Everyone in the parlor knew exactly what was going on. It was like our own little stage play.
I only wished I didn’t know my lines.
The door closed behind Florence and Bram.
“Miss Stoker. Evaline,” said Ned in a warm voice as he sat next to me on the divan. “I’ve met with your brother, and he’s agreed to allow me to speak with you privately for a moment.”
I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat and, at the same time, not appear ill. My fingers, ungloved and freezing, were enfolded in his warm hands as he looked earnestly at me.
“Evaline, you must have noticed that I hold you in the highest regard,” he said. “I’ve long admired you—unfortunately, from a distance until recently, but that lessened my admiration not at all.
“In fact, getting to know you better has only confirmed my esteemed opinion of you. You are lovely and charming and well bred, and would honor any man by being on his arm or wearing his ring.” He squeezed my hands a little. “I am very hopeful that you might make me the happiest of men and agree to be my wife.”
________
Everything after that was a blur. I don’t really remember what I said. I must have given some sort of acceptable response, because moments later, Florence and Bram surged into the parlor—just as Ned was pulling back from giving me another soft kiss on the lips.
He left soon after with a promise to call the next day at two o’clock.
No sooner had the front door closed behind him than Bram and Florence returned to the parlor and rounded on me, giddy with excitement.
“We did it,” Florence said, taking my hands and pulling me up from the divan, forcing me to join her in a dance around the room. Fortunately, Mr. Oligary’s carriage was facing the opposite direction and he wouldn’t see us through the window. “We did it!”
“Nicely done, Evaline,” said Bram. This was actually the first time he’d even acknowledged the situation, let alone spoken to me about it. I supposed he thought it was best for Florence to handle it, though his avoidance struck me as being a little cowardly. “Congratulations,” he said.
“But…I haven’t done anything yet,” I said, pulling away from Florence’s grip. “I mean, I didn’t give him an answer.”
“Of course you didn’t—and he didn’t expect you to. After all, a proper, demure young woman doesn’t just rush into marriage,” Florence said. (Could she have any idea how ridiculous her statement was in light of the current situation?) “You don’t need to seem too eager. Tomorrow when he comes to call, you’ll accept, and we’ll get the announcements published immediately—that ought to hold off the bank, knowing you’re going to marry an Oligary!”
“But…I’m not sure I am going to accept,” I said.
Neither of them seemed to hear me, for they were talking excitedly about paying off banknotes and upgrading the Lyceum Theater’s lighting system, and even taking a trip to Paris. They seemed to expect—or perhaps it had been discussed specifically—that Mr. Oligary—Ned—would help to settle their debts and would provide a generous dowry for my hand. After all, it wouldn’t do to taint the family name if the wife of Ned Oligary’s family was on the street or had bill collectors calling.
I also learned, to my dismay, that Florence had already drafted the announcement for the Times—and that Bram was eager to read it.
I said it again, more forcefully this time, and Bram must have heard me. He stopped abruptly, holding up a hand to Florence’s rattling speech, and turned to look at me.
“What did you say, Evvie, dear?”
“I said, I don’t know that I am going to accept the proposal.”
They stared at me as if I’d announced I was from the center of the earth.
“Of course you’re going to accept it,” Florence said briskly. “It’s one thing to be coy with Mr. Oligary, but there’s no need to play that game with us.”
“Come now, Evaline. You’ll not get a better offer,” said Bram. “Oligary’s a good man, and just think how your liaison with his family will help the theater! We’ll be sold out weeks in advance.” He pulled out a cigar and made to light it—and Florence didn’t even reprimand him for smoking outside his study, as she normally would.
I stared back at them. It felt as if the ground was falling away beneath my feet. Didn’t they understand? Didn’t they see?
Didn’t they care about me?
“But…I don’t really want to get married,” I managed to say.
“Evaline,” Bram said, holding his unlit cigar and mechanical lighter suspended in midair. “I don’t believe you understand how important it is for you to make this match. For us. For your family. It’s your duty. Ned Oligary is besotted with you, and he’ll give you a very comfortable life—and help us to keep Grantworth House as well as being able to stay in London. Everything else,” he added, giving me a meaningful look that I took to mean he was referring to my vampire-hunting vocation, “will work out.”
Didn’t he understand? It wasn’t just going to “work out.”
“Now, we’ll have no more of this nonsense,” Florence said when I merely stared back at my brother through the tears welling in my eyes. “I know you’re going to do the right thing, Evaline. Think of your family.”
I shook my head mutely.
My entire life was going to change. I was going to be living with a man who, though kind and far too proper, was basically a stranger. I was going to be a wife, and probably a mother, and I’d be responsible for running a household and I’d be forced into attending balls and fêtes and dinners and teas, and I’d have to make social calls and host them as well…
My lungs felt tight, and I felt myself swaying a bit. I grabbed blindly for the back of the nearby armchair.
“I’m not feeling well,” I said. “I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”
I heard Florence laugh lightly behind me as I fled the parlor. “Too much excitement, I suppose, over her good fortune. She can hardly believe it, I’m certain. Maybe a bit of cold feet, too—of course she’s nervous. Who wouldn’t be? Mr. Oligary is quite the gentleman. I believe I’ll go ahead and send off the announcements today, so they can be in the Times and Herald tomorrow. I just knew Evaline would make a good match one day—when she finally got around to it, Bram. I just knew it. She’s such a lovely girl…”
That was the last I heard as I dashed up the stairs to my bedchamber.
Several hours and many buckets of angry tears later, I found myself in the alley behind The Pickled Nurse. It was only half past seven, but since it was December, it was cold and dark.
No one noticed me picking my way through the garbage in the alley—but I was rather hoping someone would challenge me. Because I was raring for a fight.
I was armed to the teeth, with several stakes and other anti-vampire weapons secreted beneath my uniform—as well as a dagger. I left the gun-like weapons to Mina; I preferred hand-to-hand fighting.
And I was really hoping I’d have the chance to do some tonight.
As I made my way down the tunnel to the servants’ entrance of The Carnelian Crow, I realized there was another figure making its way just ahead of me. Possibly Kitty, formerly of Varrel House—or any one of the other servants that worked for the ladies’ club.
I took my time, and when I got to the door where Mr. Gillies had let me in the first time, I found the other girl waiting there as well.
“I’m Pepper,” I said before I really thought about it. I hoped this other female wasn’t Kitty, because obviously she’d know I wasn’t Pepper. “It’s my first night here.”
“Matilda,” she said. “It’s not bad. Done worse. Been here goin’ on three years. Better’n my last position, dressing up fancy ladies. She’s quite brilliant, you know. And Gillies is a bit of a pain, but there’s a handsome footman who makes up for it. I keep hoping he’ll pull me into a dark corner when no one’s watching.” She giggled.
The door opened and Gillies was there, complete with a red crow sticke
r on his red-tipped mustache and a neatly pressed uniform.
After that, I didn’t have much time to think, let alone to talk, for I was very busy. The list of things that needed to be done before the clientele arrived seemed endless: making sure all the tablecloths were smooth, all the glasses arranged just so, the fires built, the candles lit, the floor swept, the dishes clean, the napkins pressed, the food cut and chopped for the cook… Thus, I didn’t have the chance to snoop around much, but I could hear the musicians warming up in the main club area. And I could sense the presence of UnDead as well.
My stomach wanted to growl because I’d been so unsettled that I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. The food smelled really good. I wondered if there would be the chance to snatch up a bit of a snack—something that had never worried me in the past, having never been a servant before. I was used to being able to go into the kitchen and find something to eat any time I wanted.
Matilda and I were carrying huge trays loaded with plates, cups, and silver when we passed a young man in the corridor that ran between the servants’ entrance to the main club chamber and the warren of back rooms. He was dressed in the same livery as Gillies, and he stopped, blocking our way.
“’lo there, Matildy,” he said with a charming grin. He was carrying several logs for the fire, and his muscles bulged beneath his coat. “Where ya going with that big load?”
She giggled and simpered, and I rolled my eyes as she replied, “I might be getting lost and needin’ some help to find my way back.”
“I’ll surely help ye,” he replied. “Let me drop these logs off and I’ll come right back an’ give y’ a hand, Tildy.”
“See? Isn’t he divine?” she whispered as he went off. “There’s another one, but he ain’t so fine. Got big ears and a big nose, though his eyes are nice.”
I had an idea. “How about you give me your tray and I’ll take all this up, and then you and—whatever his name is—can get lost together.” That would give me the chance to slip away for a few minutes and see if I could find out anything interesting.
“Really?” Matilda’s eyes sparkled. “But can you carry all this? It’ll be pretty heavy—”
“It’s not that bad. Help me stack it all up on one tray…”
Moments later I was hurrying along the corridor, alone for the first time since arriving here. The tray was much heavier now, but nothing to an unusually strong vampire hunter. I planned to drop the dishes off in the serving room next to the kitchen as directed, then I’d get “lost” on my return, following the chill on the back of my neck to locate the UnDead and see what—
Someone was coming, drat it. I heard voices and footsteps.
I quickly put the laden tray where it belonged, then ducked behind a door until they passed—it was Gillies and some other person I hadn’t met, who was receiving a litany of orders from our boss.
I slipped out and went in the opposite direction, which took me toward the front of the hall where the stage and musicians were, but still in the side corridor.
The chill on the back of my neck was growing strong, and I wasn’t paying attention to much other than that sensation—measuring it and trying to follow it—so I didn’t realize someone was coming up behind me until it was too late.
The soft scuff of a shoe had me spinning just as a strong hand grabbed my arm and thrust me into a dimly lit side room.
Startled, I yanked away. In the drassy light, I saw a pair of large, protruding ears and a blade-like nose to rival Mina’s, and then I looked up. Into Pix’s dark, stormy eyes.
I opened my mouth to speak, but I didn’t have a chance. The next thing I knew, he’d eased me up against the wall and was kissing me.
Miss Holmes
~ The Princess of Vovinga Arrives ~
“This is quite irregular, Miss Holmes,” Grayling said. “But I suspect you wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Naturally,” I replied with a smile.
Moments ago, I had alighted from a hired hackney cab, and met him at the corner of the tiny, unassuming Proud-street and Carry-street as planned. We stood just outside the pool of light from a gas lamp. Big Ben and the Oligary Tower clocks had just struck nine. Although we weren’t alone on the street by any stretch of the imagination, we certainly drew no undue attention.
He was wearing an old-fashioned cloak of midnight purple that swung about his knees and had a sort of attached capelet that flowed over broad shoulders like large woolen epaulets. Though his head was covered by a satin aubergine top hat that rode low over his brows, I could see a bit of dark hair peeping from beneath the brim. When he turned slightly, I noticed the wig actually sported a long braided queue that put me in mind of the style of Chinese men. Grayling also wore round spectacles tinted with the same purplish hue as his hat, and there were tiny magnifyer lenses of yellow and blue affixed to the rim of the glasses. They were quite cunning, for they could be flipped into place in front of the larger lenses.
He’d also included in his costume a trim black mustache and a triangular beard reminiscent of Walter Raleigh, but Grayling’s false beard extended several inches past his chin and was tied into a tiny queue with a copper wire entwined with opaque blue and copper beads. He wore smooth, light gloves of some shiny bronze material and knee-high boots of buffed black leather, with copper bracings on the heel and toe.
Aside from the obvious physical and apparel attributes, he finished off the details of his new persona by changing the way he held his body and moved: a bit more angular and measured than his normally smooth and sure movements.
“Your disguise is quite good, Inspector Grayling. I doubt I would have immediately recognized you had I not been specific with my instructions about where and how to meet.” I realized belatedly that perhaps I should have addressed him as Ambrose—but I wasn’t certain this evening would qualify as a social event.
“As is yours, Miss Holmes. I see you’ve taken care not only to cover your hands, but to alter the shape of your ears and jaw line. The bright blond wig appears extraordinarily real, and the veil is a nice touch as well.”
“Thank you,” I replied modestly from behind said veil, which covered the top two-thirds of my face. Thanks to well-placed snips in the fabric at the proper locations, I could see through the black fabric, but my features were hardly discernible to the viewer. “And thank you for agreeing to accompany me at the last minute. I would like to point out that I am keeping my word to not investigate The Carnelian Crow on my own.”
“Duly noted, Miss Holmes,” he replied gravely. “Am I to understand that tonight I am your guest at what amounts to a female dining club? I confess, I’d expected something more sinister.”
“Time will tell that, Inspector. According to Miss Stoker, we are to walk another block here on Proud-street, and then there is a wrought iron gate that appears to lead to nowhere. Just inside that gate is a latch that will open a side door adjacent to the gate.”
Everything was just as Evaline had described, and as we reached the wrought iron gate, a distinct shadow crossed above us.
I looked up, a bit of prickling settling eerily over my neck when I saw the crow. He had settled on the top of an aged iron signpost, extruding from the building.
“Caw!” it announced, and looked down at us with its beady blue-black eye.
“Well, then,” I said, looking at Grayling. “I suppose we are, indeed, in the right place.”
It was with mounting excitement that I unlatched the gate, then, moments later, went through the hidden side door with my companion (I led the way, of course).
Once inside, I was startled to discover that instead of walking through the tunnel as Evaline had described, even that inconvenience was eliminated—for the floor moved. (Presumably it had been turned on for the clients this evening, and she hadn’t noticed it previously.)
Grayling and I had only to stand there as what I could only surmise was a large, long, belt-like conveyance trundled along, delivering us to our destination.
It reminded me of the moving walkways I’d utilized during my visit to Princess Alexandra at Marlborough House with Dylan and Miss Stoker.
Along the way, the belt would end, we would walk several feet, and then step onto a new stretch of conveyor. During one of these such transfers, we caught sight of a trio of people slightly ahead of us—two women and a man. They too were veiled and otherwise discreetly covered.
Perhaps a quarter of an hour after we first stepped into the tunnel, we arrived at our final destination. I pulled the small invitation card Evaline had snitched for me and prepared to offer it to the two guards who greeted us at a sleek black door that I assumed led into The Carnelian Crow.
Presumably, the two guards were UnDead—although not being a vampire hunter, I had no way of knowing for certain. Neither of them showed any fangs, nor were their eyes glowing. However, I took solace in the fact that tucked beneath my cloak, nestled in my bodice, was a very large silver cross, and shoved deep inside one of the knee-high laced boots I wore was a slender but lethal stake. I’d dipped it in holy water earlier today.
“Name,” grunted the taller man at the door, whilst the other one took my card. He barely glanced at it, then held out his hand to Grayling as if expecting him to proffer one as well.
When my companion merely looked at him silently from behind his amethyst lenses, the shorter guard said, “You need a voucher to enter.” He made a move to block Grayling and me from going any further.
I had feared something like this might happen, but I was prepared, for I had interrogated Evaline about every minute detail of her experience at the club: every conversation, every room she’d seen or entered, every detail of the decor and layout.
I drew myself up and fixed my most arrogant Holmesian glare upon the guard—the stare my father had perfected during his work at the Home Office. The one that made even the boldest of generals and the most regal of royals flinch.
“Ze gentleman is with me. He needs no voucher. Make your bow to Baron von Vennsteinkopf. He speaks no English, and zerefore will have taken no offense by your ignorance. Yet.” I spoke with a slight accent that could have been interpreted as Russian or Betrovian. “As you have seen, I have ze card. We will both enter, or I shall make a complaint to Her.” I looked at both of them through my veil as if they were no more than six-legged creatures, scuttling about at my feet.
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