Chapter 10London, September 3, 1885
Elizabeth stood on the topmost stair, red curtain hanging inches from her nose, becoming aware that she had not drawn a breath since running from the sitting room. She drew one now, trying to steady her fluttering heart. Then she tapped with the knuckles of her bandaged hand on the bannister, all she could manage in place of knocking on a door. “Mrs. Trevelyan?”
The rustling sounds on the other side of the curtain paused. “Miss Barton?” Brenda’s surprised voice came back.
“Yes. If you are not too tired from your journey, may I speak with you?”
“Now?” Brenda queried. “Oh—well, of course, dear. Come in.”
Elizabeth drew aside the curtain. It was rude, of course, the very definition of inconsiderate, to chase up the stairway someone only just returned h
