As Benedict retreated toward the doorway, he paused and cast a sidelong glance before offering one final remark.
"There is one last matter, Marian suspects this whole arrangement is the Hemlock's doing. Gabriel picked this location to lend credence to your supposed disguise."
Darwin sent him a doubtful glance, but before he could reply, Benedict had already left the room.
He exhaled in vexation and began to remove his gloves.
Each article of protective apparel he arranged along the desk's edge, like chessmen upon a board.
After smoothing his silvery hair back from his temples, Darwin folded his arms across his chest and mused inwardly.
"Perhaps my eagerness to hide does more harm than good. If she already accepts the masquerade, what greater risk than seeming too intent on hiding myself?"
Barely three minutes later, Benedict rejoined, accompanied by a woman who appeared in the late years of her twenties.
She carried herself with modest decorum; her black hair drawn into a precise chignon, which accentuated the austere clarity of her steel-grey eyes and the disdainful sharpness of her features.
She didn't so much as look at Darwin, only kept behind Benedict with a reserved posture.
Her arms were folded, though her shoulders stayed squared and her back straight.
Benedict came to a halt in the center of the room. "This is Ms. Marian Prentiss."
'And Mr. Gabriel Audrye,' he added, inclining his hand toward Darwin. 'Though introductions may not be strictly necessary, it is still proper to observe the customary formalities.'
At last, her expression softened.
She unhurriedly approached Darwin and extended her gloved hand.
Darwin accepted it, steadying his grasp to mask any tremor of nerves.
"Pleasure to see you again, Gabriel," she politely intoned. "It's a pity our circumstances haven't allowed us more time together."
Darwin swallowed, withdrawing his hand and curling his fingers into a tight fist beneath his coat.
He had no notion what 'catching up' she presumed, but flustered politeness would do as well as anything.
He cleared his throat and replied calmly, "Indeed."
The woman, then, cast Benedict a glance before returning to Darwin.
Darwin felt a bit of relief as the woman's warm smile tempered her query. "It does seem we are still bound by duties.Shall we find an hour another day to catch up properly?"
He gave a cursory nod before motioning toward the table that Benedict had already laid out.
After taking his seat, Darwin looked back, but Benedict was already retreating from the doorway.
Strangely, his absence left him more ill at ease, for it was surely Gabriel's place to scrutinize Marian, not his own.
"What an interesting disguise you've chosen," Marian remarked, drawing Darwin back from his thoughts. "I cannot say I have encountered such pale tresses before. Somehow, they give you a younger countenance."
Darwin straightened himself and lifted his chin so that he could properly regard her silver eyes.
"Indeed," Darwin nodded. "I confess I considered the very same: such a disguise hardly achieves concealment, in that it causes one to stand out."
He casually assessed his attire, then joked: "Of course, these garments strike a curious compromise. Too conspicuous above the collar, too readily forgotten below. One cannot quite decide whether to remember me or not. Perhaps, after all, that is the intention."
Marian hummed as she stared at his sleeve.
Following her glance, he noted a faint smear of chalk marring the fabric.
He opened his mouth slightly and brushed at the mark, but the chalk merely smudged further.
So, with a small sigh, he rolled his sleeves to the elbow and folded his hands neatly in his lap.
Even as Marian's courteous smile remained, Darwin, reclining slightly, quickly sensed the scrutiny beneath it.
Nevertheless, he adjusted with the same composure that had become his hallmark.
"A curious paradox," she observed at last. "To be both visible and ignored in the same instant. I've long found such half-measures insufferable."
"Because they fail to fulfill either purpose?" he ventured.
"Because they squander time," she countered coolly. "The world remembers either sharply or not at all. Why tarry in between?"
He caught her meaning at once.
'She permits nothing to be done in vain.
Perhaps she meant that a disguise, if too obvious to conceal and too dull to mislead, was nothing but wasted effort. If so, then even deceit must land cleanly the first time to be worth the trouble.
It feels like a coincidence since I came here as myself…'
This notion unsettled him profoundly.
Especially because what lay beneath the surface was as dangerous as it was intangible.
Lacking any prior experience, how was he to act as though he belonged?
More troubling still: his understanding of Gabriel derived from nothing but a single, fleeting encounter.
Darwin drew in a breath to steady his thoughts and reminded himself. 'Artifice does not rest in rehearsed lines or gestures. I need to only offer enough for others to complete the picture themselves. The more I press, the likelier I am to falter. Maybe it is better to move with restraint, and let their own assumptions bear the weight.'
With that, Darwin inclined slightly forward, resting his chin upon his hand, and addressed her first this time: "Then we shall not tarry, Marian. Yet I cannot help but ask, what has transpired in my absence?"
The corner of Marian's eyes curved ever so slightly at his inquiry.
"Little, I'm afraid. The branch remains concealed in its usual shade. If any alteration stirred, it was during our last assignment. But that is concluded, and nothing has since moved."
Darwin's gaze lingered on the table. Its surface was veiled in a thick coat of dust and chalk, enough that a fingertip could sketch upon it with ease.
He idly dragged a line through the residue, then, after some thought, changed the subject, "Were a man intent on vanishing within such a room, he would leave no fresh marks. He would but retrace the impressions of lessons long past, and let uncertainty supply the rest."
Darwin's thoughts coalesced inwardly:
'Given Gabriel had raised this matter upon our very first meeting, it stands to reason he would have spoken of it to her as well. I can only hope I was not the sole one before whom he betrayed such weirdness.'
Marian laughed out loud. "Indeed! You quite enjoyed that portion of Bernholt's lesson. We left the magistrates chasing shadows while the truth slipped further into our pockets."
Darwin inclined his head a fraction, as though to signal accord. His fingers tightened with a sudden idea, and he answered evenly, "Quite so. Yet in certain moments, blanks prove useful when set where men expect substance. While we sent the magistrates down a path to nowhere, we purchased our own time."
Darwin traced his response to her earlier words, nudging her critique of effortless disguises toward a debate; after all, he found disputation came easily to him.
Heartened by the ground he gained, he added, "The same principle applies here. You take me for a colleague, engaged in a trifling analysis. But what if I offer you only a semblance, letting you mistake emptiness for meaning? Then tell me, when substance and deception wear the same face, what do you examine first to know the truth?"
Though Marian remained seated, Darwin sensed a subtle shift in her demeanor. "Very well," she intoned. "I believe I perceive your design..."
Darwin's hand twitched involuntarily, which he swiftly concealed with a scratch behind his head.
Yet the moment passed only to leave his worry multiplied. 'How had she caught on so—'
"You wish to test my method rather than learn by example. If you mean to question me, provide a scenario, so I may show why my idea holds merit."
As Marian finished speaking, Darwin couldn't help but rest his shoulders in relief.
"It seems I will lead the course of this conversation… I guess it's fortunate that I can turn imagined scenarios into something useful."
Marian delicately tapped her chin with her index finger: "Let me hear your problem, Mr. Gabriel."
Darwin's lip twitched at the name, though he smothered the thought of mentioning it.
In their sole prior encounter, he had grasped one immutable truth: Gabriel preferred invention over exposition as a measure. He contrived circumstances, beckoned others into them, and allowed their reactions to betray more than any straightforward interrogation could.
Marian, discerning this parlor game, had likely recognised at once that Gabriel's famed experiments were at play.
Darwin thought, 'as long as I maintain the same subtle tempo, she will perceive confidence instead of uncertainty.'
He surveyed the room a second time, this time, weaving together a tentative story from what he observed.
Two solitary figures in a derelict schoolhouse, their dialogue merely a prelude to their vague intentions.
Darwin addressed her with composure:
"An evidently cautious woman entered the abandoned schoolroom. She had been instructed, under her own regulations, to conduct an analysis with a colleague within her organization. She accepted the task without hesitation, observing every detail of his responses and manner, despite the lessons she likely received about discretion."
He clicked his tongue softly.
Leaning over the desk, he assumed a subtly intimidating presence and lowered his voice. "So, Miss Marian," he said, "what is her true intention?"
Marian paused a moment, assessing his question.
Eventually, she answered assertively, "'She' is not looking for eloquent speeches or carefully refined lies."
She continued, "I want to see how a man carries himself under pressure. Any scholar can memorize theory, but it's in those small, unexpected moments that a person's true character comes out. A careless slip will show more than any rehearsed answer. In the end, it's the man who expresses no need to prove himself, whom I don't set my suspicions upon."
Darwin winced inwardly at how keenly her words mocked his own situation
Even so, perhaps she was speaking in general terms.
Still, the manner in which she sought to conclude her analysis left Darwin barely clinging to composure.
He replied in a casual tone, "Perhaps you regard my words as superstition. You ought to know, it is my nature never to speak outright. I prefer to weave in implications that leave no trace, nothing that might stain my conscience in hindsight. One who communicates in a manner beyond description… is neither wholly present nor understood. Such a one may only be called a ghost."
Marian studied him quietly in the candlelight. After a thoughtful pause, she said, "That sounds precisely like you."
A tremor ran through him at her words.
'She saw right through my penmanship, yet appeared inclined to accept my explanation as to why I hadn't inquired directly about her intentions,' Darwin noted.
A sudden thought struck Darwin. He scoffed wryly, then continued as if elaborating on his earlier words, "Does it? Wouldn't you agree then, that one such as myself gains reward out of what you deem idle effort? It seems I must either enlighten you on the value of standing at the center of a scale in certain circumstances, or you must demonstrate to me why such effort is indeed wasted when including some performance."
After Darwin finished speaking, he settled back in his chair. And Marian politely nodded.
"Very well. Let us play at school, then. Surely you recall the nature of a standard copybook. As I've already said, we do not judge a student by his perfect handwriting, but by the mistakes he makes. Errors will teach more than polished answers."
'Seems she's urging me to oppose her, but only with answers Gabriel himself would give. This would be a perfect strategy for her to note the flaws in my judgments…'
Darwin swallowed. 'I must be more careful.'
"Very well," he replied.
He folded his hands and kept his demeanor placid.
"Then set the lesson. I appreciate the freedom, yet it seems fairer if you choose the maxim, not some lofty adage, but something practical, perhaps one that could vex even a stern magistrate."
Marian answered without hesitation, "No man is caught if no one remembers."
A shiver coursed down Darwin's spine.
He recalled Gabriel's fascination with the act of vanishing, how, with the proper choices, one could so easily slip from existence, even after committing unthinkable crimes.
He fell silent for a heartbeat, then returned to her school metaphor. "And in your copybook," he inquired, "what would be the pupil's first mistake?"
Marian narrowed her eyes, as though studying a child's handwriting. "To assume that memory fades on its own requires a willful intent to decide what must vanish."
Darwin inclined his head in slight assent.
"And the second?" he asked quietly.
"Forgetting is the easy lie; truth is arduous," Marian replied. "You must bury what was, supplant it, overwrite the old story, and remaining idle will inevitably leave traces."
Darwin mulled over her words, then rephrased to test the reasoning behind her challenge, "So the student supposes memory will fade of its own accord, when in truth, it is the work of a careful hand; someone laboring to make it so."
Marian pursed her lips subtly, as if curious at his answer.
She continued in her calm accent, "A third error lies in believing that forgetting must last forever. The true skill is in discerning who holds such memories, and whether they will take them to the grave."
After she finished the errors, an almost eager grin curled at the corners of Darwin's lips.
Their exchange mirrored the theater scene so closely it felt rehearsed, a resemblance that granted him a tactful advantage in deciphering its slight deviations.
He had even remembered Gabriel's dictum: Consequences are often more fitting than justice.
At that time, Gabriel had whispered that "consequences" mattered far more than "justice", insisting that one must maneuver the right minds from the outset.
He sneered at reliance on the passage of time, warning that if left unchecked, "they'd be the ones left searching."
Gabriel would have scoffed at entrusting time to erase memories.
He would sooner appoint a curator for secrets.
To him, memory existed only through active upkeep.
He had yawned at passive rumination, once telling Darwin that an alibi isn't the absence of proof but proof planted in capable hands.
Forgetting, to Gabriel, was never innocent neglect but overwriting the victim's life beneath fresh layers, just enough to keep a criminal from suspicion."
And as for permanence, Gabriel was no timid soul: if a witness could carry a recollection safely to the grave, or repeat a single planted narrative, then that was better than making the people oblivious.
'Above all, Gabriel would choose what left him with the greatest control.'
Darwin sat rigid in his chair, fingers steepled.
The humor vanished from his features as he spoke, "The child's first failing is in supposing that time, by itself, will efface a secret. Memory does not drift into oblivion unaided. You must appoint a custodian. A clerk, perhaps, or the porter who seals the records."
He paused, studying the line he drew in the chalk-dust as he resolved his thoughts.
Then he continued as if correcting an obvious misunderstanding: "Second: forgetting demands exertion. We can not simply cleanse a page, but can overwrite its traits, and bury the original beneath layers of routine until the old ink is unrecognizable."
Darwin looked steadily at Marian, discerning the waning trace of the flame in her iris.
"And third, the gravest error, is in believing permanence necessary. Permanence is a priest's conceit. Surely, what matters is dominion over memory. A recollection may remain pristine, so long as its keeper and their closest relatives fade away."
He gave a slight, knowing shrug, as if dismissing the notion as an obvious triviality.
When Marian finally collected herself, she displayed no change in manner, simply sharing an assessment of his responses, "You've given me a meticulous lesson, indeed. The pupil may yet err if time is enshrined as an ally. And as you say, only labor teaches with such thorough rigor." She tapped a fingertip on the desk. "Permanence, after all, need not trouble the student. The true lesson lies in discerning whose hand controls what remains. One may witness everything, but only the cunning ensure that what's left mirrors intention."
Marian sniffled before asking, "Tell me, Mr. Gabriel… would you assess a pupil through the misstep, or through its correction?"
"Is it not simply a question of whether a misstep exists?" Darwin answered.
She allowed herself a faintly amused look. "I cannot say if that was your boast or a sincere answer."
An undercurrent of tension filled the silence that followed.
Then, Marian's lips curved in a thoughtful hum before she changed the subject.
"Benedict conveyed that we are to hold this session as an analysis. Ever droll of him, to make situations appear more serious."
Darwin was surprised. "You are acquainted with Benedict?" he asked coolly.
"In cursory understanding," she replied immediately. "Sufficient to know he trusts you more than prudence warrants."
Darwin smiled. "Naturally."
"That, then, is my report." She paused thoughtfully. "Shall we await his return? I perceive nothing amiss; you may inform our superiors accordingly."
Darwin blinked slowly, restraining as best he could a surge of relief.
Marian reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and produced a small, plain tin.
Without opening it, she placed it beside the candle where the lamp's glow dulled its metal surface. "Matches," she said, a pitch higher. "In case the candle tires prematurely."
Though she had set it nearer to him, her tone carried neither invitation nor reprimand.
Marian tilted her head and smoothed a stray lock of hair into the rest as her gaze drifted aside.
Then, almost casually: "Though, there is a rather simple matter that has been on my mind for some time."
Darwin lifted his head. "And what matters is that?"
"Your left hand."
He swallowed. "What of it?"
"You rarely removed your gloves in the past. When you had one, you always kept the left one on. I recall you once said a draught troubled you as a child. You even boasted of wearing that glove for seventeen years."
At the same moment, Darwin felt his throat constrict, and a sheen of sweat broke out across his hands.
He opened and closed his mouth, but made no sound.
"And yet," Marian added lightly, "you've placed it aside. Surely this cannot be another of your disguises."
In an instant, the candle extinguished, swallowing the room in darkness.
Darwin exhaled slowly, feigning impatience.
With his right hand, he lifted the tin, flipping it until its rough edge faced him. "Men embellish their reasons when they find themselves with an audience," he said smoothly.
The rasp of a match sounded once, and he leaned forward to relight the candle.
After the candle's wick ignited, Darwin flicked the match with a swift motion.
Marian quietly stared across the table.
"Isn't that so? But you're not one for such pretence—you've already shown me the scar. Do you not recall?" she asked, resting her chin lightly on her hand.
Darwin's tongue pressed against his teeth. "H-have I?" he stammered.
Marian smiled. Though the smile was not overtly mocking, the timing made it feel as though it were.
Before he could react, she reached across the table, grasped his left hand, and pulled it near the candle's flame.
Every nerve in him cried out to withdraw, yet he sat rigid, as though her presence pinned him in place.
After a few seconds, Marian released his hand without a word and folded her hands in her lap.
A sudden revulsion of dread swept over him as he realized that the true danger had never been in concealing his conscience, but in his own body betraying him.
His heart pounded relentlessly.
At last, Marian said: "You appear quite vexed, Mr. Gabriel."
"Only mildly so," he replied, attempting a dry, brittle laugh. "I suppose I conceal it better than most."
Marian's expression remained carved in marble. "Indeed," she said. "Yet I must confess, your answers were rather tiresome. That scar, he never neglected it. Not even in a private company."
She reached for the candle and, moistening her fingers, pinched the wick.
The window allowed a thin sickle of moonlight into the classroom.
For a brief moment, Darwin stopped breathing altogether as Marian suddenly inquired, "May I trouble you to accompany me somewhere better lit?"
"Am I being placed under arrest?"
"I'm merely having your identity confirmed," she corrected. "If you are indeed who you claim to be, no harm shall come. I merely take precautions to prevent an outsider from absconding with information they should not possess. A mere semblance does not a man make."
Darwin bowed his head and rose without hesitation, acutely aware that any delay might be taken as guilt.
With his right hand, steady and unerring, he retrieved his coat, gloves, hat, and scarf.
Darwin's thoughts churned. 'Where in God's name is Benedict? How did she know about the scar? This cannot be right. Fool—why did I ever ask about the salary? Why did I accept this post at all?'
Outside, beneath the cool sweep of the night sky, Marian tilted her head just so. "Do keep your hands visible."
Darwin gathered what composure he could, then complied without a word.