These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel

by Zekas, Kelly

My rage grew as tall as the Tower of London, and I was tempted to start the beheadings. Knowing that this was the real reason for Mr. Kent’s trouble with his parents, I found myself impressed that he could even stand being in the same room as them. “Why does no one else know of this? Was it not a big scandal?”

  “Only my mother’s maid knew. Otherwise, it was kept secret.”

  “And you’ve said nothing?”

  “Believe me, I wanted to. I don’t think anything would ever give me more pleasure than to make it known to all of London. But I couldn’t say anything for the same reason I can’t with your unfortunate scandal.”

  When I saw the tension in his expression, my brain made the connection. “Laura . . .”

  “She’s done nothing, yet she’s the one who’d suffer most.”

  He was right. If Mr. Kent defended me and continued to associate with me in society, he wouldn’t be lifting me up so much as I would be pulling his family down. It wasn’t simply about Lady Kent’s threat to take away his money.

  “You’re a good brother,” I finally said.

  He held his head up proudly. “It’s been said that I’m actually the best in the world.”

  “An honor to match your greatest-detective medal.”

  “Yes, well, about that. I have another terrible confession to make. I know this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not actually a detective. It was all a lie.”

  “My God, fetch the smelling salts.”

  “But I had intended to atone for that lie tonight. It was the only reason I showed up to that dreadful dinner party in the first place, and you weren’t even there. Laura said you had been gone all day. Did something happen?”

  “Something did,” I said, and it was my turn to let everything out. The impatient morning hours, the disguise, the visit to the public house, the encounter on the roof, and the hospital.

  When I had finished, silence settled between us, a rare moment when Mr. Kent found himself at a loss for words. He had a troubled look on his face that very much resembled Sebastian’s at the hospital.

  “I don’t need another lecture,” I warned him.

  “I wasn’t going to give you one. You can make your own decisions. I only regret storming off last night and abandoning you when I could have helped.”

  “You had good reason to.”

  “No, I only had this grand plan of disappearing into the perilous London night, and just as you feared I was dead, I’d dramatically return to you with the case solved.”

  A bit of hope rushed through me. “And is it?”

  “Not quite anymore. I can’t account for Dr. Beck’s power. He’ll always be expecting us. I’ll have to think on it. And you still must fear I’m dead at some point.”

  I slumped back into my seat. It took a staggering amount of willpower to keep from continuing to the floor and melting through it.

  “I’ll send for your trunk,” Mr. Kent said, rising and clasping his hands. “It’s been a long day—you should rest. I’ll have an idea in the morning.”

  My discomfort shocked me to my feet, and I headed for the door. “No, I can’t possibly stay here. I must find another place to sleep.”

  “What if I were to put a sign out front that declared you were not staying here?” he asked with a winning smile.

  “As convincing as that sounds,” I said, making my way downstairs, “I must decline.”

  “You’ll be back here when we meet tomorrow morning. And honestly, this wouldn’t be any more scandalous than the old bat’s accusations.”

  “Ah, yes, since my reputation took a hit, I might as well just clobber it to death with a cane.”

  He stopped me at the front door. “I would not be a hospitable host if I threw you out on the streets at this hour.”

  I stared at him silently.

  “You will thank me tomorrow morning—”

  More staring.

  “My God! Fine. You’ve made your point,” he said, opening the door in defeat.

  He walked me outside, helped me fetch a cab, and handed me into the ride. “I highly recommend the Drumswell Inn. It’s close, and you are far less likely to run into someone who knows you. Its . . . comforts will take some getting used to, but by morning you’ll feel right at home.”

  “Anything should feel like home after your stepmother’s welcome.”

  Within ten minutes, though, I found myself taking that claim back as I inexpertly asked for an empty room at the inn. I ignored the stares and murmurs, paid for the night, and followed the innkeeper upstairs with a scruffy young footman in tow. The room boasted many luxurious perks: a narrow bed, a rotted writing table, a stained wall, and a warped looking glass dangling on a rusty hook. I wondered if Mr. Kent recommended this hellish place so I would hurry back to his home.

  To make my decision seem final, I plopped onto the bed, which sank disturbingly low under my weight. The footman placed my trunk at the foot of the bed and waited for a tip. Scrounging around my reticule for a coin, I came across Sebastian’s crumpled card and remembered how drastically my plans had changed since I last spoke to him or Miss Grey. I had to let them know where I was staying and that we were to meet at Mr. Kent’s the next morning. I begged the footman to wait, dashed off two quick notes, and dropped them along with two coins into his hands. He scurried back downstairs.

  I leaned back on the bed and suddenly opened my eyes to find the room darker, the candle a mere stub. Must have dozed off. I heaved myself off the sagging mattress and rummaged through my trunk for a clean nightgown, relieved that sleep was actually coming to me, even if it was in this Godforsaken place.

  Just before I blew out the candle, a solid knock sounded on the door, startling me. I didn’t move an inch. Visions of a hulking man who broke doors and bones like twigs clouded my eyes and better judgment. I dove under the bed. It was dusty, the air rank, and the bed’s horse hair mattress poked into my back.

  Another, louder knock rattled the door and rumbled the room. An eternal silence followed as I dared not breathe. Finally, some rustling, and a slip of paper slid under the door. The footsteps and the orange glow of the lamp slowly faded back down the stairs.

  Ashamed, I crept out of my hiding place and snatched up the paper. A note from Miss Lodge? She had been made aware of my situation and was already on her way in a carriage to pick me up. She somehow knew I was here. My note to Sebastian. Damn him.

  I pulled off the nightgown and stepped back into my crumpled day dress. Within a half hour, I received another knock, and the overly excited footman from earlier informed me that Miss Lodge was waiting downstairs. Besides a sleepy look in her eyes, she appeared to be in good health again and clasped me to her warmly.“Are your things ready, Miss Wyndham?” she asked.

  “I am perfectly settled here. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you at so late an hour, but truly, it is not necessary that you host me.”

  Miss Lodge turned to the footman who had followed me downstairs and made some kind of sign to him. He nodded furiously, seemingly awed by the pretty young girl, and brushed by me upstairs.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, rushing to follow him.

  She sedately climbed the stairs behind us. “This is no place for you to stay overnight and unaccompanied. Considering you have restored my health on two separate occasions, I refuse to take no for an answer. If you do not wish this obliging footman to pack your trunk, I suggest you run ahead and do it yourself.”

  For someone I was so used to seeing sickly, she had a resolve to be reckoned with. She waited on the bed while I managed to snatch an underthing back from the footman and inform him that his assistance would be most unnecessary. After he finally retreated and I squeezed in the few items that had spilled out of the trunk, we were ready to leave. Tom (Miss Lodge had sweetly asked the footman his name and received his entire life story) struggled back down the stairs with my trunk. He assured me he would inform the sleeping innkeeper that I had departed, and happily, if clumsily, handed Miss Lodge and me
into the waiting carriage.

  She hardly spoke the entire trip, except to make sure I was well. No intrusive questions, demanded explanations, or conditional promises. Given the scrutiny I’d endured from Lady Kent, it was oddly unbearable, and I was forced to break the silence.

  “Miss Lodge, are you not curious about the reasons for my strange situation?”

  “Only if you wish to share them,” she responded politely.

  “It’s just—I’m not exactly the company anyone would like to keep now.”

  Her expression was rather calm and businesslike. “No matter how catastrophic the rumor, people always adjust and find it dull in hindsight. Or they forget about it altogether.”

  “I highly doubt society will forget. There’s always someone to keep reminding everyone else. God, I’m so foolish. I brought it all on myself because I didn’t care. All society did was irritate me. Now I can’t help but wonder, what else is out there?”

  “There is plenty out there. You need not worry about London society.”

  “Do you not care for it?”

  “I have neither a low nor high opinion. It seems ideal for those who love doing nothing and keeping things that way. But I think it’s best to treat it as one of those disposable matters of life where you learn something and move on.”

  “Learn what?”

  “Who you are, who to marry, who to remain friends with, where to live. But I’ve had all that settled. When we marry, we shall go back to the country, and it will all be peaceful.”

  The world went sharp, all colors and sounds heightened, and my tongue dried. “Marry?”

  She looked cautiously at me. “You didn’t know?”

  “I, do you mean, you, you mean Se—Mr. Braddock?” His name came out more breath than sound.

  “Yes, we have had an understanding for years.”

  “And you love him?”

  She stared at me with those large gray eyes, seeing everything. “Don’t you?”

  A whipcord of tension ran between us as I stared into her composed face. “Of course not! Where did you ever get such an idea?”

  “Do you have any idea what you were like the night you brought him to me, unconscious?” she asked. “I thought you would go mad with worry.”

  I could only stare as her words poured out. My head was swimming, sinking, drowning.

  “The truth is, I do love him, and he loves me. We’ve known each other so long, and I’m the last part of home he has. That’s a powerful tie for a man who has lost so much family. But there’s much more to him that I can’t see. I know that he will never fully belong to me—part of him will always be lost in a different world.

  “It’s the same way I felt when I first saw you,” she continued, her eyes huge and shining in streaks of passing streetlights. “The other doctors who came to treat my incurable condition, no matter whether they hopelessly went through the motions or ambitiously failed at a radical approach, all looked at me the same way. My disease was a means of keeping their livelihood or making a new discovery. They looked at me without really seeing me.

  “But you were different. You knew how hopeless the task was, and you didn’t put much faith in your skills, but there was still a fire, an ambition, and it was not a selfish one. It was in service of something beyond yourself. You saw my life for what it was and imagined a better one.”

  She took my hand and gave me a steady smile. “You are so restless, Miss Wyndham! I know that you will be compelled, soul and spirit, to achieve great things and help the world. It will be a beautiful life.”

  Her eyes probed into mine, and I wanted to look at anything but her. “I truly do like you—you remind me so much of him. But as drawn to Sebastian as you may be, you will both end up heartbroken because of that restlessness, that energy. He may not love me the same way he could you, but neither will I run off at a moment’s notice. I will be a home for him, an anchor. With my illness, I didn’t know what would happen, but thanks to your cure . . . thanks to you, I will be there for him. Forever.”

  Her breathing steady, she turned away and sat composed, silently staring back out the window. I lost my tongue along with all my other functions. The air between us felt like a thin pane of glass that would shatter with the slightest movement.

  But it was all presumption. It had to be. Miss Lodge barely knew me. Just because I could handle Sebastian’s touch, I hadn’t expected it to mean anything more. I hadn’t even thought about what would happen after he finished helping me. What did I really suppose he would do? Miss Grey was evidence that someone could control their powers if they had motivation, and I could not imagine anyone more motivated to do that than Sebastian. He’s been searching for a cure for years, and he’s known Miss Lodge for longer. Pressing my forehead to the cloudy pane, cold sinking into my skin, I watched the city flow and melt by, reminding myself that I should be feeling nothing.

  When we entered the darkened Lodge home, I sent two new messages to Mr. Kent and Miss Grey, informing them of my newer lodgings and confirming the next morning’s plans. Sebastian needed no such letter.

  Miss Lodge showed me to a small, well-appointed room and kindly informed me that I had a place to stay for however long I required. The bed was already turned down, and I climbed onto the firm, nonsagging mattress with a child’s lack of coordination and pulled the warm quilts up to my neck. My ears felt hot, and the more I thought about my breathing, the more irregular it became. I fell asleep whispering to that confused, frustrated part of me that had held onto an abstract hope: “You stupid girl, what did you think? Why would you even care? It’s fine. It’s good, even!”

  And though I managed to convince the pillow, I am not sure I managed to convince myself.

  “I SAW ROSE . . . I—I saw her with Dr. Beck,” Miss Grey gasped, clutching me tightly.

  I responded with marvelous coherency. “When—how—you—”

  She pulled herself away and walked the length of the Lodges’ parlor, fingers of early-morning sunlight reflecting off her tearstained face. “In my dreams. Yesterday.”

  “What did you see? Do you know where she is?” I asked, standing at the edge of the room, both giving her space and fearing to go farther inside.

  She tried to steady her breathing by leaning on a chair. “No, no, I’m sorry, Evelyn, I’m so sorry, I only saw a brief glimpse. Dr. Beck, Claude, and Mr. Hale were discussing her and what to do next.”

  “Was she . . . well?”

  “I . . . I—I don’t know. She was weak and injured . . . she had cuts and bruises all over. And Dr. Beck was furious. He said she was being stubborn and refusing to heal, and he had no choice but to . . . find the organ that does it.”

  I was wide awake now. My insides wrenched up like never before. This is what Arthur and William had said. He’ll do anything for his research.

  “They were planning to go to his surgical laboratory,” she continued. “All I had to do was keep watching and follow them. But I was too agitated, and I only woke myself up.”

  I steadied my shaking hand and reminded myself that I would never find her if I kept panicking. It hasn’t happened yet. I organized my thoughts piece by piece and finally managed to find my words. “They never said an address?”

  She shook her head miserably. “I lost them before they left.”

  Even with Miss Grey’s power, we couldn’t do anything, except learn how much more dire the situation was. But it was motivation enough for me. I glanced at the ticking clock on the mantel. “Now we have all the more reason to find her as soon as possible,” I said in the strongest voice I could hold. “We must go—it’s almost eight o’clock. Let’s hope Mr. Kent will have a plan.”

  Shakily, Miss Grey nodded and followed me to the carriage, and within a minute, we were clattering to our destination.

  On the way, I recounted what had happened since we last spoke: the play, the public house, Camille, and Lady Kent. Miss Grey finally explained why she had been unavailable. She had taken laudanum to aid h
er sleep and spent hours desperately trying to find my sister with another dream. As a result, she missed the entire day, only receiving my messages this morning. As if she hadn’t already given me enough apologies, she continued to pour them out for abandoning me and for losing Rose again. Only by the time we arrived at Mr. Kent’s had I managed to convince her that all was forgiven and that I healed rather quickly, in both senses.

  Miss Gates let us into the bright, empty entrance hall, where Mr. Kent and Robert happened to be making their way downstairs.

  “Ah, Miss Wyndham. A lovely day to solve cases, don’t you think? Glorious lamp of heaven and all,” Mr. Kent said, peering down from the top of the stairs. Sun streaked across his face as he descended.

  “Not exactly,” I replied. “We don’t have much time left.”

  “That’s what I was saying with my poetic allusions. Carpe diem. Gather our rosebuds as we may.”

  “I just hope you have a plan.”

  “Not only do I have a plan, but I have a plan for the picnic we will all surely have time for after,” Mr. Kent said, tapping his cane.

  Behind the energetic Mr. Kent followed Robert. In contrast, his movements were a bit sluggish, but they were still a dramatic improvement over the collapsed heap he was last night.

  “Robert, are you well?” I asked.

  “Evelyn, will you please tell me what is going on?” he barked.

  I was taken aback by the sudden anger. “I don’t know—”

  “Oh, don’t bother with him,” Mr. Kent said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve already tried to explain everything to him, and he refuses to believe me. He’s convinced we’ve concocted this fantastical story to hide the truth that she’s run off with Mr. Braddock.”

  “I don’t care about her virtue!” Robert shouted.

  Mr. Kent shook his head and closed his eyes, exasperated. “Neither do we, Robert. Neither do we.”

  Robert crossed his arms and remained halfway up the stairs in a stubborn sulk, his attention on a seascape painting beside him.

  “Very well, no time for that, then. Now, introductions,” I said, gesturing between him and Miss Grey. “You have both heard of each other. Miss Grey, meet my friend Nicholas Kent. Mr. Kent, my governess, Alice Grey.”