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the telegram had said. It sounded like a fine cover – a maternity home for the daughters of the wellto-do,
masquerading as a boarding school. No doubt the resultant babies would be adopted out to
wealthy families, who were happy to know that their young wards, while illegitimate, came from
blue-blooded mothers. And the girls, sadder but wiser, were then free to rejoin the ranks of the
respectable.
If I wait for Geraldine, it shall be tomorrow before we can venture to Chelsea, Emma thought. And
each day we burn increases the probability that Rayley and Trevor will not sit at our holiday
table. Crumpling Leanna’s telegram in one hand, she reached for her cloak with the other.
****
The Kirkland School for Young Ladies sat considerably back from the road, surrounded by a high
fence. Emma peered through the iron railings at the well-tended lawns. It did indeed have the
appearance of a respectable school, albeit one without any students, for the yard was empty and the
entire scene eerily quiet. She pushed against the gate and it opened with a heavy creak, the sound of a
hinge which was rarely moved, then picked her way through the crinkly leaves to the front porch.
Her ring of the doorbell was promptly answered by an older woman dressed entirely in gray, who
motioned Emma in without asking either her name or her business there. Emma felt a surge of
confidence. Trevor and the others were entirely too protective of her. They were reluctant to send
her on any missions that could become even remotely dangerous, and thus she was forced, over and
over, to prove her worth to the team. But there were some situations in which a woman could get
farther along the investigative path than a man, and this was clearly one of those situations.
Especially if the woman was young, alone, and wearing a tremulous smile.
“I’ve come about my sister,” Emma said softly, dropping her eyes to the plush Oriental carpet in the
hall. The word “sister” always stuck in her throat a bit and she supposed it always would. Her only
sister, Mary Kelly, had been the last victim of Jack the Ripper and there were times when it took all
the self-control Emma possessed to avoid sinking into despair at the memory. Mary had likely been
her last true relative in the world, since their parents had died of typhoid and their brother Adam had
disappeared into the wilds of America without a trace. Geraldine and the others were like an
adopted family, and she loved them all fiercely, but still – blood was blood, and in this sense Emma
Kelly stood orphaned in the world.
Tears sprang to her eyes, surprising her, although she supposed they also helped her ruse. The
Kirkland School appeared to be quite accustomed to the sudden arrival of weeping women, for the
woman in gray took her arm gently and guided her to a small parlor off of the entrance hall.
“Call me Mrs. Carter,” she said. “Would you like tea?”
Emma nodded, more to give herself time to think than for any real need of refreshment. It was odd,
the way the woman had said “Call me Mrs. Carter” rather than “I am Mrs. Carter.” Perhaps contrived
names were the norm of such a place. She looked around the room. It was somber in tone, but nicely
furnished, and the roaring fire was welcoming. The tea cup, when it arrived, was of a fine bone china
and the brew inside proved to be the same expensive brand that Geraldine served in her own parlor.
Emma supposed that if a young woman was forced to wait out an unwanted pregnancy and give up her