Viktor clasped his hands together, tapping his fingers anxiously. It was a surprisingly sunny day for a funeral. He could not recall what was said in the church and he found himself more interested in the line of ants marching past his shoe than the lowering of Ives into the ground.

His eyes lifted and surveyed the dozen people who had arrived. Most were his staff, which only consisted of four individuals. Viktor found his butler standing silently like everyone else. She was wearing trousers again. He wondered if it was a daily habit. At least her coat was long and she stood behind everyone to not draw attention.

Why would Mrs. Wroll suggest he bring her along? Probably just to indulge her curiosity of his female butler. The question she poised stymied him, however. Did he trust his butler? He had trusted Ives to do his job and get out of the way. Ives only spoke when necessary and never shared any of his opinions.

Miss Greene had been in his employment a little over a year and had hardly ever spoken after their interview until the night his room caught fire. Then she had openly defied and challenged him. He knew she was intelligent—Ives would never have hired her otherwise—especially by how proficiently she handled his affairs.

But did he trust her? Viktor did not know if he had ever trusted Ives, and the man worked for his family since before he was born. Trust was a foreign concept.

Afterward the funeral, the doctor prepared for his work at the hospital, dressing in his customary shirt, waistcoat, suspended trousers, and his lab coat waited at the hospital. On his way down the stairs and out the door, his butler waited with his coat. “Will you be gone tonight?”

“Yes, as I will tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”

His hand was on the door. “Here.”

He turned and eyed the paper bag she held out to him. “What is it?”

“Food.”

“I do not eat while I work.” He opened the door.

“If you don’t eat, you don’t work,” she countered, still holding the bag aloft.

Impatient, he took the parcel and left. The doctor performed two autopsies, both very similar to the late Sir Andrew. The cadavers had severe contusions which would have resulted in mortal internal bleeding, but even more so, the bodies were torn apart. Viktor imagined perhaps a bear, a jungle cat, or a pack of dogs could have done it, or a very skilled and demented murderer. The detective in charge of the case paled at the results. It was interesting to observe which members of the Yard found serial murders a relief from boredom while others visibly wanted a change in profession.

While he ate his sandwich, he read over the newspapers. Either way, the Yard was collectively keeping these attacks quiet for the time being.

Cleaning himself up, he took a carriage home and locked the door against the encroaching sunrise. As he entered his temporary room, Viktor shrugged off his suspenders and sat on the bed to remove his shoes.

His fingers stilled.

He spent so much time with the dead, he instinctively knew when he was in the company of the living. Like a tingle in the air that cadavers lacked.

His eyelashes swept up as a body collided with his. The air was knocked out of his lungs as he flipped backward off the bed. He cried out as something raked over his chest, tearing his clothes.

Viktor startled at the sound of a gunshot. Whoever—or whatever—leapt off him with a shrill whine. Blood splattered his face. Another shot fired as the creature broke through the window. His butler rushed to lean against the wall, looking out the window, but she had lost sight of what escaped.

She bent the rifle, empty shells jumping out and clattering on the floor. Viktor met her eyes as his chest rose and fell painfully. “Majesty,” she twirled her fingers in a salute and began to stride from the room.

“Wait!” he summoned. “What was that?”

“You didn’t see him?” she asked.

Viktor gestured to his chest, his white shirt mostly in tatters and streaked with crimson. “I was busy being a victim.”

“I didn’t see him either,” she admitted, going into the hallway.

“How could you not see him? You shot him!”

“It’s dark!” she responded, setting a washbowl on her knee and filling it with small towels. Returning to his room, she emptied the bowl and filled it with the pitcher of water. “Sit down.”

“I can do this,” he responded. “Get my things.”

She did, and set his black medical bag on the bed. He withdrew a bottle and squeezed the dropper for iodine to sterilize the water. He began cutting through the front of his shirt until his butler grabbed the fabric and ripped it apart.

“Miss Greene!” he uttered.

“What?” she exclaimed, taking his scissors.

“That is not exactly decent,” he hissed. He soaked one of the cloths in the water and began cleaning the scores on his chest.

“Neither is breaking into someone’s home. Decency has passed,” she pointed out as she went to the window and peered through the jagged remains of it. “There’s already a crowd down there.”

“I suppose the Yard will be here momentarily.” Viktor grimaced as the chemical touched his open flesh.

“For the neighbors’ sakes,” his butler stated. “They likely heard the gunshots. The Yard won’t do anything, though. Your house is watched.”

Viktor turned around to face her. “By whom?” He felt sweat on his face and neck, as if his bodily reaction had been delayed from the shock of the skirmish.

A loud knocking was heard on the front door. They glanced at each other. On her way out, she opened the bureau and tossed him a fresh shirt. Viktor quickly pulled on the shirt and a robe he rarely wore.

“What is that gunfire? Why in God’s name are you shooting at this hour?”

Viktor descended the stairs and pulled the door wide open. His butler stepped aside. A few of his neighbors were there, and running up the square, was Mr. Locklier.

“Excuse me, pardon me. Out of my way, please! Doctor! Are you all right?”

“Charles. What are you doing here?” Viktor asked.

“What was all that noise?” one of his neighbors interjected.

Mr. Locklier pointed his walking stick towards the main road. “I was on my morning walk and this is along my route. I heard gunfire, what is it?” His eyes squinted upward. “Heaven, is that your window?”

“My house has been broken into, ladies and gentlemen,” the doctor tried to rally them. “The Yard will be here any minute to inspect the damage and how they could have gotten inside. Just go home and lock your doors.”

They began dispersing but Mr. Locklier commented, “But, Sir Teagan, how was the window broken? The glass is out here…”

“As I said,” Viktor cut off, “that remains to be seen. Return to your morning routine and let these people prepare for their days in a calmer fashion. Good morning.”

He shut the door before anyone returned the condolence and turned to face his household staff.

“What happened, Sir?” Paul asked.

Viktor exhaled, suddenly more fatigued than ever. “I came home to an unexpected visitor. The Yard will want to question each of you, so I suggest you make ready for the day.”

He met his butler’s eyes and she followed him back upstairs. He shut the door and the curtains over the window and whispered, “Is Charles Locklier spying on me?”

“His mouth is too large,” she answered. “He could be the eyes and ears of someone else without knowing it. Have you ever been blackmailed?”

“No. How was my home broken into?”

“Everything is locked when you’re gone. I’ll try to find a way he came in but you may want to be ready to fire one of your staff.”

“The others have all worked for me for at least a decade,” he responded. “Why would they choose now to scheme against me? Do you suspect anyone?”

She tipped her head to the side, considering it. “They all seem to be simple, good people. You’re the lowest maintenance employer to take care of. I can’t imagine any of them would want to harm you, but we can’t rule it out.”

“You are also a suspect,” he reminded.

“I know.”

“You are always the first person to come.”

“In the year I’ve worked here, you’re louder than you’ve ever been—”

“I didn’t have the time to yell for anyone,” he finished, but she did not miss a beat.

“You really don’t know how quiet this house usually is. I got home before you did so I was still awake, and everything was locked shut. Then you get home and an earthquake happens upstairs.”

“You ‘got home?’” he retorted. “From where?”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Do you think we don’t have lives when you’re away?”

“I’ve never cared what you do outside of this house! Although now it is a concern! My butler dies, my room is set on fire, and now someone attacks me in my own guest room!”

“If you suspect me so much, then give me to the Yard and find a new butler. There’s still the issue of how whatever launched itself out of that window got away. There is a bullet in him and from up here he should have broken legs as well as witnesses, but there isn’t a body in the street or any sighting.”

Viktor tried to glare at her but her arm pointing to the window was wavering. He mumbled something about him being the doctor, and then everything went black.