When he opened his eyes, it was raining outside. He tried to swallow but his parched throat would not allow it. A glass appeared before him with a tin straw. He drained it. Peering around, he saw the window boarded and the flowers beside his bed were gone.

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned.”

“Miss Greene…. Why aren’t I in a hospital?” he croaked. He tried to sit up but his chest ached. His torso was clothed in bandages.

“In my experience, hospitals only make things worse.”

Viktor collapsed against the extra pillow she managed to place under him. “What was I…poisoned with?”

“Blood,” she answered softly. The rain was drumming in his ears. “The creature’s blood fell on your mouth and in your wounds. I think that’s my fault, but don’t worry. You’re not poisoned anymore.”

“How do you know?” He squinted in the light. The window was only partially boarded so the room was dimly illuminated, but his eyes ached with sensitivity.

“I finished cleaning your wounds and you’re still alive. I guessed that after twenty-four hours, you were destined to live.”

Viktor’s eyes widened. “How long have I…?”

“Two days.”

He allowed his head to fall back on the pillow. “What have I missed?”

“The Yard did something right,” she began. “They found traces on the back door where it was dismantled. Our visitor had a lot of time to take care coming in. Mrs. Wroll came to visit at a late hour. She left a card for you. All of your servants are still employed, your room should be finished and habitable by the end of the week, this window will take another two weeks, and both of your workplaces have given you further leave. They said to tell you that this time they insist.”

Viktor sighed. He greatly disliked taking leave. “What is your prescription?”

His butler shrugged. “Tea always helps. It’s literally in your name. Sleep is even better.”

His green and amber eyes found her. “Was that supposed to be amusing?”

“We can’t all be so morose,” she replied.

“Where is the card from Mrs. Wroll?” he inquired. She handed it to him. Vanessa had written on the back of her calling card.

S. Teagan, another time. Inform me when you are well again. –V

“Send Mrs. Wroll my card. She will understand.”

“Is she one of your friends in high places?”

“I don’t have friends,” he said, trying to ignore the cacophony of the storm. She did not respond to that and after a while he smelled food. He opened his eyes to see a cup of tea already poured for him and he recovered quickly, sitting up for his soup and eating the chunks of steak and mushroom.

When someone knocked on the door, he heard the murmur of a woman’s voice through the walls. His butler peeked into his room. “Mrs. Wroll and others are in the foyer.”

“Others?” he repeated, carefully pulling on a new shirt over his bandages. He followed her to the balcony overlooking his foyer. Mrs. Wroll gazed expectantly up at him, waiting with two other men. One of which, the doctor already knew.

“Mrs. Wroll, I did not expect you to answer my card so soon. Good evening, Sir Owensby.”

“You are looking pale, Doctor,” the man replied. He had the type of demeanor that could be classified as cheery or arrogant. He had a full head of thinning, peppered hair and a matching, trimmed beard. His waist had the width of an aged gentleman but not without a youth’s muscle behind it. “Do introduce us to this new butler of yours!”

He carefully descended the stairs. “First introduce me to your comrade.”

Mrs. Wroll gestured to the tallest man with waxed mustaches and a bowler hat. “Mr. Thomas Cleaves.”

“He’s younger than I expected,” Thomas Cleaves stated, unconsciously touching his mustache.

“He has a young face,” Vanessa mused. “I have not had the pleasure, either, of learning this butler’s name.”

“You’re a young one, as well,” Sir Owensby observed, sweeping forward and taking the butler’s hand.

“Miss Anastasia Greene,” Viktor introduced.

“I’m four and twenty, sir,” she answered.

“Anastasia,” he reiterated, kissing the back of her hand. “Has he noticed that you’re beautiful, yet?”

Viktor exhaled, shifting his weight. Owensby laughed. “No, I don’t think he has. Miserable sod. Oh, how the people will talk.”

“I don’t care what the public thinks of me,” Viktor said darkly.

Thomas approached, squeezed his shoulder, and said, “That, my good doctor, is why we are here.”

“Your house has become the central point of what we discussed,” Vanessa continued.

Viktor frowned. “For what? Unlucky magic?”

“Joke all you want,” Thomas stated, “but a right shit storm is coming to town, and you’re the life of the party.”

“Me?” Viktor exclaimed, flabbergasted.

“No, not you,” Owensby chided. “Someone out there knows you have brains and has made a point to eliminate you from our team.”

“I work alone,” Viktor stated plainly, “and for no one.”

“Not anymore,” Thomas replied. “Whether you like it or not, you’re a part of this now, and they know it. You are safer with us.”

“Who is ‘they’? What does my butler have to do with this?”

“Good questions,” Owensby considered, pacing around the room. “Firstly, ‘they’ are who tried to murder you. Twice. You are going to need to open that scientific mind of yours for what else is coming. And secondly…well I don’t really know. Let’s have a look at Miss Anastasia’s papers and see how qualified she is.”

“For what, exactly?”

“A butler is always a useful person to have around,” Thomas chimed, following Mrs. Wroll into the study. Viktor reluctantly found the papers Ives gave him on Miss Greene a year ago. He handed them over and crossed his arms only to uncross them as his chest ached.

Owensby whistled. “That’s quite a list of skills.” He flicked the corner of the pages. “Impressive document, too. It’s always disappointing when fakes are better than real things.”

The doctor’s chin jerked up. “Fake?”

All eyes turned to the butler. Owensby was smiling cordially. “Your name is not Anastasia Greene, is it?”

Viktor faced her. “What is your real name?” he asked angrily.

She shrugged casually, leaning against the wall of bookcases. “I’m a jack of all trades. My mother named me Jacqueline. People call me Jaq.”

“Jacq-leeeene,” Thomas purred. “Exotic.”

“Not really,” she countered.

Owensby sat at Viktor’s desk, reading over the list under his breath. “Cooking, sewing, lace making, painting, literacy, adequate medicinal and chemical knowledge, mildly adept at carpentry…I am curious what you thought about the ‘sharp-shooting’,” he cast an amused look at Viktor. “This is probably all true, even though the roguish stories behind these skills are hidden by a fake name,” he chuckled. “I like her.”

“I’ve employed you for over a year,” Viktor said. “Why have you lied all this time?”

Owensby interrupted. “Jack of all trades, Doctor.” He tapped his nose. “Leave the lady to her secrets. Focus on what it took to be employed by a prestigious knight of the realm. These are truly remarkable forgeries…”

“I was originally an artist,” his butler answered herself. “I quickly learned that the career was as much a lost cause as everyone told me. People no longer patron artists. They fund science. I needed work, but I wasn’t born in this country. So I made my own papers.”

Vanessa took a step nearer to him. “Before we move further, I will ask you again. Do you trust her, Sir Teagan?”

He looked at Mrs. Wroll and then at this woman called Jaq, who had lived under his roof so inconspicuously for a year. The person who so easily slipped into Ives’ place, and stubbornly took better care of him in the past week than Ives ever had. Jaq had saved his life three times.

“Yes…I do,” he finally breathed.

“Excellent!” Owensby stood up, smiling. “Now let us see that room of yours.”