Inside the fiery shop, the smoke was so thick that it stung my eyes and threatened to blind me. I kept my nose and mouth covered, breathing through the thin fabric of my cheap gown. I glanced from one corner of the room to the other and saw nothing but crumbling shelves, burnt up books, and flame. Above me, the rafters creaked, threatening to snap any moment and bring the second-floor apartment crumbling down on top of the shop and everyone in it. I pulled my sleeve away and choked. "Liza! Papa!"

But the smoke was too heavy and I sputtered a cough. Even if either of them had responded to my cry, I would not have heard it above my own coughing and the cracking of the beams above me. I wiped my eyes and replaced my sleeve over my nose. I moved forward. I had to keep moving forward.

I stumbled through the shop to the door at the back and shoved hard. It fell under my weight, the wood splintering and cracking, borne brittle by the rapidly increasing heat. It was not so hot in the hall beyond. So, the fire must have originated in the shop. I pushed through the smoke, squinting through the haze. I placed a hand on the doorknob to the workshop and hissed, pulling back at the scalding metal. Instead, I lowered my shoulder and pushed. The second door buckled as easily as the first and swung open on its hinges to reveal another room shrouded in smoke.

"Liza!" I cried, desperation clawing at my heart, smoke choking my lungs. I coughed again as I screamed. "Papa!"

"Charlotte?" the voice was quiet, timid, scared. It came from behind the printing press. I shoved books and racks out of my way and ran to it. My father and my sister huddled together behind the large chunk of machinery. They stared up at me, wide eyed and fearful. I helped my father to his feet as Liza rose hesitantly behind him.

"We have to go," I told them, expressing the urgency as best I could. "Now."

"How?" my father asked. "The back door has been blocked and the shop is on fire."

"Not all of it. There's a path straight through the middle. But it won't be open long. We have to go now!"

I pulled them along, back toward the hallway, toward our only exit. They did not seem to want to move. I had to shout at them more than I cared to but if I did not get them out, they would perish here amidst their books. I was forceful with them, shoving and shouting until we reached the shop. Then they came to a dead halt and I could see why. Portions of the ceiling had fallen onto the floor below and a large beam was stretched across most of the floor, shrouded in flame. I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve and indicated for them to do the same. They did. There was a small opening on the opposite side of the beam, enough for us to slip through, but closing by the second. I pointed to it. Liza looked up at me, wide eyed, and shook her head. I gazed down at her intensely and she understood my meaning. She had to. We had no choice.

Liza went first, boldly sprinting across the floor and leaping through the crack over the beam. I watched her proudly and then turned to my father, nodding for him to go. But he wasn't looking at me. He was staring, wide eyed, at the space that Liza had just been. His hands were shaking. I took them and he finally turned to me. I stared deeply into those familiar eyes. There was not a trace of the anger with which he had looked at me before in them. I gave him a curt nod and a little shove and followed him forward.

We both made it through the crack and onto the other side. Though it required far more pushing and prodding from me than I had hoped. The opening closed the moment we were on the other side of it, a nearby shelf falling, flaming, over to close the gap. We exited the building to join Liza on the street. I withdrew my sleeve from my face and gulped in the stale night air. I would never have previously called London air fresh or exuberant but, at that moment, it was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted.

I heard the people around us gasp and whisper to one another as Liza ran to our father and embraced him. A second later, I heard the sirens and I straightened myself in time to see the fire brigade arrive just as the roof collapsed. I glanced back at my father's shop. It was in ruins. The fire had spread to the upper floors and, undoubtedly, the workshop beyond. Had my father chosen a less flammable occupation, perhaps some of his work could have been saved but, as it happened, the fire brigade was too late to do anything more than contain the fire to our shop and our shop alone and wait for the flames to die down.

I joined my family a few feet away and we all huddled together and watched in agony as the bookshop that had been in our family for generations burnt to the ground and, with it, our livelihood. I saw tears in my father's eyes for the second time in my life that night. The first had been upon the death of my mother only a year ago. And now this.

We remained until the neighbors had all returned to their homes, until the fire brigade had put out the last of the flames and sped away, until the smoke cleared and left behind naught but smoldering rubble. Then I gently guided my family away from the destruction and into a carriage. We rode in silence, all of us wide eyed and tearful, covered in soot and ash. But we were alive. No matter how great our losses had been this day, we were safe. We were alive.

The carriage dropped us off at a familiar shop. I tapped lightly on the door and waited. In a few moments, my brother in law appeared in the threshold, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he gazed in surprise at the three of us. I imagined we were quite the sight. My father would not meet his eyes as he let us in, and we entered the shop and ascended the stairs to the living quarters above. My sister was waiting, arms folded and face scrunched in concern. Liza ran to her the moment we entered and they embraced but Victoria kept her eyes on me.

"The shop is gone," I said in explanation of our presence. My sister and her husband were far too polite to ask directly and, as the intruders, it was our burden to share the news. Victoria's mouth dropped open and her hand flew to cover it. I heard Benjamin, her husband, curse behind me. I continued my explanation, though I imagined they had gathered what had happened from the ash on our clothes and soot staining our skin. "It burned down."

"How?" the question was out of her mouth in an instant. I blinked at her for a moment, realizing for the first time that I did not, in fact, know what had started the fire. I turned toward my father and was surprised to see him already looking at me, that intense glare back in his eyes.

"Charlotte went to the police," he said, as if that were somehow an explanation. I felt my mouth drop open this time.

"What does that have to do with-" I stopped myself as understanding dawned on me. "You think those thugs are behind this?"

"Thugs?" Victoria interrupted, glancing from me to my father and back again.

I hardly heard her. I felt as though pieces of the evening were falling into place and the bigger picture at play was one that I did not care for. The back door had been blocked. My father had told me as much during my attempt at rescuing them from the workshop. It had been blocked he had said. I had assumed, in the moment, that meant it was inaccessible due to falling rubble but that did not make sense upon reflection. I had noticed, myself, that the fire must have originated in the shop. So neither rubble nor flame would have blocked the back door which meant that the only blockage there would have been placed there. Intentionally.

"Are you saying this is my fault?" I asked my father, ignoring my sister for the moment. The fight went out of him then. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. He rubbed his forehead and, when he looked back up at us, his eyes were soft.

"No Charlotte," he said then, shaking his head sadly. "It isn't your fault. It's mine."

"No Papa!" Liza shouted. "It's not your fault. If those thugs are truly responsible then we can tell the police and they-"

"No one is going to the police," he said, firmly but kindly. "Not anymore. You saw what happened when we did."

The room fell silent.

"What happened, William?" Benjamin asked calmly and I found myself silently grateful for his presence.

"I- I made a mistake. I got into debt with some... less than reputable people," My father confessed, scratching his beard with a hand as he did. I had never seen him look so defeated. "Those men who visited our shop this evening were sent to warn me about what would happen if I did not pay back my debts. When Charlotte went to the police... they must have followed her and... burned down the shop to remind us who we are dealing with. These people, they can't be reasoned with. The only thing they respond to is money. The only way out is to pay them back."

We all stared at him.

"Papa," Victoria said slowly. "What do you owe them money for?"

He looked away then, staring at his shoes, a pained expression on his face. I steeled myself for the answer that I knew I would not like.

"I got into gambling again," he admitted and the air was sucked right out of the room. Victoria sighed. Benjamin straightened. Liza gasped. I just watched as a broken man admitted his faults to his family. "After your mother died I couldn't- I didn't- it broke me, girls. It really did. I tried so hard to be strong for you but I... I'm not strong."

Liza sniffled.

"How much?" Victoria asked then. I glanced at my sister, ever the blunt one.

"Four... four thousand," my father spoke and every jaw in the room dropped. Four thousand was far more than his shop would make in a year, most likely more than it would make in five, even with his fancy new upper-class editions. I felt the need to sit and so I slumped onto a nearby chaise.

"Damn, William," Benjamin spoke. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around at all of us. "I suppose you'll be needing a place to stay then. I'll grab some extra quilts."

"Benjamin," Victoria flashed her husband a warning look from the opposite side of the room but she was met with an exhausted sigh.

"They're family, Victoria," he reminded her. "They're staying. For as long as they need."

The last part was directed at us. He met my eyes as he said it. I gave him a small smile of gratitude but pulled it back the moment he left the room. I was suddenly feeling quite ill. It took Benjamin no time at all to get our father settled comfortably in the small guest room that was hardly more than a linen closet. As he did, Victoria doled out blankets and pillows for Liza and I to huddle together in the living room. I knew she was not pleased with the arrangement. Victoria had always been proud and she had taken her marriage as her freedom. When mother had died, she had taken it the hardest. She felt that it was her duty to ensure that we were cared for and she had been saying for quite some time that father had not been doing a very good job at it on his own. She eyed me as I settled in next to a sniffling Liza. Because of our bond, I knew what she intended to communicate. We were family. That, she would acknowledge. But she had a new family to care for and she and Benjamin could not afford to feed us all on the coin of a butcher.

"Liza and I will search for jobs tomorrow," I whispered in the dark. Liza stopped her sniffling and turned to look at us, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. When she saw me looking up at Victoria and the way that Victoria was looking down at us, as though we were simply two more mouths to feed, she nodded fervently to show her agreement. "First thing. We can help father pay off this debt."

"I don't want danger brought to my house," Victoria warned lowly. I could only nod in understanding. I did not want that either. But I could make no promises. My sister had made a life for herself here. A life of comfort and happiness. As much as she loved us, she loved Benjamin as well and we were threatening the home that they had made together. I gave her another nod to show that I understood precisely what worried her. She straightened her back and left the room, blowing out the candles as she went.

I turned to face Liza as she cuddled up next to me. I felt her breath on my neck as I stroked her hair to soothe her and waited for her breathing to even with sleep. That was when I heard the quiet argument of my sister and her far too patient husband.

***

The next morning, we awoke with grumbling stomachs and the faint memory that we had not eaten dinner the night before. Benjamin had gone out early to get us some newspapers and Liza and I sat perched at the table going over the classifieds as my sister made breakfast. My father joined us but ate very little and spoke even less. He did not care for Liza's and my search for employment but it frankly did not matter. We were without the shop that had been in our family for generations, without our trade, and without our money. We would have to do what had to be done to secure lives for ourselves outside of my sister's house and to pay off my father's debts as soon as possible.

"There is an opening for a seamstress at Madam Delvaux's shop," I told Liza, smiling down at her. "You would be very good at that. You're quite the seamstress."

"Always had the straightest stitches in the family," Victoria smiled down at her as she set her plate in front of her.

"There are quite a few seamstress positions open, Liza. You should apply for them all."

She nodded happily as she tucked into her bread and jam. Victoria caught my eye over her head and I caught the unspoken communication there as well. Liza was young. Perhaps too young. She may not be offered employment no matter how many interviews she went on. I had thought of that. Of course, I had. But we still had to try.

"Father," Liza said suddenly. "There is an opening for an assistant at Abbott's Bookshelf. Perhaps you could find work in the literature industry still."

My father turned to look at his youngest daughter and we all held our breath. He was unhappy, that was for certain, but he nodded through his gritted teeth just the same. I felt myself release a breath in relief. This was, after all, his debt that we were trying to pay off. He should contribute to the cause no matter how severely it wounded his pride to ask for work from a former competitor. I rose from the table then and kissed Liza, then father, on top of their heads.

"I'm off then," I announced. "I'd like to get a jump on my interviews. I have plenty to go on and you know what they say. The early bird gets the-"

"Job," Benjamin finished incorrectly, grinning at his joke. I rolled my eyes and kissed my sister on the cheek before heading for the door.

It was another horribly humid day out and I found myself itching to remove my gloves as I walked, palms sweating against the coarse cloth. I knew it was inappropriate to do so, however, and I needed to look as presentable as possible for my day of job searching. The first shop that I called upon was a small boutique which specialized in woman's hats. I tried my hardest to sell them on the similarities of book binding and hat making but fell woefully short on the latter and they practically hit my behind with the door on my way out.

The next position was for a governess post but the lady of the house seemed dissatisfied with my level of education. Apparently, learning everything myself from the books I bound was not equivalent, in her eyes, to the worldly knowledge she wished her children exposed to. She was polite but hinted strongly that I would not be contacted.

It went on like this for the entire morning and I found myself feeling rather discouraged as I entered the next post on my list. After this, I would retire for lunch. My feet were aching and the dull pangs of hunger were beginning in my stomach. I entered the office of Mr. Patrick Welford near midday and approached his temporary receptionist with a smile. I knew she was merely temporary because I was here to apply for the permanent post. I introduced myself and my reason for stopping by and she smiled sweetly at me.

"If you will take a seat in the lobby, Miss Porter. Mr. Welford has had a very busy morning, but he will be with you as soon as possible," I thanked her and turned to go but she stopped me. "Miss Porter. Perhaps it is not my place to say but, speaking as a fellow working woman, you should know that Mr. Welford does not seem at his best today. He seems rather... distant. I thought it only fair that I warn you."

I nodded my thanks and turned to sit in the lobby. I placed my bag upon my lap and grasped it as I gazed about the room around me. Mr. Welford's office looked the same as any other London lawyer's office I had ever seen. The chairs that I sat upon had certainly seen better days but, even so, the green upholstery indicated wealth. Wood paneling decorated every inch of available wall space. He had beautiful inlaid bookshelves containing a number of prominent legal titles and even a full library of encyclopedias. My eyes scanned them with curiosity to see that he did, in fact, have every letter, but they froze over the volume for the letter Q. Something was different about that book. The spine had been broken but not from the normal act of reading. There were spaces of air on either side of it as if the opposite side of the book, the side in which you would open it, had stretched beyond its capacity and, for some reason, could not be closed.

My attention was drawn away from the strange volume by the sound of the bell at the door tinkling to indicate that someone else had entered. I glanced over to see the most handsome man I had ever seen enter the office. He was dressed like a gentleman in a suit that looked practically new. He removed his hat to reveal a mop of dark blonde curls. He approached the receptionist and smiled. She practically melted at the sight of it. I restrained the urge to roll my eyes. I had met my fair share of men like this. Rather than watch this flirtatious exchange, I reached for a nearby newspaper and began to read.

"Good morning, Miss," the handsome stranger spoke. "I was wondering if Mr. Welford was in. I have some business I need to discuss with him."

"He is in, Sir," she said in a voice much higher than the one she had used with me. I couldn't contain my smirk. "But he's had a very busy morning and I'm afraid that young lady is waiting for him as well. But perhaps if your business is urgent..."

I felt the woman's eyes upon me. I knew she was weighing her options. This man was clearly more important than me and Mr. Welford would most likely be far more interested in his business than mine.

"Not at all," the man replied smoothly. "I'm perfectly suited to waiting my turn. Thank you, Miss...?"

"Calvert," she told him eagerly. "Jane Calvert."

"Well Miss Calvert. It's a pleasure to meet you. Might I ask you a question? You said your boss has had a busy morning. Did you mean he had many clients to attend to?"

I lowered my newspaper a bit and peered over the top. The man was leaning against the desk, giving Miss Calvert his full attention and she seemed utterly captivated by the notion. I watched his cool blue eyes bore into her and she responded with a clear eagerness to please. Surely, she knew that a man of his class could never be interested in a receptionist. I narrowed my eyes. What was he up to?

"No sir," she answered. "Not a client all morning. What I mean is, Mr. Welford came in late and asked me to leave him to his work. I've only seen him once or twice since. He does not look well. I told him he should go home but he claimed he needed to be here."

"Poor Mr. Welford," the stranger clucked his tongue. "It isn't wise to remain in the office when sick."

"I don't think he's ill, sir. But he is... acting odd."

"How peculiar. Did he have any visitors yesterday who could have upset him?"

Miss Calvert glanced about her, chewing on her bottom lip as if indecisive on whether she should tell this stranger her boss' business. She was so caught up in her own speculation that she didn't seem to find it odd that such a stranger should care at all about her employer's previous visitors. In the end, she gazed into those blue eyes and gave it up.

"The police were here."

"Were they?" he asked, interested. He raised a brow at the information. Then he turned and saw me for the first time. I did not look away, as I perhaps should have, but I assumed that averting my gaze would only draw attention to it and that would be some sort of admission of guilt. Though I had not been doing anything I was not supposed to. Perhaps it was considered rude to eavesdrop but the space in this lobby was not infinite and the two of them were in no way speaking in hushed tones. So, when his eyes met mine, I held their gaze. His lips spread into a slow smile and he told Miss Calvert, without looking her way. "I'll have a seat then."

Her shoulders fell at his sudden disinterest and her eyes travelled to me as he walked my way. Her lips puffed into a pout and her eyes turned to a glare when the stranger sat in the chair right next to mine. I only raised my paper back to my eye line and continued to read. But he was too close to be blocked out and I could still see him settling in from my peripheral vision. I waited until Miss Calvert settled back into her own seat before I whispered, from behind the newspaper. "You're rather well dressed for a detective."

He glanced quickly my way in the briefest show of surprise before his eyes slid back to Miss Calvert to ensure she hadn't noticed and landed, finally, on the pocket watch he had withdrawn and now held in his hand.

"You're rather observant for a receptionist," he responded. I snorted softly.

"I'm not a receptionist," I corrected.

"No. But you're hoping to be."

He nodded at the door to Mr. Welford's office beyond and I felt my lips part in surprise. How had he known that? Then I realized that I had been looking at the classifieds and I sighed. He chuckled softly at my side.

"What's he done?" I asked, making my own gesture toward the door.

"Nothing, as far as I know."

"What's he suspected of doing?"

He smiled.

"I would never threaten to tarnish a man's reputation on mere suspicion," he told me, eyes sparkling as they met mine. I cleared my throat and turned the page of my newspaper, though I hadn't truly read any of it in some time. The door to Mr. Welford's office opened just then and the man himself glanced our way and nodded a brief acknowledgement before crossing the floor to his loyal receptionist. I could not help but notice the dark circles under the man's eyes and the way his hair stood on end, as it would of one who had run their hands through it one too many times, as he bent his head to whisper to Miss Calvert.

"If I were going to hide something valuable," I began in a low murmur as I watched the two of them speaking. The stranger's attention was entirely on me now. "I would hide it somewhere that no one would ever look. Say a seldom used encyclopedia."

The man's eyes found the encyclopedias on the opposite side of the room.

"Miss Porter?" Mr. Welford said and I stood as he made his way back to his office, expecting me to follow.

"The letter Q should do the trick, I believe," I finished and then followed after my potential future employer, not daring a glance back at the strange detective.

I entered an office that was much smaller than the lobby beyond and sat in a chair that was much more worn. Mr. Welford crossed to stand behind his desk and stared down at the references I had brought with me. They were not impressive. They contained my father, my brother in law, and a woman whom I had done some sewing for on the side one summer. He grunted when he finished and tossed the paper on top of the untidy pile on his desk.

"You are here to apply for the position of receptionist."

It was not a question but I answered anyway. "Yes, sir."

"You have no experience as a receptionist."

"I do not. But I worked in my father's book shop my whole life. I have experience in keeping ledgers as well as making appointments. And my experience in book binding-"

"Allow me to stop you there, Miss Porter," he said. His pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb and made a sound entirely of exhaustion. I wondered when he had last slept and what it was that kept him awake. "This is a legal office. My permanent receptionist would have to have some legal knowledge."

"My father's shop has bound quite a few legal volumes. I often read the books as we bind them. I believe I may have some beginners insight on case law as well as-"

"You read about it?" he asked, quirking his brow. "That's all? You have no formal education. No real references. No work experience outside of your father's shop."

He sighed. I opened my mouth but then decided that my forthcoming assertion that a formal legal education was hardly more than reading books as well would not be a welcome one with such an educated man. An educated man foolish enough to hide his secrets in an office encyclopedia. Or so I had presumed.

"I'm sorry, Miss Porter. But I don't think you quite match the qualifications that I am looking for."

I took a breath. I had been expecting this decision but it did nothing to soften the blow. Knowing that I was about to make my way home for lunch with nothing to show for my morning's efforts, I stood to thank Mr. Welford but, before I could, the door to his office burst open. In the threshold stood a fully uniformed constable.

"Mr. Patrick Welford," the man said, all manner of authority in his tone. A few more constables entered the room alongside him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Welford demanded.

"You're under arrest."

He gaped at them.

"Under arrest?" he asked, appalled. "For what?"

They did not answer as they moved forward with handcuffs.

"This is outrageous! Do you know who I am? Do you know who I represent? Have you heard of my father?"

Mr. Welford carried on as the constables led him out of the office, through the lobby, and into the street beyond. I followed them, drawn by the strange scene and somehow unable to keep my feet from moving. Miss Calvert followed as well but approached the constable herself, demanding answers as to why her boss was being arrested. I stood on the steps of the office, watching the scene before me. Mr. Welford continued his pleas as they led him away and, when they no longer worked, began shouting at Miss Calvert to contact his brother. She paled and scurried away to do as he bid that instant.

"Q, huh?" a familiar voice spoke and I spun around to see the strange detective from the lobby leaning against the threshold. He held up a hand and a beautiful, ornate, golden pocket watch dangled from its chain wrapped around his finger. "How did you know?"

"That's what was in there?" I asked, mesmerized by the glinting object. He smiled and handed the watch to a nearby constable who took it off with him as he headed after the rest of the policemen back to the station.

"How did you know it was in the book?"

"I've seen enough hollowed out books in my day to know the look of them," I told him, crossing my arms as I did. "No honest man would ever carve away the written word unless he is hiding something he shouldn't."

He smiled at that. I felt my stomach begin to grumble and knew I should be on my way home.

He stepped forward and extended a hand. "Alexander Langley,"

"Charlotte Porter," I answered, shaking his hand.

He looked me over as though I were some strange curiosity.

"I suppose I won't be getting that position," I said, glancing back at the legal office behind him. "So, if you'll excuse me, I must be returning home. I'm certain my sisters are worried sick."

"I think it's safe to say that Mr. Welford will not be needing a receptionist for quite some time," he said with that crooked grin of his but it was the words that he spoke next which froze me in place. "So why don't you come work for me?"