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Anna felt ill. She lifted a hand to stop him. “Pray, do not go into the details.”

“It is a tremendously interesting matter. My position on this being, of course, that any kind of movement, blinking of eyelids or twitching of the lips after decapitation is nothing but reflex.” He suddenly leaned forward with a squint. “But, Miss Hilversham, are you well? Your face has taken on an odd, pasty colour.”

She felt like bursting into uncontrollable tears then and there, but she pulled herself together. “I am quite well,” she said in a strangled voice and forced herself to swallow the tears that threatened to erupt. She drew in a deep breath of air, once, twice, and lifted her chin. Miss Hilversham would never burst into tears. Miss Hilversham always had every situation under control.

He tilted his dark head aside, a deep frown on his massive forehead. “You don’t look like it. You looked terribly sad for a minute there.”

The man had eyes like a hawk.

“I am quite fine. Shall we move down the stairs again and return to the parlour?” She made a downward motion .

But he did not yield. “You seem to be thoroughly informed about all manner of death, natural and unnatural,” he added, as if in an afterthought.

“One has to be informed about these kinds of things when one leads a girls’ finishing school.” She cleared her throat. “Naturally.”

“Death, dying, and decapitation is a topic that is most central to a young gentlewoman’s education. Naturally.” His voice was entirely matter-of-fact, even and humourless. She peered at him suspiciously, but nothing in his face indicated even vaguely that he was mocking her.

“I have no idea how on earth we ended up talking about such a grisly topic. Let us return to the matter at hand. I was saying that Phoebe has the measles. She must rest.”

A flash of amusement crossed his eyes and was gone again so quickly she wondered whether she’d imagined it.

Pale sage green they were. His eyes, that is. Very light, almost translucent, like the water of a pond rippling against a pink lotus flower.

Anna shook her head, horrified by her own thoughts. What on earth was she thinking? Lotus flower, indeed.

He extended his hands and, before she could blink, lifted her physically aside as if she were a ragdoll.

“Balderdash, Miss Hilversham. The girl is bamming you. She takes a perverse delight in making a fool of the credulous, as you surely must have realised by now. Phoebe already had the measles when she was little.” He let go of her and strode past her up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

* * *

The room was semi-dark, and Miss Grace stood by the bed, wringing her hands.

“Phoebe is terribly sick,” she choked, and backed away as the earl approached, both hands extended to ward him off, until her back hit the wall.

Phoebe was in bed, the blanket drawn up to her chin, and she groaned.

“Hello, Peeps,” her uncle said gently. “What have you done with yourself now?” He sat by her bed. The bedcover trembled. There were red dots on her forehead, her cheeks, and a particularly big one on the tip of her nose.

They had overdone it, for the colour was already rubbing off on the blankets. Anna grimaced. But there was nothing at all she could do now.

He reached out, and her mind worked feverishly to do something, anything—he bent over her, a dark, hairy monster—she would have to leap on him when his back was turned to her, maybe together with Grace, they could overwhelm him—then he pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open with one hand. With the other, he took her hand and placed his index and middle fingers on the inside of her wrist. What was he doing? Was he taking her pulse?

She blinked in confusion. Only doctors did that. Then he lifted both hands to feel her pulse under her jaw.

Miss Grace made an alarmed movement, but Anna lifted her hand to prevent her from rushing forward. He touched her forehead and inspected the paint that came off on his fingers. What had they used, Anna wondered. Rouge? Watercolour?

“Well, what shall we do now, Peeps? You appear to be gravely ill indeed. How unfortunate.” He crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at Phoebe broodingly.

Phoebe’s eyes popped open, startled. “I am? I mean, yes. Of course I am.” She forced a cough.

“And here I was, intending to depart for Hungersford Hall this instant. I’d intended to make a detour to Brighton to do some sea bathing in the wild, without those bathing machines, mind you, and to see the Royal Pavilion, for they say it is quite the sight, to stroll along the promenade and do some shopping, for Mrs Marks says she needs new curtains amongst all sorts of other fripperies and fluff that she insists are necessary for the household, and I was hoping for some feminine guidance. Then there is a new tea shop that opened and they serve ices. I was told the parmesan and gruyère ice is particularly fine. But since you are so unwell, and coughing so terribly, too, there can be no thought of you leaving your bed and eating ices, of course.” He patted her cheek. “How unfortunate. You must stay here until you recover, and make sure you sweat it out well, drink concoctions of wormwood and rue, have regular raw onion poultices, be bled regularly and have lots of tea and porridge and beef broth only, to get rid of all the ill humours. A daily laxative to clear out the bowels would also be beneficial,” he added as an afterthought. “In fact, I suggest we start with that right away. What luck that I have brought a bottle of castor oil with me⁠—”

Phoebe shot up, her eyes widened in horror. “Uncle Christopher! I assure you, I am quite, quite well! Indeed, I am!” She threw off the covers.

He peered down at her with narrowed eyes. “Eh? Are you indeed? If so, that was the quickest recovery from the measles I have ever seen in my entire life.”

She rubbed at her red spots with the bed sheets. “It is merely paint. I didn’t want to go with you because, because—” She looked around helplessly until her eyes caught Anna’s. “Because I don’t want to go without Miss Hilversham.” She pointed at her. “I need her. Truly, I do. I can’t possibly go anywhere without her.”