Holstoke’s mouth curved into a pleased smile. He seemed satisfied by the attention she gave him, gratified by the way she appeared to hang on every piece of advice he offered. How else was she supposed to make him feel important?
She had once done the same with John.
In her former life, Cassandra did the same thing with John whenever she needed to appease him or soothe his rising temper before he got violent. it didn’t always work.
The memory left a bitter taste in her mouth, but she pushed it aside.
Eventually, Holstoke regarded her approvingly.
"You are an intelligent woman, Mrs. Pembroke," he said kindly.
Cassandra lowered her gaze modestly. "Thank you, Sir."
"If I were still as involved in teaching younger students as I once was, I should have liked to have you among my pupils."
She smiled. "That is exceedingly kind of you, Professor Holstoke."
Bellamy glanced across the room, and something—or rather, someone—seemed to catch his attention.
He leaned slightly toward Cassandra, just enough to ensure she could hear him above the surrounding conversation.
"Mrs. Pembroke, would you excuse me? There is something I must attend to. I shan’t be long."
"Of course," she replied automatically.
Bellamy nodded before moving away, disappearing into another cluster of academics.
Cassandra watched him go.
At last, she had what she wanted.
A moment alone with her target.
She simply couldn’t allow anyone to realize that was precisely what she had been waiting for.
She let the conversation with Holstoke continue naturally for a while, offering the occasional question and allowing him to elaborate whenever the opportunity presented itself. Then, once enough time had passed, she allowed her gaze to wander toward the shelves lining the room.
"There is something I have been meaning to ask you. My late husband and I shared a rather unfortunate appetite for knowledge. Since his death, I have found myself searching for ways to occupy my mind, and studying subjects I once knew nothing about has become one of them. I think I enjoy discovering things he might have enjoyed discovering himself."
The story flowed smoothly.
Elizabeth Pembroke’s husband had possessed a hunger for knowledge.
Elizabeth had gotten the habit from him.
It was a simple lie, carefully polished through repetition.
Cassandra continued, "That is partly why I became interested in this institution. I thought it appropriate to seek knowledge in a place where my husband might have felt at home. I should also like to make a contribution to the Association."
Holstoke was listening attentively to her every word.
His eyebrows lifted. "A contribution?"
"Yes. Before my husband died, he came into a sizable inheritance. I would like to give one thousand pounds from it to the Association."
Holstoke stared at her and his surprise was genuine.
"Mrs. Pembroke, that is extraordinarily generous."
Cassandra grinned.
"It is what my husband would have wished. I hope the money will help the Association continue its work and give young people who possess the same curiosity an opportunity to pursue it."
Holstoke’s admiration for her seemed to grow with every passing moment.
A thousand pounds was no trivial offering. It established her as a serious patron rather than a woman indulging some passing fancy.
And Cassandra knew exactly what she was buying with it: access to men like Holstoke.
He would no longer remember her merely as the amusing woman he had happened to encounter by chance. With one contribution, she had given him a reason to remember her, and that was all she needed for now. In time, she would gradually work her way deeper into his orbit until their acquaintance had developed into something more useful, until he trusted her enough to share confidences.
A contribution of that magnitude also placed her on much the same footing as Whitmore in the eyes of the institution. As patrons, neither of them could be dismissed as insignificant.
Secondly, it was for a good cause. Cassandra spent years serving the Queen and doing what she could to serve her country, whether by supporting local artisans and craftsmen or contributing to charitable foundations. This was no different from the philanthropic work she had undertaken throughout the years.
After Holstoke thanked her again, Cassandra inclined her head graciously.
"There is one other matter I have always wondered about," she said, "The bodies used for the dissections."
Cassandra continued gently, almost shyly. "Whenever I attend Professor Bellamy’s lectures, I find myself wondering about the people whose bodies we study. Who they were when they were alive. What sort of lives they lived. Whether they had families who mourned them. I sometimes find myself wondering how a person travels from being a living man to becoming a subject upon an anatomical table."
It was something Cassandra had always wanted to ask Professor Bellamy, but she had never found the right opportunity.
Holstoke’s eyes hardened for the briefest moment. There one moment and gone the next.
The change was so subtle that another observer might have overlooked it entirely.
Cassandra did not.
She gave no indication that she noticed the slight change.
"I hope you do not think me foolish for asking," she added.
"Not at all." His voice remained calm, though a faint guardedness had crept into it. "It is a perfectly natural question. There are several ways through which we acquire the bodies. Some are criminals whose sentences have ended in execution, their remains legally made available for anatomical examination. Others die without relatives willing or able to claim them. There are also arrangements with hospitals and other institutions, though the matter is not always as straightforward as the public might imagine."
Cassandra nodded slowly.
"I see," she said, though there was something peculiar in her tone.
Holstoke noticed it.
"You should not allow such things to trouble you, Mrs. Pembroke. We ought to be grateful for the wealth of knowledge the dead have to offer, but at the end of the day, they are merely cadavers, no more capable of emotion or consciousness than a wooden table. Nothing we do can change that. Would it not be more rational to put them to use within our institution rather than allow their remains to go to waste?" He was so callous and matter- of-fact.
Ca
ssandra didn’t understand why, but something about Holstoke’s statement never quite sat right with her.