easier to ignore. She had too much to do today to sit up here wallowing in self-pity.
“Elsie?” Emmeline called up the stairs.
She rubbed her arm across her eyes. Cleared her throat. “I’ll be right there!” The volume helped keep her voice even. She needn’t give Emmeline a reason to reject her as well, though the maid seemed to like everyone, Nash aside. Hurrying to her small table, she dumped out what little water was left in her pitcher into her washing bowl and dotted it on her eyes and cheeks, cooling them. Then she stood erect and forced herself to take a big gulp of air. Repinned part of her hair.
If Emmeline noticed anything amiss, she didn’t mention it.
Elsie woke to a thumping chest. The tendrils of the strangest dream curled beneath her skull. She’d been trapped in a room full of kitchen supplies, all the exits blocked by stacks upon stacks of bowls. In her desperation to escape, she’d knocked over the largest stack—
Something clamored down the hallway.
Not a dream.
Leaping from bed, Elsie called, “Are you all right?” not knowing if it was Emmeline or Ogden. Practiced hands struck a match and lit a candle. “Emmeline, is that—”
“Help!” Ogden bellowed.
Something heavy hit the floor.
Gasping, Elsie ran for the door, nearly putting out the candle in her haste. “Who’s there?” she cried, nearly screamed. Ogden’s door was ajar at the end of the hallway. Something else fell over. A scuffle, broken glass—
Elsie swung into the room just as a shadow passed through the window. Her candle struggled to hold its light. Her heart leapt into her throat.
A moan sounded from the wall.
“Ogden!” she cried, rushing to his side. One of his eyes was starting to swell shut. She lifted the candle, searching for blood, but found none other than in the split on his brow.
“What’s happening?” Emmeline appeared in the doorway, her eyes huge.
Setting the candle down so forcefully she nearly sent it out of its holder, Elsie shouted, “Go wake the neighbors, and send Mr. Morgan for the constable! Hurry! He’s getting away!”
Emmeline froze for a full second before grabbing the skirt of her nightdress and barreling down the stairs.
CHAPTER 18
“The men are searching now.” Constable Wilson examined the window. The perpetrator had escaped that way, despite it being two stories above ground. He’d shattered a pane in his desperation to open it. “Seems you got off lucky.”
“I beg your pardon?” Elsie snapped, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself. They had all taken up posts in Ogden’s bedroom, lit with candles and lamps. Ogden sat on the trunk at the foot of his bed, pressing a cold slice of meat to his eye, while the constable paced back and forth across the room, occasionally taking notes. Elsie lingered near the window, wanting to see everything the constable noticed or wrote. Emmeline fidgeted by the doorway.
“You’ve found nothing stolen yet—”
“We’ve only checked his cabinet!” Elsie interjected. His drops had not been touched.
“—and a black eye is better than what it could have been.” Constable Wilson looked pointedly at her.
Elsie pinched her lips together. He did have a point. It could have been much worse. Thank God it was not.
The constable squinted out the window. “Good, the lights are on.”
“Lights are coming on all over the town,” Elsie said.
He pointed his pen across the way. “I was referring to the post office. Mr. Morgan is sending a telegram to the High Court of Justice.”
Elsie’s stomach sank. “The High Court? Whatever for?”
“Mr. Ogden is an aspector.” He said it matter-of-factly, as though Elsie hadn’t known. “Her Majesty has sent out missives that the court is to be alerted of all life attempts and robberies involving aspectors.”
Life attempts. Had Elsie and Emmeline not woken, had Ogden not stirred and managed to fight back, would he be dead now? Would they be talking to a coroner instead of a constable? Would the London Physical Atheneum, to which Ogden was registered, be descending upon them like termites to take away his meager opus?
Shivers ran down her spine. “Do you truly believe there’s a connection to the other crimes?”
“I mean to follow orders, Miss Camden.”
Elsie shook her head. “You know him, Wilson. He wouldn’t be a target.” She glanced at Ogden, but he didn’t look offended.
The constable nodded. “Indeed. You are only novice level, correct, Mr. Ogden?”
He nodded. “Not for lack of trying.”
“What will happen?” Elsie asked, voice tight.
“I imagine they’ll send a team immediately, both to hunt the perpetrator and to interrogate you.”
From the