She pulled a folded parchment from a hidden pocket and handed it to Philippa. “This map is based on Damaris’s recollection.”

Philippa looked at the sketch. The style was like the other loose maps she’d seen at Tommy’s residence. The difference being, she must have scouted those herself. Philippa hoped Damaris’s memory was as keen as her cryptography.

She considered the map. “We need only go to the end of this corridor, make a left, and the library will be the third door on the right.”

Tommy pulled out her pocket watch. “We must hurry. Half-hour sets are only an approximation, and we’ve already used five of our minutes.”