Wilhelm watches on as Clara paces around at his bookshop. Wilhelm knows nothing about Clara's reason of distress for she has said nothing so far and has appeared lost in her own thoughts for the entire day. What her thoughts are, Wilhelm would not attempt to guess for women's thoughts appear far more uncertain to him- they do not appear to occur chronologically and jump from one topic to the next, both of which often have no connection to each other. In a fuzzy space as such, his intervention would be nothing but interference, which he seeks to avoid, Decided it is thus by him that he shall wait for Clara to speak.

Clara finally draws out a low table from a corner and sits on it. She sighs. Lifting her head, she finds Wilhelm with an expression which is a mix of confusion and calm. He possesses the ability to bear two very distinct emotions at the same time, yet never suffer owing to those. He has a clearer frame of mind than most people around him, which Clara believes, emerges from him being an excellent reader.

Having decided to not hide things from Wilhelm, Clara narrates the entire happenings of the previous day. Wilhelm's expression changes rapidly from calm to shock to absolute terror. At a point, Clara finds her heart being apologetic towards Wilhelm, but she coaxes herself into believing that Wilhelm's anxieties could not be greater than help. Here, at Oxford, she cannot seek help from her family for problems like these. With no news of Victor, she cannot be a source of greater trouble to her people, and thus, she must trouble Wilhelm.

Wilhelm exhales sharply and leans against one of the bookshelves, crossing his arms across his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and every time, he taps his finger on his arm, his muscles move in synchrony. Clara observes his hands, as Wilhelm contemplates upon the events that occured.

"What did he say?" Wilhelm asks.

Clara shakes her head. "Nothing. I was too scared to talk any further." Clara tells him thay she later scurried down for dinner. She sat with Mrs. Mortimer for a rather long time after dinner in order to avoid confronting Christopher. When she finally went upstairs, the floor was uneasily quiet. Christopher had disappeared, just like the previous night. His absence kept the floor quiet. While Clara usually appreciated the solitude, this time, she was anxious for herself and her family named. She spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed, keeping her ears alert for any sound of Christopher's arrival. There were no signs, and thus Clara's night was spent- wide awake.

"I would not recommend bringing up the topic if he does not initiate it. From all that you have told me-- and all that I have heard about Christopher Fanshawe at Oxford, for I assure you he is ill-known as Oxford's biggest rake-- he could have well been drunk, and I am of the opinion that drunk men seldom remember the truth of the events; most of what they remember is merely a mix of their drunken illusions and their unfulfilled fantasies. I propose you dismiss any conversation about it as a mere fragment of his imagination."

Clara thanks Wilhelm for his advice which did much to resolve her perturbed state of mind. She returns to Mrs. Mortimer's and pulls out her books for studying. She decides to take her mind off her concerns surrounding Christopher. She also tells herself to make most of her time at Oxford since Victor's return would mean she would be called back. Whether Victor would join Oxford remains a mystery. Nobody in the family has given a thought to this, but it would have to be decided soon.

She decides to pen a letter to Grace.

***

Dear Grace,

I write to you in a distressed state. I am unable to collect my thoughts, and thus, must write a short letter.

The most famous rake of Oxford-- Christopher Fanshawe-- might have figured out the truth about me. He has been missing since the incident that could have led to him soeculating about my real identity and I have not seen him since.

If he were to make the truth known at Oxford, which I fear he would since I have been anything but amiable with him. I have been outright curt and impudent with him. From what little I know of men, they might forgive an insult from a man, but not from a woman. They would embark on a oath of ruining the woman's reputation forever, so much so that she spends the rest of her life banished from a good society. If Christopher were to turn out to be a man like that, I would be immensely disappointed.

I tout myself a good judge of character and would want to continue calling myself so. Yet, I waver upon my own opinion of myself. What would you say, Grace?

Wilhelm, my dear friend and confidante, advised me to not bring up the topic, but I feel like speaking to Christopher about it. I am to give no excuses, just make an absurd claim or attribute everything to his misunderstandings, but I cannot seem to find him. What should I do, Grace?

There lies a great peril in every step. Each choice appears to be equally testing, and I can't seem to reach a conclusion owing to that. Perhaps my heart would be settled only when I see him. I must know what he plans to do, but do pray he does not choose to threaten me.

Have you heard anything from Victor? How is the search going? I haven't been able to write to my family lately. I need not needlessly worry them about my life here, for Victor should remain their priority.

Missing you,

Clara Waverley

***

A week passes by, but Christopher is nowhere to be seen. Clara drives herself to a fever by staying up for nights. Mrs. Mortimer insists she sees a doctor, who happens to be a certain Mr. Francis Thornton, a well-established practitioner of medicine from Ironstone County, but currently at Oxford. Mrs. Mortimer also mentions him staying at the Morgans', who happened to be the family of his sister-in-law, Lucy Thornton, married to his older brother Reginald. She claims him being an excellent man in character and in his duties as a doctor. Mrs. Mortimer suggests bringing Francis Thornton to her own place to check on Clara.

Clara listens, but avoids taking any action of visiting a doctor. She does not want to be discovered at the hands of a distant relative of her proprietress. She requests to be allowed to retire to her room. She assures Mrs. Mortimer, however, that if her health were to not improve in another day, she would consult a doctor, which she would, although the doctor would be the one known to Wilhelm. She'd rather be scorned at than be discovered.

Clara returns to her room. After a while, she takes on a coat and heads downstairs. Coughing and still pale from her fever, she hails a footboy working at the lodge. He is a thin man with a cunning smile. "What place does Christopher Fanshawe frequent?" she asks.

The man raises his eyebrow. "You want to know that?" He scans Clara from head to toe, resting his eyes at the place Victor's cock should have been. Clara gives him a death stare, and clears his throat, causing him to flinch. "Why would you want to go there? I can call a girl for you."

"Where do you think Fanshawe might be right now?" Clara asks.

The man shrugs. "Anywhere. He disappears from time to time. He says nothing. Just goes and comes."

"Could he be there?"

"I would not know."

"Take out the horses. I want to go there."

***

Clara immediately regrets coming where she did. The place is not meant for her. Congested and ill-lit, the street is a nightmare. There are men, on horses and foot, drunk and sober, rich and poor, all around. A few buildings are rather well-maintained at the start of the street, which points to one obvious fact- these are the places rich men frequent. The end of the street is filthy, and one can see nothing but poverty reeking out of it. The end is where the poor satisfy their desires. The divisions here are a mere replication of all that exists outside.

"Where would she be?" Clara asks the man.

He points to the building to the left. "Harriet's her name."

Clara dismounts the horse and heads inside the building. A lady with a bit too much of lipstick and powder on her face, quite obviously the madam of the establishment, welcomes her. There is an uneasy silence on both sides before Clara asks, "May I speak to Harriet?"

"She is with a customer. We have other girls who would be equally pleased to-"

A gust of wind enters the building, making Clara shiver. "Harriet. I insist." She coughs a bit more.

The madam nods. She asks a pimp to escort the young man to Harriet's room. Upon entering, Clara is displeased with the sight in front of her. She is repulsed by how dingy the room is from within, and how there's no space through which light can enter. The room is furnished adequately well, with a sturdy bed, quite the necessity for this business. The pimp shuts the door, allowing them privacy.

Harriet is on the far end, in front of a mirror. She is wearing a revealing dress, one that is easy to take off, again, a business requirement. Harriet sees the young man in the mirror and appears confused. "You appear familiar."

"Has Christopher Fanshawe been here?"

Harriet stands up. "So you are the new man at Mrs. Mortimer's." She approaches Clara, walking in the most seducing manner possible. When Harriet reaches her, she observes Clara's features. A rather pale face which is turning blue, dry and chapped lips trembling in the could, and a body shivering due to the cold. "Are you alright?" Harriet holds Clara by the arm and makes her sit on the bed.

"Tell me. Has Fanshawe been here?" By now, Clara has broken into cold sweat, causing her face to shine in the light of the lamp on the table next to the bed. She leans against the headrest, and pulls her coat tighter.

As Clara begins shivering violently, Harriet panics. Harriet starts unbuttoning Clara's coat. Clara does little but to stop Harriet- she is half awake, half drowsy, and can do nothing to save herself from the pain she is going through. Harriet leans over Clara a bit more to unbutton her waistcoat. Harriet stops upon unbuttoning the first two buttons of Clara's shirt. She is shocked upon the discovery. Chest bandages. As Clara's breaths seem to be getting less frequent, Harriet puts her head to Clara's chest to hear her heartbeats. Her heart is pounding just fine, with a slightly muffled sound.

To check once again, however, Harriet lifts Clara's hat. She finds her hair tied up in a high bun. She stumbles backwards in fear. She hears a knock at the door. Quickly, she adjusts Clara's hat and buttons up her shirt. While Harriet is doing that, the knocks on the door increase, and finally, the door is thrown open. Harriet turns back in fear, perspiring, and breathing heavily.

She stares at the person in front of her- Christopher Fanshawe. Christopher looks at Harriet with concern for she is not someone to ever appear scared. He goes forward and holds Harriet by her shoulders. "Why do you appear...?" His question trails off as he sees someone lying on the bed. He turns to look at the face- Victor Waverley. He looks back at Harriet. "What's wrong with him?"

"He is ill." Harriet somehow forces herself to speak. "Gravely ill. He could die anytime."

"No. No." Christopher says. He lets go of Harriet and sits on the edge of the bed. He takes Victor's hand in his own. Burning hot. Victor's face has lost all its colour, and his trembles and shivers refuse to stop. "I need to take him to the doctor."

Harriet's eyes widen. She shakes her head fervently. "No. You cannot." She holds Christopher by his arm as he attempts to lift Clara.

Christopher's face is devoid of expression. He shakes Harriet's hand off him and pulls Victor to himself. Victor is now secure in his embrace. Christopher gets off the bed and puts Victor on his back. He rushes out of the establishment to find the man from Mrs. Mortimer's. "Help me put him on the horse."

Both men lift Victor and place him securely on Christopher's horse. Christopher sits behind Victor and secures Victor to himself by tying a rope arouns their waists. Christopher gives a light kick to his horse and the animal begins galloping, leaving the dimly-lit streets behind.

***

Christopher reaches the lodge and another manservant helps him untie the rope and unmount. He carefully unmounts Victor, lifts him, and rushes into the living room.

Christopher is taken aback to find Wilhelm Schmidt pacing around the room. Wilhelm comes to a halt upon finding an unconscious Victor on Christopher's back. Wilhelm shakes his head in exasperation. He turns to someone sitting on the sofa which has its back to the entrance. "Doctor, please check on my friend."

A man rises from the sofa with his medical tools. He is a well-known doctor; someone who appears removed from the present times. With a slight tilt of his head, he beckons Christopher to place Victor on the sofa. Giving a reassuring nod to Wilhelm, fhs doctor checks Victor's pulse. It is not the first tims he is doing so for he treated the woman under the man's clothing while she was at Wilhelm's place.

As the doctor checks on Victor, Christopher looks at the people around him. Mrs. Mortimer is now finally visible to him. Shenis visibly disappointed in Christopher, and does not try hiding her opinions and expressions. The servants of the house wait at the far end anxiously.

His gaze shifts back to Victor. And Wilhelm standing at the head of the sofa where Victor lies, observing him.