Whispers began to rise in the crowd. Suddenly, all the eyes in the room were on her. Gall kept speaking.
“In all my years, I have never met a more brilliant young woman. I am happy to call her a colleague and a friend, and I will be more than happy to call her my wife.”
The whispers turned into an uneasy applause. Elswyth felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Gall extended his arm, and Elswyth walked toward him and took it. She stood a few inches taller than him and could see the bald spot on the back of his head. His face was still red with embarrassment.
“We must apologize for announcing this rather abruptly. But we find… we find that we are just so in love that we cannot wait,” Gall said. He forced a laugh and patted Elswyth’s arm. She did her best to smile. “We will be married next Sunday at Westminsterand hope to see you all at the nuptials. Please, please, drink, dance, and be merry!”
He gestured for the quartet to start playing; they broke into a lively song, and, gratefully, the hard part was over. Their engagement was announced—there was no backing out now.
A line formed in front of them to offer congratulations. Dr. Gall beamed with pride, and Elswyth tried her best to thank each guest graciously. They passed before her, one after another, kissing her hand or curtsying to the future Lady Gall. The name sounded wrong to her, like it belonged to someone else.
She was beginning to tire of the constant congratulations when she saw Silas. He was little more than a shadow at the edge of the room, standing beneath the twirling dancers, a glass of absinthe in his hand. He stared at her, his amber eyes burning, head tilted low. Was it only her imagination, or did his hair look more disheveled than usual? Was his frown just a touch too severe?
She looked away, toward Dr. Gall. Her betrothed. The man who had offered her a solution. Who would solve her family’s debts. Who would allow her to pursue her research. The man she would spend the rest of her life with until, old and childless, she died.
More people came through the line. It seemed never-ending, and the smile on her face made her cheeks ache. She felt her eyes water and told herself it was just from smiling for so long.
Miss Liana de Lavigne was speaking to her, but her voice sounded far away. “… and such a favorable match, you must tell me how you did it… and will you winter here or in Oxfordshire? I always thought Oxford would be nice in the… Miss Elderwood, are you all right?”
“I… I need air,” Elswyth said.
Miss de Lavigne blinked. “What?”
Dr. Gall looked up at her. “Elswyth? Are you well? You look pale.”
He raised a hand and put the back of it to her forehead.
“I’m feeling lightheaded,” she said. “I just need something to eat. And fresh air.”
Gall frowned. He turned to his footman, waiting behind them. “Nettles, will you grab something for Elswyth?”
“No, no—I’ll get it myself. I just need a moment alone, Doctor… Oleander.”
She forced a smile. Dr. Gall looked her up and down. “Of course. Of course, I understand. I, too, get overwhelmed at times like these. I will handle the rest of them.”
He pursed his lips, trying to smile. Perhaps she did love him in that moment. Or perhaps she just pitied him, accepting their congratulations on his own. She didn’t want to think about it; she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, as though she would faint at any moment.
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing away. He frowned, and she fled the room, out of the greenhouse and into the night.
She wandered for a while in the dark. The lawn outside of the Royal Gardens was expansive, leading into the park and hedge maze beyond. Inside, the party played on. Through the glass walls of the conservatory, she could see the dancers refracted in a thousand panels, all golden light, colorful gowns, and blooming flowers. She watched them swirl together like spirits trapped inside a gemstone.
She wanted to take off her shoes and feel the grass beneath her feet. She wanted to run into the dark woods around the conservatory to escape into some fairy-tale forest and never return. But she could not. She was tethered to the party inside, and everything it meant.
Instead, she walked the perimeter of the conservatory until she found an unlocked door. It led into a dark hallway lined with opaque glass walls. To her right, ferns pressed against the glass, their prehistoric tendrils curling in the mist. To her left, palm trees towered, sending long shadows across the narrow hall. She continued down the hidden hallway until she stepped inside a small octagonal room, central to the Royal Gardens. From it, more passages branched deeper into the labyrinth of glass. In the center was a wrought-iron spiral staircase, rising like a tower toward the dome above. She paused for a moment, deliberating, and then began to ascend, holding firm to the iron railing. Her gown trailed behind her on the steps. There were no sounds save for the creaking stairs and distant din of her party.
She exited the stairs onto a small balcony. It ringed the conservatory like a crown, offering a view of the entire gardens. The park’s endless flower beds and topiary hedges stretched out beneath her, its bridges cresting over lily ponds, its horse paths crisscrossing fields and vanishing through tunnels of trees. Beyond it, she could see the lights of the city, see distant St. Peter’s and Parliament, see the maze of alleyways lit by gaslight. Up above, constellations twinkled, more stars than she’d ever seen in London. And beneath her, a hedge maze stretched out into the forest, a sea of shifting leaves and passages. The rows of shadow and vine seemed to etch out symbols in a language she could not understand.
She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. Autumn hadarrived, and the night air was cold inside of her. It had been almost a year since Persephone had disappeared, but she tried not to think of her tonight. For so long she had hoped that her sister was somehow still alive, and yet now the thought horrified her. That meant a year of captivity. A year of torment. If somehow Persephone still lived, would she be the same sister Elswyth had lost? How could she be?
A voice sounded behind her. “So. The scandalous Miss Elderwood is to wed the good doctor.”
She jumped. Silas stood in the shadows of the balcony, looking out over the city. His eyes shone in the dim moonlight, two spots of amber flame.
“Following me now, are you?”
Silas stepped forward, his hair materializing out of the shadow in twisting tendrils. He wore a trim black suit with a single white rose in the lapel. He reached the railing and leaned against it, standing a few feet away from Elswyth.
“Following you? I thoughtyouwere followingme. These are my quarters, after all.”
