It was the fifth day since Henry, covered in blood, had been brought to Dunville Park.

During this time, Olivia had been closely watching her brother Henry’s bedroom. It was the first time such a dramatic situation had unfolded at Dunville Park since those two fools, Daniel and George, set fire to an abandoned cabin in the Dunville Park woods, turning the nearby forest into a sea of flames.

Physicians and inspectors had been coming and going from the house almost daily. Olivia, who loved dramatic situations more than anyone, couldn’t possibly stay primly in her room like a proper lady when such thrilling events were happening in the house.

Olivia had peeked through the crack in the door, watching as her brother Henry screamed while having his torn forehead stitched and his broken ribs set. She also eavesdropped from behind the door when the inspector and a sketch artist visited, asking Henry to assist with the investigation, only to see him clamp his mouth shut and remain silent.

And so, she began to wonder. Why was her brother Henry not cooperating with the investigation at all?

Thus began the deductions of our Miss Holmes, young Olivia. In between piano lessons and painting classes, she would spread out the newspapers her father had finished reading and left scattered on the sofa, scanning the society pages filled with incidents and accidents. She also secretly listened to the whispers and rumors among the servants.

She didn’t miss the sound of sobbing coming from Henry’s room when he was alone with the nurse.

Based on the information she gathered, she managed to come up with a few plausible theories. And, like any fifteen-year-old girl drawn to the sensational, her mind completely leaned toward the most horrifying deduction of all.

“That’s it!”

She immediately crossed over to her mother’s room. Mrs. Fairfax was wrapped in a fox-fur shawl, warming herself by the fireplace.

“Mother, Mother.”

“What is it, Olivia?”

Mrs. Fairfax responded in a tone that suggested, unless it was something significant, Olivia should just leave.

Lately, she had been noticeably more subdued. She was more lethargic than usual and had developed headaches she never had before. It was only natural, given that her own child had been beaten nearly to death by robbers.

Olivia, fidgeting with her fingers, spoke up.

“What do you think about Henry not cooperating with the investigation?”

Mrs. Fairfax glanced at her daughter from beneath drooping eyelids.

“You always ask for my opinion before launching into what you want to say, don’t you? Even though you never listen anyway.”

Olivia felt a bit embarrassed.

“Just say it, Olivia. It’s probably some ridiculous nonsense, as usual, but you’ve got that condition where nonsense builds up like poison in your body if you don’t let it out.”

“I know you’re upset, but don’t be so sarcastic. And this isn’t nonsense. If you hear me out, you’ll see it’s a pretty reasonable deduction. You might even see me in a new light.”

That blasted Arthur Conan Doyle turned my daughter, who was obsessed with fairy-tale princesses, into a private detective fanatic. Well, I suppose it’s all the same.

Mrs. Fairfax nodded, signaling for Olivia to go ahead and speak. Olivia crossed her arms and sighed.

“When you read the society pages in the newspapers, it’s just one immoral thing after another. Violence, robbery, murder, vice, fraud, unspeakable crimes against women. The pure hearts of Englishmen, who once lived honestly under the sacred order of the Church of England, have been corrupted amidst the black smog and the growing divide between the rich and the poor. And that corruption is increasingly reaching out to prey on innocent, hardworking people. It’s deplorable.”

“Are you planning to run for office?”

Olivia pretended not to hear.

“You can easily guess the state of English society from the robbery that took place in this quiet Yorkshire countryside. I believe Henry has become a victim of England’s vile corruption. The black hand of sin, like a lump of coal, has ruined him.”

“That’s quite a speech. So, as you say, that hand of sin has left your brother bedridden for at least three months. Who doesn’t know that?”

“But why isn’t he cooperating with the investigation?”

Mrs. Fairfax was at a loss for words. Olivia had suddenly struck at the heart of her worries. The unexplained intentions of her son were the reason for her newfound headaches. Why wasn’t Henry helping to catch and punish the person who had left him battered?

Her son’s inscrutable motives were taking a toll on Mrs. Fairfax’s health.

“I’ve thought about the reason. Did the culprit threaten to set fire to Dunville Park? Or was there a woman among the robbers who beat him, and he fell for her at first sight? None of it makes sense. If robbers hit Whitefield, it’s only natural that Dunville Park’s security would be tightened, and how pretty could a female robber even be? Some thief girl could hardly catch the eye of a brother who has a sister like me.”

Olivia continued, with a touch of self-satisfaction.

“While I was puzzling over the reason, I overheard the servants whispering. They say bands of gypsies often appear around Whitefield. They lure people with songs and music to pick their pockets. They offer fake fortune-telling, sell strange herbs or lucky stones, and some of them even act as nighttime companions. Not just women, but men too!”

“Men? To women?”

Olivia shook her head vigorously.

“To men!”

Mrs. Fairfax let out an “Ah” and nodded.

“That does happen, I suppose. But what does that have to do with Henry’s situation?”

“Why can’t you see it? Gypsy men are used to offering themselves to other men. It’s just as easy for them to… well, you know. Maybe… no, I’m certain. They came to rob Whitefield, saw Henry, were smitten, and lured him into the woods to take advantage of him!”

Mrs. Fairfax’s face contorted—not out of shock, but as if she’d heard a crude and unfunny joke.

“Really, Olivia…!”

“Mother, hear me out calmly. You might not care how Henry looks as your son, but objectively, he’s very handsome. Not ruggedly handsome, but delicately so. If he’d been born in ancient Greece, soldiers and philosophers would’ve fought duels to make him their beloved. And Mother, think back to Henry’s school days. There was that boy in the dormitory who tried something with him. I still vividly remember Father and Uncle storming off to the school in a rage over it.”

“You were only five or six at the time, and you remember that?”

“Of course. It was the only time Father and Uncle ever agreed on anything. Anyway, I’m convinced. Henry was assaulted by gypsies.”

Having finished, Olivia paused, silently congratulating herself on her brilliant deduction.

If her theory was correct, her brother had suffered a terrible trauma, but she didn’t dwell on it. Her affection for male relatives was entirely directed toward her uncle Ian, and she couldn’t quite grasp the gravity of a man’s sexual humiliation, unlike if it had happened to a woman.

Mrs. Fairfax mulled over Olivia’s story.

It does fit together.

She knew her eldest son’s temperament well. He was shy and sensitive. If something like that had happened, Henry would never want the culprits caught. If they were caught, the details of the crime would come to light, and the world would know what he’d endured.

“Olivia.”

“Yes, Mother?”

“I know you’ve been sneaking around Henry’s room. From now on, report everything that happens in his room to me.”

Olivia nodded. Unlike usual, her mother was taking her opinion quite seriously. Her mood soared through the ceiling and into the sky.

“When the doctor comes for his visit today, I’ll listen to everything and let you know.”

“Don’t get too excited. Your brother might never marry after this.”

“No way.”

“After something like that, neither a woman nor a man ever forgets. For someone like Henry, his mind must be half…”

At that moment, the sound of hooves striking the ground came from outside the window.

“Is that the doctor?”

Olivia jumped up and walked to the window.

“Oh, it’s Uncle! Mother, Uncle’s here.”

“He must be back from Leeds.”

Olivia went to the mirror on the wall to check her appearance.

“He’s probably here to visit Henry and convince him to cooperate with the investigation. Henry looks up to Uncle like a father, so maybe he’ll confess everything?”

Humming a tune, Olivia headed for the door.

“I’ll dig up some good information. Just wait, Mother!”

Olivia left the room. Left alone, Mrs. Fairfax leaned back in her chair. Before her daughter’s visit, she had merely seemed tired, but now deep worry clouded her face.

Though society hushed it up, men being subjected to that kind of abuse was not uncommon. In her slightly over forty years—a long life, by some measures—she knew of three men who had suffered sexual abuse.

Two were neighborhood friends. One was a male servant she’d played with as a child. The friends had been abused by older relatives in their youth, and the servant had been attacked by a gang while drunk in a tavern.

Men who experienced such things rarely dared to report it. They fell into alcoholism or took their own lives.

If something like that happened to Henry…

A sharp pain stabbed at Mrs. Fairfax’s heart.

She had always seemed indifferent to her children, but it wasn’t for lack of love. She knew her body couldn’t handle being too sensitive to their problems.

The maternal instinct she’d pushed aside to survive now screamed loudly in the face of the fear that she might lose her son.

She glanced at a small cabinet in the corner of the room. In its middle drawer were a velvet cloth and a deck of cards she used for fortune-telling. Instead of pulling them out to peer into her son’s heart, she clasped her hands, which had been adjusting her shawl. Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead to her hands.

“…God.”

She began a long, fervent prayer for Henry. She needed divine help now more than ever.