Chapter 91

"He is one of the benefactors of the Association. A very generous one, as I understand it." He nodded to himself. "I have seen Mr. Whitmore here a handful of times. Quite an unusual fellow, though I have never quite known what to make of him."

"There is a senior professor here who knows him rather better than I do. Mattias Holstoke is his name. He is also the head of the institution. The two have formed something of a friendship over the years." The professor’s mouth tightened slightly before he continued in a lower voice. "Perhaps it is the generosity Mr. Whitmore shows the Association that has encouraged such cordiality."

The remark seemed to slip out before he could stop himself, as though he had never meant to say it aloud.

Cassandra heard every word, although she gave no indication that she had.

Instead, she maintained the subdued demeanor she affected since the beginning of the interaction.

"If I wished to learn more about Mr. Whitmore, perhaps where he might be found," she asked gently, "would this professor be of help?"

Professor Bellamy considered her question briefly.

"You might try speaking with him, though I cannot promise he will be of much assistance. He is a very busy man and does not generally entertain personal inquiries. If you are determined, however, you may find a way to approach him."

Cassandra inclined her head. "Then I shall be grateful for even the possibility. And I must thank you, Professor. You have been a great help to me."

"Your husband must have been very devoted to this field."

"He was." The lie came easily now. "There was a moment during your lecture when you spoke about the circulation of blood. I remembered something he once told me, years ago. He had spoken about it with such fascination that I had teased him for being so absorbed in something I could scarcely understand."

She smiled wistfully. "For a moment, I could almost imagine he was standing beside me again."

The professor’s face softened once more.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pembroke."

"Thank you."

Cassandra gave him a small, grateful bow.

Sebastian thanked the professor again, and together they took their leave.

They did not speak as they left the corridor and made their way toward the exit.

Only when the doors of the building closed behind them did Cassandra allow herself to release a relieved sigh.

Once Professor Bellamy was well behind them, Sebastian cast Cassandra a sidelong glance.

"So, what do you think?"

"We have rather a lot to work with now. At the very least, Bellamy has given us something we didn’t have before. A name, and a more solid connection." She glanced back towards the building. "Who would have thought Whitmore was bosom friends with someone as distinguished as the head of the Association of Medicine and Anatomical Studies?"

"Quite the unlikely friendship," Sebastian agreed. "What do you suppose they discuss when they meet?"

Cassandra maintained a brisk pace, glaring straight ahead. "Most definitely plotting how best to ruin other people’s lives."

They continued towards the waiting carriage, their conversation falling into silence as they reached it. Sebastian opened the door, and Cassandra climbed inside.

Adrian was already waiting for them.

His gaze darted between them, eager and expectant, as though sheer intensity might compel them to reveal what they knew.

"Well?" He prompted impatiently.

"We have another name," Sebastian said as he settled into the carriage. "Professor Mathias Holstoke."

Adrian’s expression sharpened.

"Bellamy gave it to us," Cassandra explained. "Holstoke is apparently someone Whitmore has dealings with."

"And you think he knows about Whitmore’s illicit dealings?"

"It is possible," Cassandra said. "More than possible, perhaps. But now we have another professor entering the picture, there has to be a reason for it."

–––

The carriage arrived by midmorning, when the village was still busy with the ordinary affairs of the day and the last of the morning’s mist had long since disappeared from the fields.

Its lacquered exterior, gleaming black panels, and finely crafted harness were so striking against the weathered cottages that several villagers paused to watch as it passed.

Mabel stood at the window of her family’s little house, her heart already beating faster at the sight.

It had to be him.

She had been waiting for this day for weeks, though the excitement had never quite seemed real until now.

Only two weeks earlier, Mabel had been desperate for employment after her churlish former employer dismissed her without just cause. So, when word of the position reached her, she seized the opportunity.

Even after Mr. Percival Crane sent his assistant to the village to speak with her parents about the position, explained the wages, and described the household in Bellhaven where she would be employed, a small part of her had remained fearful that the opportunity might somehow vanish before her eyes.

But there it was. A fine carriage was waiting for her, just as Mr. Crane promised.

For a girl with very little, it seemed impossibly grand. Almost too good to be true.

Her mother hurried into the room, wiping her hands against her apron as though she had abandoned what she had previously been doing.

"He’s here," Mabel said, though there was little point in stating it when her mother likely already knew.

Her mother immediately began fussing over her bonnet and adjusting the collar of her plain travelling dress.

"You have everything?" Her mother asked, sounding both eager and apprehensive at the same time.

"Yes, Mama."

"Did you pack your new stockings?"

"Yes."

"The little Bible your aunt gave you?"

Mabel smiled indulgently. "Yes, Mama."

Her mother looked as though she wanted to ask the same questions again simply to delay the moment of departure, but she restrained herself. Instead, she looked toward the small valise resting beside the chair.

It contained nearly everything Mabel owned.

A few dresses suitable for service, a nightgown, stockings, undergarments, a pair of shoes that had already seen better days, her Bible and a small collection of personal things she could not bear to leave behind.

There was nothing in it that would have impressed anyone but it was all Mabel had to her name