“You spend too much time alone of late,” Justin said. “You’re in danger of sinking into a melancholy.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t deny it. Not to me. I’ve had personal experience with the state. I recognize the signs when I see them.” Justin clapped a hand on Neville’s shoulder. “Come. Enough moping about. Gather your things—and that little dog—and return to the Abbey with me.”

Neville looked up. “The pug can come up to the house?”

“Naturally. I’ll rouse Paul and Jonesy. We can get all the introductions over with at once—God help us.”

Neville grimaced. “God help the guests.”

Justin appeared unperturbed by the possibility of canine havoc. “They seem a sturdy enough bunch. A pair of ravening mastiffs aren’t likely to send them running back to the railway station.” He paused, adding dryly, “One hopes.”

Back in her room at last, Clara lifted her carpetbag onto the dressing table, unlocked it, and opened it wide. Inside were her most prized possessions. Her most valuable, too. Six months’ worth of them. She withdrew the topmost packet, feeling the familiar sensation of nervous butterflies in her stomach as she broke the seal.

It contained, as it always did, a thick stack of papers covered in lopsided script. A note was scrawled in the right-hand corner of the first page.

Dear Clara,

Apologies. Here’s the latest.

Fond regards, Simon

It was the same note Simon had written on most of the sets of papers he’d sent to her this year. Apologies. Always apologies. As if nine hastily dashed-off words could make up for his carelessness. Heaven’s sake, he used to enclose an entire letter!

“I ask only one thing of you,” she’d said when he’d first left for Cambridge. “That you tell me everything. Describe it all so that I may experience it with you.”

And he had done, initially. But as the years passed, Simon had become less inclined to share the rarified experience of his education with his older sister. No matter that her wages paid his tuition.

She sank down at the dressing table with a sigh.

It didn’t signify. All she really wanted was his lessons, and those he continued to send—albeit belatedly.

She turned the first page. The words written across the top were oddly familiar.

Notes on Classification of Natural Objects and Phenomena

A soft knock sounded at the door. “Miss Hartwright?”

Clara’s pulse jumped. She leapt up from her seat, shoving the stack of papers back into her valise and clicking it shut. “Yes?”

Mrs. Archer quietly entered the room, shutting the door behind her. Her ebony hair was drawn back into a delicate silk net, the same shade of blue as her eyes. “I thought you might have already gone to retrieve your dog.”

A flicker of guilt stung at Clara’s conscience. She’d hoped to fetch Bertie after tea, but her curiosity over her parcel had been too great to resist. After assisting Mrs. Bainbridge in settling in, Clara had returned to her own bedroom rather than departing for the stables. It was only for a moment, she’d promised herself. Just long enough to open her parcel. Bertie wouldn’t mind a brief delay, surely. “I’ll be going down shortly.”