Now Playing on Outworld 5730

by R. T. W. Lipkin

  But it was still tonight, and the handsome, unapproachable Lord Trevelton had his arm around her. At last.

  Chapter 124

  Calvert put the bag of chocolate down on the center table and went directly into Jewel Allman’s room, without even knocking.

  “Oh, Mr. Calvert,” she said. “I was just about to go upstairs and see how everything was progressing. Would you care to accompany me?”

  “Sit down, please, Mrs. Allman. I’m afraid I have to tell you something rather shocking.”

  “Mr. Calvert,” Jewel said. “You can’t mean that something else has happened, can you? If you want to discuss the short-term players, we can do that tomorrow. I’m starting to come over to your way of thinking. It could save us.”

  “Mrs. Allman,” Calvert said after he’d motioned again for her to sit down. “It’s Allene Dickens.”

  “Where has she been? You know Violet had to do the duchess’s hair and—” Jewel saw the look on Calvert’s face and finally sat down.

  “She’s been killed.” On the ride back to Hollyhock, Calvert had rehearsed several other versions of relaying this fact, and this hadn’t been one of the choices.

  He pushed the images of his dead wife and daughter out of his mind. Yet replacing them was the image of Allene, the arrow in her neck, the sea of blood surrounding her.

  “Mr. Calvert, please. I don’t have time to play a game like this. Not now.”

  “She’s dead, Mrs. Allman. I just came from . . .”

  “You’d better tell me everything,” Jewel said, sighing.

  Calvert told her almost everything, leaving out how cold Allene’s arm had felt, how rigid it was. Mrs. Allman didn’t need to know that. Eli himself didn’t need to know that.

  “We’ll get Doc Hoffstead,” Jewel said.

  “We need a different sort of person, Mrs. Allman. Someone in authority.”

  “He is at the ball. I saw him earlier. And it’s still early enough that he’ll be useful.” Jewel picked up a paperweight on her desk, then put it down again. “Sober, I mean.”

  “But—”

  “Mr. Calvert. It’s dark out there. Even in the moonlight, nighttime here at Hollyhock is impenetrably black. You could be mistaken. A frightening circumstance, and a new one. We must make sure. Get confirmation. Then we’ll decide how to proceed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Calvert,” Cook said as he and Jewel Allman made their way through the kitchen and up the stairway.

  “Whatever happens, we mustn’t ruin the ball,” Jewel said to Calvert as they mounted the steps. “If Allene is . . . as you say . . . then, well, tomorrow. Tomorrow will be soon enough.”

  Calvert, who was in front of Jewel, stopped before they got to the top of the staircase and turned around to face her.

  “You’ve forgotten something, Mrs. Allman,” he said. “The killer is probably at the ball that you don’t want to ruin, along with many other people whose lives could be in jeopardy.”

  “We don’t know that yet, Mr. Calvert,” Jewel said, but it was obvious that even she didn’t believe her own words.

  Chapter 125

  Lady Patience looked around the room, for both the duchess and Trevelton. The floor was aswirl with dancers, and it was hard to concentrate on anyone with the constant movement and the insistent, persistent music overtaking every sense.

  Neither of the people she so needed to see were anywhere. Focus, Pamela, she said to herself. Of course Marguerite was here, somewhere. It was just a matter of finding her. And she’d seen Trevelton several times that evening, so she knew he was here as well.

  The dance ended, and the neat arrays and orderly patterns that had blocked Lady Patience’s progress now dispersed into unnavigable chaos. Everyone, it seemed, was talking, laughing, flirting, gesturing, their spirits high from the dancing, the mood cast by the shadows and candlelight and enchanted decorations, the excitement of hiding behind a mask and touching unfamiliar partners.

  There. Lady Patience finally spotted Lord Trevelton, who’d just come into the room. He seemed to be supporting Lady Katherine, if that’s what her name was, although Pamela was sure she recognized the woman from somewhere else. She just hadn’t been able to place her and had had little desire to talk with her.

  How the marquess could be interested in anyone other than Lettie seemed impossible to Lady Patience, and she thought of how she’d caught him looking at Lettie a few times, his expression one of unmistakable affection. But as she herself had for years now failed to find a mate, she reminded herself that she was hardly an expert in these matters.

  Before she could get to Trevelton, though, a crowd formed around him and the group he’d come into the ballroom with. A group that included both Vernie and Baron North, Lady Patience saw.

  The crowd parted briefly, and she finally spotted the duchess, sitting on a settee with the duke, and Lady Patience changed course, making her way through the now-rearranged crowd, anxious to get to Marguerite before her vile, yellow-eyed husband did.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Patience said, trying to suppress the frisson of building terror that she felt welling up. The reel that had just started seemed to add to it.

  “Lady Patience,” the duchess said. She appeared distracted and possibly somewhat fearful herself. Perhaps she knew already, Lady Patience thought.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Patience said to the duke.

  “You must excuse me,” the duke said, getting up, taking Lady Patience’s hand, and bowing to the duchess. Then he made his way across the room to where the crowd had surrounded Lady Katherine, Trevelton, and their companions.

  Lady Patience sighed in relief and sat down next to the duchess.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Patience whispered, turning her face toward the duchess’s ear and away from any onlookers.

  “What is it, Pamela?” Marguerite said so quietly that only Pamela could hear her.

  “Don’t react,” Pamela said. “It’s Clive. He’s here.”

  “He can’t be,” Marguerite said. “He can’t be.” It was more of a plea than a denial.

  “He is. I’m almost certain of it.”

  “Almost?”

  “Lettie described her dance partner to me, and I’m sure it’s Idrest. No one else looks like him.”

  “But everyone’s wearing a mask tonight,” Marguerite said. She was gripping the arm of the settee with one hand and pushing her fist down into the cushion with her other.

  “It has to be him. No one else has those yellow eyes.”

  “She must be mistaken.”

  “Lettie said his eyes looked caustic, like acid. Marguerite, I know you don’t want it to be true, but who else could it be? And Lettie won’t come back into the ballroom. She’s afraid of seeing him again.”

  “My God, Pamela. How could he have gotten here?”

  “What’s happening over there?” Lady Patience said.

  Calvert and Jewel Allman were having a discreet yet noticeable discussion with a man Lady Patience didn’t know. She put her hand over the duchess’s clenched fist, although it was hopeless to try and calm her.

  Lady Patience herself was unbearably tense. The atmosphere in the ballroom became eerily threatening, and she feared for Marguerite and her baby.

  “Pamela,” Marguerite said, her face turned toward the wall so that no one could see what she was saying. “He ordered me to come home on the transport tomorrow. Why would he have come here himself?”

  “How can I help you, Marguerite?” If only she’d bought that private transport when she’d had the opportunity, Pamela thought. It could be sitting on the landing site right now, just past Brixton’s outer border.

  But she hadn’t done. An unnecessary extravagance, she’d told herself at the time, even though she could well have afforded it.

  “You can’t, unless you can make this real and my other life disappear.”

  “I wish I could,” Lady Patience said. “Do you know that man?” She nodded her head toward Calvert, Jewel Allman, and
the man they were speaking to.

  “That’s Dr. Hoffstead. From Brixton,” the duchess said as Calvert, Jewel Allman, and Hoffstead made their way slowly, but deliberately, out toward the front of the manor.

  “Someone must be ill,” Lady Patience said.

  “Where did Edgar go?” the duchess said, and grabbed Lady Patience’s hand. “I thought he’d gone over to talk with Trevelton, but I don’t see either of them now.”

  Chapter 126

  When Saybrook got to the ballroom his heart was racing faster than the gray mare he’d seen Calvert riding.

  Even though Jewel Allman’s office had no windows—an oddity that no one who worked with her could understand—there was a vent on the outside wall, and Rosie had immediately taken Wyatt over toward it when they saw Calvert rushing in to the kitchen.

  “Johnny found this weeks ago,” Rosie said, pointing out the vent. “You know how he is. But . . . Quiet now. We’re not sure if sounds also carry into the room.”

  Saybrook followed her, disappointed that their dance was over, that his time with Rose Beach was ending. Yet it would be over tomorrow anyway. As everything ended eventually.

  “Shh,” Rosie said. The two were holding hands as they bent down to listen, and stared at each other in shock as they heard what Calvert was saying.

  Rosie shook her head and put her hand over her mouth while Wyatt bent down farther, to hear better, just as Calvert and Mrs. Allman left her office.

  Still holding Rosie’s hand, Saybrook started toward the front of the manor house.

  “Where are we going?” Rosie said, matching his strides with her own. She too had a sense of purpose, yet it had no direction or target yet. She just knew that she had to do something. Allene dead. She couldn’t be.

  “Find Violet,” Wyatt said. “The two of you get to safety. Use my room. Don’t let anyone in. No one can get in from the ground. It’s locked.” He gave her the key.

  “What happened to Allene?” Rosie said as she put the key in her apron pocket.

  “Someone killed her, Rose,” Wyatt said. “And I have a terrible feeling I know who.”

  “Tell me,” Rosie said.

  Wyatt stopped and put his hands on Rosie’s shoulders.

  “I don’t have time for a full explanation,” he said, “but this has all the earmarks of something Clive Idrest would do.”

  “Is he one of the players here?”

  “No, Rose,” Wyatt said as he took her hand again and they rounded the corner to the front entrance of the manor house. “He’s the duchess’s husband. Her real husband.”

  Before they got to the front door Wyatt stopped again while they were still in the shadows.

  “Miss Rose Beach,” he said. “I’m sorry our dance together had to end.”

  “It was lovely, Wyatt Conroy,” she said. “Truly.”

  “Thank you for noticing,” he said.

  They were still holding hands, and as he brought her hand up and rested it against his cheek, Rosie stood on her toes and kissed him. He circled his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, resting her head on his chest.

  “Just for a moment,” he said, feeling her nod in agreement.

  Then they were apart, going in different directions. He had to find Nicholas and Marguerite, tell them about Clive, make a plan. Do something before it was too late. With Clive Idrest, it could already be too late.

  He’d killed a mere lady’s maid, although she was probably his spy here, Saybrook thought. What better job could a spy have than as the duchess’s lady’s maid?

  Wyatt remembered the man who’d been in their group earlier, who was dancing with Lady Katherine. No wonder he’d looked familiar, but Wyatt hadn’t given it a second thought.

  When he got to the ballroom, another reel was under way, but at the other entrance, he saw Nicholas head-to-head with Ephraim. Wyatt ducked back out, went down the hallway, and sauntered back into the room. He slumped a bit more than usual. He didn’t know where Idrest could be now, but he didn’t want to give anything away, and although Idrest didn’t know him well and might not remember him, they had met once.

  “Trev, old boy,” Saybrook said as he approached the two men. “Your Grace,” Saybrook said with an exaggerated bow.

  “Lord Saybrook,” Lady Katherine said. She had a huge bruise on her neck, and Wyatt winced, wondering if he were looking at another of Idrest’s victims. Hadn’t he been dancing with her when he’d taken Violet out to the terrace?

  “Lady Katherine,” Saybrook said. “I trust you’re all right.”

  “Lord Trevelton here rescued me,” she said, curtsying in Trevelton’s direction.

  “The hell I did,” Trevelton said. “There was no one to rescue Lady Katherine from, and she still refuses to give up his identity.”

  “It was nothing, really,” she said, involuntarily touching the spreading bruise on her throat.

  “I’d rather fancy a drink about now,” the duke said, looking at both Saybrook and Trevelton. “Would you care to join me in the study? Somewhat noisy in here.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Katherine,” Trevelton said.

  “Could you possibly see about some refreshment?” Lady Katherine said to Baron North as the three other men left the ballroom together. “That girl never brought me mine.”

  Chapter 127

  Rosie stood at the ballroom entrance, staring through the crowd, but she didn’t see Vi. The atrocious Trevelton had been there, with Lady Katherine, who had an ugly mark on her neck, yet it didn’t seem to be stopping her from throwing herself at the marquess. But then Trevelton had left along with Wyatt and the duke.

  So the duchess was really Marguerite Idrest, Rosie thought. One of the wealthiest women in this part of the galaxy. Perhaps in the entire galaxy. Her husband was a renowned investment strategist, and Rosie suspected he might not be too pleased about how she was carrying on with the duke, whoever he really was.

  Rosie did see Lady Patience, sitting on the settee with the duchess, but she couldn’t dare go into the ballroom to speak with her, not in her flour-dusted apron.

  Johnny went by, laden down with a tray of empty glasses.

  “Have you seen Vi?” Rosie asked. If anyone knew where she was, it’d be Johnny. He still had his eye on her, and if Vi had only been interested—and if Johnny had only been a better prospect . . .

  “She was out on the east terrace with the Patience lady, but then I saw her rush off after the scream.”

  “What scream?” Had someone else been killed? Of course, maybe Allene wasn’t really dead. How could Calvert have known? And they were taking the doctor out with them, so Rosie held out hope.

  “Quite the to-do, Rosie, my dear,” Johnny said. “But all’s well now. Lady Katherine had some kind of encounter, but Trevelton rescued her.”

  “But where’s Vi now?” Rosie said.

  “Haven’t seen her since,” Johnny said. “I have to take these downstairs. And—why aren’t you there?”

  “Never mind, Johnny,” Rosie said, and ran back out to the foyer, then out the front door. She had to find her friend, wherever she was.

  Chapter 128

  Clive had known the moment he’d sent for Marguerite that that was too risky, but he’d also guaranteed himself enough time to get to her, since he was certain she’d wait until the last moment to try making her escape.

  As though she could escape him. Never. She knew that as soon as she disobeyed, the agency would find her, arrest her, and her life would be over. Now it was also the life of her child, their child, so she’d be even more cautious, even more obedient. Perfect, really.

  Clive made another circuit around the lake. He still had his mask on. Somehow it comforted him. He thought he might continue to wear it even after tonight.

  Very satisfying, don’t you think? He’d been so energized by Allene’s death that he’d almost forgotten about everything else. Thalia had been accommodating, as he knew she would be, but Vivienne York was a hellcat, an
d he was sorry they hadn’t been able to finish. Although he was sure to see her again, maybe for a business deal.

  Only another murderer can truly understand me, he thought, yet he also thought that perhaps after their son was born, he’d kill Marguerite too. An accident of some sort would be best. She’d look lovely, maybe with her hair flowing out around her head.

  He would see Alexander again. He’d decided. He had to. Despite every resolution he’d made not to see him—and Clive’s will was stronger than that of any ten other men—he ached for Alexander and wondered if it were possible that he loved him.

  Alexander might never understand and know him the way Marguerite did, but his passion was unsurpassed, unforgettable, addictive. And he was never passive or disdainful.

  A light rain had started to fall, and Clive laughed. It was raining here, on the frivolous playtime outworld, but on 75, it hadn’t rained for over three hundred days.

  Someone was coming toward him on the path now, a young woman, her hair upswept, her mask dangling from her hand. Lovely, he thought right before he recognized her. They’d danced together and he’d admired her assured form, yet she’d run out on him when he favored Vivienne over her.

  “My lady,” he said as she approached.

  “My lord,” she said, nodding to him and attempting to walk past him, but he blocked her path. It was quite easy, really. He was twice her height, it seemed. His hands itched in anticipation, although even he was unsure what exactly he was anticipating.

  Chapter 129

  After she saw Trevelton with his arm around Lady Katherine, holding her up, leading her back to the manor house, Violet had wanted to run away. As though she weren’t already scheduled to leave in just a few hours’ time.

  But the group had seen her, and Vernie Dalston had demanded Violet get water for Lady Katherine, even though she was just as close to the manor house as Violet was and would be there before Violet could get anything and return with it.