by Erin Lindsey
“And you, Miss Hendriks.”
“What’s that you’re holding? A cigarette?” She arched a golden eyebrow. “How very … modern.”
“Do you think so?” I gave the ivory wand a disinterested look. “It’s positively the thing in Boston.”
“I’ve spent a good deal of time in Boston,” said Betty Sanford, “and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a lady smoke.” She put just enough emphasis on the word to make her meaning plain.
“Oh, I shouldn’t worry,” I said airily. “I’m sure the fashion will make its way to your crowd eventually.”
Miss Sanford’s smile was an artfully veiled sneer. “I doubt it.”
“Did you come with your cousin, then?” Miss Hendriks scanned the room.
“Yes, he’s right over there, with Mr. Burrows.” Smiling sweetly, I added, “The three of us came together.”
Oh, Rose, what are you doing? Kicking the hornet’s nest, that was what. I just couldn’t seem to help myself.
“How nice for you,” Miss Hendriks said. “Well, we won’t keep you. They’ll be calling us to supper any moment now.”
I took the opportunity to consult my wristwatch, discreetly holding the silver charm against the end of the cigarette holder. It didn’t occur to me until it was too late that this gave Ava Hendriks a bountiful view of what remained of the Tiffany bracelet her family had given me as a favor, which I’d promptly stripped for parts. Her pale skin flooded with color, and her eyes met mine with a flash of outrage. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t need to; I understood perfectly well that war had just been declared.
“That could have gone better,” Edith Islington observed as Ava and her retinue flounced off in icy silence.
“Oh, well. Maybe now she’ll think twice about trying to marry someone into my family. And speaking of, I ought to let Mr. Wiltshire know about our supper plans. I’ll be right back.”
I moved off into the crowd, waiting until I was out of sight before I started waving my cigarette at people once more, scanning as many as I could before we were called to supper. As before, nobody took any real notice of me—until I passed the miniature conservatory at the center of the room and heard the sound of my name, at which point I froze in my tracks.
“What do you mean, you didn’t see?” Ava Hendriks’s voice filtered through the thicket of greenery, piping hot with indignation. She must have been sitting on one of the benches, screened from my view by palm fronds. “The bracelet she was given at my mother’s reception. She’s cut it up, the little monster. Like a common ragpicker!”
Never mind, the sensible part of me said. You have work to do. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to walk away. Instead I inched a little closer, relying on the dense shrubbery to conceal me from view.
“Well, what do you expect?” Betty Sanford said. “She’s Irish.”
“If you can believe anything she says. All that flimflam about her grandfather being an English lord?”
A delighted gasp. “You think she’s lying?”
“With that accent? She might hide it passing well, but I promise you, that girl is as working class as they come. If she is a relation of Mr. Wiltshire’s, it must be very distant. I can’t imagine why he would introduce her into society.”
“Family loyalty, I suppose,” said a third voice, the woman whose name I’d forgotten.
“Charity, is more like it,” Miss Hendriks said.
As much as I didn’t want to care what these women thought of me, hearing myself dismissed as charity was mortifying. Warmth flooded my face, and for a moment I just stood there, ears buzzing.
I was so out of sorts that I didn’t even notice the waiter hovering at my side until he spoke. “More champagne, miss?” There was something oddly grim about his tone, and when I looked up, the gaze that met mine was tinged with pity. He overheard the whole thing. And thanks to the rush of color in my cheeks, he knew they must be talking about me. As usual, there was an audience for my humiliation.
“N-no, thank you,” I stammered, fleeing before Miss Hendriks caught me eavesdropping.
I took a quick turn about the room to compose myself, and by the time I was done, supper had been called. Edith Islington had obviously taken it upon herself to inform Thomas of our seating arrangements, because he stood beside her at one of the long tables, waiting for me. “I hope this is all right,” he murmured as he pulled out my chair for me.
“It’s fine, thank you.”
And so it was—until Ava Hendriks appeared on the other side of the table. My smile wilted. She didn’t look any happier about the arrangement, and for a moment I was at a loss to understand it. Why would she choose to sit there, of all places? Then Jonathan Burrows took the seat directly across from me, and I understood.
Rich hunting grounds indeed. Well, I would enjoy watching her stalk her prey. What was it he called you? A little viper? Good luck to you, darling.
Meanwhile, Mr. Burrows had guided his own prey to the table, in the person of Andrew Price. Miss Hendriks didn’t much fancy that either, greeting Price with a cold nod. And so we were arrayed: Mr. Burrows wedged between Misses Sanford and Hendriks, and Thomas between Edith and me, with Andrew Price, brothel owner and possible murder mastermind, rounding out our merry little group. “I think I’m ready for that second glass of champagne,” I announced to no one in particular.
We got off to a rip-roaring start, courtesy of Mr. Price. “How lovely to see you, Miss Hendriks. I hear the event the other night was a smashing success.” An event to which he had most pointedly not been invited, as everyone there knew. Ava Hendriks was too well bred not to squirm, which of course was the point.
“I wouldn’t call it an event,” she said. “Just a small gathering, really.”
Price started to reply, but then he paused, his glance going over her shoulder. “There you are. I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”
“I was detained,” said a new voice. “May I?”
An unfamiliar gentleman loomed over the empty seat beside Miss Hendriks. He was a dour-faced fellow, tall and gaunt. Gangly, even.
My heart skipped a beat. I glanced at Thomas, and the sudden sharpness of his gaze told me he’d had the same thought: The newcomer matched the description of our killer. On its own, that might not mean much, but here at this event, taking a seat across from the man we suspected of hiring the assassin? Too much of a coincidence to credit, surely?
The cigarette holder lay on the table in front of me. Discreetly, I reached for it—
—and promptly spilled champagne all over Thomas.
His chair skittered back, but not in time to spare his trousers. With a squeak of dismay, I righted my glass and grabbed my napkin, but of course I couldn’t very well go pawing at his lap, so I turned my anguished attention to the fizzing puddle on the tablecloth. Or at least I tried to, but before you could say hopeless clod a mob of waiters had descended on us, fussing and flapping and doing a masterful job of drawing the attention of everyone in the dining room.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured, my face burning. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Never mind, it’s just champagne.” A game reply, but I knew only too well the care he and Mr. Jennings had put into that new tailoring. I wanted to die.
“Well, that brings a whole new meaning to Champagne Charlie,” Mr. Burrows said merrily. I wanted to kill him.
Edith, meanwhile, handed me the ivory wand, sticky with champagne. “I’m afraid that’s the end of your cigarette.”
I removed the soggy cigarette and wiped the holder down with my napkin, avoiding the glances of my supper companions. “Here you are, miss,” said one of the waiters, helpfully depositing an entire stack of fresh napkins in front of me.
“I know a very good laundress,” Miss Sanford offered sweetly.
“Thank you,” Thomas said, “but I’m quite confident in my own.”
Who until recently was me. I swear, I nearly said it aloud. I guess there’s only so muc
h humiliation you can take before you become giddy with it.
“Do join us,” Edith said to the tall man, doing her best to push past the awkwardness. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”
“Forgive me,” said Price. “Fitz, this is Miss Edith Islington. The lady beside you is Miss Ava Hendriks…”
Taking advantage of the distraction, I pointed the cigarette holder in the direction of the man called Fitz. I could feel the pulses, all right, but with Edith so nearby, how could I be sure of the source?
Leaning over, I whispered in Thomas’s ear. “Something tells me this is going to be a very long night.”
CHAPTER 19
IT’S FANCY ’CAUSE IT’S FRENCH—SPITEFUL—A VERY BAD WAITER
As though I didn’t have enough on my plate, as it were, what was actually on the plate proved to be its own kind of challenge. The entire menu was in French, which meant that the first course was not turtle soup but potage à la tortue, followed by a series of dishes that I couldn’t identify, let alone pronounce. So when the waiter inquired whether madam would prefer the blanchailles or the merlans frits, I could only give Thomas a helpless look.
“I’ve had the whitebait before,” he said, “and I can recommend it.”
“Very well, then, I’ll take the whitebait, please.” Having determined that whitebait was a fish, I could at least work out which fork to use. Or so I thought, but when it arrived, it proved to be a plateful of artfully displayed minnows. How on earth was one meant to dissect these tiny creatures? Then I observed Mr. Burrows across from me and realized they were meant to be eaten whole, head and tail and all, at which point I felt a little ill.
My awkwardness did not go unnoticed. “Miss Gallagher,” said Ava Hendriks, “I’m torn between the côtelettes d’agneau and the vol-au-vent. Which do you prefer?”
I wasn’t going to let her get the better of me so easily. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said with a dismissive gesture. “One is as good as the other, surely? It’s not as though you’re choosing a candidate for mayor. There, I don’t envy anyone having to decide. What do you think, Miss Hendriks—if you had the vote, whom would you choose and why?”
“Oh yes,” Mr. Burrows said with a grin, “do tell.”
Miss Hendriks’s smile had a razor edge. “I was taught never to discuss politics at the table.”
“Ordinarily, perhaps,” Edith said, “but tonight? That is why we’re here, after all. Some of us, at any rate.” She smiled innocently and popped a tiny fish into her mouth.
“I for one am quite looking forward to tonight’s speech,” Thomas said. “What about you, Mr. Fitz?”
The tall man froze with his fork halfway to his mouth, surprised at being put on the spot. “Just Fitz. And to be quite frank, I’m not overly fond of the fellow…”
With the center of conversation safely across the table, I had a chance to try again with the probe. Pointing it directly at Fitz from beneath the cover of the tablecloth, I glanced at the dial on my wrist. Four. The reading was too strong to be coming from Edith, two seats to my right. But I couldn’t rule out Mr. Burrows, or for that matter, Ava Hendriks. I cursed inwardly.
“Is that a wristwatch?” Andrew Price’s voice startled me back to the present. “I’d heard those were becoming quite the fashion in Europe, but I’ve never actually seen one.”
“It is,” I said, subtly angling it away so he couldn’t see the dial.
“What is it—Cartier? Longines?”
“It’s, um, a Tesla.”
“Miss Gallagher has all the most interesting accoutrements,” Edith declared.
Feeling self-conscious again, I reached for my wine … and very nearly knocked it over a second time. Only Thomas’s lightning reflexes prevented another disaster, his hand shooting out to settle the glass before it lost more than a few droplets.
For a moment I could only stare. I’d never spilled wine in my life until this evening, and now twice? I started to stammer out another apology, but Mr. Burrows’s voice cut across me.
“Oh, dear, does it hurt very badly?” Shaking his head, he explained, “Poor Miss Gallagher had her hand caught in the carriage door on the way over.”
Murmurs of sympathy around the table.
“I swear I heard something crack. She was a lioness about it, of course. Barely a peep.” He took a casual sip of his wine.
Not for the first time, I marveled at how smoothly Jonathan Burrows lied. Nor did Thomas miss his cue. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we ought to get you to a doctor in the morning, just to be sure.”
I kept my mortified gaze on my lap, which was how I happened to see the minute hand on my wristwatch drop from eight to four. Someone had been using their luck a moment ago …
I looked up, and if the smug malice in Ava Hendriks’s eyes wasn’t evidence enough, the look of fury in Edith’s sealed it. So that’s your luck, Miss Hendriks. Somehow she could trick my body into random fits of clumsiness. She’d been doing it since we sat down. She’s been spiteful since she was a child, Mr. Burrows had said, and now I could see why. With a talent like that, who wouldn’t grow into a bully?
Well, you can imagine how the rest of the supper went after that. Between avoiding the predations of Princess Ava and trying to take sneaky readings of the possible assassin sitting next to her, I barely managed a bite of each course. I didn’t dare move too often, lest Miss Hendriks have me stab myself in the eye with a fork, and when I did manage to steal a reading, I couldn’t be sure whose luck I was detecting. By the time ice cream was served, my leg was jouncing so impatiently that Thomas actually put a hand on my knee under the table. (It was a measure of my anxiety that I couldn’t even enjoy it.)
When the meal was finally over, the guests began to disperse—ladies to the drawing rooms upstairs, gentlemen to the reception side of the room, where the bar was still running. “Who’s for port?” Andrew Price asked.
Fitz glanced up from winding his watch. “I’ll be along shortly.”
At last, I’d have my chance to catch him on his own. “I’ll join you in a moment,” I told Thomas, “once I’ve had a chance to freshen up.” Discreetly, I tilted my head toward Fitz.
He nodded his understanding. “And you, Miss Islington, will you be staying for the speech?”
“I wouldn’t miss it, Mr. Wiltshire.”
“Miss Sanford and I are heading upstairs,” Miss Hendriks announced, though nobody had asked.
Fitz took his time fussing over his watch, leaving me to loiter nearby. At least Edith stayed with me, so I didn’t look completely out of place.
“I’m sorry for what Ava did to you,” she murmured. “I should have prepared you better. It’s just … well, it’s terribly bad form, isn’t it, to discuss someone else’s luck? Especially if they’re family.”
“Family? Ava Hendriks?”
“Didn’t you know? Her mother is an Islington, of the Long Island branch.” Edith sighed. “We can’t all be as fortunate in our relations as you.”
“I’m very fortunate indeed, to hear Miss Hendriks tell it. Why, Mr. Wiltshire’s kindness toward me is nothing short of charity.”
Her mouth fell open. “She actually said that? Charity?”
“Oh, yes. I heard her quite distinctly. And the worst part is, I wasn’t the only one. That waiter over there overheard the whole thing.”
“Which, the tall, skinny one?”
“Yes. It was completely humiliating, and…”
I paused.
The young man who’d offered me champagne stood idle near the potted palms, watching the door with an intent expression. His silver tray was empty, his fingers tapping out an anxious rhythm on its rim.
“Edith … that waiter. Would you say he’s gangly?”
She cocked her head. “I suppose that’s a fair description. Why?”
“Have you ever seen him before?”
“Several times. He’s worked here for at least a few months. Why, what’s the matter? Do you know him?”
/> “I think I’ve seen him before, too, in the Reading Room.” He’d brought Uncle Isaac’s coffee the day we’d interviewed him. “I didn’t notice him until now because…” Because he’s only a waiter. For shame, Rose Gallagher.
“I don’t understand. What—?”
Her question was drowned out by the arrival, to much commotion, of Theodore Roosevelt.
The waiter tensed like a cat with a bird in its sights. Then he set aside his tray and began tugging off his gloves, his eyes never leaving the candidate.
“Oh, no,” I murmured. “Oh, dear.”
My gaze raked the room, but there was no sign of Thomas and no time to get him. Meanwhile, Mr. Roosevelt was making his way through a gathering crowd, shaking hands and gripping shoulders.
I hurried toward him, ignoring Edith’s voice calling after me. The waiter was on the move now, too, heading for the mob surrounding the candidate. I pointed the probe directly at him, my glance cutting frantically between him and the watch. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
I hiked up my dress and broke into a run.
Mr. Roosevelt saw me first. His gaze met mine, but what he did after that I didn’t see; I was too busy making a grab for the waiter. If I could have gotten a solid grip I’d have thrown him down, but he was moving too fast; as it was, I only managed to catch his sleeve. He turned, surprised and angry. “Let go of me!”
Instead I grabbed a fistful of lapel, planting my feet and readying for a throw. “Stay away from him. I know what you mean to do.”
The crowd around us continued to press forward, eager to greet the candidate. We were an island of stillness in their midst, anonymous, unnoticed.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“And I can’t let you hurt him.”
“Let go,” he said again, and brushed the bare skin of my arm.
It was a fleeting touch, but it was enough. The moment his skin met mine, my heart lurched in my chest, and my knees buckled. I tightened my grip to keep from falling, and that was my undoing.
“Let go,” he said a third time, grimly, and he put his hand on my shoulder.