"It won't be too much longer," Amelia Brindley said. She glanced at her husband. "I'm certain dinner will be ready momentarily." She smiled warmly at Willow.

Willow Mabson nodded politely. Amelia was her best friend and she loved her, but she should have declined the invitation to dinner tonight. She needed to be home caring for her mother, instead of leaving poor Edmond to do so. Her brother had much more important things to do than watching over their irascible mother. However, she'd been in such a state this past week; someone had to sit with her at all times. Thankfully Edmond wouldn't have to handle things alone for too long as their father was returning from his short trip tonight.

Forcing herself to focus on the present, she noted the parlor was ornate, but tasteful, decorated in soft golds and yellows. She should have felt calm and relaxed, yet she couldn't shake her feeling of unease. Willow plucked a wayward string off her blue satin skirt. She didn't have many evening dresses and it seemed silly to don one for a simple dinner with her friends. But propriety was quite clear on that matter. Besides she had no idea who else was invited tonight, Amelia had been quite mum about the details.

Willow glanced around the room, and noted Amelia and Colin exchanging knowing looks. Colin glanced at his pocket watch and nodded to his wife. The air was charged, something was amiss. Amelia and her husband, Colin, were far too suspicious.

"Precisely what are you two about?" she asked.

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Piddington Confectionary, outside of London, 1892

Meg Piddington tried the heavy door one more time, to no avail. "It's locked." She leaned against the barrier and eyed her fellow captive.

"I told you that already," he said, the slight hint of an Irish brogue tickled at her ears. He leaned against a table stacked with small boxes.

"Well, how are we to open it?" she asked.

"I'm thinking." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you would but keep your mouth shut, I might think of something useful."

She shot him an exasperated look, which he didn't even notice.

Shut her mouth, indeed.

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Amelia stood in front of the mirror unpinning her hat. She'd taken so many deep breaths; she was surprised she hadn't floated to the ceiling. She tucked and smoothed her hair back into a presentable nature. She straightened her traveling dress as much as she could. Thank goodness wool didn't wrinkle too badly.

"You can do this," she said to her reflection. Her reflection stuck its tongue out with a smirk. She shook her hands out, then paced the room a few times before bracing herself in front of his door.

She raised her hand to knock, then paused. What would happen if he refused her? Walked away from her? Nothing. Her feelings would be bruised, her pride wounded, but she would not die. She would persevere.

Knowing that calmed her nerves enough to knock on the door. It took a few moments before she heard his footsteps approaching.

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