The Vanishing Thief (22 page)

“He came here yesterday at my request. The sort of request Adam Fogarty and his friends can deliver.”

Sir Broderick seldom used muscle, preferring persuasion. “Why did you—?”

“Parrish was the one spreading the Gutenberg Bible rumor.”

“He has the copy my parents were killed for?” I'd kill him myself if he did.

“I don't think so. I told him I didn't care why, I just wanted the truth about the book. He was finally convinced to tell me he was acting for a South African collector who has decided to take his book off the market.”

“And you think this South African—?” I was halfway out of my chair.

“No. Sit down. The man most interested in buying the book was tall and blond with a faint accent. He gave his name as Mr. Jones. Parrish said it's obviously fake, but his money is real. A fortune, apparently. His description of Mr. Jones matches yours of the killer.”

“Does he have an address for Mr. Jones? How does Mr. Parrish get in contact with him?”

“Parrish claims he doesn't have any way to get in touch with him. The man seeks out Parrish. Parrish says he seems to know when he's heard back from the seller.”

“I don't believe Mr. Parrish.”

“Neither do I, but that's what I learned.”

* * *

THE NEXT DAY,
we closed the bookshop at noon so we could get cleaned up, put on our best corsets and shifts, and hide the jeweled daggers Jacob had brought us in our bags before we left for Lady Westover's.

We were shown into the parlor where Madame Leclerc and her assistant waited. “Oh, good. Try on the dresses, ladies. I can't wait to see you in them,” Lady Westover said. Her eyes glowed with excitement.

Emma went first. In her dress, with her mask and the jewels the duke had sent over that morning, I wouldn't have recognized her. She was beyond regal. She was mesmerizing, icy, devastating, and she hadn't even done her hair yet.

Madame Leclerc looked her over and said, “There is one more detail.” She brought out a sash in the same fabric and fastened it from one of Emma's shoulders to the other side of her waist, mimicking the sashes royalty wore.

I reached into her bag and pulled out the diamond-encrusted dagger. I handed it to Emma and said, “Think this will be a good addition to the sash?”

She smiled beneath her half mask. “Perfect.”

“Daring,” Madame Leclerc proclaimed and fitted it to the sash by the fastener on the back of the dagger's sheath at Emma's waist.

“That is certainly unique, although not quite what I had in mind.” Lady Westover glanced over at me and raised her eyebrows. I shrugged in reply, knowing she couldn't imagine the dangers we might face. I didn't like not knowing what we'd encounter. She turned toward Madame Leclerc and announced in a firm tone, “Now, let's get Emma out of her dress and get Georgia into hers.”

I expected my appearance to be a disappointment after seeing beautiful Emma so exquisitely dressed. After helping me into my petticoat, Madame Leclerc and her assistant lifted my dress over my head and lowered it into place. They buttoned the back, fastened the sash, and put on my mask. Then they put the tiara on my messy hair and hooked the necklace so it lay cold against my chest.

Finally, they led me over to a full-length looking glass. The eyeholes in the mask were large enough that I could see most of my reflection. Once I got past the décolletage, what I saw amazed me.

The dress flickered and rustled like flames around me. Emma, wearing a wrap over her corset and stockings, brought the ruby-handled dagger to me, and Madame Leclerc hung it from my sash. I looked like a Renaissance queen or an avenging goddess in a fairy tale. Except for my hair, which needed taming, I didn't look like me.

I took a few steps away from the mirror and then returned. Emma and Lady Westover applauded. The skirt shimmered around me. The woman looking through the mask at me was no bookseller. She was a warrior, passionate and invincible.

“Yes, you will do very well.” Madame Leclerc and her assistant reversed the process, and when they finished, one of Lady Westover's maids handed me a wrap to cover myself and keep me warm.

The dressmakers left to a round of thanks and then Lady Westover invited us to a late tea of cakes and sandwiches to hold us over until the midnight supper at the ball. Our best corsets were never designed for a full meal in our stomachs, and I was too nervous to eat more than one sandwich.

“How are we traveling to Arlington House?” I asked.

“By unmarked carriage. The two of you will arrive alone, and when asked for your names so you can be announced, say, ‘The Ice Queen and the Fire Queen.' You are to arrive precisely at ten while the ball is in progress.”

“These are the Duke of Blackford's orders?” I asked.

“Yes. It would so help if we knew what he has in mind.” Lady Westover wrung her hands. I'd only seen her do that once before, when her grandson disappeared in the course of an investigation.

I laid one of my hands on top of hers. “It'll be all right. I'm sure the duke wouldn't do anything to put us in danger.”

“Are you coming to the ball tonight?” Emma asked.

“Dear me, no. Balls are for young people. Besides, I need my beauty sleep. Waxpool is coming over tomorrow for a full report.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Do you two need a chaperone?”

She laughed. “No, just a full account after this affair ends.”

The longest part of readying for the ball was Emma doing her hair and then attacking mine. She called Lady Westover's maid in for her assistance, holding strands of my hair while she pinned others. When they finished, an explosion wouldn't have upset my coiffure.

Only then did Lady Westover's lady's maid help us into our clothes, necklaces, and masks, while Lady Westover outfitted us with our tiaras. The clock downstairs struck the half hour as we finished.

“How do I look?” I asked.

“I wouldn't recognize you if I attended the ball tonight. And I'm certain there won't be another costume like yours.”

I smiled at the dowager and started to leave the room.

“Oh. This won't do,” she said behind me.

“What?”

“Long gloves. I almost forgot. Two pair, please,” she said to her maid.

When the maid returned, Emma slid on her twenty-button gloves and only needed to work three buttons at the wrists like a pro. I fumbled mine at first and needed help with the buttons from elbows to wrists. “Where is the mirror?” I asked when we finished.

“Downstairs in the parlor.”

My arms were bare from above the elbows to my flouncy little sleeves, but they were covered compared to my chest. When I looked in the mirror, the first thing that caught my eye was how much milky white breast appeared below the large ruby necklace. The part of my face not covered by the mask flamed in embarrassment. I felt as if I were flaunting myself.

“It's a role, Georgia. Relax,” Emma said.

“Not one I've played often.”

“Perhaps you should more often for our investigations. You have the body for it,” she said and smiled.

“Thank you. And you look magnificent. As if you were born to play this part,” I told her.

“Come, ladies. Your carriage awaits. And come back here after the ball. I want to hear every detail,” Lady Westover said.

“Won't you be asleep?”

“My maid will wake me. After all this planning and secrecy, I can't wait to hear what happened. Especially since the duke has told the other blackmail victims that Drake will be at the ball.”

“What? Why did he do that?” Was Blackford hoping the guilty party would show themselves? Or was he hoping someone else would kill Drake and save him the trouble? Whatever the reason, our job just became more dangerous.

“I have no idea why. He mentioned it this morning.” Lady Westover hugged us each carefully so as not to wrinkle our dresses and walked us to the door. Her butler helped us into dark-colored evening cloaks. Now we looked the part on the outside. On the inside, I was a frightened little girl.

The carriage was spacious, clean, and unmarked. The footman who helped us in wore livery without markings. Before he climbed up to join the driver, he said, “We're to wait for you nearby until you need us.”

“Who do you work for?” I asked.

“Someone who wishes you well,” he replied and walked to the front of the carriage.

The carriage jerked into motion and my stomach lurched with it. Emma reached over and squeezed my hand. “This will be fun.”

“I hope that's all it is.”

The closer we moved to the Duke of Arlington's residence, the more crowded the streets became. It was a clear night and the gas lamps shone brightly as we sat in a jam of horses and carriages, all appearing to have one destination.

Sitting there, waiting to move closer to the house as our driver jockeyed his horses into position, I had time to think. And that was exactly what I didn't want to do. I was scared. Hornets flew around my insides, buzzing and hammering, while a voice said in my head,
You're a fraud
.

“Let's get out here and walk.”

“No, Georgia. We're going to make an entrance like everyone else. I've waited my whole life for this. To enter one of these houses by the front door during a party.”

Emma's job as a child in her East End gang was to sneak into the homes of the wealthy and let the adult members in or bring the valuables to them. I understood how hard she'd worked and how much she'd learned to make her entrance tonight.

I took as deep a breath as I could with my corset crushing my insides. “Then we wait.”

After a moment, Emma said, “Have you ever been to a ball before?”

“No. They don't usually invite bookshop owners.”

She smiled. “No, I meant for an Archivist Society investigation.”

“No. Never.”

“We go inside where there will be a cloakroom and retiring room for the ladies. We leave our cloaks and then proceed to the ballroom where we'll be announced. Phyllida has been telling me about the usual setup. There will be rooms set aside for supper and for cards, but I think the duke will expect us to be in the ballroom.”

The duke. The stage manager for this evening. “I wonder what he has planned.”

The carriage jerked forward, and Emma patted my hand. “We'll find out soon enough.”

The driver didn't seem to be satisfied until he had us directly in front of the house. Only then did the footman jump down and open the door, helping first me and then Emma alight.

I could see the heads of the couples leaving the carriages in front and behind us turning our way. The shepherdesses, the Romans, the members of the French court of Marie Antoinette were all examining us with interest. We were new, different, unique.

Lady Westover had outdone herself in that regard.

“Smile,” Emma hissed. “We're on show.”

I glanced her way and grinned. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

We lifted our chins in unison and swept up the stairs, where a liveried footman opened the door to us and gestured toward our left. We entered like queens.

Chapter Nineteen

D
IVESTED
of our capes, we followed the crowd moving upstairs and then toward the back of the house. As we drew closer to the ball, we could clearly hear a waltz. Although I tried hard not to show it, I was as fascinated as Emma was by all I saw.

On one side of the red-carpeted hall was the dining room, with a table that could seat two dozen set up with delicacies on platters and wine goblets in rows. The chairs were placed around the outside of the room, leaving plenty of space to walk by the table. Emma leaned to the side to look around the footman guarding the door. “Everything is beautiful,” she said to him. “You and the others must have worked very hard to bring everything to a shine. You are to be congratulated.”

She must have blessed him with one of her dazzling smiles, because he grinned at her as if she were bestowing a treasure on him.

I looked into the parlor across the hall. The dark blues in the upholstery and wallpaper made the room appear chilly. An elderly Greek goddess and an equally elderly Eleanor of Aquitaine sat by a warming fire in close conversation. Three tables had been set up and were already in use for card games by friars, medieval rulers, and two King Charles the Seconds.

I recognized the Louis XVI facing me without his mask. The Duke of Merville. He appeared engrossed in his cards, and a large number of silver coins scattered on the tables explained why no one looked up while I stared from the doorway.

The Duchess of Merville, dressed we had been told as Marie Antoinette, wasn't in the room. I'd have to look for her in the ballroom with the other chaperones, since their younger daughter was engaged, not married.

There was one highwayman, but he was pudgy and lacked the purpose and energy that poured out of the Duke of Blackford and affected everyone around him. More disappointed than I expected to be, I turned away.

Emma and I looked at each other through our masks and moved on. At the end of the hall, open double doors led to a flight of stairs. At the bottom was a huge, high-ceilinged ballroom with French doors on the far end, no doubt for access to the gardens. Intricate crystal chandeliers lit by gas lamps hung above the dancers.

As we started down the steps, I looked out over the glittering, masked throng milling about and moving to the music. The room was already crowded. Soon it would be a crush and the society matrons would declare it a success. How were we supposed to unmask a killer in this crowd?

We reached the landing halfway down the stairs where a footman said, “Names, please.”

“The Ice Queen and the Fire Queen,” I said.

“No, your real names.”

I looked at him down my nose and in my haughtiest tone said, “Those are our real names. The Ice Queen and the Fire Queen.”

He raised an eyebrow and then glared at the line backing up behind us. In a loud voice, he proclaimed, “The Ice Queen and the Fire Queen.”

Once we set foot on the polished parquet floor, we were surrounded by gaudy costumes and jewels that sparkled beneath the bright lights. Dancers moved around the center of the room to the music of an orchestra tucked to one side of the stairs. Emma and I tried to make one circle of the room together to see if we recognized anyone, but we were soon separated in the crush of people who each wore a different flashy outfit and a different perfume. Without knowing who wore which costume, we found the half masks hid identities.

By the time I reached the stairs again, I'd received two indecent proposals. I hadn't expected
that
sort of party. I climbed up two steps, but I didn't see any sign of Emma or the Duke of Blackford in his highwayman disguise. All I saw was a sea of multicolored masks and costume hats.

I was frustrated as well as amazed and dazzled by the brilliance of so much wealth and power. I had to remind myself to ignore the overwhelming mix of inherited position and status as the crowd swirled and shifted around me. I couldn't afford to be impressed, not with so much at stake. Blackford would be wise to show up now and tell me what he wanted done, so we could take care of the problem and then enjoy this carnival mix of glamour and music. I found, with my identity hidden, I wanted to join the waltzing throng.

I stepped down from the staircase and wandered among the crowd watching the dancers. I felt as if I walked alone, swallowed up in a shiny, writhing rainbow. The only thing I wished for was that the highwayman would whisk me out on the floor for a waltz. No doubt the duke was a superb dancer. He did everything with grace.

Since that wouldn't happen, I'd settle for a cool breeze. Several hundred bodies pressed close together created a heat similar to that in Sir Broderick's study. Oppressive.

I bumped into Joan of Arc and said, “Excuse me.” Then I looked more closely at the square chin and wide mouth and burst out laughing. “I didn't think I'd see you here, Lady Julia.”

“Ssh. I can come in disguise to these parties and be sure at least half my dance partners have no idea who I am or how much I'm worth.” She started to back her way through the crowd to get away from me.

I grabbed her arm to detain her. “Does the Earl of Waxpool know you're here?”

“Grandpapa has no idea either my brother or I am here, but he'd be proud of us for finding a way to have fun without being valued like a racehorse.”

“Then I'll add my congratulations on your brilliant idea.”

“I have nothing more to say to you.”

“It's not about—that subject.” I hesitated a moment and Lady Julia looked at me sharply. “I need to ask you one question about the day Miss Victoria died.”

She glanced around before she nodded. “Very well. One question.”

“What do you remember about the flower arrangement in Lady Margaret's parlor?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“Nothing odd happened in connection with the flowers?”

“That's two questions.”

“Please.”

“I didn't see anything unusual happen with the flowers. When I first arrived, Victoria was saying something was a very strange custom, and one she didn't think was too hygienic. Margaret dismissed her with a wave of the hand and rose to greet me. I never found out what they were talking about.”

“And you didn't see or hear any more about this strange custom?” I let go of Lady Julia's arm. I was certain she wouldn't leave now.

“No. It was never mentioned again.”

“Not even when Victoria was taken ill? In the carriage or in her room?”

“No. I think whatever Margaret suggested, Victoria rejected. Victoria did say something later about not being a follower of silly peasant customs.”

“But nothing else?”

“Nothing else. And nothing about flowers.”

That was it, then. There was no evidence to either clear Margaret from suspicion or prove she killed Victoria. I looked at Lady Julia's eyes through the two sets of eyeholes in our masks. I could see defiance growing in hers.

“Margaret's my friend. I'm not going to help you hang her.”

I held her gaze. “You think Margaret poisoned Victoria, don't you?”

“I don't think it was physically possible. I was with them almost the entire time they were together. What I remember most from that day was that Victoria was wretchedly unhappy.”

“What?” Victoria was unhappy? That was news.

“Victoria didn't want to marry the duke. She couldn't stand him. She thought he was stuffy, dull. The duke and her father arranged the match. Her mother was thrilled. Victoria felt like a sacrificial lamb. And she planned to make everyone pay for her misery.”

“She told you this?” We couldn't be talking about the same Duke of Blackford. He wasn't stuffy or dull. He was infuriating, helpful, riveting; and he deflected danger and unwanted questions with grace.

“Every time we were alone after the engagement was announced.”

“Thank you for your honesty. And I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather.” Would she be honest about this rumor, too?

Her eyes widened. “I didn't know you knew. I'm heartbroken. He has less than a month to live and I don't know what will happen with Papa and the title then.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Please don't tell anyone.”

I nodded, mouth slightly open, and then watched Lady Julia walk away. If Waxpool's impending death was the reason Drake was being hunted, then Waxpool's manservant, Price, would be somewhere in the crowd looking for the blackmailer. Blackford told his fellow victims that Drake would be here tonight, and I suspected our costumes were designed to be beacons for the search.

Now I'd heard both Victoria and Margaret were unhappy women. What role had it played in their deaths? I doubted I'd get an answer to that question, but I still had to ask it, if only to myself.

I pressed through the crowd looking for Emma. I thought I saw her and her shimmering blue mask near the French doors and worked a path in that direction, only to lose her again in the crowd.

Then I spotted her on the dance floor, whirling around in a waltz with a slim, trim Henry VIII with blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. They made a handsome couple. I hoped Emma wouldn't lose her head. A man in a wizard costume watched them closely from the edge of the floor. I suspected he'd be Emma's next dance partner.

The crowd parted slightly for a tall figure in a black hooded robe, a scythe gleaming in one hand. Who had come to the party dressed as the angel of death? His full mask and his hood hid his face, but his head swiveled between watching Emma and looking at me.

I slipped back to the chaperones' section with its scattering of chairs and found the Marie Antoinette I wanted carrying a bow-covered green parasol. I recognized the parasol from my visit to Portman Square. “Your Highness,” I began, “or should I say Your Grace?”

“You recognized me?”

“You wear the same costume every year.” I hoped what I'd been told was correct.

She nodded. “Do I know you?”

“Archivist Society.”

“Oh, yes. Your costume is quite unique.”

“Just the effect I was hoping for. What is your daughter wearing?”

“A shepherdess. I wish she weren't. She looks so lifeless next to Daisy Hancock.”

I glanced in the direction the duchess was staring and saw two shepherdesses standing in conversation. Daisy Hancock's blondness and animation were hard to overlook, especially next to the demure, dark-haired girl she was talking to. A man came up and took the laughing Daisy away for more dancing. The duchess's daughter slipped away into the rainbow-hued crowd.

“Your daughter will keep her looks and her warm disposition much longer than Miss Daisy,” I said. I hoped I was right. The duchess's daughter had my build and pale complexion. “Where is Miss Daisy's chaperone?”

“Hancock? Who knows who he has minding her this season. And I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't attend. In fact, I'm certain he's not here. If he were, he'd be boring the guests with how they should invest in his latest creation. Merville positively runs when he sees the man coming.”

“He has a reputation for that?”

“At every event he attends. And it's been worse lately. Merville says the rumor around the City is he's completely broke, and you know how expensive a season is.” She looked at me down her long nose. “Well, I guess you don't.”

I did know how much Miss Daisy wanted another two seasons. Poor Hancock. He couldn't be blackmailed by Drake, not if he didn't have any money and his niece was demanding more frocks for parties.

Voices nearby nearly made me miss her next words. “I'm sorry?”

“He's going to miss Waxpool. The earl is dying.”

I glanced in the direction Lady Merville was looking. “Is that Price dressed as the angel of death?”

“His manservant. Yes. It suits him, don't you think?”

“How do you know him?”

“He's been with Waxpool for a generation, and these days has to travel with that frail old man everywhere. Tonight I saw him without his mask outside when we arrived. Quite a clever costume.”

I thought it was creepy, especially since Waxpool was supposedly close to death. “What will happen to the title when Waxpool dies?”

Lady Merville pursed her lips. “The son won't receive a Writ of Summons from the queen to take his seat in the House of Lords if a warrant is issued for his arrest. Of course, no one in our class will say a word against him.” She sniffed. “But you never know what persons of the lower orders might do with the right evidence. If word gets out, it'll be a juicy scandal and the queen will be forced to ignore him. In older times, the monarch took away titles from nobles he didn't like, but that was usually for insurrection.”

The servant's scythe glittered with reflected light as he disappeared into the crowd. “Why is Price here?”

The lady shook her bewigged head gently.

I moved on, uneasy since I guessed Price was there to find Drake. Waxpool couldn't act on his own, but I could imagine the orders he might have given his manservant. I glanced around, hoping to see Blackford or Drake and warn them.