The following day, Viktor read the findings of his butler’s autopsy. The sixty-two year old man had suffered a heart attack, dying on the spot. No traces of poison were found, nor any wounds. Old age.

Dr. Viktor Teagan read over the words several times as a tray of tea and the paper were placed beside him. He unfolded the articles and already there was Ives Hampton in the obituaries. Normally he would have a few days, but being knighted had made news regarding his life unnervingly quick to print. He took a sip out of the cup that was already poured and startled. Ives’ death was recorded before him, he had discovered the body, and yet the tea tasted exactly the same, like he had never left.

Viktor stood and strolled about the room, perusing his books. He was given leave from work, to mourn the loss of the man who had served his family and find a replacement. Viktor preferred dissecting corpses. The cold and stoic fact-based practice, not the responsibilities and sentiment carried around through life.

He removed a book from the shelf and examined the title. He remembered purchasing it, reading it, and placing it on this exact spot. Dust softly rested on the pages before he shook them free.

The door to the study creaked slightly and he asked over his shoulder. “Who made the tea?”

“I did.”

He glanced over his shoulder in acknowledgement but he did not really see her. “Miss Greene. Ives taught you well.”

“Thank you. Letters for you on your desk. Can I get you anything?”

“No. That will be all.”

She left silently. Viktor was halfway through perusing the book before he remembered that his butler required a funeral. He nearly called for her before his eyes caught on the papers she left on his desk. A funeral service was already arranged for the end of the week at Ives’ church. Viktor had never known he attended church. A coffin was already made and Ives was to be buried in his Sunday’s finest. A small list of his relations had been sent invitations, flowers were ordered, and he had left his earnings and belongings to the Teagan family. To Viktor.

He rang the bell but it was not Miss Greene who came. It took a moment for Viktor to remember the man’s face but the muttonchops were hard to forget. “Paul. Ives’ funeral has been arranged for Saturday. Tell Miss Greene I have an engagement.”

“She knows, Sir,” Paul rubbed his waistcoat anxiously. “The funeral is in the afternoon.”

Viktor tried to ignore the title as his brow furrowed. “Some people would consider a social breakfast before a funeral distasteful.”

“Should I tell her, Sir?” Paul’s marbled blue eyes widened.

The doctor considered it. “No. It’s practical that way. You may go.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Viktor reminded himself that the servants who rarely spoke with him would not know what he preferred to be called. He took his letters, his book, and went outside for a walk. The park was green and full of children laughing as he lost himself to the words on the page. After a time he tore open the envelopes. One was from a colleague who had a recommendation for a new butler. Viktor pocketed the note without finishing it.

The second was from Mrs. Vanessa Wroll. Her calligraphy was fine and perfect. A woman of privilege.

Sir Teagan,

I am sorry to hear of the state of your household. The loss of one so loyal can be gut wrenching. I have every confidence that you will find a proper replacement accordingly.

I am writing to persuade you to not rescind your acceptance to our brunch on Saturday. There are things which must be discussed only in person.

Yours sincerely,

Vanessa.

The doctor snapped his book closed over the letter and walked home. Returning to his study, the teapot had not moved, but a thin line of steam was rising from its spout. He had not determined when he would be home nor that he would want fresh tea, yet here it was. Pouring with one hand and holding a finger over the lid, he filled a cup. A plate bearing an open sandwich was beside it. Silverware provided the option of eating it off the plate or closing it and eating it from his hand.

Viktor quickly wrote on a card and sealed it in an envelope bearing Mrs. Wroll’s address. He rang the bell and sealed the letter from yesterday.

The door creaked open.

He pushed the correspondence to the edge of the table. “Those must go out.” The paper rustled over the wood as they were taken. “This as well.”

The envelopes left his hand without a word. He could not remember the last time he used silverware, so he indulged. The smoked ham and sharply flavored cheese mingled on his tongue with the mild bitterness of salad piled on the sandwich halves. Leaves crunched as he chewed. Viktor wondered briefly if Ives had ever had a sandwich waiting for him. His working hours were so irregular, the man hardly cooked at all. Viktor quickly ate the first half and continued on to the next. Afterward he retired upstairs, accustomed as he was to sleeping during daylight hours.

What he was not used to was waking up to his bedroom on fire.

It was the dryness in his throat and the harsh tickle in his sinuses that woke him, but his eyes immediately popped open at the sight of his bed hangings aflame. The curtains were also smoking and the top of his dresser was crowned with orange. The fire had not yet moved to the rug.

His first instinct was to smother the flames like in the lab. Tearing down his bed hangings, he stomped and jumped on his mattress until they were smoldering. He was yelling and calling for help as he clumsily bounced from his bed to the window.

Hands joined his and the curtains were torn down. Together they stomped out the flames and his pitcher of water doused the dresser. The room was full of steam and smoke.

“Miss Greene!” Viktor exploded. “Why is my room on fire?”

“I don’t know!” she retorted, returning to the window. She tried to hoist it up, but it was firmly locked.

“There’s a latch,” he pointed out.

She cast him a glare but he did not see it. She opened the window to let the smoke into the night as he paced.

“Your window is unbroken and only opens from the inside,” she said. “Did you have a light in here?”

He whirled around and dramatically peered around his room. “The chandelier has not been lit in years! I don’t sleep with a light! Why are you the first to respond?”

“I was only downstairs,” she answered, still examining his room.

Viktor took in the charred surroundings of his space. “Shouldn’t someone have noticed that the house is up in flames?”

“It’s past dinner time and we live on the lowest floor,” she threw back at him. “Heat rises. How were we supposed to know? When it floods, we’ll tell you.”

Viktor looked at her directly. He had never been spoken to like that. “Miss Greene, you’re very candid at such a late hour.”

She disregarded his comment and asked, “Do you want me to send for the Yard or prepare one of the other rooms?”

“Well, I can’t very well sleep in another room if someone is trying to murder me!”

“Do you have enemies?” she reasoned.

“I’m a doctor!”

“Did you let the wrong patient die?” she retorted.

Viktor opened his mouth then shut it again. He rubbed between his eyes and tried again. “Nothing more can be done tonight but I won’t risk sleeping alone. You, as my new butler will sleep in my room.”

“What.” she remarked, deadpan.

He glanced at her. She was younger than he had thought. And ruder than he recalled. “I cannot have your aid if I am burnt to a crisp now, can I?” he challenged.

“It’s not my job to guard you while you sleep!”

“Of course it is! A butler must be ready at all hours! Prepare one of the rooms and bring a mattress for yourself.”

“Kings have chamber boys, maybe,” she countered.

“I am rarely here during the night anyhow,” he assured, “and do not send for the Yard.”

“Why not?” she inquired.

“I know people in higher places,” he answered.