Dr. Angus Bumby, the sole proprietor of the Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth, sighed as he attempted with only limited success to complete his paperwork. While the majority of his clientele preferred that there be no documentation of their transactions with him, the same could not be said of the other people he had to work with. Furthermore, in addition to the paperwork he had to fill out to keep the more unsavory aspects of his business shrouded, his rising status in the philanthropic community forced him to keep in contact with a very large number of people who were all fully convinced that they were important enough for him to devote every second of his time to corresponding with them, and who all had the power to ruin him should he ever make them question this conviction. It was enough to sometimes make him pine for his Oxford days.

A knock on his office door offered Bumby a welcome distraction from his work.

"Nurse Witless is here to see you, sir," one of his charges called in from the hallway outside.

Bumby sighed. Pris Witless, whose last name was depressingly appropriate for her, had once been a nurse at the Rutledge Private Clinic and Asylum. They had met a few years ago, back when the clinic had still employed her, while Bumby was visiting the asylum in search of lost souls he could bring back to Houndsditch. She had taken a liking to him, and, in exchange for the occasional donation and a few kind words now and then, had agreed to advise any youths leaving the asylum, like Alice, to seek him out. After Rutledge let her go she had kept herself sustained by doing odd jobs and preying on the easily manipulated. Her new status allowed her to keep her ear to the ground, so the doctor was still able to get some use out of her now and then.

"Send her in," Bumby ordered distractedly as he continued penning a letter to one of the many indistinguishable people clamoring for his attention.

A few minutes later the elderly Miss Witless timidly entered his office, still breathing heavily from having to negotiate the stairs up to the Home's second floor.

"Good day, Miss Witless," Bumby said, smiling as he put down his pen. "I trust my charges didn't give you any trouble on your way in."

"Oh, no, no," Witless replied distractedly, nervously wringing her hands and furtively glancing out of the office window.

After a moment or two passed in silence, Bumby politely asked, "Would you like to take a seat?"

"Hm?" Witless replied distractedly. "Oh, yes, yes. By the way," she asked as she slowly negotiated her way into the chair Bumby kept in his office for guests, "I don't suppose Alice happened to come back here just before me, did she?"

"Alice?" Bumby frowned. "No. Why?"

"Ah." Witless continued nervously wringing her hands. "I… well, it's probably nothing, but…"

"Is there are problem, Pris?" Bumby asked as kindly as he could.

"…Well, it's like this. I happened to run into Alice while I was out taking a walk, looking lost and confused as a lamb in a butcher shop; Alice, that is, not me; and I say to myself, 'Pris, you'll never forgive yourself if you just leave her there and then something happens to her,' so I go up to her and ask her if she'd like to visit my pigeons; she likes my pigeons, you know, always seem to calm her down; so we're up on the roof, me and her, and I'm feeding my pigeons; pretty birds, lovely companions; and we're talking, all's normal, nothing's off, and then… and then…"

"Pris," Bumby asked a little sternly, "what happened?"

"Well, I just don't know. One moment she's fine, and then suddenly she's pointing at me and screaming as if I'd turned into the devil himself; at me, can you imagine?; and then she runs off, shouting all sorts of nonsense and flailing her arms about as if she were trying to stab the air! I was so frightened it took me a moment to regain my composure, and by the time I did she was nowhere to be found, so I immediately started off to tell you what happened, and… well, here I am, telling you."

Bumby was quiet for a while, then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Miss Witless…" he began as he put his glasses back on, "are you absolutely certain you have no idea where Miss Liddell went?"

"Absolutely," Witless replied. "Like I said, she was screaming about something, but it was all nonsense about turtles and snails and blades and a whole lot of other things I couldn't make out. Certainly nothing that would help you find her."

"I see," Bumby replied as he reflectively toyed with his pen.

"I tell you, I've seen her like this a few times before," Witless continued once she was certain that Bumby wasn't going to say anything else, "but never since she left Rutledge, I can tell you that."

"Hm."

"If you'd told me just a week ago that she'd do something like that again, I'd… well, obviously I would have believed you, but if someone else had, I certainly wouldn't have. I mean, what could have set her off? You don't suppose one of the children did something, do you? I know I certainly didn't."

"…Well," Bumby finally said, "it's difficult to say at this point, of course. I've been trying some new procedures with Alice lately, but–"

"You don't suppose that could have done it, do you?" Witless asked, eager to keep the blame as far away from herself as possible.

"Like I said, it's a bit early to say right now–"

"But it's possible, isn't it?" Witless insisted, leaning forward slightly.

Dr. Bumby smiled and laid Witless's fears to rest with sweet words and countless reassurances. He then offered to escort her out, just to make sure that she had fully recovered from her shock. Once they reached the House's stairwell, he gave her a sharp push. She fell down the stairs, her aged bones breaking easily as she tumbled down. By the time she hit the landing between the floors, she was already at death's door.

With her last bit of strength, Pris Witless slowly turned her head to face Dr. Bumby, who still stood at the top at the top of the stairwell, calm and collected as ever, and gasped out, "Dr. Bumby?"

"Yes, sorry," Bumby replied, his cathartic vision quickly dissipating as reality reasserted itself, depositing him back in his office in front of a now slightly confused, but very much alive, Pris Witless. "I guess even I'm a bit rattled. As you were saying, it is possible, but it's far more likely that this relapse was inevitable. Not to disparage Rutledge, but it hardly has a spotless record. In fact, for all we know, this may have happened much sooner were it not for our efforts."

"Oh," Witless replied, happy at being presented a possibility that both asserted her innocence and complimented her. "Well, that does make a lot of sense. Which itself makes sense, of course, you being a doctor and all."

"It's just a theory," Bumby humbly replied.

"Ah, but it's a very good theory," Witless insisted.

Bumby chuckled. "If you insist, Pris."

"I always knew there was something wrong with the poor dear," Witless continued, "I've always said so. Just before I sent her to you, I told you, 'You won't have much luck with this one, I'm afraid,' remember?"

"Yes, Pris," Bumby said automatically, his mind more concerned with how to resolve this dilemma than the ex-nurse's prattle.

"It's not that big of a surprise, though, really. Accident or not, killing your family's not something most adults can recover from, never mind children. I remember there was this one boy at Rut–"

"I'm sorry, what was that last bit?" Bumby suddenly asked, his focus snapping back to the woman in front of him.

"Hm?" Witless blinked, slightly startled.

"Did you just suggest that Alice killed her family?"

"I…" Witless squirmed uncomfortably, "I don't think–"

"I'm fairly certain you did," Bumby quietly insisted in a manner that left no room for argument.

"Well… well, perhaps I did, but it's not like I'm the first person to have suggested it. Just ask–"

"Pris."

"…Alright. I know when I'm caught. Back when I was taking care of Alice at Rutledge, I heard her say in her sleep 'All died on my account, I couldn't save you!' I know, I know, that doesn't really prove much of anything, which is why I didn't think you needed to know, but Alice flew into a panic when I told her she'd said that, so I promised her that I would wouldn't tell you or–" Witless hesitated, then nervously concluded, "Or anyone else."

"…And that's it?" Bumby asked, allowing suspicion to creep into his voice, but not enough to frighten his new plaything.

"Yes," Witless replied primly, her mouth as firmly set as her wrinkled lips would allow. "That's it."

"I see." The doctor leaned back. "You know, Alice seems to keep losing part of the allowance I give her."

"Well, I don't know anything about that, " the former nurse replied a little too quickly.

"Of course you don't. By the way, you are aware that the confession of a raving lunatic, particularly one as young and damaged as Alice, is not of much interest to the police, aren't you?"

Witless squirmed in her chair.

"But, then again, such a lunatic lacks the capacity to understand that, doesn't she, Pris?"

Witless was quiet, but her averted eyes spoke volumes.

Bumby sighed. "Really, Miss Witless, isn't this a bit beneath you?"

It wasn't, actually. In fact, Bumby would have been hard pressed to name anything Pris Witless was above. But there was no need to tell her that.

"I have no idea what on earth you're on about," Witless stated, still not meeting Bumby's penetrating gaze.

"Of course you don't," Bumby replied.

Direct confrontation obviously wasn't working. It was time to take a different approach.

The psychiatrist shook his head in feigned disappointment. "I must say, your friends won't be happy about this."

"My what?" Witless blinked.

"Your friends. You did tell me that you are a member of an anti-monarchist group, didn't you?"

Witless's eyes widened a little. "You wouldn't…"

"I can't imagine that they'd approve of further victimizing a poor traumatized orphan. Or of telling someone outside the group of their existence, for that matter. Especially an upper-class fellow like myself, eh?"

"I…" Witless futilely attempted to hide her panic as the fear of losing what few friends she had filled her. "P-please, Dr. Bumby, I… I was hard up for money, and I… I just thought she owed me a bit for all the kindness I'd showed her in Rutledge, I never… I'm sorry! I-it won't happen again, so pl–"

Bumby smiled magnanimously. "Well, if you're sorry, you're sorry. Let's consider the matter settled and never speak of it again, hm?"

"I… what? Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you so much, Dr. Bumby."

"I didn't scare you, did I?" Bumby asked, his brows knitting with concern. "I'm sorry, I just get a little protective of my charges. You understand, of course."

"Oh, yes, yes," Witless replied, slowly calming down. "Back when I was at Rutledge, there were always those trying to pick on Alice, but I gave them a stern talking to, I can tell you."

"I'm certain you did," Bumby smiled. "But, Pris, why did you feel the need to go to such lengths? You know that I am more than willing to help you whenever you run into trouble."

"Well, I just didn't want you to think any less of me," Witless replied shyly.

"Pris, you know I can't think poorly of you," Bumby gently chided.

"Oh, thank you Dr. Bumby. You're far too kind for this wicked world."

"On the contrary, Pris, I'm precisely the kindness this world deserves."

Witless's smile grew. "You're a good man, Dr. Bumby, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. If I hear anything about Alice, you'll be the first to hear it."

"Miss Witless, you're an angel. Would you like me to see you out of the house?"

"No, I can manage," Witless replied, slowly getting out of her chair. "Thank you for taking the time to listen to an old friend."

"It's no trouble at all," Bumby said as Witless left his room and he idly wondered what would have happened if she had let him escort her out.

As soon as the ex-nurse had left his office the doctor sighed and leaned back in his chair. He stared up at his ceiling for a few minutes, then stood up and went to his window.

If Pris Witless actually kept her promise not to harass Alice anymore for more than a week after he retrieved her, it would be a sure sign that the old crook had finally died. Still, while her threats probably petrified the impressionable Alice, the idea that the police would listen to anything she said was laughable. If Witless's words had ever had any teeth, her years of addiction to Blue Ruin had long since rotted them out.

Far more concerning was Alice's disappearance. Bumby didn't usually take in children as old as Alice; it was often difficult to properly reshape their minds. However, he liked to challenge himself, and the idea of corrupting his former professor's last surviving daughter had been an appealing one. Perhaps taking the risk had been a little reckless, but it was far too late to think about that.

The best Bumby could do was offer a reward–a small reward, of course–for any information about Alice's whereabouts and hope for the best. If he was lucky, either he or the police would find her before anything untoward happened to her. However, London wasn't a particularly nice city under the best of circumstances, and it was even less kind to confused, vulnerable, and attractive women. He was willing to write off Alice as a loss if it came to that, but it would make his job considerably more difficult if she returned with a whole slew of new troubles for him to deal with.