Page 20 of The Marriage Method

It was Gemma Sparrow. Ginger curls springing from their pins, she marched down the long, pebbled path to the gates, the skirts of her gray woolen dress swaying wildly.

Nell watched her come with a reflexive smile. No one wore a wire crinoline like Gemma did. She didn’t glide about in it as sophisticatedly as Effie, or arrange it about her with as much practiced grace as Nell. No. Gemma’s garments were as alive and unpredictable as she was.

Gemma was, like Nell and Effie, one of Miss Corvus’s special girls. A member of the earliest class of orphans, handpicked from among the Academy’s inmates to attend lessons focused on stealth, strategy, and self-defense. It was knowledge not shared with all of the girls. At least, it hadn’t been when Nell was a child. It was only recently, under Nell’s rule as deputy headmistress, that defense classes had been opened to everyone.

“Back so soon?” Gemma asked, unlocking the gate with its enormous black iron key.

“As you see,” Nell said.

“In less than a day?” Gemma’s freckled face spread into a droll smile. “That must be a new record for one of our graduates.” She opened the gate with a scraping groan of metal. “Let me guess. There’s been a development?”

“Regrettably so.” Nell collected her carpetbag, leaving her portmanteau behind as she entered the grounds. She only had one hand to spare when using her cane. “Is Miss Corvus at liberty?”

“She’s in her study.” Gemma gamely fetched Nell’s portmanteau. Locking the gates behind them, she accompanied Nell up the path to the house. “And she’s in a foul mood.”

Nell gave Gemma an alert look. “Why? What’s happened?”

“A letter came express not twenty minutes ago from that odious Reverend Pettiman of all people. It must have contained bad news. Corvus nearly bit my head off when I inquired about it.”

Nell’s face fell. “An express? From Pettiman?”

She hadn’t even considered the possibility. Pettiman had specifically mentioned wishing to catch the next post. Nell had thought any letter he might send wouldn’t arrive until the morning.

“I recognized his writing on the envelope,” Gemma said. “Those pompous flourishes he puts on the A’s and B’s in the Academy’s name, and the way he nearly closes the C in Corvus.”

Among her other skills, Gemma was a gifted forger. She knew more about handwriting than anyone else of Nell’s acquaintance.

“He’s never sent an express before,” Gemma reflected. “Who would have imagined he’d stump for anything other than the penny post? I suppose someone must have died.” She cut Nell a shrewd glance. “Or worse.”

Nell didn’t ask what could be worse than dying. She already knew the answer.

“Might this express have any connection to your all-too-precipitate return?” Gemma asked as they climbed the front steps to the house.

“It might,” Nell said. She waited for Gemma to admit them into the entry hall. It was empty at this time of day, only the faded carpets, moth-eaten tapestries, and large, gilt-framed oil paintings giving color to the aged stone walls and floor.

The two paintings had been hanging in their present location since Nell had first come to the Academy. One was a reproduction of Gentileschi’s Judith Slaying Holofernes. The other was a portrait of a dark-haired lady in a plain black dress, standing strong and resolute in the silhouette of an open door, her back to the viewer.

“A woman looking through a doorway, not behind her,” as Effie had once described it. “Her true face hidden from the world.”

It might have been a portrait of Miss Corvus herself. Nell took comfort in its familiarity, just as she did the sounds and smells of the school—the buzz of girlish voices filtering from the floors above and the fragrances of parchment, ink, and the sawdust used to fill the canvas sparring bags in the athletic room.

“You’ll be wanting to see her at once, I gather,” Gemma said. They approached the broad, blackened oak staircase at the edge of the hall. “Shall I take your bags to your room for you?”

“That would be kind of you.” Nell passed Gemma her carpetbag. “Thank you for standing in for me, even if it was only for one day.”

Gemma made a dismissive sound as she mounted the steps. “No trouble at all. The girls in your morning classes are exceptionally well-behaved.”

Nell should hope so. She’d specifically told them that they were to be on their best behavior for Miss Sparrow and the other teachers who had agreed to take over Nell’s classes in her absence.

Gemma trotted up the stairs with Nell’s bags and was soon out of sight. Nell ascended behind her at a more sedate pace, using her cane to steady herself when her leg began to feel weak. She’d asked a lot of it today, pushing her muscles to the limit. It wasn’t surprising that it had given her so much trouble.

By the time she reached the fourth floor, her hip was twinging with every step. Miss Corvus’s study was located at the end of the corridor—a remote tower room overflowing with books, private papers, and a convoluted filing system to which only Nell and Miss Corvus held the key. Nell entered to find Miss Corvus seated at her large, carved walnut desk furiously writing a letter.

Clad in unrelieved black, she was as coldly elegant in form and manner as she’d been since Nell’s childhood. A slender woman, with porcelain pale skin and silver-threaded ebony hair, she had recently marked her fiftieth birthday. The years sat lightly on her. Only the fine lines by her eyes and the grooves at her mouth betrayed the hardships she’d suffered as a young woman—alone and unprotected, the unwitting victim of unscrupulous men.

But that was a long time ago. The Artemisia Corvus that Nell had come to know was neither innocent, nor naïve. She was determined. Pragmatic. Arguably ruthless. Ever looking forward, and never back.

Nell paused at the threshold, waiting.