The next morning, she did. Viktor awoke, drinking the glass of water beside his four poster, non-curtained bed. Clearing his head, he dressed and went downstairs, where he found Mrs. Wroll with Jaq in the parlour.

“Sir Teagan,” she greeted, a cup of tea in her hands. “I hope you won’t take offense. My business was primarily with your butler.”

“I understand,” he said, seeing the journals on the table. “Have you found anything?”

“Your butler has provided us with a map,” she stated, in good spirits. “When the pages are held up to a map of the city, these glyphs and drawings align with the river, the logo falls directly over our werewolf club, and other locations we must investigate.”

Mrs. Wroll sipped as he looked between the journal and a map of the city. “Impressive,” he said. His eyes lifted, meeting Jaq’s. Her face was placid.

“After you’ve broken your fast, I’m afraid I must speak with you about borrowing your butler. Isabelle has grown adamant about her drawing lessons.”

Viktor noticed Jaq leave the room to prepare something. He sat down across from Mrs. Wroll. “Have you supplied the paper?”

“Yes,” she answered as if exhausted. “Along with that soluble powder. This task of hers seems to be the only thing which calms her.”

“Good… How long would you need her?”

“I am sure another of your servants could make your meals, or if you insisted, Jaq could return for breakfast and dinner.” Viktor’s frown was deepening with every word. “It may be that she must live in my home for a time.”

“Absolutely not,” Viktor blurted, clearly taking Mrs. Wroll off guard.

“Sir Teagan, I thought you understood the severity of my ward’s condition.”

“I will examine Isabelle again today and determine the severity,” he stated, “but I cannot grant you an unlimited amount of days of Jaq’s service. She has duties and responsibilities here.”

Mrs. Wroll watched him intently. “You are rarely home, Doctor, how many duties could she have?”

Good question, and Viktor did not have an answer for it. Words tumbled from his mouth. “Mrs. Locklier suggested I host a dinner party. I have decided to agree with her. Jaq will be occupied with the arrangements.”

A dinner party. When had he ever hosted a dinner party? Viktor was fine being a guest but being the host was a daunting prospect.

Mrs. Wroll’s expression opened. “That’s a fine idea, Doctor. I trust I will receive an invitation?”

“Once the stationary is picked,” he answered curtly. He was discovering how much he did not want to host a gathering of any kind.

Jaq entered then, with a pot of tea for him as well as a platter of sliced fruit, roasted onions and turkey, layered together. “We’re going to Mrs. Wroll’s today,” he informed her curtly, cutting a bite of meat and fruit.

His guest chewed inquisitively. “Your choices of ingredients astound me, Jaq.” She glanced up when no response came. “She does like to disappear, doesn’t she?”

Viktor ate in silence.

Sir Owensby’s carriage waited outside of Mrs. Wroll’s house. The man himself held a large black umbrella aloft while she found her keys. “I wouldn’t dare trouble your Agatha,” he said as to why he had been waiting. Vanessa opened the door, and Isabelle was in the foyer, waiting for them. She ran forward, giggling, and hugged Jaq.

“I missed you!” She began tugging on Jaq’s arm. “Come and see!”

Together they jogged up the stairs into Isabelle’s room. Viktor, Owensby, and Vanessa caught up with them and saw the girl showing Jaq her pads of paper, bundles of brushes, small jars, and palettes of colored powder as well as new pencils.

“Isabelle,” Mrs. Wroll warned. “Take them to the library or the parlour. I don’t want you making a mess of your room.”

“It’s my room!” she complained. “You said so!”

“Yes, and it is,” Vanessa assured, “but a lady cannot live in a sty.”

“Who are you to say what a lady does?” Isabelle giggled.

Jaq diverted the conversation. “If we’re painting with colour, we’ll need to go somewhere with colour. Do you have a bag or a box we can carry this in?”

“Yes!” she hopped excitedly.

“No,” Vanessa altered. “Have you taken a look outside? You will be soaked to the bone.”

“The botanical gardens are enclosed,” Owensby stated, garnering a glare from Mrs. Wroll.

“Yes! Let’s go there!” Isabelle begged.

“Don’t you want to practice first?” she suggested. “In such a public place, I’d hate for you to be embarrassed.”

Jaq blatantly gaped at her. Even Viktor knew that was entirely the wrong thing to say. Isabelle’s expression darkened. “You don’t want to be embarrassed.”

“Darling, you know that isn’t true—”

“I know what you think about me!” Isabelle shouted. “I know you’ve considered asking him how long it takes someone to drown!” She jerked her chin toward Viktor. “Just like I know he’s a virgin! The same as she!”

Her arm swung around to point at Jaq. Owensby cleared his throat and offered, “Returning to a relevant subject, the botanical gardens will soon be hosting an art exhibit, for the local sorts. I might know a certain someone who could look over Isabelle’s work and she might be featured. Food for thought.”

Isabelle’s temper evaporated. “Could I?”

Owensby seemed very relieved and pleased with himself. “They must have a portfolio to see.”

“I’ll have one!” she promised, looking to Jaq. “Won’t I?”

“That’s up to you, not me,” Jaq quickly consented as she finished placing the materials in a small luggage case.

“Excellent!” Owensby cheered, leading the way into the corridor. “We’ll just be going, then, and leave you to it!”

Viktor felt eyes on him and found Mrs. Wroll glaring expectantly at him. He rushed after them and caught them in the foyer, “Might I join? I could use an artist’s input for my anatomical sketches.”

Isabelle turned around just outside the door underneath Jaq’s umbrella and said, “Go play with your dead people.” His eyes met Jaq’s equally astonished ones as the door was slammed in his face.

Owensby frowned, “I respect a dramatic exit but not when it’s my carriage they’ll be taking. Excuse me.”

“Do you really intend to place her work in the botanical exhibit?” Mrs. Wroll hindered.

“I pity anyone who tries to tell that girl no,” he responded and then strode out the door. There was nothing left to be done for Viktor except adjourn to the library. He read the papers, particularly all the obituaries he was not autopsying. Agatha’s tea was not up to par with Jaq’s. After the first sip his cup remained untouched. Owensby returned soon after without the ladies, saying he had been thoroughly excused from Isabelle’s company and so chatted about everything and nothing, munching on biscuits.

Viktor’s thoughts strayed. He wondered how much truth was in the things Isabelle said. He knew very well that Mrs. Wroll was a widow—he had done the autopsy himself. The nature of Mr. Wroll’s death, however, was a shrouded mystery he never cared to uncover.

He had never disclosed to anyone that he…had yet to experience such a particular intimacy. Having that piece of knowledge spoken aloud by a strange girl had surprised him. So had the identical fact about Jacqueline.

Viktor tried to shake his thoughts away. It should not matter to him what his butler’s sexual history was. He had certainly never any intention of shaming her for it, but he did not understand why such a revelation stuck in his mind.

His gaze lifted as the woman herself entered the library with damp hair, a bowl of fresh berries under her arm, and a glass of water in hand. She sat adjacent to Viktor, setting the water on the table and leaning back with the bowl on her stomach. She ate several berries before she noticed their eyes on her. “She got hungry, that’s all. She’s painting upstairs while she eats.”

Jaq glanced at Viktor’s full teacup, then at him, and placed the bowl close enough for him to reach. He hesitated before trying a berry. He had not noticed how hungry he was.

“That cannot be all,” Mrs. Wroll said incredulously.

“She’s fifteen and bored,” Jaq retorted, sighing as if she was already tired of this subject. “Her mind needs to be occupied.”

“Well what does she say? As she works?” Mrs. Wroll insisted.

Jaq shrugged, “Not much of anything. She’s actually studious about drawing.”

“But she does speak.”

Jaq sighed, at a loss. “Sure, she knows things. Charlatans claim to be psychics all the time. Maybe she actually is one. Either way, she doesn’t know how to interact with people and your patronizing isn’t helping her.”

Viktor’s eyes widened slightly. Everything Isabelle said was true. Jacqueline knew her way around a man’s body but had never intimately been with one. Curious.

Vanessa’s reaction was different. “Do not speak above your station.”

Jaq narrowed her eyes at her. “I am a guest in your house.”

“You are a butler. A servant,” Mrs. Wroll spat.

“Not for you,” Jaq said evenly.

Mrs. Wroll leaned back in her chair. “Do you speak to your master this way?”

Without missing a beat, Jaq replied, “He’s not my master. He’s my employer.”

Vanessa huffed a breath and looked to Viktor. “Do you really take this from her, Sir Teagan?”

Jaq was the one who responded. “Why do you do that?”

“What?” she said indignantly.

“Pull him in front of you like a shield. Poke him and tug on his strings like he’s a puppet. He’s a human being.”

“I do no such thing!”

“You do,” Jaq said, calmly, insistently. “You complain about your age but you hold it against him, because like a gentleman, he was taught to cede to his elders.”

“How do you know anything of how he was raised?” Vanessa challenged. “You’ve only worked for him for a year, in a house he rarely occupied.”

“I spent a lot of time with his former butler,” she replied.

“I’m sure you did.”

Jaq’s expression was stoic. “Are you insinuating something, Mrs. Wroll?”