CHAPTER ELEVEN THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN #4
Peregrine looked ready to kill him. Gabriel smiled and walked away.
The outer corridor remained crowded with scholars.
Eleanor slowed enough to avoid appearing hurried.
She carried the manuscript box at waist height while Gabriel moved through the reception guests behind her.
They did not walk together. They did not need to.
At the first corner, Eleanor turned left.
Gabriel crossed through another door and appeared at the far end of the next passage as though their routes had joined by accident. The partnership felt effortless.
That was the most painful part. They knew one another’s timing.
Gabriel understood when she needed a distraction, and Eleanor knew how long he could hold another man’s attention before suspicion replaced embarrassment.
Emotional distance had not weakened the friendship beneath desire.
It made the loss of both more acute. They reached the unused librarian’s room. Sophia waited inside.
“Did you obtain it?”
Eleanor handed her the manuscript box.
“And this.”
She drew out the Blackthorn letter. Sophia examined the seal.
“Thorned branch.”
“Instructions to destroy my original drafts. It may identify Vesper’s location.”
“Julian is at the western exit.”
“Take the papers to him.”
Sophia looked toward Gabriel.
“You?”
“I will escort Mr. Fenwick through the public hall,” Gabriel said.
Eleanor frowned. “I do not require—”
A shout came from the archive room. The missing letter had been noticed. Sophia took the manuscript box and disappeared through the servants’ stair. Gabriel caught Eleanor’s sleeve.
“This way.”
They entered a narrow corridor leading toward the lecture hall. Footsteps sounded behind them. Eleanor lifted the hem of the robe enough to run. Gabriel glanced down. His gaze caught upon the outline of the knife sheath strapped to her thigh.
“Later,” she said.
His eyes flashed.
“That promise is becoming dangerous.”
“It was not a promise.”
“No false indifference.”
He remembered her terms. Even while fleeing discovery through an academic society, desire moved between them with impossible persistence. They reached the end of the corridor. Professor Hales stepped from the manuscript room.
“Fenwick.”
Eleanor stopped. Hales looked at Gabriel, then at the box no longer in her hands.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You have dropped this.”
He held out a folded page. Eleanor’s stomach tightened. It was one of her notes, torn from the inner pocket of the academic robe. Greek annotations filled the margin in the distinctive hand Vesper had already copied. She reached for it. A voice sounded behind them.
“Where did you get that?”
Dr. Finch stood at the end of the corridor. Lord Peregrine and two archive officers remained behind him. Hales turned.
“Mr. Fenwick dropped it.”
Her father’s gaze fixed upon the paper. Recognition moved through his face. Not recognition of Mr. Fenwick. Recognition of the handwriting. Eleanor took the page from Hales.
“Thank you.”
She began walking.
“Stop,” Dr. Finch said.
Gabriel moved closer. Eleanor felt him prepare to intervene. She touched his wrist once. Not yet. Her father crossed the corridor. His eyes moved over the spectacles, thickened brows and loose robes.
“What is your Christian name?”
“Elias.”
“Remove your spectacles.”
Eleanor lowered her voice.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Remove them.”
Professor Hales looked confused. Peregrine watched with growing interest. Gabriel stepped forward.
“Finch, you are creating a scene.”
Dr. Finch ignored him. He reached for Eleanor’s face. Gabriel caught his arm. The corridor fell silent. Eleanor looked at Gabriel. His grip upon her father’s wrist tightened. Every instinct in him demanded control. Every lesson between them required choice.
“Release him,” Eleanor said.
Gabriel’s jaw hardened. Then he obeyed. Dr. Finch tore the spectacles from Eleanor’s face.
The plain frames clattered upon the floor.
He stared. Without the glass obscuring her eyes, the disguise weakened.
Her father lifted one hand and knocked the academic cap aside.
Several pins came loose. Dark hair fell over Eleanor’s forehead.
Professor Hales inhaled sharply. Peregrine became very still.
“Eleanor,” Dr. Finch whispered.
The horror in his voice held no admiration. No recognition of skill. Only scandal.
“What have you done?”
Eleanor straightened the robe.
“I attended a lecture.”
“Dressed as a man.”
“I found it educational.”
Professor Hales stared at her.
“You are Miss Finch?”
“Yes.”
“The Larissa observation—”
“Was mine when I made it four years ago.”
His face reddened. Dr. Finch caught Eleanor’s arm.
Gabriel moved. Eleanor stopped him with a look.
Her father pulled her through the nearest door, into a private consultation room lined with maps and catalogue drawers.
Gabriel followed. Lord Peregrine attempted to enter as well. Gabriel blocked him.
“Family disagreement,” he said.
Peregrine’s eyes narrowed. Inside the room, Dr. Finch released Eleanor and shut the door. Gabriel remained outside. The choice was Eleanor’s. Her father turned the key.
“You have destroyed me.”
Eleanor adjusted the loosened cap.
“You appear intact.”
“Half the Society saw you.”
“As a scholar.”
“As a woman pretending to be a man.”
“No. As a scholar first. That is what horrifies you.”
“You have made us ridiculous.”
“I gave Professor Latham an argument he praised.”
Dr. Finch paced toward the table.
“You do not understand what society will say.”
“I understand precisely. They will call the disguise scandalous because admitting it succeeded would require them to explain why Mr. Fenwick was welcomed where Eleanor Finch was ignored.”
“This is not a philosophical exercise.”
“No. It is evidence.”
Her father turned.
“Of what?”
“That a borrowed coat grants more authority than twenty-four years of work.”
“You have entered restricted archives, stolen private documents and humiliated me before my colleagues.”
“You sold my research to Vesper.”
Dr. Finch became pale.
“Lower your voice.”
“The door is locked.”
“You do not know who is listening.”
“Lord Peregrine?”
Her father’s eyes flicked toward the door. Eleanor saw the fear.
“You gave him the incomplete packet,” she said.
His expression confirmed it.
“You took the original.”
“Yes.”
“He will know.”
“He does know.”
Dr. Finch closed one hand around the back of a chair.
“You have no idea what you have done.”
“I prevented you from purchasing an appointment with my work.”
“The appointment was our escape.”
“Your escape.”
“From men who would destroy us both.”
“You negotiated with them.”
“Because refusal was impossible.”
“You requested more money.”
“I needed leverage.”
“You offered my unpublished work.”
“To secure our future.”
“Stop using our when every benefit belonged to you.”
Dr. Finch struck the chair aside. It hit the wall with a crash.
“You think Ashcombe will protect you?”
Eleanor became still. Her father laughed without humour.
“He is a rake. A spy. A man who uses women until their usefulness ends.”
“You know about his work.”
“Vesper knows everything about him.”
Eleanor looked toward the locked door. Gabriel waited beyond it. Perhaps Julian did too. Her father lowered his voice.
“You believed the Mercury Club was the centre of this?”
“No.”
“It was an exchange. A marketplace. Vesper has moved beyond it.”
“To Blackthorn Hall?”
Dr. Finch’s face changed. Eleanor saw she had struck truth.
“What is Blackthorn Hall?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“A coded letter was part of the exchange.”
“You took it.”
“Yes.”
Her father moved toward her. Eleanor placed one hand inside the robe and closed it around the concealed knife. Dr. Finch stopped. For the first time, he appeared to understand that his daughter was no longer the quiet assistant he could dismiss with a raised voice.
“You brought a weapon?”
“I brought preparation.”
“You have become deranged.”
“No. I became difficult to control.”
A sound came from the corridor. Lord Peregrine’s voice, low and urgent. Gabriel answered. Eleanor could not distinguish the words. Dr. Finch looked toward the door.
“Give me the manuscript,” he said.
“No.”
“Vesper will not release me without it.”
“That is no longer my concern.”
“They will expose the authorship.”
“I intend to expose it myself.”
“They will destroy your reputation.”
“I shall build another.”
“You do not understand their reach.”
“Then explain it.”
Her father’s breathing became uneven. For one instant, he looked old. Not scholarly or commanding. Merely frightened. Eleanor felt no triumph. Only grief that fear had been available to him all along and honesty had not.
“They know you entered the Mercury Club,” he said.
“I know.”
“They know you took the payment list.”
“I know.”
“They know you recovered the original manuscripts.”
The knife handle felt cold in Eleanor’s palm.
“How?”
“Your publishing office is watched. Rothmere House is watched. Ashcombe’s servants have been questioned.”
Her heart tightened.
“What do they want?”
Dr. Finch looked at her. The answer appeared to frighten him more than the threats against himself.
“Vesper is no longer interested only in your research.”
Footsteps stopped outside the consultation room. Eleanor heard Gabriel’s voice.
“Open the door.”
Her father did not move.
“What do they want?” she repeated.
Dr. Finch came closer.
“They know you are the mind behind every translation.”
The handle turned from the other side.