The Fox Household Grows Uneasy
Lady Marianne Fox had always prided herself on understanding her daughters.
Belle loved books.
Emma loved parties.
Both loved being admired.
Simple.
Predictable.
But for the last two weeks, Belle had become… different.
Very different.
She no longer returned home at four o'clock as she always had after volunteering at the hospital.
Now she returned at seven.
Every. Single. Day.
And each evening she entered the house in the same manner:
Hair slightly messy.
Hands ink-stained.
A faint smell of disinfectant clinging to her clothes.
At first Marianne thought it was simply fatigue.
But then she began noticing other… changes.
Belle Has Been Reborn
Belle no longer asked about the upcoming winter gala.
She skipped dress fittings.
She ignored invitations from half the respectable families in the colony.
Yesterday, Marianne had placed three new imported medical texts on Belle's desk—beautifully bound volumes she'd paid a fortune for.
Belle didn't even glance at them.
Instead she scribbled into her personal journal with a kind of feverish focus—making diagrams, drawing bones, writing notes that made no sense to anyone but herself.
And the strangest thing?
Belle practiced movements.
Slow, controlled gestures with her hands.
Breathing exercises.
Phrases whispered under her breath.
As though she were training for something.
Emma, Belle's younger sister, had been the first to notice.
"Mother," she whispered one afternoon, "Belle's… weird now. She keeps doing that strange posture—like she's pretending to be a monk or something."
Marianne tried to laugh it off.
"She's merely tired."
But deep down, she knew something was wrong.
Dinner — The Breaking Point
Dinner was quiet at first.
Belle ate quickly, barely looking at anyone, her journal sitting right beside her plate as if she couldn't bear to be away from it.
Marianne finally decided to address the matter.
"Belle, dear," she began softly, "I have received a proposal."
Belle didn't look up.
"Mm."
"A Mr. Latimer. A very wealthy merchant. He admires your intelligence greatly."
Belle turned a page in her journal.
Emma nearly choked on her wine.
"Belle!" Marianne said sharply.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes," Belle said simply.
"And the answer is no."
"No?" Marianne repeated, stunned.
"There is no one else—"
"I'm not marrying anyone," Belle said.
"Not now. Not ever. I'm busy."
Marianne's jaw dropped.
Emma stared as though Belle had just grown wings.
"Busy?" Marianne whispered.
"With what? You read and scribble and… stretch! All day and night! You come home late and refuse every offer. Your behavior is becoming—"
Belle stood abruptly.
Her chair scraped the floor.
"I'm going to bed."
And she walked out.
Marianne sat frozen.
Emma leaned forward, wide-eyed.
"What is wrong with her?"
Suspicion Turns to Determination
That night, Marianne paced her room.
Belle had always been obedient.
Polite.
Curious, yes—but predictable.
Now she was secretive, distant, almost glowing with something new.
Knowledge?
Purpose?
A hidden influence?
Marianne's breath tightened.
Was someone manipulating her?
A teacher?
A colleague?
A man?
Or something darker?
She could no longer ignore it.
The next morning, Marianne made up her mind.
"I shall go to the hospital today," she announced to Emma while dressing.
"And see what Belle truly does with her afternoons."
Emma nodded eagerly.
"I want to come. I want to see too. Belle is hiding something… and I'm going to find out what."
Marianne looked toward Belle's empty seat at the breakfast table.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"It's time someone discovered where she disappears to every day."
The Weight of Secrets
Belle arrived at Jack's hidden clinic later than usual.
She looked tired, her hair slightly undone, her gloves still dusty from the hospital. But her eyes—sharp, bright, burning with ambition—were the same.
Jack glanced up from the surgical table where he was repairing a set of metal clamps.
"You're late."
Belle exhaled, leaning against the door.
"My mother is suspicious. She keeps staring at me during dinner as if she's trying to read my soul."
Jack tightened a screw with one precise twist.
"She is trying to read your soul. And she's going to keep trying."
Belle froze.
"…What do you mean?"
Jack put the tool down and finally looked at her—direct, calm, but serious.
"Belle, someone like you disappearing every afternoon? Coming home smelling like antiseptic? Refusing marriage proposals? Your mother isn't stupid."
Belle crossed her arms defensively.
"She won't discover anything."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"She already has enough clues to start asking dangerous questions."
Belle blinked, unsure.
"What dangerous questions?"
Jack leaned back against the table, his voice dropping.
"Questions about me."
Belle swallowed.
"You think she suspects I'm seeing a man."
"I think," Jack said carefully, "that nobles are always suspicious when their daughters change too quickly. And worse—your mother might talk to people who should never hear your name connected to mine."
Belle stepped forward.
"Which people?"
Jack hesitated—but only for a moment.
Then he spoke with the tone he used only when the stakes were life and death.
"Captain Gaines. Bishop Nightingale. The Crown's magistrates. Anyone who might enjoy finding a doctor who can do the impossible."
Belle's eyes widened.
"And if they discover who you are…"
"They won't," Jack cut in sharply.
"But if your mother or sister start following you? If they see you entering this place? If they notice tools or medicines from this century? Then I lose everything."
Belle suddenly felt the weight of the moment.
This wasn't about secrets anymore.
It was about survival.
"…I didn't realize it was so serious."
"It is," Jack said.
"You're the only person outside my circle who knows what I truly am capable of. If your family—or anyone—finds out, one of two things happens."
Belle listened, breath tight.
Jack held up a finger.
"One: they try to worship me."
He held up a second.
"Two: they try to kill me."
Belle's heart dropped.
"Those are the only options?"
Jack nodded.
"I'm a threat to every power structure in this colony. If the Crown learns I can heal what their surgeons cannot, they'll drag me into a prison and cut open my skull to see what's inside. If nobles learn I can cure their dying wives, they'll chain me to a mansion and force me to work like livestock. And if criminals learn what I can do—"
Belle finished quietly.
"They'll fight over you like a prize."
Jack's expression softened, but only slightly.
"That is why this clinic stays hidden. Why you enter only when the streets are quiet. And why your mother cannot discover any of this—not even a hint."
Belle stepped closer, her voice low but determined.
"Then you should have told me sooner."
"I'm telling you now."
Belle took a breath, steadying herself.
"My mother already asked questions yesterday. At dinner she tried to arrange my marriage to some merchant—Mr. Latimer. I refused."
Jack blinked.
"You refused without hesitation?"
"Yes."
"Belle…" He rubbed his forehead. "That is exactly what will make her watch you more closely."
Belle suddenly felt small and conflicted.
"So what do I do?"
Jack turned away, organizing instruments with brisk, decisive movements.
"You do what you've always done: act like a noble girl who has nothing to hide. You attend one or two parties. You accept a dance. You read the medical books she gives you. Make her feel like she's still in control."
Belle nodded slowly.
"And what about the clinic?"
"You arrive by a different route each day," Jack said.
"And if anyone follows you—anyone—you walk past this building and go straight home. Understood?"
Belle nodded again.
"Good."
Then Jack looked back at her, eyes narrowing slightly.
"And Belle… your mother isn't the only one watching."
Belle froze.
"…What?"
Jack stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Two soldiers were near the hospital gate today. They were not guarding. They were watching. And they looked directly at you."
Belle felt a chill run down her spine.
"Why me?"
"Because you're connected to me," Jack said.
"Even if they don't know it yet."
Silence fell between them.
The clinic felt smaller somehow.
The shadows deeper.
The world sharper and more dangerous than ever.
Finally Belle whispered:
"What do we do now?"
Jack gave the only answer possible.
"We survive. Carefully."