ONES LOOKED UP FROM her notes as Edie came to stand by her desk beside the tall library windows. She had been staring out at the winter sun falling across the park, pondering her next missive to Miss Herschel on the subject of comets and their trajectories.
“Hello, my dear,” Jones said, pushing the gold-wire frame of her spectacles back up her nose. They tended to slip down when she was distracted. “Have you finished?”
Edie slumped gracelessly into the low upholstered chair beside her, fidgeting. “Finally!” she said, pushing oily, paint-stained hands through her unruly hair and then wiping them on her apron absently as she realized they were still wet. “Probably. Definitely. Remind me how much I loathed doing this next time anyone suggests it to me, would you?”
Jones smirked. “Well. I
