Beth Brower

The Year is 1883 and Emma M. Lion has returned to her London neighborhood of St. Crispian’s. But Emma’s plans for a charmed and studious life are sabotaged by her eccentric Cousin Archibald, her formidable Aunt Eugenia, and the slightly odd denizens of St. Crispian’s.

The year is 1883, and Emma M. Lion has returned to her London neighborhood of St. Crispian’s. But Emma’s plans for a charmed and studious life are sabotaged by her eccentric Cousin Archibald, her formidable Aunt Eugenia, and the slightly odd denizens of St. Crispian’s.

The Year is 1884 and Emma M. Lion has, at long last, gained her majority. Entering a golden age of friendship with Pierce, Islington, and Hawkes, Emma is confident she will manage whatever comes her way.

"The image of Pandora's Box being opened by my own hand flashed across my mind. A sobering and somewhat disappointing realisation when one understands they are their own worst enemy. " The Year is 1884 and Emma M. Lion has, at long last, gained her majority. Entering a golden age of friendship...

THE YEAR IS 1883 and Emma M. Lion has returned to her London neighborhood of St. Crispian’s. But Emma’s plans for a charmed and studious life are sabotaged by her eccentric Cousin Archibald, her formidable Aunt Eugenia, and the slightly odd denizens of St. Crispian’s.

The Year is 1884 and Emma M. Lion has returned to her London neighbourhood of St. Crispian’s. But Emma’s plans for a charmed and studious life are sabotaged by her eccentric Cousin Archibald, her formidable Aunt Eugenia, and the slightly odd denizens of St. Crispian’s.

The Year is 1883 and Emma M. Lion has returned to her London neighborhood of St. Crispian’s. But Emma’s plans for a charmed and studious life are sabotaged by her eccentric Cousin Archibald, her formidable Aunt Eugenia, and the slightly odd denizens of St. Crispian’s.

I took Treasure Island to church with me as a talisman. “What a lovely bible,” Mrs. Tribly said. “Isn’t it just?” I replied, hoping she would not ask me to read a favorite verse aloud. I do not believe the psalmist wrote, Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of...