After sewing on Lady Cosgrove-Pitt’s butterfly, the ladies fixed their hair, pinched their cheeks, adjusted their gloves, and even brushed a subtle bit of color onto their lips. It wasn’t until Lurelia and I were leaving the lounge that I remembered I was supposed to be trying to get samples of face powder. But by then, they had departed in a flock of chatter, and I was out of excuses for delay.
When we left the lounge, Lurelia and I went to check our dance albums. To my disappointment, one of the dances I’d missed was my second, and last, waltz with Mr. Dancy. Blast it all! And I was startled to realize my dance with Mr. VanderBleeth was next. We had been in the lounge for longer than I’d expected.
“Mr. Southerby,” Lurelia said, peering at her album. “I hope he is a good dancer.”
I knew for a fact the young man was fairly light on his toes. But he was also deadly boring (I had a feeling he couldn’t make conversation because he was counting steps the entire time) and very shy, and therefore no threat to the princess’s reputation. I watched with relief as Mr. Southerby led her away.
“Avoiding me again, Miss Stoker?”
I turned to find Mr. Dancy at my elbow. “I beg your pardon?”
“You missed our second waltz.” He frowned mockingly. “But at least I have reserved my place for a third one—and the final waltz of the evening.” He extended his arm with a warm smile.
“Er . . . but I believe there must be a mistake.” I turned to retrieve my dance album, but it had already been taken away to be erased. Not that I wouldn’t rather take a turn with him than Mr. VanderBleeth, but duty called.
“A mistake?” Mr. Dancy frowned. “I don’t see how . . .”
“But you’ve only signed up for two dances. And—”
“Well, hello there, Miss Stoker. I reckon it’s time for our waltz now, isn’t it?”
I turned in time to find Mr. VanderBleeth in mid-bow. When he came up, he captured my hand and looked at me with laughing, dark eyes.
Familiar laughing, dark eyes.
Miss Stoker
The Third Waltz
“Well, that explains the confusion,” I said to Pix once I’d recovered from my shock. I gripped his arm firmly as he led me to the dance floor. “You crossed off Mr. Dancy’s name in my album and added your own. That’s why I could hardly read it.”
“It was to be the bloke’s third waltz with you, luv,” he said. His voice was somewhere between his usual Cockney and the American accent he’d been using all evening. “’E was bein’ greedy.”
Pix’s hand was steady and solid at the back of my waist as he shifted me into position for the waltz. Lurelia claimed he was a divine dancer, and I was curious to find out whether that was truly the case.
But I was more curious about other things. “Should I even ask what the blazes you’re doing here? And how on earth did you manage . . . this?” I removed my hand from his shoulder to encompass his whole character, and the fact that he’d gained entrance to a very exclusive ball. “Unless . . . good gad, you aren’t really named Martin VanderBleeth, are you?”
“Bloody hell, of course not!”
“Well, you’d think you’d pick a less ridiculous name than VanderBleeth if you were choosing one.”
He laughed, but I could hardly see his mouth because of the absurd mustache. “That was the point, luv.”
His fingers, gloved in proper coverings for once, curled around my left hand and we stepped into the fray on the dance floor. Smoothly, but more leisurely than with Mr. Dancy. In fact, Pix held me tighter than was strictly proper for a waltz. Our legs brushed against each other as we stepped one two-three, one two-three, swirling almost lazily around the room.
He smelled delicious: of cinnamon and clove and other things. His movements were graceful and confident, his hands firm and yet gentle. His dark eyes—the only recognizable part of him—looked steadily down at me. I could see only a hint of his full lower lip below the luxurious blond mustache. I wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with a mustache like that . . . even if it was fake.
Blast it! What on earth was I thinking? He was a thief and a sneak. And I couldn’t believe half the words that came from his mouth. Less than half. I didn’t even really know what he looked like . . . although there had been one time he’d removed all of his disguise so I could see his face. But it had been shadowy and dark in my bedchamber . . . and who knows if he truly had removed it all.
“Right then. Why are you here? And why are you masquerading as a rich American? And how in the world did you manage to get an invitation? Is Martin VanderBleeth a real person?”
“In fact, he is,” Pix said, executing a pass between two other couples. We came so close I felt the air move, but we didn’t touch either of them. “Aye, and to the best o’ me knowledge, the bloke remains in New York City, completely oblivious to the borrowing of his name.”
“And you chose to borrow his name, as you put it, for what reason?”
“Perhaps it’s jus’ so I can see ’ow the other ’alf lives. See wot it’s like t’dance at Mister Oligary’s bloody Midnight Palace . . . and maybe even take a gander at ye and yer Mr. Dancy. Ye make a fine lookin’ couple, the two o’ ye, even though the fop thinks he ought t’be worthy of three dances.” The smile curved his mustache but did not extend to his eyes. Instead, they glittered darkly. And his Cockney accent had become even thicker than usual.
“I believe your motives are that innocent about as much as I believe you’re an American heir,” I returned.
The mustache curved even more, and now his eyes danced. “Ver’ well, then, luv, ye’ve caught me out. Me motives are never innocent.”
“So why are you here?”
The humor faded from his gaze. “I thought me new customer—the one wot’s causin’ me some consternation—would be likely t’be ’ere tonight. The most exclusive gatherin’ o’ the wealthy an’ powerful. I was hopin’ I might identify ’im. Or ’er.”
“You think it’s the Ankh.”
He didn’t respond, but his fingers tightened over mine a trifle.
“How did you think you’d identify him or her by coming here? You only have the paper, the note, you gave me . . . how would you know? Have you ever seen him? Or her? Or spoken to him?” Once more, he remained silent, but I wasn’t going to let it go. “Tell me what else you know about this new customer, Pix, and why you’re so blasted worried about him. Or her.”
“Bloody ’ell, Evaline, yer gonna be th’ death o’ me—or at leas’, the death o’ me peace.”
“I hardly think you have any peace to speak of, Pix. Sneaking around in the stews, wearing disguises all the time, dealing with whatever illegal trade it is you do. That doesn’t seem like a very peaceful life at all. It doesn’t seem like a life at all.”
I was one to talk, being a vampire hunter and all, but he was making me angry. Always half-truths. Always hiding. And blast it all, even though I didn’t trust him, I couldn’t stop thinking about him either. That was what infuriated me the most.
His expression turned blank and I felt his body become rigid as steel. “Do ye think I’d choose such a life if I ’ad the choice?”
“Pix . . .” I didn’t know what to say. There was something raw, something real about his words. Bleakness darkened his eyes. “What do you—”
“Leave it, Evaline. Just leave it be.” He’d never spoken to me in that tone before. Cold, hard, cutting.
I scrambled for something to say, but no words came to mind. Instead, we paced through several more steps until the waltz ended. At least he hadn’t abandoned me on the dance floor.
“There’s yer Mr. Dancy,” Pix said as he escorted me off the dance floor. “Waitin’ for ye like a pantin’ hound dog.”
“Thank you for the dance, Mr. VanderBleeth.” My voice matched his chilly one. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
I spun smartly and took myself off to locate Lurelia, managing to avoid Mr. Dancy at the same time. The princess should have j
ust been finishing the same waltz with Mr. Southerby. I nearly bumped into Mina, who grasped me by the arm and towed me off.
“Well? Have you learned anything? Did you see anyone using vanilla face powder?” she demanded.
“No. I—”
“And where’s Lurelia?”
“She was dancing with Mr. Southerby—”
“There is Mr. Southerby. And Lurelia is not in his vicinity.”
Mina and I both spun in different directions to scan the room. “It’s impossible to find anyone here,” she muttered over her shoulder. “With all those ridiculous flowing draperies and so many alcoves, and the lights are always moving about. And now that the dancing is finished, everyone is in the way. Drat it! Where could she have gone?”
“Surely she can’t be far. The waltz just ended.”
But Mina didn’t reply. I turned back to see her pushing through the crush of people, heading toward Mr. Southerby. By the time I joined them, she’d already begun questioning the poor man.
“You mean to say you didn’t even dance with her at all?” Mina’s voice rose alarmingly.
“I intended to, of course, but we were nearly to the edge of the dance floor when she stopped and asked me to fetch her a glass of apple-tea, with a caramel cinnamon swirly-stick. When I came back, she was gone.”
“Double-drat!” Mina whirled on me. “How could this happen?”
“Calm down,” I said, even though I felt a little disconcerted. “Perhaps she merely wanted to freshen up. There’s no reason to panic. Surely she’s not gone far.”
But we couldn’t find her anywhere. We checked the ladies’ retiring room, then Mina and I split up. We went in different directions, meeting up at pre-arranged locations. I didn’t see Lurelia or Mr. VanderBleeth, although I did have another near encounter with Mr. Dancy. But I managed to avoid him at the last minute, for I had a feeling he would become difficult to dislodge if we met up.
Suddenly, my arm was grabbed in a deathly grip. I spun around, ready to lose my temper, when I saw Mina’s face. It was strained and white, and for once, she wasn’t telling me what to do.
She was looking up . . . up . . .
There, on the highest balcony overlooking the room, was Lurelia, teetering near the edge. Even from here, I could see she was disheveled and wore a terrified expression.
Oh my gad. She is going to fall!
Miss Holmes
Wherein Our Heroines Make an Exceptional Blunder
Lurelia didn’t fall.
I never believed it was an imminent possibility; for she merely stood at the balcony, which had a waist-high railing, looking as if she were in shock, but Miss Stoker certainly did. She dashed off like a madwoman, pushing through the crowd and bolting up the moving stairs.
I followed at a slightly more sedate pace, though still very quickly. Unfortunately, our hasty actions garnered the attention of some of the other party-goers, and I heard the low rumble of concerned murmurs.
My insides churned and my palms were sweaty beneath my gloves. I wasn’t eager for Miss Adler or Princess Alix to realize we’d lost custody of our charge on the very first night of duty. And from the looks of the younger princess, something unpleasant had befallen her. I just hoped it wasn’t anything too awful.
By the time I reached the balcony, I was breathing heavily due to my blasted corset. Evaline had moved Lurelia away from the edge, out of sight of the curious in the ballroom below. It was a lovely space, for the other side of the chamber opened onto a large terrace that overlooked the city. The fresh night air would have been welcome if this weren’t such a desperate moment.
The princess sat on an upholstered bench, looking more forlorn and timid than ever. Half of her hair sagged in loose hanks, and she was missing a glove and one of her pearl earbobs. There was even a tear on her overskirt.
“It was awful,” she said over and over again. “So terrible!”
“It’s all right. You’re safe now,” said my partner. I wasn’t at all surprised she didn’t have a handkerchief to offer the tearful princess, so I extricated one from my small drawstring bag and thrust it at Lurelia. Honestly, how did Evaline think she would be a successful vampire hunter if she was never prepared for emergencies? She hardly even remembered to bring money for the street-lifts.
“I was so frightened!” Lurelia made good use of my handkerchief with decidedly unprincesslike sounds. “And he . . . he . . . Oh, it was terrible!”
“He who?” I demanded, for clearly Miss Stoker had no concept how to conduct a thorough and efficient interrogation. She merely stood there looking disgusted. Someone had to take control and guide Lurelia into coherence. “What happened? Did someone attack you?”
“Y-yes. Yes. I—I went to wash my face . . . I was feeling rather warm. I didn’t really want to dance the last waltz, and so I sent my partner off to find something to drink. But I wanted some air, so I . . .” She buried her face in the handkerchief.
“Yes? What did you do?”
“I went up to . . . up here. Someone . . . Lady Cosgrove-Pitt? Or one of her companions . . . had mentioned to me there was an open terrace on one of the lower roofs, and I thought if I could just breathe some of the night air I would be . . .” She dissolved into tears, hiding her face in trembling hands.
“Your Highness . . .” It was a struggle for me to keep my tone respectful, for this was precisely the sort of emotional breakdown that frayed my nerves. “If you would attempt to focus your thoughts and tell us what happened, Evaline and I will see what’s to be done.”
Lurelia lifted her damp face from the scrap of white linen. “It was awful. He was so . . . he was so frightening. He . . . he . . . at least, I think it was a he.”
I went cold. “What?”
“I thought it was a man at first. He was dressed in black, and he wore a hat. And gloves. And it was dark and shadowy.” My sharp words seemed to have forced Lurelia to collect her thoughts. “But then, the way he spoke . . . and moved. It couldn’t have been a woman, could it? A woman dressed in men’s clothing?”
“What did he—or she—look like?” I demanded, feeling as if I’d been plunged into a pool of water. Everything was slow and murky. I had seen Lady Cosgrove-Pitt just before the final waltz. She had been standing in a corner, conversing with Mr. Oligary and Lady Bentley-Hughes. And she had been the one to tell Lurelia that the terrace was here. Could she have had the time to change her clothing and come up here to accost the princess?
“Forget what he looked like! What did he say? What happened?” Evaline’s voice was as tense as I felt.
“He . . . she . . . w-wanted me to tell h-him . . . h-her . . . where it was. ‘Where is it? Where is it?’ He kept saying it over and over. ‘Where is it?’ He had his hands around my throat . . . f-first he shook me by the shoulders, then he put his hands around my neck . . . and he wasn’t so very tall. Perhaps he was a woman.”
“What did he want? What was he looking for?”
“He—he wants the chess queen. The Byzantine chess queen.” Lurelia’s voice quavered. “He said if I don’t give it to him, he’ll . . . he’ll . . .”
“Do you mean the Theophanine Chess Queen?” I was confused. “How would you know where it is?”
“I don’t know!” Lurelia burst into tears. “I told him the letter is missing, and he s-said the letter didn’t matter. That he knew I could find it. That that was why I c-came to L-London . . .”
I had to blink several times before I could determine where to begin to untangle this tale. “So a man—who might have been a woman—accosted you here on the terrace and wanted you to tell him where the Theophanine Chess Queen is. And even though you don’t know where it is, not only does he believe you do, he believes you came to London for the express purpose of retrieving it? Is that correct?”
The princess had stilled during my speech, and now she looked up at me with confused gray eyes. “Y-yes. I believe so.”
“Why on earth would he—or she,” I added grimly,
“believe you know where it is? The chess queen has been missing for three centuries.”
“Be-c-cause I . . . I . . .” Lurelia swallowed hard. “Because I was the one who r-realized the l-letter was a-about the chess queen. I found it in a trunk of old papers and r-realized what it w-was—a letter from Queen Elizabeth to my ancestor the Duchess of Fedeway. But I d-don’t know what it means!”
“So the man threatened you. If you don’t tell him where the chess queen is, he’ll . . . what did he say he’d do?”
Lurelia bowed her head. “Nothing,” she whispered.
I exchanged an impatient glance with Miss Stoker, and she took the opportunity to speak. “Your Highness . . . Lurelia. We’re here to help you. If you’re in danger—of anything—tell us so we can help. You must trust us.”
But she just shook her head silently. Before I could press her further, Inspector Grayling burst through the entrance. Hardly sparing either Miss Stoker or me a glance, he rushed to the distraught princess.
“Your Highness, are you hurt?” Because of his excessive height, he found it necessary to crouch next to her in order not to tower over the diminutive girl—something he never had the consideration to do when speaking with me. The toe of his shiny boot squeaked softly on the marble floor. “What has befallen you?”
“She isn’t hurt,” I told him, deciding an interruption with a clear and simple response was better than the halting, timid answer Lurelia would no doubt provide.
Grayling flashed me an exasperated look just as Mr. Oligary, Miss Adler, and Lord Regent Terrence swept into view. Oh drat.
“Princess Lurelia! Are you injured? What has happened?” exclaimed Mr. Oligary. He hardly leaned on his walking stick as he limped to the princess’s side. “Your Highness, I am terribly sorry for whatever occurred to upset you at my social hall. I shall make certain the captain assigns the very capable Inspector Grayling here to handle the investigation, and he will make any arrests as quickly as possible. Please, allow me to see you to a more comfortable location so you may be . . . er . . . put to rights.”
The Chess Queen Enigma Page 7