by Jen Turano
“Of course there is. I’ve thought it out thoroughly, and since he’s a rather large gentleman, and we’re rather small ladies who are trying to pass ourselves off as men, well, it will only bring more attention to us if we’re in the company of a normally dressed man. If he goes as a lady, his height alone will garner attention, and then no one will even notice us, and we’ll be able to proceed with our investigation with relatively little fuss.”
Felicia rolled her eyes. “That was a pretty speech indeed, but are you sure you’re not trying to force Zayne to wear a gown as a subtle attempt at revenge over his leaving New York to join Miss Collins?”
Agatha’s eyes hardened for just a second, but then she waved a hand in the air. “That idea never entered my mind.” She grabbed a hat from a table, plopped it on top of the dress, and marched out of the room.
“I wonder how Zayne will react when he gets a gander at that gown,” Grace said as she took Felicia’s arm and they began to follow after Agatha.
They didn’t have long to wonder.
13
A haze of smoke burned Grayson’s eyes, and a persistent itch plagued his scalp. He pushed a finger under the edge of the wig he was wearing and rubbed it back and forth, his movement stilling when he noticed a patron of Posey’s watching him through bleary eyes. Realizing his scratching was causing his red locks to wiggle, he lowered his hand and sent the patron a smile.
He really couldn’t say he blamed the man when he blinked and rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t every day one saw a lady well over six feet tall slouching against a wall.
Thankfully, the man was soon distracted by the appearance of an opium pipe, which allowed Grayson to direct his attention back to the crowd. It came as no surprise that there was little space unoccupied. Customers lounged on the floor, reclining on questionable-looking pillows, drawing smoke into their mouths from long, thin pipes with balls on the ends of them. The stench from the opium was overpowering, and Grayson felt slightly light-headed due to the fumes that hovered in the air.
He’d never been tempted to try opium, even though he’d been around it daily when he lived in China. There was just something off-putting about it—from the smell, to the smoke, to the idea that it caused men, and quite a few ladies, to descend into a permanent state of oblivion, their only goal in life being that of enjoying their next pipe.
A thread of regret stole through him as his gaze traveled over his surroundings. It had been his job to secure transportation for the opium the Wu family produced, and he’d been very good at his job, securing new trade routes to faraway countries, one of those countries being America.
How many lives had he been responsible for ruining while he’d been in the midst of securing himself a fortune?
Pushing aside that unanswerable question, he shoved away from the wall, knowing he would never complete his mission if he continued observing people instead of mingling with them. He stepped forward, hoping none of the men in Posey’s would take his mingling as a sign he would welcome their attentions. Quite frankly, he had no idea how he’d react if someone extended him a proposition.
It wasn’t that he thought he made a lovely lady, but opium was known to cause hallucinations in some people, and it would be just his luck if some poor soul decided he was attractive.
He stepped over a gentleman lying on the floor and edged around another who was rocking back and forth, his eyes vacant and an odd humming noise coming out of his mouth. He was forced to a stop when a group of men blocked his way, none of them seeming to realize Grayson wanted to pass, their attention solely fixed on a pipe they were passing around between them.
If he hadn’t been dressed like a woman, he would have simply jostled his way through them, but he didn’t want to draw more attention to himself than was strictly necessary. He turned on his heel and headed back in the direction he’d just come, reaching an empty spot against the wall a moment later. He leaned against it and twitched the skirt of his garish red gown back into place, effectively hiding his less-than-feminine boots.
He hadn’t intended to dress as a lady, even though he’d known he would have to disguise his appearance somewhat in order to snoop around Posey’s in an attempt to ferret out a bit of information to give to Theodore. He’d been thinking more on the lines of obtaining a beard and perhaps a mustache, but then he’d had the brilliant idea to request assistance from the gentlemen he’d met from the Rogue’s Theater. He’d sent them a note bright and early that morning inquiring whether or not they’d be interested in helping him, adding in that note that he’d be more than happy to pay them for their time and counsel. To his amazement, instead of sending him a return reply, the two men who’d escorted Felicia back to Theodore’s had simply shown up on his doorstep a few hours later, lugging a huge trunk between them, smiles of obvious delight on their faces.
Evidently money was always short when one worked in theater, and they’d been only too happy to relieve him of his funds as they went about disguising him.
Before he’d even had the presence of mind to balk, they’d stuffed him into the red gown—stating too gleefully that it was the only one they had on hand that would fit him—smothered his face in rouge after they’d made him shave it, attached some gooey substance to his eyelashes that he thought made him look as if he had caterpillars hanging over his eyes, and proclaimed him perfect.
A second later, one of the men eyed him closely, declared that Grayson wasn’t quite perfect, and made the outlandish suggestion that he would need to shave his chest.
Grayson had balked then, even though he realized that ladies weren’t normally possessed of hair on their chest. After conferring with the men, a compromise was struck. They pulled a shawl out of the trunk and wrapped it securely around his shoulders and chest, and fastened it with a lovely cameo brooch. The only thing that hadn’t been in the trunk were shoes that would fit him. So, much to the theater men’s dismay, Grayson had been forced to wear his own boots. It had taken him a good five minutes to convince his helpers that no one would see the boots, as they were well hidden beneath the flaring skirt of the gown.
As he twirled a bit to show how well the boots were hidden, Ming had toddled into the room. She’d taken one look at him, let out a wail, and turned and fled from the room, screaming at the top of her lungs for one of her nannies. It seemed his identity had been safely concealed.
No amount of coaxing on his part had convinced the child that he was actually her father, so with a quick apology to the nannies, who were going to have to deal with a distraught child for the rest of the day, Grayson had taken his leave.
An opium pipe was suddenly thrust into his hand, distracting him from his thoughts.
“Go ahead. Smoke it. I don’t mind sharing.”
“No. Thank you, but . . .” Grayson paused when he realized the gentleman who’d passed him the pipe was looking back at him, his expression decidedly bemused.
He had to remember to use a higher voice. He cleared his throat and pitched his tone appropriately. “You’re too kind, but no.”
He handed the pipe back to the man, took a step forward, and stumbled over the hem of his gown. He regained his balance, hitched the skirt up just a tad, and shouldered his way through the crowd, coming to an abrupt stop when he caught sight of a dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. Grayson squinted and tilted his head as he considered the man.
He had seen the man before, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the man was one of the captains Grayson had dealt with.
Here was a man who would know without a doubt if anyone, or rather any Chinese, were searching for Grayson.
Grayson took off after the man but was forced to stop yet again when the man disappeared through a back doorway right as five Chinese men, obviously guards, stepped through that same doorway, blocked the entrance, and began to scan the crowd.
Ducking his head, he took off in the opposite direction, not stopping until he found a spot along the wall and quickly slouched against it.
Bright light suddenly hit him squarely in the eye. Peering toward the front door, his gaze settled on an odd sight indeed.
Three people were entering the den, two slight gentlemen and one rather large lady, all of whom paused in the entranceway, almost as if they had no idea what to do next.
The front door slammed shut and the room went dim again, casting the new arrivals into shadows before they disappeared into the crowd.
Reminding himself that he was supposed to be obtaining information and not gawking at the odd patrons who kept walking through the door, Grayson put his head down and edged around the room. He finally came to a stop almost where he’d started, but this time in a position hidden behind numerous patrons that enabled him to be near the back doorway without allowing the guards to see him. He inched closer, and satisfaction flowed over him when he caught the sound of what seemed to be a rather heated discussion.
“. . . and there was some unwanted attention by the police,” a voice was saying. “They were all over the dock area, and another ship from China that was right behind mine actually pulled back. I have no idea if they’ll try to drop their shipment anytime soon, which means you might want to watch how you’re speaking to me. You can’t run an opium den if you don’t have any opium.”
Grayson strained to hear the muttered reply and then realized that someone was translating the words into Chinese.
It really was unfortunate he’d refused to learn the language. By the loud guffaws now drifting out the door, he had a feeling the demands of the first man—probably the captain he’d noticed earlier—were being scoffed at. Hopefully the man was a bright sort and wouldn’t attempt to argue. He’d seen all too often what happened to those who stood in the way of profit.
A large body suddenly lurched into him, sufficiently distracting him from the conversation he’d been straining to hear. Reaching out, he steadied an unusually large woman, frowning when he realized the arm he was clutching seemed to be made of steel. Before he could contemplate that realization, the woman shrugged away from him, squared her shoulders as she patted her hair, and ducked her head, making it impossible for Grayson to see her face.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said in a high, slightly nasal voice. “These dastardly dresses can be a bit of a menace at times.” The woman lifted her head and then . . . her eyes widened. “Grayson? Is that you? And if it is, what are you doing here?” she said in a voice that greatly resembled Zayne Beckett’s.
Grayson’s mouth dropped open right before a snort of laughter shot out of it. “On my word, Zayne, you make a lovely lady.”
Zayne eyed him for a moment and then grinned. “I wish I could return the compliment. Why do you have that . . . thing wrapped around you?” he asked, gesturing to Grayson’s shawl.
Pulling the shawl closer, Grayson returned the grin. “This is to hide the low bodice of this adorable gown. I’m wearing it because I didn’t believe showing an overabundance of chest hair would lend me the look I was attempting to achieve, and I didn’t particularly care to shave.”
Zayne glanced down at his own bodice. “Why didn’t anyone think to lend me a shawl? Agatha made me shave, and I must tell you, it was not a pleasant experience.”
“Agatha’s the reason you’re here?”
“She’s working on a story.”
“Hmm, that explains a lot, but tell me, why are you dressed like a lady?”
Zayne rolled his eyes. “Agatha spouted some nonsense about me not being recognized and not drawing undue attention to her disguise, but quite honestly, I think she just insisted I dress up this way in order to make me look completely ridiculous.”
“And yet you went along with her.”
Zayne frowned. “So I did, which begs the question of why.”
“I don’t think that question should be difficult for you to answer, but tell me, where is Agatha?”
“She’s right over there,” Zayne said with a nod toward a group of patrons standing a few feet away. “I’m not exactly comfortable leaving her side, but she insisted I would be too distracting and that would result in her being unable to gather any information. She then threatened me with pouring something of a nasty nature down my bodice if I didn’t comply. Since my skin is remarkably sensitive due to the shaving business, I thought I’d keep my distance but stay close enough to help if she requires my assistance.” He shook his head. “She and Felicia have turned out to be incredibly annoying ladies today.”
All the breath left Grayson’s body in a split second. “Felicia’s here as well?”
“She is.”
She was going to be the death of him. Did she not remember the danger she was in, and more importantly, that the danger she was facing was a direct result of him being seen by the Chinese?
She was an intelligent lady, so one would think she would have put two and two together and realized that the last place on earth she should be at the moment was an opium den.
She was the most exasperating woman in the entire world.
“Where did you say they were?”
Zayne gestured with his head. “I told you, right over there, and no, I don’t think it would be advisable for you to go storming up to them—something the expression on your face clearly states you’re about to do. They will not thank you for disrupting their investigating, so take a couple of breaths and calm down.”
“Investigating? What are they investigating?”
“I’m not certain. Agatha was remarkably stingy with any details.”
Grayson’s temper began to simmer. “How could you agree to escort them to an opium den without learning the details regarding why you were coming here in the first place and what was to take place once you got here?”
“I agreed because I knew they would come here on their own if I refused.”
He did make a most excellent point.
“What are you doing here?” Zayne asked.
Grayson glanced over to the crowd Zayne had indicated, unable to pick Felicia or Agatha out from the swarm of gentlemen gathered in a tight bunch. He began to ever so discreetly inch that way but was brought to an almost immediate halt by Zayne’s hand on his arm.
“They’re fine.”
“Believe me, they are not,” he countered. “I have more than my fair share of experience with places like this. Anything can happen, and normally does, in the blink of an eye.”
Zayne frowned. “You have experience in opium dens?”
“I do, but you’ll have to wait until after we get Felicia and Agatha safely away from here for an explanation.”
“Do you really want them to hear your explanation?”
The truth was, no, he didn’t—although, since Felicia was currently standing in an opium den, Grayson was somewhat certain she’d figured a few things out on her own, things he’d been hoping she would never discover about him.
“It’ll be safer for them if I’m the one who discloses the information they’re obviously searching for, which means we need to go get them.”
Zayne, irritatingly enough, didn’t move. “But again, what are you doing here?”
“It doesn’t really matter right now, and . . .” His words trailed off as a laugh he recognized only too well met his ears. He turned and couldn’t believe his eyes when he caught sight of a small man with abundant whiskers on his face and an overly large jacket dwarfing his frame—a man he knew without a doubt was actually Felicia.
She was going to be found out any moment now, especially since she seemed to have forgotten she was supposed to be a man and was laughing in an all too feminine voice.
His mouth dropped open when she slapped the gentleman standing to her right on the back, right before she puffed out her chest and spit on the floor, causing the man she’d just slapped to jump out of the way even as he sent her a disbelieving scowl.
“Do you think she knows that gentlemen don’t normally spit on the floor, even in places like this?” Zayne asked slowly. “But I must say, it does seem as if she’s having
a great deal of fun.”
“And that is exactly why we’re going to escort them out of here right now. Felicia has a remarkable talent for attracting trouble, especially when she’s in the midst of enjoying herself.” Grayson took a step forward, tripped on what appeared to be part of his shawl that had somehow managed to start dragging on the floor, shoved it back into place, and sent a man who was gawking in his direction a smile. To his amusement, the man spun on his heel and charged away in the opposite direction.
“Smooth,” Zayne declared with a laugh.
“Yes, well, smoothness aside, it’s past time we fetched the ladies.”
Zayne began to shake his head, but then stopped in midshake and began to nod. “You might be right because, if I’m not mistaken, the police have just arrived. There’s one standing over by the door.”
“What?”
Before Zayne could answer, a shrill whistle sounded, the front door burst open, and policemen began swarming around the room, grabbing people left and right and hauling them out as chaos descended.
“We have to get Felicia and Agatha,” he called, stepping over two men lying on the floor. He spotted Felicia tugging Agatha toward the back room and changed directions. Unfortunately, his skirt was tangled around his legs. He fell to the floor and felt someone walk over him, but then hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He shook out his skirt and lifted his head, wincing when he saw a policeman staring back at him, a look of pure astonishment on the man’s face.
“I hope you’ve got some spare money to pay for your bail, missy, because you’ll never get released from jail on your looks alone.”
14
Agatha had made the claim that opium raids were few and far between, but apparently, given that they were currently being marched in the direction of a waiting police wagon, her friend had been greatly mistaken.
At that time Felicia had oh so casually lamented that she’d never been carted off to jail, but now, faced with the prospect of soon finding herself behind bars, she wasn’t feeling much excitement regarding her situation. In fact, she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she might have bitten off entirely more than she could chew.