Deception by Gaslight

by Kate Belli

  “It’s a beauty mark.”

  Daniel raised a sardonic brow at his friend.

  Rupert drew himself up with dignity. “They were all the rage in the late eighteenth century. I was aiming for authenticity. I thought I’d best look wealthy, despite my reputation as a fortune hunter.”

  “You are a fortune hunter,” Daniel remarked dryly.

  Rupert tipped him a look. “Not anymore.”

  “How romantic of you.”

  Rupert snorted. “Now who’s being a woman? There’s no place for romance in a marriage like mine. It’s a business transaction. You know it, I know it, and Esmie knows it.”

  “You deserve better,” Daniel replied softly, keeping his gaze to the first of the guests, who were beginning to march across the stage, showing off their costumes.

  “Esmie’s not a bad sort,” Rupert replied, just as softly. “She’s actually quite sweet.” Daniel looked at him sharply, wondering again what sort of truce the pair had formed.

  “Won’t there be services for Elmira?” Daniel asked quietly.

  “Amos wants to wait until the police have figured out what happened.”

  “Aren’t they looking at Tommy?” He kept his voice just above a whisper.

  “Ironclad alibi, apparently.” Rupert assumed a somber expression as Matilda Lemoyne, in a stiff black-and-white concoction meant to represent the Queen of Spades, paused and offered tearful condolences on the recent tragedy. “Thank you,” he murmured, patting the society matron’s hand. “Of course, I had to attend tonight. She would have wanted a representative from the family here.” Mrs. Lemoyne nodded in understanding, her brow puckered in concern, but shot a more cautious look at Daniel, as if unsure how to relate to him now that it was known he hailed from Five Points.

  He bared his teeth in response. Mrs. Lemoyne uttered a tiny shriek, mostly unheard in the din of the crowd, and hastily retreated.

  Rupert gazed at Daniel incredulously. Daniel gave an irritated shrug in response.

  “Quit scaring the locals,” Rupert admonished. “Your future mother-in-law wasn’t murdered, after all.”

  Daniel huffed, mightily wishing for a drink and tugging at the kerchief around his neck once more. He felt himself a more intense object of scrutiny than usual tonight. Some stared openly, but the majority only glanced his way as they whispered in small clumps. And no wonder: the revelation that he and Tommy Meade had been young ruffians from Five Points had been the topic of gossip columnists for days now. That and Elmira Bradley’s grisly death, the details of which had somehow been leaked to the press. The fact that these two events had occurred in the same house, and in close proximity to each other, had set off a maelstrom of salacious, speculative articles.

  It had been a busy, and Daniel guessed profitable, few days for the papers.

  The results of the press’s constant attention were apparent tonight: partygoers ebbed and flowed around him and Rupert as if there were an unseen barrier surrounding them, afraid to sully themselves with their presence; a few, like Mrs. Lemoyne, braved this boundary to approach Rupert, but otherwise it seemed society was collectively still deciding what to do with them.

  Daniel scanned the stage for Genevieve, but so far she hadn’t appeared. This damned parade was taking forever.

  “Good costumes tonight. The ladies in particular have gone to great lengths, haven’t they?” Rupert mused as a young woman dressed as a caged songbird paused on the stage to sing a few notes. The costume was an impressive construction of wire and feathers. “Such a shame I’m engaged. They don’t even look at me now.” He wistfully watched a petite redhead in a shepherdess outfit rush to join the parade, shaking his head in admiration. The audience clapped for the songbird, who made her way off the stage with some difficulty.

  “But you, on the other hand.” Rupert turned to his friend and assessed him. “You’re garnering all kinds of attention. You don’t have to try that hard to frighten anyone; you really do look the part. If only you could show your marks.” He gestured to Daniel’s upper arms, which underneath his white shirt and dark-red coat were covered with tattoos, evidence of his former gang affiliation.

  Mostly former, that is.

  “I’ve never been to one of these things before,” Daniel replied irritably. “How was I to know what one wears?” It seemed his pirate costume was not quite the thing. Most of the other gentlemen in attendance were dressed, like Rupert, as historic courtiers, or as kings, emperors, or knights; in short, they were costumed as men of power, of intellect, and wealth. Daniel had been completely at a loss for how to dress, and had bellowed at Asher to find him something suitable. The resulting pirate costume had tight-fitting breeches with high leather boots, a sword strapped to his side, and a long red coat that flared over a simple, loose white cotton shirt. On Asher and Mrs. Kelly’s direction, he hadn’t shaved for two days, allowing his beard to partially grow in as if he’d spent days at sea. A loose kerchief was knotted around his neck, and they had set a tricornered hat on his head. Daniel had balked at wearing the eye-patch, but Mrs. Kelly had insisted. “It’s the only way they’ll know you’re a pirate,” she’d argued. “Otherwise you just look like a drunk on a three-day bender.”

  A murmur was growing throughout the crowd, tinged with an undercurrent of shock, and Daniel turned his attention to the stage, instantly spotting its cause. It was Genevieve’s dark-haired friend, and she was clad in the slinkiest, sparkliest gown he’d ever seen, topped by simply enormous diamonds. She was practically bursting out of the bodice, and Daniel raised an eyebrow as she wriggled off the stage. If she was looking for male attention, she’d certainly get it in that outfit.

  He eyed the diamonds in particular. A bold, and perhaps unwise, choice.

  A second murmur rose from the crowd, distracting him from the giant stones. It was Sarah Huffington’s turn, and she was slowly crossing the stage, head held high. She stopped in the center and turned in a lazy circle, her haughty gaze sweeping over the heads of those assembled, her disdain for their collective opinion obvious.

  Half her costume was blindingly white, a soft, floating fabric that billowed around her left side. A great, nearly translucent wing grew from her back, and a semicircle of gold floated above the left side of her head. The other half of her costume was a deep, blazing red, with a low-cut bodice and a tight skirt encasing her right side. On this side, a single horn grew out of her elaborate hairstyle.

  Half angel, half devil. Throwing another mocking look toward the audience, which had fallen into a rather shocked silence, Sarah glided toward the stage’s stairs, making her exit.

  Rupert sounded a low whistle. “She did tell me she had a cracker of a costume for the ball,” he said. “I had no idea she had that planned.”

  An idea pinged inside Daniel’s head. “May I ask a favor?”

  Rupert glanced at him in surprise. “Anything.”

  Daniel quickly told him what he needed, finally catching sight of Genevieve’s honey-colored head as she climbed the stairs for her turn to promenade across the stage.

  “Bloody hell,” he swore, earning him a wary look from Rupert.

  “You’re in a mood tonight,” his friend observed, though Daniel barely heard him. He had eyes only for Genevieve, who had dismounted from the stage and was looking around the room uncertainly. Sheer, diaphanous white silk hung off her shoulders, revealing bare arms. The fabric of her bodice was gathered and pleated in front, draping almost too low for public viewing, and a thick golden rope drew the fabric in at her waist. The gown had no bustle but hung naturally in soft folds to the ground. Gold bangles encircled her upper arms and wrists, and her thick hair was artfully piled on top of her head.

  She looked stunning.

  What she did not do, though they had specifically discussed it, was blend in. The people they planned to talk to tonight, their entire strategy,—it all depended on their both being part of the crowd, on not standing out.

  With the way she looked, it would be im
possible. He already saw young men cutting their eyes in her direction, gazes greedily roaming up and down her tall form.

  Muttering curses under his breath, Daniel lifted his hat a bit and waved it, catching her attention. Genevieve nodded at him and then inclined her head toward one of the recessed areas that lined the edges of the ballroom.

  And a grand, opulent ballroom it was. The Porters’ costume ball was the one party of the season nobody dared miss, and this year it was cause for even more excitement. Rather than holding the ball in their Fifth Avenue mansion, the hosts had elected to make use of the facilities in the new Union Pinnacle Hotel, a giant, luxurious structure, to accommodate the vast number of guests.

  “I’ll find you later,” Daniel murmured to Rupert, who flashed him a sardonic look but kept quiet. “You’ll do as I asked?”

  “Yes, yes.” Rupert shooed him away impatiently. “You go on; I’m going to stand by the canapés and look sad, see if I can rack up more condolences for Amos.”

  Keeping an eye on Genevieve’s massive pile of curls as she fought her way through the crowd toward the alcove, Daniel began to move in that direction too, though he had less fighting to do. Guests parted as he approached like the Red Sea before Moses, groups neatly sidestepping and then re-forming the moment he had passed. A few gentlemen nodded at him, sober faced: enough of an acknowledgment so as not to offend, but not an invitation to join their circle.

  He wasn’t offended. He wasn’t even sure who half the guests were, their costumes were so elaborate. Masks of all kinds hid people’s true identities: a commedia dell’arte Pulcinella chatted with a Harlequin, faces obscured by the traditional masks of their characters, and a portly gentleman costumed as a Pilgrim—Governor William Bradford, if Daniel had to guess—chuckled in low tones with someone dressed as a medieval king—William the Conqueror, perhaps?—both also wearing half masks.

  Daniel frowned slightly as he nudged his way closer to the alcove. An unsettled feeling lingered in his chest as the covered faces and garish costumes began to blur together. The ballroom was densely packed, as the floor had yet to be cleared for dancing, and the prevailing mood seemed one of almost forced gaiety.

  What would possess someone to throw a costume ball? It was hard enough to navigate the pitfalls of society when you knew who everyone was. When he was young, Jacob’s butler had slipped him copies of visiting lists detailing who was who. He had studied these lists assiduously while at school, memorizing names and associations as determinedly as he had learned calculus and French. A mistake could be social suicide, and he had been determined to not make a mistake, determined not to waste Maggie’s gift.

  He saw Genevieve slip into the recessed space on the far side of the ballroom after glancing to make sure he was on his way. The giggling shepherdess he’d seen Rupert admire earlier ducked into a separate alcove, followed moments later by a grinning, masked toreador.

  That was one appeal to a fancy-dress ball, he mused, pretending to adjust his sword to allow additional minutes to pass before joining Genevieve. The obfuscating costumes, combined with the increased crowd, provided cover for those who wished it.

  The uneasy feeling in his chest intensified, and he glanced around, troubled by something he couldn’t quite put a finger on, before ducking under the partial curtain into the alcove. People were constantly pretending to be something they weren’t, him included. But on a night like this, those illusions could be taken to the extreme and used to cover any number of nefarious acts. He simply hoped he and Genevieve would be able to unmask their opponent before it was too late.

  CHAPTER 15

  “What the hell are you wearing?” Daniel demanded.

  Genevieve’s nerves, already wrangled and frayed, snapped to their breaking point.

  “I thought it rather obvious,” she bit out, raising her chin. His words stung; she had been feeling quite pretty. “And I thought I looked rather nice.”

  Daniel’s jaw worked for a moment. Genevieve crossed her arms over her chest to mask her sudden insecurity. Did she, in fact, look ridiculous?

  “You’re radiant,” he growled. A shy pleasure seeped through her, so unexpected was the compliment. “And therein lies the problem. You were meant to be inconspicuous.”

  “This was all the dressmaker could do on short notice,” she protested.

  “Bunch of fimble-famble,” he muttered. “They could have thrown a sheet over your head, made a ghost of you.”

  “And that would have been less conspicuous? It’s a fancy-dress ball, not Halloween. Besides, what are you wearing? Those breeches are so tight, you might as well be naked.”

  Her hand instantly clapped over her mouth as mortification washed through her, heat rushing to her face. Daniel looked as shocked as she felt. She had never said anything so wildly inappropriate in her life, ever.

  A beat passed, where they simply stared at each other. She resolutely kept her eyes on his face, refusing to lower them anywhere near his trousers. “I apologize,” Daniel finally said, a trifle stiffly. “You look lovely. I think we are both tense about this evening.”

  She accepted his apology with a nod of her head, her face cooling. “I apologize as well. You look … lovely too.”

  His mouth quirked into his cynical half smile at that. “Thank you,” he said dryly. “How are you feeling? Ready to begin?”

  Genevieve took a deep breath. Was she ready to wade among New York’s elite, people she had known all her life, and attempt to ferret out a murderer?

  The truth was, she didn’t know. She didn’t know if she would ever be ready for something like this.

  At the same time, a thrum of excitement coursed through her, and part of her felt perfectly ready, even eager to begin. Part of her felt like this was exactly what she was meant to be doing with her life.

  “It’s a challenge,” she admitted. “With the masks. Just like the one …” She bit her lip, pushing away the memories of the night she’d almost died. They would not do her any good tonight.

  Daniel’s gaze turned sharp. “The same mask? You’ve seen it?”

  She shrugged. “Everywhere. Half the attendants are wearing that particular mask.” She pulled back the curtain of the alcove slightly, searching the crowd. She pointed to a man dressed as Pulcinella. “Like that one.”

  He nodded slowly. “I saw him earlier. That’s the mask?” She nodded back, then watched as Daniel scanned the revelers, undoubtedly noticing for the first time what had struck Genevieve instantly, like a blow to the gut: it was everywhere. The black half mask had downturned eyeholes and a long, almost sinister-looking nose. Deep grooves were cut into the forehead and cheeks of the mask, giving the wearer a weary yet macabre appearance.

  Daniel glanced her way. Her heart had begun to pound in response to seeing the mask again, over and over, and she hoped her fear didn’t show in her face.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Will this be too difficult for you?”

  “No,” she said instantly. “Whoever sent the masked person to kill me is probably here. We have to figure out who that is and how they’re connected to Robin Hood.”

  Daniel glanced back at the crowd, and Genevieve followed his gaze. “Unless whoever sent the masked man works for the newspaper. They wouldn’t be here.”

  “Perhaps,” she said. She scrutinized the guests from afar, trying to ascertain who was who beneath their costumes. Some she could guess; others were more difficult. “Like Clive.”

  “Or your friend Luther.”

  She instantly shook her head. “Not him.”

  “Who else knew you would be on the tenth floor late at night? We have to keep all possibilities open, Genevieve, no matter how unpleasant.”

  “We’ve been over this,” she retorted. And so they had, endlessly, it seemed. “Only a secretary named Verna saw me on the elevator that night. I told her where I was going, and I assume it was she who told Luther, who came to check on me.”

  “Awfully convenient.”

&nb
sp; “You sound jealous.”

  “You think very highly of yourself.”

  “Doth the gentleman protest too much?”

  He snorted a laugh, and she felt some of the tension she had been carrying around for days begin to ease. It was good, this rapport between them. It made the coming task feel easier, more manageable.

  “Even if someone from the paper did organize the attack,” she continued, her breath catching slightly at the unbidden flash of memory of the masked face inches from hers, of the hands circling her throat, “they weren’t working on their own. This goes deeper than one disgruntled newspaperman.” She swallowed, willing the ghost of those fingers on her neck to dissipate.

  “You’re right,” he conceded, then tipped his head toward the entrance. “Once more unto the breach?” Daniel’s eyes gleamed in the dim light of the alcove. Her heart began to pound, in anticipation of the danger they were in, in excitement of what they might uncover. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it once, hard.

  “We few, we happy few,” she said, then dropped Daniel’s hand, stepped past the curtain, and joined the fray.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Genevieve felt both wrung out and pleased with herself. Her costume might not have been as inconspicuous as Daniel would have liked, but she thought rather smugly that it certainly had been useful. She hadn’t found herself the object of so much male attention since her debut, when the Stewart family fortune had brought suitors by the droves, despite her family’s reputation for eccentricity.

  The main objective of the evening had been to isolate and speak with all the members of the Committee on Housing Reform in hopes of gleaning further information. They had also hoped to ascertain who the mysterious investors in Lexington Industries were, as the company names listed in the filing at the municipal archives appeared in no other records. It had been no easy task, though, as one did not simply plunge into a conversation about a gentleman’s business dealings in the middle of a ball, nor did young ladies usually make such inquiries; how and when to subtly insert such a topic into polite conversation required different tactics for different individuals. She and Daniel had divided up the list in their planning, based on which target might be more likely to be candid with whom, and had added a few other names that had come up in their research.