Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Zephyra had never been so frightened in her life.
She was shocked that Maxham remembered her. He had never spoken to her. Bianca had told her about him, and so she had observed him carefully, but he had never looked in her direction except once, and briefly, those many years ago.
And yet, despite the mud on her face, and her wig, and the rags she wore, he recognized her immediately.
But that was not what frightened her. She felt like a rabbit frozen under a bush as a wolf slowly stalked toward her.
Due to the fact that Bianca told her about the Blood Nectar, she had always been wary of Maxham and the others in the Citadel, but she had never felt like she did now, like prey before a predator. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast in her chest, and her throat tightened.
Was this how Bianca had felt in Maxham’s presence? Somehow, she did not believe so.
Her sister would consider her to be weak.
That thought forced her to clench her hands and straighten her spine. Her shoulders were already tense, but she did her best to draw them back in the hopes that she looked defiant rather than terrified. She forced her breathing to slow, even though it felt like she was suffocating.
Maxham studied her for long moments, almost as if he were politely giving her time to collect herself. That caused a flare of anger in her chest, a burning that melted the ice in her limbs.
He glanced briefly up the stairs behind him that led toward the attic, then he turned that pale gaze to a point over her right shoulder.
He spoke something in a language that was both harsh and musical at the same time, and she realized he spoke to the Oriental servant, who had chased her up the stairs and now stood behind her.
She should not have been surprised that Maxham knew Chinese, since he had hired the man.
The servant hurried back down the stairs, and Maxham gestured in that direction with his hand. “I think you would be more comfortable in the drawing room, Zephyra.”
“It is Miss Irvine,” she replied hotly before she could think.
However, instead of responding to her anger, Maxham merely gave a gentle smile. “Of course, please forgive me. I still think of you as Bianca’s younger sister.”
She felt a little foolish, because Bianca had indeed introduced her as Zephyra when she first joined the Citadel.
Zephyra had been eleven years old, and not yet out of the schoolroom.
Of course, she had not been in the schoolroom in the first place, since their father had died when she was five and Bianca had been forced to find a protector in order for the two of them to survive.
However, she said nothing as she slowly made her way down the stairs. One of the doors on the first floor was open with warm light shining through.
The servant had lit several lamps in the room and was in the process of lighting the cold grate in the corner. Zephyra sat primly on the sofa near the fireplace as if she were in a duchess’s drawing room, and Maxham sat across from her. The older man had followed Maxham and sat next to him.
Ward was quite rudely nowhere to be seen—she guessed he had returned to whatever he was doing in the attic. She realized that was likely where he had set up his laboratory.
“I did not realize Mr. Ward was in London,” she said as the servant left the room and closed the door behind him.
The man on the couch snapped at her, “He is Dr. Ward, you uncouth child.”
She realized that unlike Maxham, he had been fooled by her short stature and dirty face and assumed she was merely a street urchin. But she cared little about what he thought of her, for from the way he looked at Maxham and Ward, she assumed he was subservient to them.
“He arrived only recently,” Maxham said mildly.
The man looked at Maxham with alarm and a sliver of anger. “Mr. Maxham, perhaps we should not reveal such information about the doctor.”
“I beg your pardon, allow me to make the introductions. Miss Irvine, may I present Mr. Patrick Norton? Norton, this is Miss Zephyra Irvine, Bianca’s younger sister.”
Mr. Norton stiffened upon discovering her identity, but she also saw a flash of hatred streak across his features like lightning.
Here was yet another man who hated her sister.
Was it because of something Bianca had done to him, or because she had supplanted her husband, Mr. Carl Jadis, within the Citadel?
Zephyra had joined the charity in the Long Glades in order to learn more information about Apothecary Jack, who had taken her sister’s place, and Seyward Maxham. It had been easier to hear about Jack, although he revealed very little of himself.
Jack hardly ever mentioned the other Citadel members except for Maxham, but he had mentioned Mr. Jadis once.
Zephyra had happened to speak to a woman whose brother had been working for several weeks with one of Jack’s men, Silas, and he repeated something Silas had said.
The information was passed down through many hands, but the essence of the story was that Jack had drunk a little too much ale and he had gone off on a short, violent rant about a woman named Bianca, who had killed a man whom he esteemed highly, Mr. Jadis.
She had known her brother-in-law only a short time, but she had been able to recognize that his mind was brilliant—more so than her sister, much more than Ward.
Her sister had surely made many enemies in her life, but none were more vengeful than the men who had esteemed her late husband and who suspected she had killed him.
And she had, because she wanted his place in the Citadel.
It had taken her less than a year to learn all the knowledge he possessed about the Goldensuit plants.
She understood his work mostly because of their father’s interest in exotic plants and mushrooms—without it, she likely would not have been able to care for and experiment with the Goldensuit plants as well as she did.
And once she had all his knowledge, she had no more use for him.
“It is good to see you again, Miss Irvine,” Maxham said politely. “We were concerned about what had happened to you after your sister died.”
It took everything inside of her not to explode in anger at him. “I’m certain you were very concerned,” she said through gritted teeth. “As you can see, I am quite well, despite everything.”
“We could have been of assistance to you.”
“I assumed you could not provide the assistance that I required,” she said flatly. Certainly, they would have assisted her into an unmarked grave.
“I assure you, Miss Irvine, it is not my desire to cause you pain or suffering.” In addition to his soft words, Maxham reached a hand toward her.
She jerked away a bit too forcefully, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Had she revealed that she knew his secret? Mr. Norton’s expression remained unchanged, so she suspected he did not know about Maxham’s unique ability.
Unperturbed, Maxham asked, “Won’t you tell us where you have been all these years, Miss Irvine?” His face and voice were kind as any elderly grandfather, but his pale eyes were like frozen pools of water.
“Oh … here and there,” she said flippantly.
Without warning, Mr. Norton reached across the space between them and grabbed her hands.
While the shabby mitten on her right hand was mostly intact, the one on her left exposed two fingers and her thumb, as well as part of her palm.
He had flipped her hand over and run his thumb over her skin before she snatched it back.
“I beg your pardon!” she responded without thinking.
His smug look made her want to slap him. “That is quite a refined response for a street urchin.”
She refused to lower her eyes in embarrassment or frustration and instead held his gaze.
“You have smooth skin, and so you are not a servant.”
“There are other ways women may earn a living,” she retorted.
“Even girls in a brothel have pricks from sewing needles, for they have no maids to do their mending for them.” Mr. Norton’s eyes rudely traveled up and down her person, causing Zephyra to feel disgusted at the way his eyes lingered on her hips and her bosom.
“You’ve got meat on your bones. And from that exclamation from before, I would guess that you are impersonating a rich young woman. ”
Maxham’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and there was a touch of admiration in his gaze. “How in the world did you manage that, Zephyra? I am most impressed.”
She did not correct his use of her Christian name because her teeth were grinding together too hard for her to be able to speak. She had fooled men throughout London for almost eleven years, and yet she had given herself away in only moments.
Mr. Norton had purposefully grabbed her hand to startle her in order to gauge her reaction. Most did not think to look at the smoothness of her skin when she was disguised as an orphan on the streets, for they did not see past the dirt crusting her nails and streaked across her face.
She had prided herself on how she had fooled everyone, how she had transformed from little Miss Irvine, a girl small enough to look years younger than her true age, into an Italian widow who befriended thirteen-year-old Miss Tolberton and eventually took her place.
Zephyra had always been more patient than her older sister, and so after she had run away from the scene of her sister’s murder, she had watched and waited, and she had survived.
She had not been willing to find a wealthy patron as Bianca had, for anyone interested in her—with her short stature and youthful face—surely had sickening proclivities.
Instead, she searched for wealthy young women, neglected by their parents, with the same red-gold hair and blue eyes as herself.
Her efforts were rewarded when she heard about Miss Tolberton, a young girl still round with baby fat, banished to the country by her neglectful father with only a governess and a caretaker couple at her country cottage.