“The funeral begins at one,” she informed. Her hands brushed off lint from the shoulders of his jacket as he tied his black cravat in front of the foyer mirror. She lowered to quickly shine his shoes. When she straightened, he was finishing his third attempt. “Do you know which church?”

“Yes,” he answered, annoyed but not with her. With the cravat finally secure, he hastily took his hat, opened the door and stopped in his tracks.

“Mrs. Wroll,” he exclaimed.

“Vanessa, please. How long have we known each other?” she smiled. The butler held the door open wider for the woman to come inside. Her stylishly small hat was pinned to her pale blonde hair and a dainty veil hung over her face.

“Are we to have brunch here?” he sputtered. “Forgive me, but I did not read that in your invitation.”

“No, of course not,” she chuckled. “I heard you had a new butler and I thought I might impose to see how he cooks.”

Viktor gaped at her, then at his butler. “I’ll start cooking,” she said, and promptly left.

Vanessa watched her go with a look of intrigue. “A woman, Sir Teagan? How brave of you.”

“She was already a part of the household. It was easier than hiring someone new.”

“No need to give me excuses,” she consoled, leading the way to his parlour. She stood as tall as he was. The door was open to them and he saw that the butler had removed the dust covers from the furniture and cracked the windows on her way to the kitchen.

“Do you know what I wish to speak to you about?” Vanessa perched on the settee.

“Mr. Locklier seems to,” he commented, taking the armchair.

“Mr. Locklier is a curious boy in a man’s body,” she sneered gently, “but he is not entirely wrong. Things are happening abroad which will very soon impact us. For the time being, however, I would seek your counsel regarding a dear friend of mine.”

“Medical concerns?” he inquired.

“Yes…and no.”

Viktor tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I’m afraid I cannot help you much outside the realm of my occupation.”

“I actually think you very much can,” Vanessa insisted. “You see, I took in this girl as…a kindness to her family, who thought of her as a chore, but I quickly learned how bright she was. I like to think of myself as her mentor, but she has been growing ill of late…worse and worse.”

“What are the symptoms?” He crossed his knees, businesslike.

“She screams,” Vanessa answered, her voice cold yet sympathetic. “Terrible moments. She has these episodes more and more, and the things she says, Sir Teagan…they are quite the maledictions.”

“Do you think it is a calamity of the mind?”

Her skirts rustled as she stood to go to the window. “I think it is a bit more than that. I have looked into every documented study for her symptoms, and even risked exposure by consulting one of the asylum doctors. He is an idiot, and I will not let her be locked away in such a facility simply because her symptoms are inexplicable.”

The door opened and the butler casually swept in bearing a tray. Setting it on the table, she unloaded a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, a bowl of ice and another of sugar. She glanced at the doctor and when he gave no indication of needing something, she quietly left. Vanessa’s mouth lifted in an amused smirk.

“You believe there is a connection between your ward’s illness and the discoveries being made?” Viktor wondered.

“I do.” Vanessa returned to the settee and sipped some of the drink. “Hm. Your butler can pulverize fruit but can she cook?”

Viktor inhaled steadily. Why couldn’t people stay on the subject or leave it when necessary? He leaned forward to grasp his own glass and drank. His eyes widened unintentionally. He had never quite favoured lemons but this was delicious.

“Explain your reasoning,” he prompted, adding more ice.

“The urns and murals and carvings of kings’ tombs have been translated,” Vanessa informed.

Viktor was intrigued even though archeology was only an area he observed from afar. “That has not been published,” he commented.

The woman across from him smiled knowingly. “True, but the translations are accessible if you know whom to ask.”

He acquiesced a small upturn of his mouth and nodded. “All right, what do these temples’ walls say?”

Vanessa peered at him, amused at his skepticism. “That there is more to this world than we thought,” she stated. “Things beyond science and comprehension are waking up. Some believe they desire to reclaim their world, their home.”

“Nothing is beyond science,” Viktor retorted. “Perhaps it is not understood yet, but the universe is built on mathematical pattern.”

“Spoken like a true academic,” she smiled. “However my ward is able to interpret nonsense. She says things; tells secrets that no one has ever uttered. Her drawings and embroidery match those tapestries, mosaics, and frescoes being shipped to our museums despite never having seen them. We are becoming a target, Sir Teagan, and very soon I daresay our fair city will not be so fair much longer.”

Viktor huffed with dubious mirth. “What exactly is waking up, Mrs. Wroll? The kings whose bedchambers were violated?”

“You are able to mock the dead because you are used to probing their corpses without retaliation,” she said. Viktor’s features steeled. “I did not mean offense, Doctor, but I would not have you take this lightly. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Particularly between eleven-thirty and two at night.”

“Yes…I suppose so…”

“Good,” she smiled. “I will call on you then.”

“Why—”

Brunch arrived: salad featuring cucumbers, melon, and prosciutto; pasta with tomatoes and boiled eggs; and thick, chocolate mousse topped with strawberries.

“She doesn’t cook much, does she?” Vanessa said, chewing a bite of melon contemplatively.

“Pasta requires cooking, I believe,” Viktor commented. “And she makes fine tea.”

“Boiling water hardly makes one a chef,” Vanessa commented.

Viktor briefly considered the efforts that went into the making of pasta or mousse before water was involved but he might as well have been thinking of botany. He continued eating. This was the most nutritional meal he had consumed in a long time, and it was actually palatable. “Are we calling on your ward?”

“Not yet,” she said. “We are to visit another knight of the realm.” Vanessa smiled like that was amusing.

The doctor peered at her. “Not Sir Owensby.”

“Will you and he never get along?” she smirked.

“The man is ridiculous.”

“He admires you.”

“He blatantly mocks me.”

“I never thought you noticed,” Vanessa grinned. She licked the mousse off a berry.

“What does Owensby have to do with this?” the doctor asked.

“Come tomorrow night, and you will see,” she played coyly. “Bring that butler of yours.”

Viktor coughed, nearly spitting out his pasta. “Excuse me?”

“Do you trust her?” Vanessa challenged.

“No!” he answered clearly. “She is my employee, not a friend.”

“Do you have any friends, Sir Teagan?” Vanessa inquired.

“None that are alive,” he responded.

“You will be perfect, then,” she said. “Bring her or do not bring her. Good day, Sir Teagan. I can show myself out.”

He stood and saw her to the door of the parlour. “Good day, Mrs. Wroll.”

“Vanessa,” she corrected. “How long have we known each other?”

“Going on five years,” he answered, hand on the knob.

“And you’ve always taken things so literally,” she sighed, remaining in the doorway. If she was leaving, she was taking her time of it.

“Eleven-thirty, then,” he urged.

Her cool blue-grey eyes examined him. “I often forget how young you are, Doctor.”

“You are fifteen years my senior,” he recalled.

Vanessa laughed. “You are cruel to remind a woman of her age, Sir.”

“People do so to me everyday.”

“Twenty-seven and knighted is intimidating for most of your company. That mind of yours may get you into trouble one day.”

“Is that day tomorrow?” he asked, gripping the knob.

Vanessa’s smile faltered. “Yes. It very well may be.”