Tomorrow's Crimes ll Moriarty the Patriot

A Most Regrettable Morning Arrangement

Moonlight spilled through the tall windows like silver tears, casting ethereal patterns across the floor where Adelaide lay motionless. She had been locked in this room for days, cut off from the outside world. Through the heavy oak door, the faint murmur of whispered conversations drifted in—fragments of hurried plans she wasn't meant to overhear. Tomorrow, they would send her to Bethlem, to meet with Dr. Harrington and the others. She had heard Lady Catherine's voice, sharp with authority, as she gave the order.

"Prepare the carriage for tomorrow at dawn," she had hissed to a servant, her words laced with cold intent. "The sooner they see her condition, the sooner they can have her... properly cared for."

Bethlem. The word lingered in the air like a shadow, darker and more menacing than any ghost. Even in her years as a journalist, Adelaide had read enough about the horrors of Victorian asylums to know what awaited her there. The treatments. The cruelty. The days stretching into weeks, then months, then years—torment disguised as care. Tomorrow, they would try to convince Dr. Harrington—the one man who had shown her even the smallest shred of understanding in these past months—that she needed to be committed, immediately.

She had heard James giving instructions to the footmen: "Make sure the carriage is ready... just in case." His voice, too, had carried that cold finality. Just in case.

Adelaide's breath caught in her chest as the weight of it all settled on her. There was no escape, no one to turn to. Just the looming specter of Bethlem, waiting to claim her.

The moon hung heavy and full outside her window, its pale light spilling through the glass, stretching long shadows across her still form. Her torn dress, still stained with Lord Augustus's blood, clung to her skin, stiff and uncomfortable from days of neglect. The fabric, once fine, now felt like a shroud, a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. She made no effort to change, no desire to clean herself or restore any semblance of dignity. Let the doctors see her like this in the morning. Let them see the bruises, the dirt, the hollow eyes.

Let Dr. Harrington see her like this. Let him see what they had reduced her to. Locked away in this dark, cold room, starved of food and water, discarded like a broken doll.

Through the floorboards came the murmur of continued discussion. They were still awake, despite the late hour, planning how to salvage their precious reputation once she was safely hidden away. "We'll tell everyone she's gone to recover in the countryside," Lady Catherine was saying. "By the time the Season ends, they'll have forgotten all about the... incident."

"But what if Dr. Harrington refuses?" That was Elizabeth's voice, thick with anxiety. "He's been so... peculiar about her treatment lately. Almost encouraging her strange behaviors—"

"He won't refuse." James's tone brooked no argument. "Not once he sees how far gone she is. And if he does..." A pause that made Adelaide's blood freeze. "Well, there are other doctors. Less... squeamish ones."

Adelaide closed her eyes, the faint hum of her pulse steady in the stillness. Her thoughts drifted back to Dr. Harrington, the one person who had shown her any kindness in this nightmare. He had listened to her, truly listened, without judgment, without the cold dismissal she'd grown so accustomed to. He had seemed fascinated by her "different perspective," as he called it, as if he truly understood that she was not mad, but simply different. His attention had been a rare balm, one she had clung to in these dark days, hoping it might be the thread that could pull her from the abyss they were pushing her toward.

But now, as she lay in the gloom of her prison, the shadows creeping across the walls like long, grasping fingers, doubt began to twist inside her. Would he believe her tomorrow? Would he see the truth of her condition, the truth of what they had done to her, or would he see a broken woman—disheveled, silent, and lost—and decide she had finally lost her mind?