"Oh, but I do, Alice," Cassandra said, turning and regarding her with amused, hard, mocking eyes. Alice was gripping the arms of the chair on which she sat and leaning slightly forward as if she were about to stand up, though she did not do so. "Are you shocked?"

"Your purpose when we decided to come to London," Alice said, "was to look for employment, Cassie. We were /both/ going to look. And Mary too."

"It was not a realistic plan, though, was it?" Cassandra said, laughing without amusement. "Nobody wants to hire a housemaid-turned-cook who has a young daughter but is not and never has been married. And a letter of recommendation from me would do poor Mary no good at all, would it?

And – ah, forgive me, Alice – not many people will want to employ a governess who is more than forty years old when there are plenty of young women available. I am sorry to put that brutal truth into words, but youth is the modern god. You were an excellent governess to me when I was a child, and you have been an excellent companion and friend since I grew up. But your age is against you now, you know. As for me, well, unless I somehow disguise my identity, which would not work when it came time to offer letters of recommendation, I am doomed in the employment market, and in any other, for that matter. No one is going to want to hire an axe murderer in any capacity at all, I suppose."

"Cassie!" her former governess said, her hands flying up to cover her cheeks. "You must /not/ describe yourself in such a way. Not even in fun."

Cassandra was unaware that they had been having fun. She laughed anyway.

"People /are/ prone to exaggerate, are they not?" she said. "Even to fabricate? It is what half the known world believes of me, Alice – because it is /fun/ to believe such a preposterous thing. People will run screaming from me, I daresay, every time I step out of doors. It will have to be an /intrepid/ man that I find."