"You're talking about Harland Keen," said Jake.
It was one of the few times in his life Jake actually surprised the professor. "You know him?"
"He is an assassin for the secret department. He has tried several times to kill me."
"The secret department?"
"It is a coterie of men sworn to the king and charged with assassination. Keen has been after me for some time. I thought I had killed him a few weeks ago, but apparently he found a way to escape."
Bebeef tried to grab hold of Jake's arm with his bandaged hand. "You must be extremely careful. The man has a great store of knowledge — truly he is the incarnation of Faust, if not the devil himself."
Bebeef‘s gaze fluttered momentarily. It was as if he could see through the window's chintz fly barrier, out over the countryside, past the Heights, the bay, into the city itself, searching for his enemy.
"He is not immortal," the professor said finally. "No man can cheat death. But Keen's mastery of medicines and the body are more than those of the entire college of Edinburgh taken together."
"Beyond yours as well?"
Bebeef laughed lightly. "I am but a poor country scholar. You see how easily I am fooled."
"Keen must have prepared the stone some time ago. He has been busy of late."
"Perhaps we can assume from his presence in America that our petitions were successful. So that is something. But come, Jake. I hope you did not travel here just to save me."
"I would have," said Jake. "I owe you my life several times over. But I also have great need of your help. I want to kill someone. And then revive him."
"The first part of the equation is easily solved, but the second has given philosophers fits for centuries."
"Why else would I have sought you out?"
The professor's eyebrows began percolating, as if their roots were rubbing the furls of his brain.
"There will be witnesses, so the death must seem absolutely genuine," said Jake. "That is its whole point: I need to kidnap the man for a few hours without anyone realizing it. I was thinking of some sort of paralyzing powder," he added. "Something, perhaps, derived from a sea ray?"
"Paralyzing a man is not the same as killing him. He will continue to breathe heavily with that family of medicines."
"Something else then. I need only a few minutes. But it must be convincing and relatively safe," added Jake, "as I will probably have to die as well."
As Bebeef contemplated the problem, Jake studied the lines in the old man's face. Each seemed to record an entire library being investigated.
"The solution is not so elaborate as you think," said Bebeef finally, his face glowing as he remembered a formula used by certain South American natives in their religious ceremonies. "We will begin with a mandrake root from the garden. Bring me the green-spined book from the storage downstairs. Really, the formula is so simple to prepare I am surprised that you did not think of it yourself."
"That is what you said about the shrinking potion you gave my father for the dog."
"Oh yes, but I am sure this one will work."
Alison slept soundly upstairs for many hours, until well past two. Mrs. Hulter, realizing by some innate sense that her guest was about to wake, walked silently into the room and stood by the bedside, so she was with her when she opened her eyes.
"It's all right, dear, you're among friends," said Mrs. Hulter as Alison bolted upright in confusion. She put her hand gently on her shoulder, urging her back. "Rest a while longer. Jake has told me all about your troubles. I am sorry for your poor father."
A strange sensation took hold of Alison's chest, and suddenly she felt as if her heart had burst. Without warning, she began crying uncontrollably. Mrs. Hulter bent down and held her in her arms as the poor girl was overcome by the grief she had held so firmly in check.
She cried for a solid hour before finally falling back on the bed, exhausted and spent.
"It is a terrible ordeal to lose your father," said the older woman gently. "I cried for days when mine passed on. And I hardly knew my mother."
"Me neither," said Alison.
"My husband now, too, is missing," said Mrs. Hulter, her lips quivering. "There are rumors he is dead."
"Jake can help find him," said Alison.
Mrs. Hulter smiled weakly as she took control of herself. "He has tried. Come. Let us see about getting you something to eat, and some clothes."
"What happened to the clothes I was wearing?"
Her hostess wrinkled her nose. "Those things? They smelled of the river, and several farms' worth of animals."
"They were my disguise."
"Yes, they certainly disguised you," said Mrs. Hulter, in a tone that made it clear she was taking a proprietary interest in her young charge. "But you seem to be ready to burst the bounds of any such disguise. You have even excited some interest from my son."
"Really?"
"He's too young for you, dear; he's barely thirteen. But he had a look in his eyes when he told me about you."
"A look?"
"Men get an expression in their eyes, as if the sockets will collapse."
"Is that love?"
"Well, it is something like it."
"Can I trust you with a secret?"
"Of course."
"I love Jake."
The words rushed from her so suddenly they surprised her.
"Many women love him," said Mrs. Hulter gently. "But. ."
"Do you think he loves me?"
Mrs. Hulter sighed deeply, trying to be diplomatic without lying to the girl. "He is too old for you, dear."
"He's not much older than I, only six or seven years."
"The war has aged him in ways it is difficult to explain." Mrs. Hulter tugged her arm gently. "Do you think he loves you?"
"He saved my life. And I saved his."
"That is one type of love," allowed the older woman. "Still, I think you are after something else, aren't you?"
"How can you tell if someone is in love with you?"
"A person's whole being changes. You will see, when the time comes."
"I will make him love me."
Mrs. Hulter laughed. "I would think that quite difficult. In any event, he is too much a gentleman to take you as a lover, being both older and having been trusted with your safety. But as your guardian or friend, he is a powerful ally to have."
Alison was not ready to settle for that, even if she might suspect it was the truth. Instead, she changed the subject. Slightly.
"I have seen that look you were talking about," said Alison. "If that is love. There is a lieutenant in New York. He tries to be mean to me, but I know he doesn't mean it. He's only seventeen, and already he is a lieutenant."
"Perhaps you should turn your sights on him," said Mrs. Hulter, rising from the bed. "Come, let's find you something to wear."
Alison pushed away the coverlet and followed her hostess to the next room. She was completely without clothes, yet felt no more shame than Eve before the Fall.
"This chemise is practically new." Mrs. Hulter withdrew a light linen shift bordered with fancy lace from the oaken wardrobe that dominated the small room. Alison stroked the lace, as if it were some precious metal she had never seen.
Mrs. Hulter next produced a jumper that had belonged to a niece. This lightly boned corset, not nearly as restricting as the elaborate metal affairs preferred by city ladies, nonetheless would be sufficient to leave little doubt as to Alison's sex — or beauty. Mrs. Hulter then brought out a light blue dress so expertly woven from homespun flax that it seemed like fine silk.