Elswyth took a sip of her tea. Her nerves felt frayed; she doubted she would sleep that night. “This is troubling, Kehinde.”
“To say the least. What are you thinking?” Kehinde asked.
Elswyth stared at the wall, then through the window, where the moon shone down from the treetops. “I don’t know. Perhaps this is all madness. Perhaps Persephone is not connected to the other women at all. But her gown is evidence that she was in the Rows that night… why? I thought I knew my sister.”
Kehinde shrugged, sipping his tea. “As you said before, everyone has their secrets.”
Elswyth looked the man up and down: Kehinde, who had seemed so gentle. And yet he’d defeated three armed men with little more than a scratch to show for it.
“Indeed.” She packed away the mortar and pestle, the vial of marigold tincture, and the jar of powdered yarrow. “Either way, I will require protection if I am to continue investigating Persephone’s disappearance,” she said. “Mr. Ogunlana, I would like to retain your services.”
Kehinde raised an eyebrow, lips opening into a bewildered smile. “Ha! Even after all we went through, you wish to continue,” he said.
“Of course. This is only the start. If I am to find Persephone, I will need to return to the Rows. I have to ask more questions,perhaps find Gillie if I can. And I will need help. I cannot pay much, but I can offer a small sum—”
“I do not need your money,” he said. “And as much as I would like to clear my name and your uncle’s, Parliament is in session and your uncle needs my assistance. I have my own work to do.”
“But—”
Kehinde stopped her, raising his hand. “But neither can I let you leave the house unprotected. And if the Reaper truly is a nobleman, then you will need to look for him in places I cannot follow. Therefore, in the interest of clearing any suspicion or blame cast on Percival and myself, I will help you in what ways I can.”
Elswyth’s heart leapt. “I would be in your debt, and—”
He stopped her again. “As I said, you cannot leave the house unprotected, and I cannot be there to protect you. And so you will need to learn to protect yourself.”
Elswyth frowned, setting down her botany kit. “With violence, you mean. As you did tonight.”
“I hope it does not come to that. But you are playing a dangerous game, Elswyth. You must be ready.”
“But, Kehinde, look at me. I am not strong enough. I could not do what you did to those men tonight.”
“But you are a floromancer. A talented floromancer can kill with only a touch.”
Elswyth froze. She flexed her left hand and felt a slow prickle move up her scar. Then she moved to the other side of the kitchen, toward where the knives glittered on the wall, to wash her tools in the sink.
“I will not kill, Kehinde,” she said. She gestured to the sutures on his arm. “I use my abilities to heal, to study. Never to kill.”
“Taking him alive would be preferable, yes. Having him standtrial for his crimes would certainly clear my name and Percival’s. But to whom will he stand trial? You said yourself that Inspector Reed and the police may have been corrupted. Do you really think the corruption stops with them? If we do discover the man’s identity—who will provide the justice you seek? And will you still feel so certain when his knife is at your throat?”
She turned the faucet and began to scrub the blood from her hands. “I will not kill,” she said. “Never again.”
Kehinde stared at her, eyes tracing her scar. If he was startled by her admission, he did not show it. “The choice is yours, Elswyth. But if you seek the Reaper, you must learn to defend yourself. Whether you use what I teach you is your choice, but I will not leave you unarmed.”
Elswyth hesitated. If Kehinde had not been there with her tonight, what would have happened? She had promised herself that she would never kill again. But if she did discover the identity of the man who killed Persephone, and the law would not provide justice… what would she do then?
“You are hesitating,” Kehinde said. “I wonder: Will the Reaper?”
Elswyth felt the blood rush into her scar until it seemed to crawl under her clothes. She wanted nothing more than to scratch it off. Instead, she nodded slowly. “Teach me.”
PART TWO
SUMMER
CHAPTER NINE
Varieties of the poppy flower, specifically the opium poppy, have been cultivated for millennia as the source of the narcotic drugs opium, laudanum, and morphine. In floriography, the Scarlett Poppy—used to synthesize codeine and oxycodone—meansFantastic extravagance.
March brightened into April, and blue skies made their occasional appearance over London. The social season began in earnest, starting with the Oxford-Cambridge boat race on the Thames. Elswyth was obligated to attend, with Mrs. Rose watching from the stands above with opera spectacles. By the time she was allowed to leave, Mrs. Rose had filled three pages of a commonplace with notes on such obscure subjects as “demeanor,” “charm,” “elegance,” and “je ne sais quoi.” Elswyth’s marks were not good.
