Blake’s brow furrowed, the lines around his eyes and mouth deepening with pain. His head rolled slightly to one side, and the moment passed as quickly as it had come. His breathing grew more laboured.
Edmund swore under his breath.
So Holt had been right—or right enough to matter. There was a key and Blake knew of it; perhaps guarded it. Or perhaps he guarded Elise’s knowledge of it.
Edmund pushed back from the bed and rose, pacing the narrow confines of the room with controlled agitation. Every instinct honed by years of covert work pressed in upon him at once, ordering, arranging, demanding conclusions.
Holt believed the widow possessed the key. Blake was attacked brutally but not killed—an interrogation interrupted, perhaps, or one cut short by the storm. Then Elise Larkin, for all her outward calm, had reacted with the efficiency of a woman long acquainted with crisis, concealment, and contingency.
A guilty woman—one actively complicit—would already be gone. She would have burned the house, the school, the past, and vanished inland before dawn. Elise Larkin had done none of that. She had remained, steadied frightened girls, tended a wounded man, and entrusted his care—however reluctantly—to a stranger she did not fully trust.
That was not the behaviour of a conspirator.
Nor, Edmund reminded himself grimly, was it the behaviour of an ignorant woman.
He forced himself back to the chair, schooling his breathing into steadiness once more. This was neither time for sentiment nor for self-deception. Renforth’s words echoed in his memory as acutely as if spoken anew:Observe. Confirm. Do not engage.
And yet, here he was—engaged far beyond instruction.
Edmund reached into his coat and withdrew the small notebook he kept always upon his person. He hesitated only a moment before opening it, then wrote with careful precision, his hand steady despite the conflict in his thoughts.
Blake—assaultdeliberate. Not random.
Spoke single word while semi-conscious: “Key.”
Confirms Holt’s belief. Key exists.
Mrs. Larkin aware of Blake’s significance.
Behaviour inconsistent with active treason. Consistent with concealment under threat.
He closedthe book and tucked it away.Concealment under threat. He understood that state all too well.
His gaze drifted to the door through which Elise had departed, his thoughts following her down the corridor, back to the orderly chaos of the school. He could imagine her even now—moving among the girls with calm authority, offeringreassurance she did not feel, bearing the weight of decisions no one else could see. Blake would not be able to help her for some time—if ever again.
“You should not have to do this alone,” he murmured. The thought startled him with its intensity.
This was dangerous ground. Pity led to compromise; compromise led to error; and error, here, could cost lives—including hers.
A sudden sound from the bed pulled him swiftly back to the present. Blake’s breathing had changed—ragged now and uneven, a faint wheeze emerging with each inhale. Edmund was on his feet in an instant, checking the dressing, loosening the blanket slightly to ease the man’s chest.
“Steady, now,” he murmured, administering a few careful drops of laudanum. “No more than that.”
Blake’s features eased fractionally, the tension in his jaw softening as the pain retreated. Edmund watched him closely until his breathing settled again into a fragile rhythm.
“You will live,” Edmund said quietly. “You will tell me what you know. You will also tell me why men like Holt believe you—or she—hold the key to reviving a dead cipher.”
He sat back once more, the resolve within him hardening into something cold and clear.
There was no turning away from this now. Blake’s survival had bound him irrevocably to whatever web Charles Larkin had left behind. Meanwhile, Elise—whether she wished it or not—stood at the centre of it.
Edmund rested his elbows on his knees and interlaced his fingers, fixing his gaze upon the wounded man.
“Sleep,” he said softly. “When you wake, we will have much to discuss.”
Edmund closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. He would protect Elise Larkin if he could. He would protect the Crownas he must. May God help him if the two demands proved irreconcilable.
For now, he would remain at Blake’s side—watchful, resolute, and painfully aware that whatever came next would change everything.
