“No, it cannot be so. It is far too lofty to afford such a mundane view. It would show one the whole world.” She gazed up at the dome. “Though I suppose I shall never know.”

A solemnity came over me, and I took her hand in mine. “Yes you will, Miss Faraday. You shall see it with your own eyes.”

We found the man who was directing the construction that day, and after a small amount of persuasion and a sizable private donation we were allowed in for a tour of the cathedral. Even in its incomplete state, it impressed us with its grace and grandeur. It was as light and airy inside as Westminster was heavy and dim.

“I cannot imagine I shall ever get all the way up there,” Alis said, craning her slender neck to gaze at the dome high above.

“There is no need to imagine it,” I said, “for we are going now.” And I whisked her toward a side door before she had any chance to protest.

The steps up to the dome numbered in the hundreds, and she walked only a dozen or two on her own. I carried her the rest of the way, and though my arms soon ached, as did my head, my burden was not so great, for she seemed to weigh even less than the last time I had carried her. We soon reached the first way station, the Stone Gallery, where we were able to exit onto a narrow balcony and gaze out over the city.

“You’re right,” she said, laughing, cheeks flushed with excitement. “It’s only London I see, though it’s a marvelous sight.”

I clucked my tongue. “Nonsense, my lady. It is you who were correct. For there, to the north, just beside that foggy patch, I can see my manor in Scotland. And there to the west, if you squint just so, you can make out a glint of light. That’s the glass isle where King Arthur is buried. And beyond that, you can look all the way to the colonies in America. It’s the whole world, just as you said, right there before you.”

“The whole world,” she murmured, clutching my arm. “I do see it, Marius, I do.”

We stayed there until the cool spring wind chilled her, then went back in through a little door and resumed our climb. After one last effort, we came to an inner balcony, ringed by a stone balustrade, nestled within the base of the dome itself. There we could look down at the workmen far below, moving about like ants.

“Forgive me, but I must rest,” Alis said, though she had walked but a few steps herself from the Stone Gallery.

I sat her on a bench, then moved around the gallery to the far side. If what I had heard was true, this was the gallery where, if one murmured against the wall, a listener a hundred feet across the gallery would hear even the softest words.

I sat on the bench and turned my face to the wall, so she could not see my lips. “I love you, Lady Alis Faraday,” I whispered against the curved stones. “Be with me. Always.”

Across the gallery, she leaned against the wall. I moved my ear close to the stones. Had it worked? I waited for her reply, but I heard nothing save a whirring of air. So it was only a story, then. She had not heard me after all. And perhaps it was just as well. Perhaps it was best if—

Soft but clear, as if she were whispering right into my ear, I heard her voice. “Marius . . . help me.”

I pulled my ear from the wall and stood. She gazed at me from across the gallery, her blue eyes wide. The front of her white gown was dotted with crimson.

I careened around the gallery to her. Blood gushed from her nose, and she had been unable to staunch it with her handkerchief, which was soaked red. I pulled a cloth from my coat—the silvery one I had taken from my mother, and which I had carried with me all these years—and it seemed to draw the blood into itself, while somehow remaining unstained. She held it to her nose, and the flow of blood soon ceased. However, she had lost much, and her cheeks where white as marble.

“Forgive me, Marius.”

“Hush,” I said, and took her into my arms.

I felt no ache, no weariness despite the hundreds of steps I carried her down. I had to get her to the Faraday estate as quickly as possible. When we reached the coach, I was startled to see one of Lord Faraday’s men, Albert, standing there and talking to the driver, who pointed in our direction. Had he heard what had happened? Except that was impossible. It was well over an hour by carriage to the Faraday estate.

“Miss Faraday,” Albert said, astonishment on his face, “are you well?”

She waved a hand. “It is nothing, Albert. I’m very well.” Indeed, she was standing on her own now, and did seem a bit stronger.

“Why have you come?” I asked the servant.

His face was grim. “I bear ill news, I fear. Lord Faraday would have spared your learning of it until you arrived home, Miss Faraday, but Lady Faraday insisted you must know at once, seeing as how you loved her so dearly.”

Alis’s expression was hazed with pain and confusion. “What do you mean, Albert? What should I know?”

“It’s Sadie, Miss Faraday,” the man said. “I’m sorry to tell you, but she passed away this morning.”

“Oh,” Alis said softly, and fainted.

That night I continued my search for those like Alis with redoubled urgency, for Sadie’s death had struck her both in body and spirit.

It had been sudden. The old servingwoman had collapsed in the garden while gathering herbs; by the time others reached her she was already gone. Alis was in great distress. Her nose began to bleed again. The doctor was sent for, and she was confined to her bed.

I doubted the doctor could do anything for her, save to leech her of more blood, so I spoke to the servants, seeing if one of them could brew a tea for Alis as Sadie always had. Only none of them knew what Sadie had put in her teas. Fear struck me, but I willed myself to think clearly. Were there not others who knew how to fashion restoratives for those of otherworldly nature? And indeed, how had Sadie known to make such brews herself? Surely she had been familiar with the folk of the tavern I had read about in the letters.

Taking my leave of the Faradays, I rode hard back to London, to the Seeker Charterhouse. I went directly to the door to the vaults, and though the headache came upon me again as soon as I fit the iron key in the lock, I ignored the pain and dashed down the stairs. I had to read the letters again, to see if they held any clues I had overlooked. Burning as if with fever, I went to the corner where I had found them and had hidden them again.

The letters were gone.

I searched for a frantic hour, overturning boxes and shelves, but it was no use. I had tucked the box of letters into a niche in the wall, behind the shelf where I had first come upon them. The corner was dim; there was no way another could have known the letters were there.

Unless, of course, they had been watching me.

But why would someone remove the letters? Without them, how was I to find the tavern they described, and the folk who could help Alis? A despair came over me, black and depthless, and I staggered up the stairs. I had to go back to her. It was all I could think to do.

“Where are you off to so late, Marius?”

I reeled around. The front hall of the Charterhouse was dim, lit only by a few candles; I had not seen her there, sitting in a chair near the door.

“Rebecca,” I said, and could think of nothing more to add.

She coiled a hand beneath her chin. “You look all in a hurry. Is it heryou’re off to see, then? This woman you so adore?”

I could only stare at her.

“Are you well, Marius?” A light shone in her eyes; it wasn’t quite concern. “I say, you look positively ill. You haven’t had a lover’s quarrel, now have you?”

I staggered, a hand to my brow, and she rose swiftly, catching my arm, steadying me.

“I’m sorry, Rebecca,” I gasped. “I must go to her.”

She did not let go of my arm. “So it is indeed the one you love whom you go to. But you have yet to tell me who she is. Come—give me her name. We shared a bed once, Marius. Surely you owe me that at least.”