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of him did not make the butterflies dance.
    There, she had acknowledged it, an inappropriate fascination with this man, an
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    imagined connection to him. An inexplicable urge to touch him, just for an instant. She
    could fathom no reason for it, yet here it was.
    The moment spun out, like hot candy pulled from the pot, and then it spun too thin and
    disappeared. Beth felt the connection snap, and she was left to wonder if it had been there
    at all.
    His expression told her nothing.
    He made a slight bow and said, "It was my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss
    Canham."
    With a glance at the sky, he turned and climbed up on the curricle once more. When she
    tried to catch his eye, intending to thank him for the ride, he did not look at her; instead,
    he lifted the reins. Strong hands. Confident grasp. He was so brutally controlled that he
    might have been held up by rods of iron.
    Her body humming with sharp tension, Beth watched as the curricle rolled away and
    disappeared round the sharp bend, leaving her with a puzzling sense of loss.
    "You mustn't … oh … you mustn't…" A glance found the little maid wringing her
    hands in distress, her gaze alternating in frantic rhythm between Beth's face and the
    ground, making her head move up and down like a bobbing cork.
    Beth looked to the now-empty road. A quiet distress wove through her, a wariness.
    Mr. Fairfax had come to Burndale Academy, and gone, and whatever errand had
    brought him here, he had not carried it out.
    Because she had refused to come to him—whoever she was—and he had refused to
    fetch her. Something about the entire situation was not only odd, but somehow …
    dreadful.
    Just as the pewter sky, and the great, looming face of Burndale Academy, and the three
    dead trees that stood like the bard's three witches swaying in the wind, were all dreadful
    and grim.
    The maid shuddered once more, then seemed to come to herself.
    "A poor welcome I've shown you," she said. "Miss Percy will not be pleased."
    "I feel very welcome, thank you. There is no reason to tell Miss Percy otherwise," Beth
    replied.
    The maid's shoulders, stiff and tense, sagged a little. "Will you come this way, miss?"
    Resolutely navigating her thoughts away from Griffin Fairfax and his mysterious
    errand, Beth followed the maid up the front stairs and into the house.
    Pausing, she looked around, dimly aware that the girl circled behind her, drawing into
    the shadows like a wraith. The entryway was large and rectangular, with dark paneled
    walls and a floor tiled in a geometric pattern of unglazed clay tiles.
    There was no candle to light the way, the storm-cast gloom making the place less than
    welcoming. Beth stared at the wine-red tile; the shade had never numbered among her
    favorites.
    A snick of sound issued at her back, and Beth looked over her shoulder to see the girl
    had turned the key in the lock of the front door.
    "What is your name?" she asked.
    "Alice, miss." The reply was whispered to the floor.
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    "What of my trunk, Alice?"
    "Mr. Waters will see it's brought to your chamber, miss. He's a handyman of sorts.
    Keeps the place in repair. Our Mr. Waters was a sailor once. He says he has seen the
    whole world…" Her voice trailed off and she shot a quick glance at Beth. "He'll see your
    trunk brought to your chamber before the rain comes."
    My chamber. That was a pivotal point that had drawn Beth to the position of teacher at
    Burndale Academy. She was promised a room of her own rather than one to share. A true
    luxury. Many positions required the teachers to share rooms, even beds.
    Beth knew her numerous limitations far too well to imagine she could have borne that.
    She could just imagine what a fellow teacher would think if Beth bolted upright in the
    dead of night to light every candle in the room and throw the window open wide.
    "Thank you," she said as Alice sidled past her.
    They continued along a wide