Rosie was adamant that I explain what had taken place between Desmott and myself. She followed me into the kitchen and bombarded me with questions while I gathered bandages. Desmott still sat in the parlor with Hanny where, judging by the look on her face when I excused myself from the parlor, they surely must have a lot to say to one another. I felt lost, drowning in my own questions with no one to turn to.

Rosie certainly had her own questions. "I saw you arguing with Levi. What about?"

I grabbed a small roll of gauze and a few cotton pads. "We were not arguing, merely having a conversation."

"You were arguing, I saw you. No need denying it."

"Desmott and I were not arguing. I swear it. We went on a stroll and he was advising me on—" I hesitated and it was enough to reignite Rosie's interest.

"On what?"

I cleared my throat, stalling for time as I tried to come up with a feasible lie. "On what I should do once my treatment with Dr. Abaddon has finished."

"Is that something that is happening?" Rosie's lips curled up in a pretty feminine smile. She kept her tone easy, as if we were discussing a new dress pattern. "I did not believe that murder was permissible, much less curable."

I walked past her, my hands full of supplies.

She followed me, keeping so close to me that the fabric of our skirts rubbed. "Well? Come now, Miss Holbrook, I know you must have something to say for yourself. Or perhaps this is you finally fessing up to burning your family alive. Shall I call the constable?"

My hands were shaking and I knew that if I did not separate myself from her I would perhaps do something I would regret.

"You planned it all very well, making sure that the handsome young gentleman was not in the house when you set it ablaze. Were you in love with him? How sad it must have been for you when you were locked up and he found someone else to marry—"

I turned on my heels, dropping the bandages in my haste, and shoved her. Two pictures and a small glass dove figurine fell from the shelf next to where her head hit the wall. It caused a loud bang and I could hear Desmott and Hanny leave the parlor to investigate. I let go of Rosie's shoulders and stepped back. Her eyes were wide and she was looking at me as if I'd lost my mind—perhaps I had. I knew, despite this being the opposite of what I wanted, that I had only solidified in her mind that I was a killer.

Desmott rounded the corner at the end of the hall. "What happened?" Rosie's entire countenance changed from shocked to dramatically afraid of me. She scrambled away from me and into his arms. Rosie wailed into his chest. "She hit me. She shoved me against the wall like some mad woman and hit me."

He held her against his chest and turned his gaze up to me. "What happened?" He repeated.

Rosie's small fist clasped the front of his shirt and tugged his attention back down to her. "I have already told you. She hit me." Rosie turned and cast me a dark look over her shoulder.

Hanny slid past them and hurried to me. "Are you all right?"

I nodded.

"What on earth has happened here?" I turned and found Lizzie standing in the hall. She was fully dressed from her day out with a lacy cream gown, matching gloves and clutch. Her hat was only recently unpinned and was resting in her hands. She finished pulling off her gloves and set all items on the small side table before she walked to where I stood with Hanny. Her palm found my check and she sighed. "Darling, you look ghastly. What has happened?"

I closed my eyes. "She keeps telling me that I killed them and I know I didn't."

Lizzie glanced around the small walkway where everyone was gathered. Rosie was clutching a still bleeding Desmott as if she was a frightened child. Lizzie, always the perfect lady, waved a hand dismissively at the broken glass at out feet. "Come now, everyone into the parlor. I shall call Mrs. Zanderfield to clean up this mess and we shall have tea." She ushered me towards the parlor, pausing only to gather the bandages that I had dropped. I tried to take them from her but she shook her head, "No need, I can handle it from here."

Hanny grabbed Lizzie's wrist and pulled her back so the two of them were walking a few steps behind me. Hanny spoke first, "I sent word to Gabe—"

"Yes, I know. I received a worrying phone call from my husband. I assumed that, out of respect for my home, you might have turned the gentleman away while my husband and I were out."

"He was insistent."

Lizzie sighed. "I am insistent."

"What has Gabe told you?"

"Enough for me to know that having Leviathan here is dangerous. Dangerous for us and most certainly dangerous for her."

"But she came to—"

Lizzie hushed her and lowered her voice even further so that I had to strain to hear them over my own footfalls. "We both know why she came. But she is not prepared for that."

I stopped in my tracks and turned back. "May I ask what you're talking about?"

Both girls halted and exchanged a look. "Nothing to be concerned about." Hanny said.

I chewed my lip and shook my head. "You said Desmott was dangerous." Something else occurred to me and I added, "You called him Leviathan. But supposedly he does not go by that name."

Lizzie swallowed, "I was only saying that the gash on Mr. Desmott's neck looked dangerous. As for the name, he introduced himself as Leviathan when he first came here with you."

I felt in my soul that neither statement was true, but I did not argue, neither did I try to reason with them. Rather, I turned on my heels and joined Desmott and Rosie in the parlor. She was still cuddle up next to him, looking at me as if I were some monstrous being sent to destroy her.

"Now, Mr. Desmott," Lizzie began, her expression full of a concern that did not appear entirely genuine. "I shall have a look at you neck and send you on your way. Last we met, my husband was quite set on your not returning here—"

Desmott interrupted her, his tone sharp. "I am interested in speaking directly to your husband. Where exactly is he?"

"He is away on business."

"And yet he somehow received news of our interaction."

Lizzie straightened her already impeccable posture and leveled her gaze on him. "I did not say he wasfar away on business, merely that he is indisposed and will not be here for some time."

I spoke before I could coerce my tongue into silence. "Where exactly is Gabe?"

Desmott's mouth quirked up on one side, the ghost of a pleased smile. "Yes, Mrs. Farley, I am sure your husband would not object to speaking to me man to man."

Rose clung to Desmott's arm, her dark green eyes bouncing around the room as if memorizing it all. "What is all of this about?" She said.

Lizzie's jaw tightened and she lifted her head, fixing her resolve. I wanted to grab her arm, demand answers. I had believed that I was among friends but suddenly I was not sure. Desmott was acting as if I was in danger, and Lizzie was the one putting me at risk. And what he had said earlier about Hanny not having a past. What had he meant?

Lizzie turned on her heel and walked to entrance of the parlor. "Mrs. Zanderfield," she called, "will you please escort Mr. Desmott and Miss Gressil out?"

"No." It was my turn to speak. "No, I have questions. I want to know—"

Mrs. Zanderfield appeared at the door before I could finish. "Right this way."

Rosie began to follow the housekeeper but Desmott remained standing next to the window. He met my eyes, "What is it you want to know?"

I wavered. The room was hot, stifling and spinning. He was looking at me, his expression expectant as if he believed my question might answer his. He looked the same way he did when we'd argued in the hallway at the London. The air around him was heavy with shadows that were not the result of the sun or the lamps. This is who he is—his aurora, the sadness in him showing itself in a way that only I could see. But then, in the weirdest of occurrences, his eyes darted to where mine were and he frowned. He can see them.

"You can see them?" The words came from him so soft, so bewildered, that I almost didn't hear them over Lizzie.

"Get out of my house now."

Desmott's eyes shot up, found hers. "I just—all of this. None of it makes any sense. If he is right then—"

"I shall have Gabriel contact you." Lizzie interjected. "Until then, I demand that you stay away from my home and away from Merritt. Do you hear?"

His gaze did not falter from mine as he said. "But you aren't like them. Surely, surely, that is clear to you, Miss Holbrook. What you did in the park—"

"He is mad. Pay him no mind. Let's go, get away from here and call for a patrolman." Hanny grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the door, obviously deciding that if Desmott would not leave then they would remove me instead.

Rosie rejoined Desmott and tugged at the fabric of his jacket. "Levi, let us go before we find ourselves in a mess." He did as she said, but it was clear from the set of his shoulders and the look on his face that our conversation was not finished.

They will not tell me anything until Gabe returns. I supposed I should be grateful they even admit there is something to tell.

"What is Desmott talking about?"

He had just left with Rosie and I had been steered into the kitchen and given tea. As if the rich liquid was enough to dull the odd thrum of worry bubbling in my chest.

Lizzie was on the phone, talking adamantly to Gabe. She was speaking loudly, struggling to hear him on the contraption. It was new to the home, new enough to still unnerve me with it's shrill rattling ringing at odd and inconsistent hours.

They were arguing, and heatedly at that. I could just barely heard her demanding that he return home, demanding that he do so with the utmost haste. He must be disagreeing because her voice is progressively rising and tightening, fear or anger making her speech more animated.

My mind drifted to what Lucius had told me days earlier about how uncomfortable Lizzie was with my presence in her home. It was hurtful, realizing that you are somehow the cause of such discourse in your closest friend's marriage. I felt dirty, wicked.

Rosie had tried to needle me, make me question my relationship with Gabe outright—but she came about things from the wrong angle. I have never been in love with Gabriel Farley, I crave his attention and I often miss the carefree way we spoke to one another when we were younger, but I do not begrudge him for his love of Lizzie. As I have mentioned before, I believed Lizzie to be of the highest of moral character.

I do, however, question her feelings towards me and towards Desmott. For it is not her discomfort with me that has caused this sudden uprising, rather it was his coming here today to speak to me. As if he holds some secret that everyone else is determined to keep at bay.

According to Desmott, Hanny has no past and Lucius is a danger to me. I am skeptical to believe any of this. Lucius has posed no threat to me and Hanny has spoken of a lost love more often than not. Clearly, she has a past outside of what I knew of her at St. Agatha's. She was once in love with a boy, back before she took her vows. How could she then be without a past? And as for what he said about me—

Well, I suppose I am not like anyone else. I am not like Lizzie or Gabe or even Hanny. I am different. I have closed myself off, kept myself from experiencing the pain that comes with losing a family, from losing a twin. No one ever seemed to remember that I had lost things in the fire as well.

I have had this journal for many weeks now and I have yet to allow myself to speak of my sister, not really. Lora is hard to put on paper. The sliver of myself that was entangled in her, was burnt to ash in the fire leaving an aching black hole where she once was. And so I cannot speak of her or write of her character. I merely cannot manage the words to clearly write what I want to say.

But I do not believe that is what Desmott meant when he told me that I was not like the people I live with. There is something more. Details that I have certainly forgotten about conversations that I'm sure he meant for me to understand.

I do not understand whom I am meant to trust. He had been so shaken, so oddly confused, by my calling him by his given name. As if I were not among the circle of people he allowed to call him that. Certainly, I spoke out of turn by calling him his first name without his consent, but it had initially been instinctive, coming from my lips before I even understood what I was saying.

I am afraid.

Frightened of Desmott and his passionate words. I am afraid of Lizzie and how quickly she had denied him access to speak to me. I am afraid of Hanny and how controlling she has been of me—and of Gabe, who has been missing from my life for days.

As for Lucius, I am unsure what I should feel. He is the only person who has given me hope. I have been starved for any glimmer of a future outside of my present condition and he has given me that. At least he is trying to help me. He is the only person who believes I can be changed, that whatever is wrong with me can be reversed. It is hard to dislike someone who shares a kindred dream, however far-fetched that dream may be.

But I have remained untruthful. I have not told him the full extent of my condition, of what I can do, and I am not sure why. I cannot seem to get the words to come. I am frozen with this sense of uncertainty any time I think I should share, I should finally tell someone of what I can do. Gabe knows, as I'm sure Lizzie and Hanny do as well, but he has asked that I tread carefully, keeping my secret from anyone who might use it to hurt me. As of yet, I am unsure whom that hesitance should be used with. Instinct has kept me quiet.

"What was Desmott talking about?" This time when I asked the question, Hanny acknowledge me.

"Please be patient, Merritt. All will be revealed in due time."

I closed my eyes and pressed a hand to my cup, wishing I could feel the heat of the china. "Please."

I stood up and walked to the doorway of the kitchen. "Why stop Desmott from speaking to me? When you were so willing to push us together earlier."

"This is for Gabe to tell—"

I watched the smoke swirl up from the cup. It smelt of cold winter months and hours spent pouring over books in the library of St. Agatha's. Slowly, I lifted my head and looked at my friend. "But Gabe is not here."

Hanny stood up and walked to stand next to my chair. When we are both standing, we are nearly the same height, she and I. Now, she towers over my chair at the table, her shoulders stiff and her mouth etched into a tight line of worry. The same sharp lines mark her brow, making her look older than she is.

I can faintly remember a time, long before talk of Abaddon or leaving Manchester, when she was my closest companion—we rarely speak now. She is a silent spectator in my life, never an active participant. Her eyes never seem to hold the judgment that I expect, rather she looks at me as if she is grieving—mourning something that she will not tell me about and that I cannot comprehend on my own.

Neither of us has been the same in months. I long for the kindred comfort of times past. In that instant, looking up at her, I know she wants that too. Her throat bobs as she swallows and brushes a hand down the bodice of her dress, wraps her fingers firmly in the folds of her day dress, like she is trying to ground herself. She is thinking, as am I, about what has transpired to bring us to this place.

Her voice was gentle, but firm. "You must trust that I care for you and would never wish you harm."

"You are lying to me." As soon as the accusation left my lips I knew it to be the truth. The solidity of the words landed like a weight on my chest and I hurried forward, letting the words tumble clumsily from my mouth. "For weeks you have been keeping things from me."

"Merritt—"

"You did not need to lie to me about my mail. If you could not get it to me without it being scrutinized by everyone else, why deceive me into believing that I alone had seen it. Why trick me? Why give me the illusion of trust? The truth would have been kinder, gentler than this. The deceit. Lies I was only made privy to after a stranger, someone I did not know, told me of your indiscretion." My eyes burned with tears. "It was wrong of you."

"So this why you have been distant." Her face changed, falling into a sorrow unlike any I had seen on her. Her bottom lip trembled and I feared she might cry as well. She would not deny this. "I hated doing it, truly I did. You are my dearest friend...but it was for your good."

"Why lie to me?" I whispered. "Why allow me to believe I had freedom when you knew I had none?"

She closed her eyes and let her head fall forward, her thin shoulders slumping as she pleaded with me, "Gabe—"

"Is not here. He is away, having abandoned me with you. Clearly, he was unconcerned about Desmott—but you are not, Lizzie is not. Both of you seem quite adamant that I keep my distance from him, and yet you were the one to encourage me to meet with him today. You wanted me to speak to him—"

"That was a mistake. A grand, idiotic mistake and I regret it." She said, "I acted without orders—"

"Orders from who?"

She shut her mouth and turned from me.

She lowered herself into the chair next to mine. I slid from the chair, fell to my knees in front of her, balling my fists in her skirts to keep her still. To make her look at me. I needed her to see me, feel for me. "Hanny?" I whispered. Worry coiled like a viper in the pit on my stomach. "Hanny, who are you getting orders from? Who is telling you to lie to me?"

She pressed the back of her hand to her lips, her fingers shaking against her mouth. "It is not lying, merely a shielding of the truth—"

Hanny stopped speak abruptly as Lizzie entered the kitchen and saw us. Her face scrunched, a look of determination finding purchase on the pretty angles of her face. "Gabriel is coming, he will be in on tomorrow morning's train." She said, "We are to remain here until he arrives."

I stood up. "I demand to know what you are keeping from me. If you will not tell me the truth, then I shall seek out Desmott. Clearly, he knows something—"

She shook her head. "You shall remain here, waiting for Gabriel, just as I said."

"Where is he then?" I said, so tired of hearing about Gabe and how I must wait for him. I just wanted answers, I wanted the nausea to die down, the swirling of the room to slow. "He has left me in the hands of liars." I breathed.

Lizzie crossed the room and clasped my hands in hers. "My dear friend, we are not lying to you." Her voice was so soft, so sincere, that I wanted to believe her. I wanted to, but I did not.

I tried to pull away from her grasp but she held tight. I had to close my eyes to keep tears from escaping as I said, "You are withholding information—information which Desmott believes, if kept from me, could get me hurt."

Lizzie looked between Hanny and I. "There are rules we must follow in such things as this, but believe me, all will be revealed in time. I swear it to you, Merritt. We would never allow harm to come to you, surely that can be seen through all of—"

"Why did you ask for someone to watch me? I have never caused you worry, not in any of the time I have resided in your home and yet you demanded that I have a watch dog. That I needed a nurse in case I had an episode. In case I was mad. Deranged."

Hanny turned in her chair, her eyes wide. "Merritt—"

I held up a hand to silence her. "No, you shall listen. I don't know why you believe I could ever put you or Gabe in jeopardy. I have never killed anyone—not my family, not Clara Harris, not anyone at all."

Lizzie's face paled. "My dearest friend, we never believed that you did."

I hated the way my bottom lip trembled, the way my voice cracked as I said, "Your actions prove otherwise."

Lizzie dropped my hands and stepped back from me. "What is it you are accusing me of?"

"Lucius has told me about your requesting a nurse for me and about your frequent calls—"

Lizzie shook her head. "Merritt, I assure you I have never spoken to Lucius Abaddon or even met him in the flesh. I only know of him through his contact with you and occasionally with my husband." She swallowed, "Merritt, might we cease this argument for the time being? Gabriel is on his way here but travel takes time and I know we are all exhausted from this afternoon. Perhaps a lie-down will soothe your nerves?"

I ran a hand through my hair, losing white-blonde strands from the twist I'd pinned earlier. "I am not a willful child in need of discipline. I wish everyone would stop treating me as if I am ignorant—"

Hanny stood up from her chair and pointed a thin finger at me in warning. "Merritt, that is quite enough. You are speaking out of turn. Lizzie has been nothing but hospitable to us since our arrival. You shall only be treated as an ill-tempered little girl as long as you continue to parade as one."

"I am not the one in disguise," I whispered. "I am being lied to by the people I thought I could trust. I am being lied to by my friends. By you, my closest friend."

"Please rest, Merritt." Lizzie sighed heavily and combed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her chignon. "There will be much to discuss when Gabriel returns home in the morning. As for now, I will retire to my bedchamber and I suggest the two of you do so as well. If it is acceptable, I shall have Mrs. Zanderfield bring trays up for dinner?"

Hanny and Lizzie held a gaze for an instant before Hanny said, "I think that is for the best."

I balled my fists into my skirts, tempted to stomp my foot like the cheeky little girl they were so determined to view me as. Instead, I just nodded defeated. "Please instruct Mrs. Zanderfield to deliver my breakfast tomorrow as I will be reaming in my room until Gabe has arrived."

With that I turned on my heels and rushed to my bedroom where I now sit writing this. I am at a loss, unsure whom to trust and what to do. Even if Lizzie and Hanny are to be feared, I cannot escape them. I am Gabe's ward and as such have no prospects outside of those he provides. Even if I were not locked here as a patient and deemed ill, I would have no control. This is the way of the world, and yet I struggle to understand what I am meant to do now.

I cannot turn from Lucius for he is not only my physician, but he is my one hope at escaping a life of countless asylums. Without a cure, I will be passed from one place to another, like an unwanted doll. Yes, I have escaped such a home as of late, but I shall surely return there if I am not made well soon.

Lizzie will want a family, as is only right, and I am certain she will not permit my staying here with her infant children. Her trust in me is already so small. I am but a feral animal to her, waiting for the moment to strike out. What is the most unfortunate, is that my outburst in the kitchen earlier is the closest to distraught I have been since arriving here. I wonder if Lizzie is afraid of me more so now than even she was before. As wrong is it is—I sincerely hope so.