If there's an assessment to be made of Ellis' capabilities, she must have done them at some earlier hour - in the carriage, at some point on the long road here to this gentle country quarter said to be ravaged by some dark and nameless thing; or earlier still, in the palatial sitting room of the Guild's clubhouse as she'd folded down the top half of the evening paper as smiled at him from where had she sat position so near the fire. For instantly she says, "Do it," and abandons Bradshaw's corpse in favor of the crossbow.

Thank you but she'll have that back now, Our Sweet Mother Louise Lynne Murdoch, 1751 - 1805.

Then she's off once more, swinging over the low wall with a flap of coat tails and a flash of wire already being drawn from its reel on her belt.