Once again, Matt had already left the house when I went down for breakfast. Once again, no one knew where he'd gone. When Bristow informed me, I got the most awful tightening in my chest.

"I already checked his room," Duke told me, pressing a cup of tea into my hands in the dining room. "His clothes are still there."

"He wouldn't leave London without telling us," Willie said from the table where she attacked a pile of bacon heaped on her plate.

"Or leaving a note," Cyclops added. "There's no note."

I looked to Bristow. "No note that I've found," he added.

That was a relief. I served myself breakfast from the selection on the sideboard but found I wasn't hungry and hardly ate.

Matt still hadn't returned by the time breakfast finished. I retreated to the sitting room, where waiting became extremely trying. I wanted to speak to Abigail Pilcher again, but I didn't want to do so without Matt. If he didn't return soon, however, I would go alone.

It occurred to me that he had gone to see her without me to avoid my lectures. That was more disheartening than thinking he'd gone to speak to Lord Cox, and I resolved to be more pleasant today and not even bring up Patience's situation.

My resolution didn't extend to Miss Glass. She joined me in the sitting room mid-morning and settled her portable writing desk on her lap.

"What an awful business about Patience," I began.

"Very."

"Do you think Lord Cox can be convinced to change his mind?"

She pulled out a letter from the desk and perched her spectacles on the end of her nose. "No. He's much too proud, so my brother says."

"Has Lord Rycroft even tried to speak to him?"

"He has written."

"A letter isn't enough. He must go in person and try to sway him."

She sighed and lowered the letter. "Richard does not grovel."

"Not even for his daughter's sake? Indeed, for the sake of all his daughters?"

"Not when there is another, more palatable alternative."

She meant Matt marrying Patience. From the sympathetic look Miss Glass gave me, I suspected she assumed that was the path Matt would take. It would do me no good to tell her otherwise. That was Matt's responsibility—and clearly he had not done it.

With a sigh, Miss Glass set aside her writing desk and came to sit beside me on the sofa. "I know it's not what either of you want, India, but it's the way it has to be. Matthew has a duty. He is not free. He must do what is best for his family, his lineage. Do you understand?"

"We've been through this." I looked away to hide the burning tears welling in my eyes.

"But do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Matthew does too."

I whipped around to face her again. "He does?"

"He said so last night, right to Richard's face." Her features softened, and the wrinkles bracketing her eyes and mouth flattened out. "If you love him, you will let him go, India."

I opened my mouth but shut it again. I wasn't entirely sure what I'd been about to say, only that I felt I must protest. But my mind suddenly went numb and the words wouldn't form.

"He'll never be happy with you if he knows he could save Patience and didn't," she went on. "Her sisters too, don't forget. They're all relying on him."

"You put too much pressure on his shoulders."

"He has broad shoulders."

"Yes," I said, sounding rather dull-witted.

"He'll always blame himself if he doesn't rescue them," Miss Glass went on. "You know that, don't you?"

I ought to tell her there must be another way, that we owed it to Matt to find it and free him of his obligations. But I'd spent much of the night trying to find that other way and I couldn't. Short of Matt visiting Lord Cox and somehow convincing him to set aside his distaste of Patience's indiscretion, I could think of no way out. Besides, I suspected Miss Glass rather liked the idea of her niece and nephew marrying. Patience was a more appealing option than me.

"She is not a bad match for him," Miss Glass said as if reading my mind. "She would make a suitable wife. She's good and demure, and knows how to manage staff, host parties and further his career. She'll be a great asset to him."

The unspoken words being that I would only bring him down to my level. I looked away. I couldn't bear to see it in her eyes, mixed in with a little pain for me. She was not unsympathetic, but that sympathy was not enough to favor a marriage between me and Matt.

She picked up her writing desk again and set it on her lap. "My sister-in-law has won. She did look pleased as she left last night." She clicked her tongue. "I wonder how far her preparations are along already. It wouldn't surprise me if she has new invitations made up by the end of the week. There's no point changing the date, after all."

I gasped then choked, bringing fresh tears burning my eyes. I leapt up and would have made my excuses if I could talk without my voice shaking.

I got as far as the door and stopped. Bristow was showing the three Miss Glasses up the stairs to the sitting room. Of all the people I didn't want to see at that moment, they were top of my list. The only saving grace was that they came alone, without their mother.

I resumed my seat. There was no way I would let them see how upset the business of Matt marrying Patience had made me. I would never give Hope that satisfaction.

They filed into the sitting room one by one, led by the youngest, Hope. She was followed by Charity and finally Patience, the eldest. While they greeted their aunt with brisk kisses, Hope and Patience could hardly even look at me. It was understandable perhaps, considering Patience's disgrace and Hope's recent attempts to steal Matt's watch and to trick him into a compromising position. Of the three girls, Hope was the prettiest and cleverest, but those attributes had given her a diabolical precociousness. Her aunt didn't like her, and as charitable as I tried to be toward her, I couldn't either.

Charity, the middle sister, seemed the least concerned to see me. She was too interested in hovering by the door, checking the vicinity. No doubt she was looking for Cyclops, whom she'd taken quite a shine to.

"Is our cousin in?" Hope asked Miss Glass. "My sister wishes to speak with him."

Patience sat with her feet together and her hands in her lap. She bowed her head, a picture of demure respectability. It was almost impossible to think of her having a dalliance, let alone having one with a scoundrel.

"He's out," Miss Glass said. "What did you want to speak to him about, Patience?"

"A…a private matter," Patience stammered.

"Speak louder, girl, I can hardly hear you."

"A private matter regarding…" Her face flushed and she lowered her head further.

"Regarding an arrangement between them," Charity said, finally taking a seat. "For goodness sake, Patience, just say it. She's not going to attack you."

Hope pressed her lips together but didn't completely smother her snicker. It was only then that I realized Charity was referring to me.

"I…I'm not even sure there is an arrangement," Patience said.

"Of course there is," Hope said. "Mama made it clear last night."

"I'd rather hear it from Matt himself so that there's no mistake. It seems…unlikely." She blinked red, swollen eyes at me.

My heart pinched and I looked away. I didn't want to feel sympathy for her, yet I did. Like me, her fiancé had thrown her to the wolves without a care for her wellbeing. It was cruel, and I couldn't blame her for clutching at the lifeline offered now.

Patience cleared her throat. "Do you and Matt have an arrangement, India?"

I gripped the edge of the sofa, digging my nails into the upholstery. A thick blanket of silence enveloped us, stifling me. It was difficult to take a full breath.

"We are not engaged," I managed to say.

A collective sigh of relief banished the silence.

"There!" Hope declared. "See. He's free to marry you, Patience. All is well."

Patience chewed the inside of her lip. "Well…if you're sure, India."

"Of course she's sure," Miss Glass snipped off. "Matthew is a Glass, the heir to the Rycroft title. It's time he married and married well. You're a good match, Patience. Don't let anyone allow you to think otherwise." She shot a glare at Hope. "India is not at all suitable for Matthew. They both know it. You have nothing to worry about on that score."

"Our mother says the same thing," Patience said. "But I wanted to make sure first. If you say there is nothing between you, India, then I'll feel better."

"She already said they're not engaged," Charity blurted out, throwing up her hands. "For goodness’ sake, Patience, just accept that he's going to marry you. Forget that boring Cox. Matt is a much better catch."

Patience gave a small nod. "I know. I'd be honored to be his wife." She smiled, but it withered when she turned to me, and she once again dipped her head.

"Since Patience will now be marrying Matt," Hope said with a tilt of her chin, "it seems appropriate that you no longer live here, India. I do hope you understand. We have nothing against you. You seem kind, and as devoted as a pet, but it just wouldn't be decorous anymore."

I wished I'd had the strength in my legs to walk out. I really should have. Better yet, I wished I'd ordered her out of the house.

"India stays here," Miss Glass snapped. "She is my companion."

"But Aunt Letitia." Hope's soothing voice and big eyes did an excellent job at imploring. I imagined it worked on her parents and paramours quite well. "You must see how awkward it is with her here. Think of Patience."

"Do stop, Hope," Patience said with effort. "I don't mind if she stays. Honestly."

"Be quiet, Patience. You don't know what's good for you."

Miss Glass's nostrils flared, her spine stiffened. "India is not leaving, and that is final."

Hope sniffed. "We'll see what Father has to say."

Cyclops wandered in and stopped when he spotted our visitors. For a long moment he stood without moving, as if he couldn't decide whether to stay or go and so did nothing. In the end, his manners won out and he greeted the Glass sisters politely.

Charity sprang up from her chair and grasped his arm. She dragged him across the room and ordered him to sit on the sofa then squeezed herself between Cyclops and Patience, forcing her sister aside. Cyclops squashed himself into the corner, taking up far less space than a man his size ought.

"I'm so glad you're here," Charity gushed. "Your company is sorely needed today."

"It is?" He glanced over her head at me. I merely shrugged one shoulder.

"Everyone is such a bore," she whispered.

Hope rolled her eyes. "We can hear you."

Cyclops cleared his throat. "I should go."

"No!" Charity clutched his arm again and leaned into him. "Do stay a little longer. Talk to me. Tell me about yourself. Your life must be thrilling."

He leaned away and stared owlishly at her through his one good eye. "Not that thrilling."

"It must be! You can't look like a pirate then tell me you sit inside reading books all day." She pulled a face. "That would be awfully disappointing."

"Actually, that's all I do." He cleared his throat. "I sit in Matt's library and read. I read everything. I hate the outdoors." She drew back. Sensing an opportunity to escape, Cyclops warmed to his theme. "There's too much…dirt outside. And fresh air. I prefer stale air and cleanliness."

"But the scar…"

"A childhood accident. My mother dropped me as a baby."

I bit my lip to stop my smile.

"And your size." Charity squeezed his shoulder and giggled. "You're so big and strong. You must be an excellent fighter."

"Charity!" Patience scolded. "Restrain yourself."

"Why should I?" Charity snapped at her older sister. "You didn't."

Patience blushed fiercely and stared down at her folded hands.

"I'm not that strong," Cyclops said. "In fact, I'm a coward. I hate fighting. It hurts. And being big means I scare people without meaning to. Do you know what it's like to pick up your baby niece and she starts crying? No matter how many times I play peekaboo, she won't stop. It breaks my heart." He pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm very sensitive. Some say too sensitive. I even cry. A lot."

I tried hard to hold back my laugh, but it escaped as a choke. Poor Cyclops was trying, but Charity seemed more enthused than ever. Telling her that he cried only made her click her tongue and coo at him as if he were a child.

She slid even closer to him, crushing her skirt against his thigh. "So you don't like fisticuffs, but what about knives? Do you carry one? How big is it? Can I see it?"

Her questions shot like bullets, forcing Cyclops to lean back inch by inch with each one. The poor man needed rescuing, and I was only too happy to leave as well.

"Excuse me," I said, "I've just remembered I have something to do in the library. Cyclops—"

"Be glad to help! You know how much I love libraries and books, India. I can't stay away." He extricated himself from Charity's clutches and followed me out. "Thank you," he whispered. "I thought I'd be trapped in there for the rest of the morning."

"Oh?" I said innocently. "You don't wish to be the object of Charity Glass's affections?"

"She scares me. Who asks about knives like that?"

"It could have been worse. She could have asked about guns."

"If she does next time, I'm throwing Willie into her path. They'd get along."

"Probably a little too well," I said. "It might be best to keep them apart. Letting Willie and Charity loose together in the city seems like a recipe for trouble."

He chuckled, and I hugged his arm, feeling some of the heaviness that had been weighing me down lift.

It didn't last long. Whenever I thought about the visit from the Glass sisters, my heart sank a little further. They all seemed set on Matt marrying Patience, as if the entire family had decided it was a foregone conclusion and not open for negotiation. Even Patience had accepted it, exchanging one fiancé for another as if they were as interchangeable as bonnets. Miss Glass, once staunchly opposed to Matt marrying any of the girls, now thought Patience would make a good wife. I felt utterly cast aside, even though Matt told me he had not agreed to the union. How long could he withstand the onslaught from his family? How long could he withstand the onslaught from his own guilty conscience?

That was my greatest concern. If anything convinced him it was a good idea, it would be his own guilt. I knew better than anyone how chivalric Matt could be when he thought himself at fault.

He returned but refused to tell us where he'd been, only saying he had an errand to perform. His secrecy stretched my nerves more.

He used his watch but refused to rest, even though he'd suppressed several yawns over luncheon. "We have work to do. Ready, India?"

I didn't want to sit in the coach alone with him, but I had no choice. He did not invite the others to join us. Inevitably, the conversation turned in a predictable yet unwanted direction.

"Bristow informed me that my cousins called this morning and that you and Aunt Letitia sat with them."

"Cyclops joined us for a while too," I said. "It was quite an entertainment watching him trying to avoid Charity. She doesn't give up easily."

"I'm not interested in hearing about Cyclops," he said darkly. "I want to know why my cousins called."

"Ask your aunt. I'd prefer not to discuss it."

"I'm avoiding her at the moment, as I'm avoiding the rest of my family. They have nothing to say that I wish to hear."

"Then you won't want to know why they visited."

He regarded me a moment. "Did they say anything to upset you?"

I crossed my arms, determined not to speak about it. Unless the situation changed, there was no point. I would only get more upset, and I was already too close to tears.

"India," he purred, "nothing they say can convince me to marry anyone but you."

My throat tightened. I turned to the window.

"Not even if my life depended upon it."

And what if her life depended on it, I wanted to say but did not. Patience's life may not depend on her marrying Matt, but her future certainly did, and that of her sisters. And as far as everyone else was concerned, I was the only thing standing in the way of them marrying.

That was a rather sobering thought.

"India—"

"Let's concentrate on the task at hand," I said. "Nothing good will come of discussing anything else."

He sighed and sat back. "As long as you know my feelings on the matter."

"I do."

We rounded a sharp corner and I suddenly found myself face to face with him, his hands planted on the seat on either side of me. He brushed his lips to mine then withdrew and gave me one of his boyish smiles.

"My apologies," he said, sitting down opposite again. "I lost my balance."

The corner would have seen him move to the side, not forward. But his smiles and the twinkle momentarily brightening his tired eyes had me smiling too.

"That's better," he said. "I like it when you blush for me."

"It's hot in here."

His smile turned wicked. "It certainly is."

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—the drive to Oxford Street was short. We could have walked but the coach was ready from Matt's earlier outing and a constant drizzling rain made walks unpleasant. We had to pay Abigail Pilcher's supervisor again before he'd let her speak to us outside the workroom. We didn't retreat outside the shop, due to the rain, but stood in the stairwell. The hum of the sewing machines provided a backdrop to our discussion but wasn't so noisy that we needed to raise our voices.

"We have reason to believe there is a magician at the convent," Matt told her. "Did you know of another there other than yourself?"

She crossed her arms, not as a show of defiance but to hug herself. "No."

"A wood magician," I added.

She shook her head.

"You never felt magical heat in any of the crucifixes?" I asked.

Another shake of her head. "It would be madness to work magic in the convent. Are you sure you felt its heat, Miss Steele?"

"I didn't feel anything. It was simply a theory."

"Then your theory is wrong. I never felt magic there, and only a fool would use it in a place where magicians would be called the devil's agent and worse."

We thanked her and headed back outside to our waiting carriage. "Do you think she's lying?" I asked.

"Do you?"

"No. Yes." I sighed as I climbed into the coach. "I'm not sure."

"I think she was holding something back from us. The question is, why?" He hesitated before giving orders to the coachman to drive to St. Mary's church in Chelsea.

"You want to speak to Father Antonio again?" I asked as he settled on the opposite seat.

"I want to ask him if he believes in magic."

I tilted my head to the side. "You think he's the magician? Why?"

"If Abigail is holding something back from us, it could be because she's protecting the magician. And who does, or did, she care about?"

"Father Antonio? Do you think she still cares for him, even now?"

"I don't know, but she cared enough once to be with him, and he is the father of her son. She might not love him, but she might not want his name associated with magic, either. It could ruin him."

"I see. Perhaps you're right. It's certainly worth investigating."

Matt stifled a yawn and his eyelids drooped.

"Use your watch," I said, closing the curtains. "Then rest for a few minutes while we drive."

To my surprise, he obeyed without a grumble. His easy acquiescence only proved how tired he was.

I watched him as he rested, his face slackening with every passing second until he fell asleep. Deep purple veins webbed dark eyelids, while the rest of his face sported the pallor of long illness. We shouldn't have left the house so soon after he returned home from his mysterious outing. I resolved to keep the conversation with Father Antonio short and get Matt home as soon as possible.

Fortunately, Father Antonio was in the rectory preparing his sermon for Sunday. He was not pleased to see us but forced a smile for the sake of politeness.

"I'll have my housekeeper bring tea," he said.

"We're not staying for tea," I said. "We only have one or two quick questions, and we'd be grateful if you answered them honestly."

Matt frowned at me and arched a brow in question.

"We're busy," I told him and the priest.

"Yes, of course," Father Antonio said. "I'll answer as honestly as I can, naturally, but I don't know anything of importance to you."

Matt gave a small grunt and pressed his fingertips to his heart. His face turned even paler.

"Matt?" I said. "Was is it?"

"Nothing." He lowered his hand to his side. "I'm fine."

"Do you require smelling salts?" the priest asked.

Matt waved him away and gave a reassuring smile. It did not reassure me. I watched him closely. His lips remained white, pinched, as if he were in pain. Did he need his watch again? Why the pain this time and not mere tiredness? I didn't like it.

"We should go," I said.

He grabbed my hand. "We have questions for Father Antonio."

"Then please sit," Father Antonio said.

Matt sat then frowned at me until I sat too. I clutched my reticule in my lap, prepared to leap up at any moment to extract his watch from its hidden pocket and place it in his hand. I didn't care if Father Antonio saw.

"Who made the crucifix in the meeting hall behind the school?" Matt asked.

The priest blinked at him. "I'm not sure. Why?"

"Was it you?"

"No. Mr. Glass, why do you ask such an odd question?"

"Was it one of the nuns?"

"I don't know. It's been there for years. Since before my time."

"The building isn't more than a few years old and you were here twenty-seven years ago at least," Matt said. "So who made it?"

"I told you, I don't know. The building was built and someone put it in there shortly after. That's all I know. I ask again, why?"

Matt's fingers, resting on his knee, curled up. His eyelids fluttered closed then reopened. "What do you know of magic?"

The priest blanched. "Only what has been printed in the newspapers in recent days. I don't believe it, of course. Utter nonsense."

I couldn't detect a lie but I was somewhat distracted by Matt and not entirely focused on the priest.

"Why are you asking such an absurd question? Surely you don't believe in magic, Mr. Glass. You're an educated, intelligent man. Magic is…is childish fantasy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Matt scrubbed his jaw and sucked in a sharp breath. He let it out slowly.

"Matt?" I asked. "Your watch?"

He shook his head. "Father Antonio, you must know something about Mother Alfreda's disappearance and that of the babies. Someone here must know."

The priest clasped his hands between his knees. "This is harassment. I thought the commissioner was going to speak to you."

"He did," I said. "But he knows it's important to get to the bottom of this mystery. Now, please answer Mr. Glass's questions. What do you know?"

Father Antonio shook his head. "I have nothing to say."

"Is that so?" I snapped. "Because you know nothing or because you're not willing to tell us anything?"

"I beg your pardon! Miss Steele, Mr. Glass, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He stood and indicated the door.

Matt drew in another sharp breath and both hands formed fists. The pain had returned. We needed to leave—and quickly.

"Matt," I said again. "Let's go."

"Not yet." He uncurled his fists.

Well, if he wouldn't leave without answers, it was vital we got some without delay. I could think of only one way to do that. "Father," I said, "has anyone confessed to the murder of Mother Alfreda?"

"Murder!"

"Yes."

"I wasn't expecting you to be so forthright, India," Matt muttered.

"We have no time for finesse. Well, Father? Has someone confessed to you?"

Father Antonio sat heavily. "Confessions are confidential," he said flatly. "I won't be breaking that trust."

That was tantamount to a yes in my book. In that case, I had no choice but to use the last remaining weapon available to me. "Very well," I said. "If you do not tell us what was confessed to you about the disappearances of the babies and Mother Alfreda, then we will write to your bishop and tell him about your indiscretions with Abigail Pilcher when she was a nun here. Do you understand what I'm saying?" I felt a little filthy for blackmailing him, but I had no choice. Matt wanted answers before leaving and this was the fastest way to get them. Indeed, it was the only way.

Matt did not protest so I suspected he agreed.

"That is…! You cannot…!" Father Antonio spluttered something incoherent and sank further into the chair. "You are unchristian and unfeeling," he said sulkily.

"And you are the father of a twenty-seven year old man," I said. "He's doing well for himself. Do you ever wonder what became of him?"

His face flushed and he looked away.

"Just tell us what you know," I urged him.

"I cannot. I broke one vow when Abigail and I—" He cut himself off. "I cannot break another, after all these years. I will not. But I will tell you something that I observed at the time. Telling you doesn't break any rules of the confessional."

"What is it?" I asked on a rushed breath.

Matt leaned forward, looking a little healthier again, thankfully.

"I happened to be in the convent's grounds the night Mother Alfreda disappeared." Father Antonio blushed and I suspected his reason for being on convent property was to meet Abigail in secret. "I was in the small woods at the back when I saw one of the sisters passing by. She headed into the woods carrying a spade and a box." He indicated the approximate size with his hands, two feet by two. "She emerged some time later without the box. I was curious so went looking for it but couldn't find it."

"Who was the nun?" I asked.

"I didn't see her face."

"Did you see any freshly turned earth when you investigated?" Matt asked.

"No, but it was dark. I never did go back to search in the daylight."

"Can you show us where in the woods?" I asked.

"No, I will not. The woods are still there, however some of it has been cleared away to allow the school children more space. I advise you not to take it upon yourselves to look around. Someone may grow suspicious."

I met Matt's gaze and tried not to show my triumph. Father Antonio's concern meant that the person he suspected of carrying the box—the person who'd confessed to being involved in Mother Alfreda's disappearance—still lived at the convent.

"Thank you, Father," Matt said, rising. "We're sorry to have put you into this position."

"But it was necessary to save a life," I finished.

Father Antonio didn't look as if he believed me. I didn't care. We had something to go on with, only I wasn't sure what to do with the new information and said so to Matt on the way home.

"We have to investigate the woods, of course," he said.

"We can't dig up the entire area without arousing suspicion."

"We have to try. We'll make a start tonight. Between Duke, Cyclops and myself we should cover a large part."

"You are not going anywhere. You need your rest."

"Don't, India."

"What happened in there? You looked as if you were in pain."

He lifted one shoulder. "It's gone now."

"But—"

"I'm fine. Don't mention it to the others. I don't want to worry them."

"If you're fine, there's no need for them to worry, is there?"

He scowled but offered no retort and we traveled in silence back to Mayfair. He took himself off to his room without me prompting, and he remained there for the rest of the afternoon.

I'd forgotten that the others were at the convent, helping with repairs and observing the goings on. Unfortunately, they had nothing to report by the time they came home in the late afternoon. They found me playing cards with Miss Glass in the sitting room. We'd hardly spoken, which was perhaps safer than touching on sensitive topics. Nevertheless, I was glad when Willie, Duke and Cyclops walked in.

"Did you learn anything?" I asked.

Willie threw herself into a chair and sighed. "Only that I hate hammering nails."

"What did you two find out?" Cyclops asked.

I told them what Father Antonio had told us but not how we'd extracted the information. I still felt uncomfortable about our methods.

"Where's Matt?" Willie asked.

"Resting."

"He's been resting for a long time," Miss Glass said, glancing at the clock.

My heart tripped. He had been resting longer than usual. "I'll see how he is," I said as calmly as I could. "And I'll ask Bristow to bring tea."

I left and fortunately no one followed. I didn't want to alarm them. Not yet. I raced to Matt's room and knocked lightly. No answer. With my heart in my throat, I pushed open the door and peered inside. He lay on top of the bed covers on his back, his eyes closed. His chest didn't move.

Oh god.

I touched his face with a shaking hand.

He was warm. Alive. Thank God. Now that I was closer, I could see his chest rise and fall, albeit slowly.

His eyes suddenly opened and I fell back. He caught my hand, steadying me, trapping me at his side. "India," he murmured, drawing my hand to his lips. "India."