After Monday, October 3rd, I learned that Miss MacLeod and I shared three classes a week. It wasn't something that would ordinarily capture my attention, but her pleasant demeanor and her presence only in courses such as Language and Literature, Philosophical Ethics, and Botanical Theory—despite being enrolled in a medical faculty—struck me as peculiar. She was already a walking flaw by simply being a woman disguised as a man. What was she trying to do? I had begun to question her very existence.
That day, after returning from the academy, I sat at the table where my siblings and I usually discussed our day.
Laurence was the first to notice my distracted manner; he chewed his tomato, swallowed, then set his fork down.
"What's wrong, brother? Did your first day not go well?"
I picked up the napkin before me and wiped my mouth and hands.
"I was thinking… about someone in my class."
All three of my siblings froze mid-air with their forks, turning their eyes toward me. Their surprise was obvious; yet instead of questioning me, they returned their gaze to their plates in perfect silence.
Still, Jasper, of course, remained the only one incapable of suppressing his curiosity.
"Did you know them?"
"No," I said, pressing my lips into a thin line. "It's quite absurd, actually. Someone named Mr. MacLeod. His surname feels familiar, but I can't place it."
Laurence set his knife at the edge of his plate and furrowed his brows slightly.
"Interesting… I'm certain I've heard it in a newspaper somewhere."
Jasper's eyes suddenly lit up; a spark of recognition flickered in his mind. He snapped his fingers.
"Of course! When I went down to the city center, I heard things from the townsfolk. Lord Martin MacLeod… heavily involved in industry and banking, quite wealthy. Probably a relative. Would you like me to look into it for you, brother?"
I pushed my chair back; the wood scraped softly against the floor.
"He doesn't interest me that much." I buttoned my coat and gave my siblings a brief nod.
"Enjoy your meal, gentlemen… and sweet lady."
Elora lifted her head and looked at me; her gaze was both affectionate and distant.
"I'll be in my study."
I turned and walked toward the heavy doors of the hall, leaving behind the Ravencroft family's dinner. I recount this because Jasper and Laurence, curious as ever, did indeed investigate Mr. MacLeod.
Wednesday, October 5, Edinburgh Medical School;
The faculty building's walls had darkened further as night fell, and the inner corridors had grown cold with the echo of silence. Classes had ended hours ago; students had returned to their lodgings, professors long since retired to the warm comforts of their homes in the city.
At this hour the school's doors were usually closed.
But not for me.
From the inner pocket of my coat I fitted the key Jasper had made into the heavy door. The mechanism gave a deep click and opened. As I stepped inside, the dark corridor was lit only by the dim, yellow glow of the gas lamp I had kindled.
Morgue lay beneath the amphitheater, that windowless section no one descended into willingly. Air was thick with the mingled scent of dampness and stale formalin.
I opened the metal door there as well.
Room was filled with three long iron tables; each was covered with a linen cloth.
I didn't close the door—I needed to be able to leave at once if necessary. Besides, even if I left it open, no one would wander here at this hour.
With my lamp in hand I moved between the three iron tables, searching for the right cadaver. If I made incisions at the spots where Professor William or the students had already cut, no evidence would remain on later inspection. I sought a fresher body—the woman examined night. Women's biology was more complex than men's. Just as it had been in life.
I drew the sheet back as far as I could; a woman in her mid-twenties lay there. Her chest bore notches from the students' earlier crude cuts. I took my notebook from my pocket; when I set it on the iron table beside the lamp, leather cover gave a faint creak. I took my pen from the same inner pocket, had removed the key from and opened to the page, left off. Lesson hadn't sufficed, and I knew that by next week another cadaver would replace this one—but this was the woman I needed. Her long black hair was as pale as her skin.
"Skin cold. Discoloration evident. Seven to ten hours postmortem,"
I noted. "Interesting—fairly fresh. I wonder where they found this corpse. Perhaps I should tell Jasper to investigate," I muttered to myself.
From my pocket pulled a small leather roll tied with cords. When unfurled it, the velvet-lined compartments revealed themselves one by one. I took out my silver-handled scalpel and put on my gloves. Gas lamp's light trembled across the metal.
With my finger, I traced old cuts beneath the cadaver's ribs. "I must reexamine the liver's structure… my earlier observations were not detailed enough."
Placing my left hand on the woman's abdomen, I pressed the scalpel into the tissue with my right.
As the incision opened, a heavy, lukewarm-less scent spread through the room. On my face there was only scientific curiosity—and a faint sense of calm.
Continued writing in my notes.
"Section clean. Organ structure well preserved."
My ears shifted toward a faint sound somewhere in the corridor. A soft clink—like metal brushing metal. I was certain no one else was supposed to be here, but… was I certain enough? It hadn't even been an hour since I had arrived; had someone been locked inside earlier, I would have noticed. Whoever it was, they must have entered after me.
Had they followed me?
With no windows here, I couldn't check the outside either.
Lamp's flickering light illuminated the crack beneath the door—just enough for me to see it shift by a millimeter.
Calmly, I rested my hands on the table and waited for whoever approached. Trusted my excuses, and the baronial title I could hide behind.
Door slowly opened. And in the narrow gap stood Miss MacLeod—breath caught, eyes widened in horror. Interesting. It was the first time I had seen her in clothing befitting a woman; the pastel-colored dress suited her far better than the masculine garments she usually wore.
Faint light spilling through the half-open door made her face appear even paler. Her gaze darted from scalpel, to the opened abdomen, to my blood-stained gloves.
Her lips trembled.
"Sir…?" she whispered. It was clear she didn't know my name—she saw me, yet she didn't recognize me. Her voice carried thin cracks of fear laced with curiosity.
I said nothing. Simply looked at her. My presence here wasn't nearly as unexpected as hers. After all, this was far from my first time sneaking into the dissection chamber. I set scalpel down, slid off my gloves with the tips of my fingers, and placed them aside.
Miss MacLeod was still at the door, pressed against the wall, breathing sharply with fear.
I took the lamp in my hand and walked toward her, slow and deliberate. As the light reached her face, her eyes widened further.
"What are you doing here?" I asked in a low voice.
Her gaze flicked back and forth between the corpse and my fingers.
"I should be asking you that… what are you doing with that… body?"
My expression remained utterly still and cold.
"In case it has escaped your notice, we are in a medical faculty," I said.
"The real question is: what are you doing here, Miss MacLeod… a woman wandering into this place at such an hour?"
Her eyes narrowed faintly.
"Did you… investigate me?"
"No. You simply resemble the Mr. MacLeod in my class. I assumed you might be related—perhaps siblings? Twins?"
It was unmistakably her, of course. I had known from the moment I saw her… and for now, I intended to keep her secret.
"Who are you?"
I lowered the light slightly toward her face and extended my hand to her.
"Adrian Ravencroft."
Woman hesitated for a few seconds, then extended her hand as well. Just as I had suspected, despite her glove, her fingertips were ice cold, while her palm held an unexpected warmth. We exchanged a brief greeting and let go.
"MacLeod."
With a faint smile—one that never reached my eyes—I asked, "Will you keep your first name a secret as well?" I had no desire to grow too familiar with a woman who seemed complicated even in the very first moments of our acquaintance. Strangeness of the situation had brought us here, after all.
MacLeod's gaze drifted away from the corpse and returned to my face.
"I'm sure," she said slowly, "that someone who recognizes my surname just because my brother's face resembles mine… can also figure out my name. What are you doing here? How many times must I ask?"
I couldn't believe she was interrogating me.
"I have no intention of looking up your name. I am here with the professor's permission, continuing my work for class, and I will share my notes with him later. You, Miss MacLeod—you being here makes no sense."
Miss MacLeod stood a little straighter; I noticed she was holding an envelope tightly with both hands.
"I was supposed to meet with a professor here. My brother has been skipping some of his classes. The outer door was open, so I thought he might be somewhere inside the faculty. While I was searching for him and saw the light of your lamp. Thought it was him."
I folded my arms in front of me and squinted slightly as looked at her. Though unofficial, yes—absences could be forgiven through bribery. Still, missing multiple classes should have drawn attention… as should her feminine appearance. I found the idea of bribery reasonable; she had no other choice. Bribery was also a method myself could use for cadavers, though leaving mercenaries behind would certainly count as evidence.
Aside from my own presence, Miss MacLeod's argument was reasonable. After all, if she didn't want to miss the lectures that interested her in the medical faculty, her explanation was highly plausible; and the fact that she risked this much just to attend a class struck me as a kind of boldly immodest courage. According to what I'd heard from Jasper, she was also related to someone wealthy. The only illogical part was that her supposed brother had sent her here alone, as a woman. Without digging too deeply into that detail, I shrugged and walked back toward the female cadaver.
Heard the sound of heels following me, like a moth drifting after a flame. I didn't look at her, but I knew she was clutching her skirt with her cold fingers.
"Aren't you going to question me, Mr. Ravencroft? I might have lied."
"No, miss. I believe in your honesty. Please don't deprive me of my work any further, and close the door on your way out."
"I… thought you would escort me home."
My expression lingered somewhere between condescension and curiosity. What was this woman's intention? I had been gentlemanly enough to let her leave, after all.
"You may return the same way you arrived."
I glanced at the open page of my notebook as continued.
"You certainly didn't seem frightened when you came in, and your brother must trust you enough to send you alone." Lifted my head slightly, though didn't turn my face fully toward her. I spoke calmly, as if my words carried no real weight.
"Be careful. The streets of Edinburgh can be dangerous at night. We wouldn't want you dead."
I had given her a bare truth—perhaps even a mild warning.
Instead of looking at the door, MacLeod took a step forward. Then another… until she stood on the opposite side of the metal table, leaning toward the cadaver.
"A woman," she said, in a soft but strangely toned voice.
"Her hair… looks like mine."
Raised the lamp a little and turned my gaze to Miss MacLeod. I spoke with cold patience.
"Your stomach may not handle this, Miss MacLeod. Would you please leave?"
MacLeod lifted her head, and our eyes met. In the yellow light, her eyes gleamed.
"Said it yourself—Edinburgh is dangerous at night. I will wait until you finish your work."
"You could wait outside as well. I'm certain standing in a cold, windowless morgue with a corpse and a man must frighten you."
"There is no meaning in fearing a body without a soul."
She smiled and looked at the cadaver's face.
"And then, of course, there is this lady."
A brief silence settled over the morgue. The light in my hand flickered. Her wordplay unsettled me; she was as complicated as any person, and I had no intention of deciphering her. What surprised me was the unhinged courage she possessed. She was one of the rare people who could ignore—perhaps even erase—my boundaries entirely. I accepted her behavior as natural; she did not know me. But her insistence on staying was, frankly, more irritating than most politicians I had met.
From my roll, I took out the black silk suture thread — a fine yet stubborn fiber that gleamed faintly in the lamplight. I locked the curved surgical needle into the hemostat and carefully brought the edges of the cadaver's wound together.
"What happens if you don't close the wound?"
She didn't seem afraid of the corpse; in her curious voice I detected faint grains of genuine interest.
"When left open and allowed to decay, incisions like these lose their structural integrity."
"I see."
She leaned toward my notebook lying open on the opposite side of the table. From that angle she could still read my handwriting.
"Your handwriting… it's as beautiful as a woman's, Mr. Ravencroft," her tone carrying a hint of astonishment.
I didn't react as passed the needle through for the second stitch. Persistence—her stubborn attempts to converse—only made me finish faster; the sooner took her home, the sooner this would end.
Tied the final knot and cut the thread with my scissors. The black silk lay on the corpse's pale skin like a thin, embroidered lace.
I gathered my surgical roll with practiced ease and pulled the leather cord tight without a sound. Straightening the lapels of my coat, I dressed, slipped my gloves one inside the other and tucked them into my pocket. I laid the white cloth carefully over the cadaver once more. My notebook slid into the pocket of my dark trousers, the pencil returning to its place in my breast pocket. Finally, I picked up the lamp and cast a brief glance across the metal table to make sure I had left no trace behind.
"At last, I can escort you home, madam."
MacLeod tilted her head with a light, teasing smile.
"How very kind of you, sir. If I weren't embarrassed to admit it, I'd think you finished your work early simply because you were tired of me."
I answered her correct guess only with narrowed eyes and a refined yet distant smile. I stepped toward her and lifted the lamp; its glow scattered across the dim morgue walls. As I guided her forward, my other hand turned the keys in each lock—each click echoing sharply in the cold corridor.
When the beam of light struck MacLeod's face, I noticed a faint spark of curiosity in her eyes. Perhaps fear. Or perhaps something else—something that might make this night far more dangerous for me.
As we walked, only the hollow resonance of Edinburgh's cold streets accompanied us. The wet cobblestones reflected the moonlight like a pale mirror, and now and then the mist rose around our legs in slow, wavering curls. From time to time, I listened to the steady rhythm of the woman's footsteps at my side—neither timid nor hesitant. Far too calm.
We walked in silence all the way to the city center. When a modest townhouse emerged before us in New Town, nestled between Queen Street and Heriot Row, MacLeod came to a stop.
"Here we are. This is my home."
Location of her home was already marked in my mind. It was one of the buildings my carriage passed every time I descended from Ravencroft Manor.
I raised an eyebrow in silence.
"Revealing the location of your home to a man you barely know…" I said, the flickering lamplight sharpening the lines of my face and mustache. "You must be either very naïve or very brave, Miss MacLeod."
As the woman climbed the steps, she turned back to look at me. Her smile was as light as morning sun cutting through fog—its intention never quite decipherable.
"For some reason," she said, "I have a feeling you would know the way to my home by heart, Baron Ravencroft."
For a moment, my breath caught. She had known who I was all along, yet had sharpened her words regardless.
My first thought was that I might have wronged her somehow without realizing it—but I dismissed the idea quickly.
Frankly, even if I had offended her, I would not have cared. The only thing about a woman that could matter to me was whether she was capable of continuing my bloodline. Nothing else she could say held any significance; truth be told, I would have been perfectly content if she were mute. Her appearance, at least, was not unpleasant.
MacLeod knocked on the door; a young maid opened it promptly.
"Well then, good night," MacLeod said as she stepped inside.
"Good night, Mr. MacLeod."
I noticed the flicker of surprise in her eyes—she knew I had not misspoken. She looked at me for a moment, with genuine seriousness, with unguarded emotion.
Then she went inside.
When the door closed, the street was left with the silence of a single man—my own. The fog, the night, and the cobblestones were thick enough to conceal my unease. I could discern the confusion within every breathing soul, and what baffled me most was that even those as cryptic as Miss MacLeod had blood running through their veins. I wished to know what stirred within that small mind of hers, yet I was wise enough not to grant my priority to a woman.
"Next time, I will make certain no one is around."
Walked away from MacLeod's door, choosing to ride a carriage for a while before stepping off and continuing on foot. My footsteps echoed through the streets of Edinburgh, forming the perfect rhythm to accompany the turmoil in my mind. The cold carved thin cuts across my face like a knife, and the shadows of the buildings trailed behind me, following my slow, heavy thoughts. I had failed to obtain the information I sought today, and now there was no chance for me to examine that cadaver again. The frustration ignited the void within me. I needed relief—yet even relief had its proper time, and tonight was not it.
I let out a deep sigh. I wasn't angry at Miss MacLeod; behaving like a human was simply in her nature. What intrigued me far more was the fact that the cadaver hadn't disturbed her. When she first stepped through the door, was it not the corpse that had frightened her, but my presence instead? Did the living unsettle her more than the dead? If so, we shared a common trait.
After a long uphill walk, the tall wrought-iron gates of Ravencroft Manor stood before me. At the entrance waited Sebastian Thornwick—disciplined enough that his shoulders didn't tremble, yet his face carried a trace of worry.
"Sir, you have finally arrived."
"You seem pleased to see me, Thornwick. Is something wrong?" I handed him the lamp I had been carrying.
Before Sebastian could answer, the shadow behind him stirred. Elora, with her delicate face and chestnut hair, stood half-hidden, her eyes shimmering with the eagerness of seeing me.
My stern features softened; I reached out and gently brushed my hand through the girl's hair. One should treat a child they have raised with kindness—so that wherever I went, she would follow, and whatever I did, she would defend me.
"You're not asleep. Were you waiting for me? Where are your brothers?"
Elora stepped forward shyly.
"They were very tired today and went to sleep. So I waited for you."
I gently wrapped an arm around Elora's waist and lifted her into my arms; she had grown heavier since the last time I carried her. With a single glance, I ordered Sebastian to step aside. The butler obeyed, slipping respectfully back into the shadows.
"There was nothing in your brothers' schedules today that should have tired them," I remarked as I carried my little sister through the corridor.
The halls of the Ravencroft estate held a deathly silence at night—one that always sharpened my thoughts.
Clinging to my collar, Elora whispered,
"They went down to the city today… I heard they were going to investigate something."
I knew she would never lie to me, and the reason she whispered was simply so the twins wouldn't overhear. A dark glimmer flashed in my eyes.
"Oh, I see," said calmly. "Did you miss me, or is there something else you wish to tell me?"
Elora took a deep breath. What I saw on her face was not fear—only worry. I knew she liked waiting for my return, though she usually went to bed early so I wouldn't think she was disobedient. If she hadn't slept tonight, there had to be a reason.
"Brother… next year I'll be attending the balls to meet gentlemen, won't I?"
"Yes, Elora. You will be turning sixteen. As your elder, I must introduce you to society."
At my answer, she suddenly buried her face against my shoulder.
"I don't want to!"
I paused, feeling the tightness of her grip around me. I didn't need much thought to understand what her reaction meant: Elora despised the idea of being paraded among the wolves of society like some ornament. And… she was likely afraid of being separated from us.
In the dim light of the corridor, I looked down at my sister.
"Are you frightened?" Asked, my voice softer than I expected it to be. I was becoming quite skilled at mimicking emotion.
Elora gave a small nod.
My fingers moved slowly along her back—a soothing, reassuring gesture.
"Don't worry. I won't force you into anything. But… society must at least be aware of your existence. And of course, I won't leave your side."
"If you say so…"
"Come now, let's get you to bed. It's time for you to sleep. Tomorrow, I need to speak with the twins—let's see what they've been up to without informing me."
"Brother, don't hurt them."
I smiled.