Wright was next to Viana, and swallowing my guilt, I took a peek at Tamsin’s folder. Much of it I already knew. She’d worked for her laundress mother and came from a big family. Jasper had recruited her. The comments on her performance were unsurprisingly spectacular. One special note, however, directed a sum of three gold to be delivered monthly from Jasper’s own account to Tamsin’s mother. There was no explanation.

   Adelaide’s also held a few surprises. The section covering her progress thus far was lengthier than mine or Tamsin’s, mostly because Mistress Masterson was equally perplexed by Adelaide’s erratic successes and failures. Her family section said NONE like mine, which surprised me. She occasionally mentioned her parents and grandmother, but I hadn’t realized they were out of the picture. Her contact field also said NONE. She’d served in the home of Lady Elizabeth Witmore, Countess of Rothford, who was a higher ranking noble than I’d expected. How had scattered Adelaide lasted so many years in a household like that?

   Ashamed at my snooping, I shoved Adelaide’s folder back in the drawer and finally perused Clara’s. Much of it was unremarkable. She was Jasper’s recruit, born to a butcher’s family with seven other daughters. Her reviews were solid, but there, at the bottom of the page, was a special notes section like Tamsin had. Except Clara’s was of a very, very different nature than Tamsin’s.

   I read it twice and then placed it back in the drawer with a smile. “You were right, old man,” I murmured to myself. “Information is real power.”

CHAPTER 4

   I DIDN’T USE THE INFORMATION RIGHT AWAY. I BIDED my time, holding out for exactly the right moment and also working to gather a few more details. My opportunity came almost a month later, when Clara was tormenting another of her favorite targets.

   For three days now, poor Theresa had been plagued with an outbreak of red bumps on one of her cheeks. Mistress Masterson hadn’t been concerned. “Blemishes happen all the time to girls your age. Either that, or it’s a reaction to something new. Perfume. Fabric. You’ll have to conduct an inventory yourself. Regardless, it will go away.” She’d left Theresa with a pot of noxious-smelling ointment and instructions to use a heavy hand with her cosmetics until the skin cleared.

   “What if she’s wrong?” Clara asked, her voice sweet with faked concern as we filed into the conservatory for a music lesson. “What if it doesn’t go away? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

   Theresa blanched. “Sh-she said it would. I’ve been using that cream.”

   Clara scrutinized Clara’s cheek. “It doesn’t seem like it’s gone to me. I think it’s worse.”

   “It is not,” said Adelaide. “You can hardly see it under her makeup.”

   “Well, you can certainly see all that makeup. Everyone’s going to notice it’s heavier on one side.” Clara pressed a hand to her mouth and gasped. “Oh! I hope it’s all cleared up by tomorrow. Mister Thorn is coming, and you know how picky he is. You can worry about these classes all you want, but it’s our looks that really matter over there. He won’t bring a girl who’s . . . well, flawed.”

   Compared to the rest of the world’s problems, Clara’s teasing seemed trivial. But Theresa’s pained eyes said otherwise. It was the power of words in action again. A small thing could have a big effect.

   “Do you have any ideas that might help her, Clara?” I asked mildly. “You used to live over in the Fountain District, didn’t you? There are all sorts of apothecaries there. I remember hearing about a really good one on Hightower Street.”

   The simpering smile on Clara’s face froze. It grew tighter and harder, becoming more like a grimace, as she stared at me. Our instructor entered and called us to attention. Clara swallowed and replied in a stiff, quiet voice, “You’re mistaken. I lived in the Butchers’ District.”

   I smiled back with a sunniness Adelaide would’ve envied. I said nothing more about the Fountain District in class. I said nothing about it at dinner. Clara couldn’t take her eyes off me all day, and when we were finally released from studies in the evening, she pushed her way toward me as we all meandered up the stairs. I linked my arm through Adelaide’s and very loudly invited Sylvia and Rosamunde to study with us. I kept people close until bedtime, never giving Clara the chance to catch me alone.

   At breakfast, her face was so ashen that Mistress Masterson asked if she was ill. Clara shook her head, still watching me. I pretended not to notice and made conversation with Tamsin until her expression suddenly filled with alarm. Her gaze lifted to something beyond me, and I turned to see Jasper breezily enter the room. We’d had no warning he was visiting.

   “Good morning, girls,” he said, more cheerful than I usually heard him. He picked up a few rolls and wrapped them in a cloth. “Forgive me for not joining you, but I’ve got to eat in my office today. We’ll talk more later.”

   Tamsin’s eyes turned from worried to wary, and I could see her thoughts spinning. When nothing noteworthy had happened after our surprise linguistic assessments, she’d finally stopped voicing her fears aloud . . . but I knew she still had them. “This is it,” she murmured. “I warned you.”

   Adelaide patted her on the arm and offered a comforting smile, but it had no effect. “Tamsin, he stops by all the time. It’s normal.”

   Tamsin just shook her head.

   It was the weekend, and classes couldn’t shield me from Clara any longer. I didn’t mind, though. I’d only wanted to avoid her long enough to build up her paranoia. Now it was time to deliver the blow.

   “Why did you ask about the Fountain District?” she hissed, pulling me into a quiet corner later in the day.

   “I just thought I’d heard you were over there a lot.” My voice mimicked the angelic one she used. “And that you saw an apothecary on Hightower, one you knew very well. But now I realize I must be mixed up. The apothecaries are a few streets over, right? Hightower’s all residential. Lots of fine homes. Lots of fine gentlemen—and their families.”