They sat in silence for a few moments. Walker’s browfurrowed and he worried at his lip, as if considering his next question with great care.
“I’ve been thinking about our godfather. Ex-godfather, I suppose.” As he spoke, Mira’s shoulders tightened. She’d been trying not to think about him. Walker continued.
“I don’t think he used a pseudonym. At least not with us.” His voice was a bit hollow and he averted his gaze. “But I am wondering if the way he acted with us was a persona.”
Mira swallowed, thinking back to how Professor Burke acted in the catacombs. How quickly his mask had shattered.
Byron sat forward. “In my experience, when one takes on a persona, it is necessary to build from a place of truth. If you build an entirely new personality and background, you will need to take great pains to remember everything and avoid contradicting yourself over time. If you don’t, you’ll be liable to act strangely and draw attention to yourself.” He took a sip of tea. “However, if you take one aspect of your personality and amplify it, adjusting small details in your history, it becomes much easier to manage.”
“It sounds as if you’ve taken on a persona yourself,” Walker said.
“When necessary,” Byron said. “I think the most intense one was Elliot Thorne.”
“Thorne?” Walker frowned. “I don’t believe I’ve heard this story.”
Mira dabbed a napkin where some jam had dribbled down her hand. “It was just before his accident.”
“Before and after, to a degree,” Byron said. “I still have an issue when I first wake up with remembering what year it is, and whether I ought to head down to the docks for that gunpowder plot.”
“It seems this was more than just a nom de plume then?” Walker said.
“I needed to infiltrate Circe. Consequently, I required a tight identity. I took on a different mode of speaking and shabbier dress, and rented rooms on the opposite side of town so that if anyone followed me it would corroborate my new identity. Over a few months, it became more and more natural to be Mr. Thorne.” He chuckled a little. “Even when I intended to go to Palace Court, I would often find myself heading to the new rooms out of habit. Still do, sometimes. You see, the longer you are acting within the persona, the more natural it becomes, and there is a risk of blurring the lines between yourself and the act.” His tone grew serious. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the lines had long been blurred for Professor Burke when it came to his relationships with the two of you and his role as the Charger.”
The silence loomed over them again. Mira shifted in her seat. She understood why Walker was asking such questions. She had asked herself the same questions over the past months. It was difficult to reconcile which version of Edward Burke was real. But she’d never considered that both sides could be genuine.
Walker cleared his throat, taking another sandwich. “Is there a reason why an ordinary person would take on a persona?”
Byron thought for a moment before gesturing across the dining car to a couple deep in conversation. “Imagine, if you will, that those two are having an affair. They wish to travel together, but they do not want to be recognized. Their persona, as you put it, is that of a married couple. They might wear different clothes than usual and travel under a different name, but they needn’t change anything else so long as they act as if they are meant to be together.” He set his teacup down. “If they create a complicated backstory, they are more likely to stumble over their words, trying to remember exactly how to act. That sort of awkwardness is more likely to stick in the memory.”
Mira considered the couple across from them. “Do you really think they are having an affair?”
Byron glanced at them. “No. They’ve been discussing their child’s boarding school in great detail. I highly doubt that they would have concocted such a story in advance.”
The train whistled, signaling the next stop. Mira set her napkin on the table, ready to escape the conversation altogether.
“Only two stops left. We probably ought to get back to our compartment.”
***
The village of Combe Down sat ona ridge just south of Bath, surrounded by ample woodland and pleasant walking paths. Aunt Eleanor’s residence, a limestone house called Davenguard, sat within a copse of trees just outside the village. Mira’s second-floor room had a beautiful view down to the city. She and Liza were neck deep in petticoats, hairpins, and all the other accoutrement necessary for attending the music recital that evening. Luckily, they had plenty of time to dress at their leisure.
“You see why I need to make a good second impression, don’t you?” Mira said, having explained the terrible introduction she’d had with Byron’s family.
“I still can’t believe you would go out in public without thinking of what you were wearing.” Liza fluffed up a rat of false hair and pinned it in place on the back of Mira’s head, adding more volume.
“I wasn’t thinking at all. Which is why I can’t afford for this next meeting to go poorly.”
“Isn’t the purpose of attending this recital to gain an understanding of society in Bath?” Liza asked. “So that you and Mr. Constantine can determine the most likely suspects for the thefts? Not so you can impress the Sherards?”
“Yes, but the Sherards will be there, and I must recover from that terrible first impression.”
“Well, I shall ensure that you look the part. Proper dress and attire is crucial for these sorts of things.”
“That won’t be enough.” Mira turned to face Liza. “Is the etiquette for music programs much different here in Bath? Is there anything I should know?”
Liza laughed a little. “It isn’t anything to be worried about. Certainly, your first meeting left much to be desired, but you don’t need to overcomplicate things. Why are you so anxious?”
Mira swallowed, taking a moment to consider her words as she turned back to the mirror. She trusted Liza, but it was difficult to determine why this whole affair was so arduous for her.
