Frustration and rage burbled inside me as I stood in a corner and nibbled on the apple, trying to appear unmoved.
“Why, Miss Stoker, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. Not that the reason for our visit is pleasant, of course, but it’s nice to see you again.”
Lady Cosgrove-Pitt. She held a cup of tea separate from its saucer, as if she were just preparing to sip. I gave an automatic curtsy, mildly surprised to see someone of her social stature present. “Good evening, my lady. It is a shame the reason we’re here, but I’m certain the family appreciates all of the support.”
“Of course. And please, call me Lady Bella. There’s no need for such formality.” She smiled—she was very pretty, about Miss Adler’s age with gray eyes and soft brown hair that was pulled smoothly over her ears. Then she cocked her head inquiringly. “I understand you and Richard were quite friendly, and I see from your expression you are taking this quite hard.”
“It’s a terrible shame. Mr. Dancy was a very charming gentleman. I can’t imagine what sort of accident happened.”
“No, indeed. Nor can I. I understand whatever it was occurred at his gentlemen’s club.” Lady Bella gave a little shiver. “Of course, being a woman, I would have no idea what happens in a gentlemen’s club, but one would think they were relatively safe. One never really hears of such tragedies taking place there.”
“No. Not at all.” I nibbled on my apple. “You’ve heard nothing about what happened? Surely Lord Cosgrove-Pitt would know something . . .”
“Oh, Belmont hates to sully my tender ears with unpleasantries.” Lady Bella lowered her voice conspiratorially. “But I do hear some things from others who aren’t quite as restrained. Miss Southerby—just over there—was saying she heard from her brother that Mr. Dancy had been frequenting another gentlemen’s club as of late. I can’t imagine that had anything to do with what happened, but one never knows.” She shrugged. Then, as if ready to change the subject, she looked around and said, “Why, there’s Irene Adler. How curious that she would take time from her position at the museum to come here.”
I was just as startled as Lady Bella to see Miss Adler making her way toward us. My mentor sported the same grave expression everyone else did.
“Hello, Evaline. Isabella, how good to see you.” Not for the first time, I noticed a definite chill whenever Miss Adler and Lady Bella were together.
“Irene. I see you’ve torn yourself away from your . . . er . . . employment to make a social call. How very kind of you.”
Oh, yes. Definite frostiness. And from both parties.
Both were smiling the cool, false smiles that are common in Society when one is really gritting her teeth.
“Oh, and there is Lady Griffen. If you’ll excuse me, please, Miss Stoker, Irene . . . I’ve been meaning to ask her and her husband to dinner. Politics, you know,” Lady Bella added with a winsome smile. “They’re discussing a new bill in Parliament next week, and Belmont wants to ensure Lord Griffen’s support. Don’t ask me what the bill is, though . . . I haven’t a clue!” She tinkled a pretty laugh.
With that, Lady Bella took herself off, leaving Miss Adler and me in the corner. I was torn between wanting to ask my mentor about their history and finding out what I could from Miss Southerby about Mr. Dancy’s recent social activities.
I opted for the simplest approach. “I get the impression you and Lady Cosgrove-Pitt don’t care much for each other.”
Miss Adler looked startled for a moment, then her expression turned sheepish. “I suppose it is a little obvious. Isabella and I have known each other for a long time. We actually lived in Paris at the same time, oh, goodness—has it been two decades already? Before you were born, at any rate. There was a crowd of us who socialized together—some English, a few French and Betrovians. I was the only American in our little group. Even though I was in the theater business, singing and doing a little bit of acting, I was well connected and we all moved in the same circles. And, well . . . there was a gentleman.” Her eyes twinkled a bit, crinkling at the corners.
“A gentleman? Do you mean the case you were involved in that Mr. Holmes investigated?” I remembered Mina telling me about it shortly after we began working with Miss Adler. It was remarkable because apparently Miss Adler had actually outsmarted Mr. Holmes.
“Oh, yes, there was that matter with the King of Bohemia . . . a ‘scandal,’ I believe Holmes’s friend Dr. Watson called it. But it was the handsome young prince of Betrovia who nearly was my undoing.” She blushed. “I was young and we were in Paris . . . but it so happened he was Isabella’s cousin.”
“Lady Bella is Betrovian?” That must be why she’d known how to dance the kelva.
“Half Betrovian. Her mother was Betrovian, but her father is English, of course. Her aunt had married a Betrovian prince.”
“And she didn’t care for you being involved with her cousin—who was royalty.”
“Indeed not. Not only was I American and not a member of the gentry, but I was also an actress, and had to work for a living—and therefore of dubious character.” Her lips twitched. “She might have been correct about that last bit.”
How very interesting. But now it all made sense—the tension between them, and the snide comments Lady Bella always made about Miss Adler’s work for the British Museum. “And your Prince of Betrovia . . . surely he wasn’t the one who ran off to Gretna Green with a servant girl?”
Miss Adler laughed heartily. “My word, Evaline, how old do you think I am?” She was clearly not offended, but simply amused. “No, that particular incident happened more than fifty years ago—when the chessboard was finally being delivered to London. As for my Betrovian prince . . .” Her humor vanished. “Hugh, unfortunately, died much too young. And in very much the same way your Mr. Dancy did.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. “How . . . awful. Who . . . er . . . how . . . ?”
Miss Adler shook her head; she clearly did not want to discuss details. “I do believe he was my one true love. The King of Bohemia and Godfrey Norton and the others—even Emmet Oligary—were all merely distractions.”
I hid my surprise. She had just given me a fascinating bit of information. “You know Mr. Oligary?”
“Of course. He was a bit older than the rest of us, but he was in our circle in Paris in the early seventies as well.” Then she said briskly, “I can only conclude you had a hand in the . . . ahem . . . dispatching of the problems from last night? Which is why there are no remains belonging to Mr. Dancy?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
Just then, the clock struck half-past nine. If I were going to meet Pix, it was time for me to make my excuses. “Miss Adler, I need to leave . . . and I need a good reason to do so . . .” I glanced toward Florence, who was still sitting with Mrs. Dancy and Priscilla. I felt a pang of guilt that I wasn’t doing the same—after all, if it weren’t for me . . .
“Understood. Leave it to me.”
Miss Adler moved smoothly across the room and at that moment I saw Miss Southerby—and even more importantly, her brother. I pushed through the small throng of people with the same intent as Miss Adler, and moments later was “accidentally” bumping into Mr. Southerby’s elbow.
“Oh, pardon me!” I said, pretending to blush as I ducked my face. “I’m so ridiculously clumsy.”
“Miss Stoker . . . never say such a thing. You are one of the most graceful ladies I’ve ever had the pleasure of dancing with.” He smiled, his buck teeth taking up a good portion of his face. His cheeks had pinkened. He didn’t seem to know where to look and kept his eyes bashfully downcast.
“You’re very kind, Mr. Southerby.” I didn’t have much time, so I launched right into the conversation—but not without looking up at him as if he were the most fascinating man in the room. “It’s just terrible about Mr. Dancy! I cannot believe what happened. Though no one really knows, do they?” I dropped my voice to a whisper, and noticed him lean closer to me. “I heard it happened at hi
s club . . . but didn’t he belong to two clubs? Surely you know all about those sorts of things.”
“I don’t know what happened either, Miss Stoker. But I do know whatever accident it was happened at a place called Bridge & Stokes.” He remained unable to find a place for his gaze to rest, and his cheeks were even more pink.
I pressed my advantage and changed my expression to one of confusion. “Oh. That’s odd. When we were dancing at the Midnight Palace—wasn’t that a lovely ball?—I was sure he mentioned a different club. The name escapes me, however.” I was standing very close to Mr. Southerby, and I noticed he smelled of basil and starch. Not unpleasant, but certainly not cinnamon and clove and some other pleasant scent, like someone else I knew.
Blast and drat!
“You must be speaking of the Goose & the Pearl,” Mr. Southerby replied. “Dancy had just begun visiting the place. He seemed rather taken by it. It’s more of a public house than a gentlemen’s club, you know, and I was surprised he would want to spend his time there.” Clearly Mr. Southerby would not.
“Miss Stoker, there you are.”
I turned to see Miss Adler standing beside us with a meaningful look in her eye. “Your sister-in-law, Florence, has agreed to allow you to return to the museum with me—you left your cloak there last week?”
“Right. Of course. I’m so glad you were able to find it.” I turned to Mr. Southerby. He hadn’t given me as much information as I’d hoped, but it was a start. The Goose & the Pearl would bear some investigation. “Good evening, Mr. Southerby. It was a pleasure speaking with you.”
Before he could muster up the wherewithal to ask me to go for a ride in the park or to the theater or some other event, I gave a little curtsy and turned to follow Miss Adler.
Once we were outside, however, she indicated I should take her carriage. When I protested, she merely smiled mysteriously and said, “In fact, you are doing me a kindness, for now I can send my coach away without inviting comment. I have made other arrangements for the evening.”
As she said this, an unmarked carriage pulled to the curb and the driver climbed down to open the door. Miss Adler gave me a smile, then stepped in . . . with the help of a gentleman’s gloved hand from the inside.
Very well, then. I shrugged and did as she bid, heading toward the vehicle she’d called up to the door. “St. Sequestrian’s Church,” I told the driver. We started off as Big Ben struck three-quarters past the hour. I should arrive just in time.
I’d never been to the church, but had chosen the place because of Pepper’s cousin’s neighbor. When the carriage stopped in front of the building, I saw it was on an older block, where there were no street-levels except for the ground.
Inside, the church was shadowy and still—as to be expected at ten o’clock at night. There was one long aisle with two columns of pews on either side. Unlike many churches, this one’s nave was not in the shape of a cross, but designed as one long rectangle with the altar on one end, and the entrance through which I’d come on the other.
Candles flickered in the front and in a bank of two or three dozen on the left side. A statue of some saint—presumably St. Sequestrian—looked down on the collection of flickering flames. I smelled the faint scent of incense and beeswax candles. And of course the ever-present pungency of smoke.
I stepped in and listened, closing the door softly behind me. The only sound was the faint trickle of water, as if someone hadn’t turned off the holy water font all the way.
Speaking of holy water . . .
I went to one of the covered metal bowls at the back of the church and filled a tiny vial with the water. It was always good to have extra on hand when one might encounter an UnDead. As well, when salted, holy water was the best cure for vampire bites.
Thus far, I’d heard and seen no sign of life. But the clock hadn’t tolled ten yet, so I was early. Unless . . .
I went and sat in the last pew on the right-hand side and felt under the seat. No message.
Silence reigned. Nothing moved . . . not even a whisper of air. I knew Pix was as noiseless and slick as a shadow, and I braced myself, waiting for him to make his appearance. Likely, he would sneak up behind me. He’d whisper in my ear from behind, stirring my hair, his breath warm upon my bare skin . . .
When something finally happened, however, it was not what I’d expected. Just as all the clocks in the vicinity struck ten, with Big Ben tolling the loudest, a side door right next to the St. Sequestrian statue opened.
Moonlight spilled in, along with a silhouette that was definitely not Pix . . . unless he’d taken to wearing female clothing. Which, while I wouldn’t put it past him, didn’t seem to be appropriate for tonight’s meeting.
Someone coming in to pray, then, perhaps.
I remained silent and still in my pew back in the corner, waiting to see what happened next.
To my surprise, the female figure walked purposefully through the row of pews to the center aisle, then down toward the back of the church where I sat. As she came closer, the flickering candlelight illuminated her blond hair . . . and then eventually, more of her face.
She turned into my pew and when she saw me, she froze. “You aren’t Pix.”
I stood. “No, I’m not. But clearly you were expecting him, Miss Babbage.”
Olympia Babbage peered at me in the drassy light. She obviously was too vain to wear spectacles. “Is that you, Miss Stoker? What on earth are you doing here?”
Before I could respond, the back door of the church opened. More moonlight spilled in, along with another figure. There was a clatter as something fell onto the ground, then rolled in a noisy circle before coming to a shivering silence. Likely it had been the silver top to one of the small holy water basins.
“I might ask you both the same question,” said the new arrival.
Miss Stoker
Our Heroines’ Endgame Begins
“Mina? You too?” I said, coming out of my pew near the side wall of the church to stand in the back. “What are you both doing here?”
“Obviously, I received a message,” said my partner, as if it were the most logical answer in the world. “I’m not terribly surprised to see you here, Evaline. But Miss Babbage . . . would you care to explain how you came to be present as well?”
“Pix sent me a message to meet him here at ten o’clock unless I received word otherwise,” she replied. And for once, she seemed to be focused on what was happening around her, and not on some invention she was mentally designing.
The way Miss Babbage spoke of Pix—so casually and with such familiarity—annoyed me. Did they meet often? Did he send her messages regularly? Did he call her luv? “Well, he seems to have asked all of us to be here and hasn’t bothered to show himself. I see no reason to wait around any longer.” I brushed past Miss Babbage, who was just a little bit taller than me and a little more curvy in certain areas, and started for the door.
“Oh, don’t get your gloves all in a knot, Evaline,” said Mina. “I think it would be prudent to wait for a few moments in the event he does arrive.”
I glowered into the darkness. He was probably already here, lurking about, watching and listening to us. Blast the man!
“I’m not waiting for more than a few minutes,” I announced. “I have other things to do. Including a visit to the Goose & the Pearl.”
“Is that where Mr. Dancy was spending his time as of late?” asked Mina, infuriatingly correct, as usual.
I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”
“Excellent work, Miss Stoker. I shall go with you—”
“I think you’re wrong.”
Mina and I swiveled to Miss Babbage. “Excuse me?” Miss Holmes sounded as if she were choking. “Wrong?”
“I’m not certain Pix is planning to be here. Or ever was.”
“Please explain,” I said, my jaw still tight.
“The message I got from him was perhaps a little more detailed than the ones you must have received. He told me he was investigati
ng something near Bouverie-street today, and if all went well, he would be in communication. But his message stated that if I didn’t hear from him by nine o’clock, then I should come to St. Sequestrian’s at ten.”
“What did your message say, Mina?” I asked, growing more annoyed by the minute.
“There was no signature, but the author was clearly a male—and appeared well-educated too, to my surprise—and in a hurry. The message said I should be here at ten o’clock if I wanted to learn more about a situation my uncle was investigating.” Mina looked at me. “I suspected Mr. Pix might be involved simply because of the locale of the meeting place, knowing you had chosen it for your communications center. Naturally, I had no way of knowing you would be here as well.” She looked around the high-ceilinged chamber. “The fact that he isn’t present, but has collected all of us here, leads me to believe he meant for us to meet in his absence. And his absence is obviously a sign something has gone wrong.”
“Why do you think that?” My irritation faded.
“He indicated Miss Babbage should be here unless he told her otherwise, and he also told her he was going to investigate at the very same area as a case my uncle is investigating. That can’t be a coincidence. The fact that he isn’t here tells me something went wrong, and he wants the three of us to determine what to do next. Each of us must know something that will contribute to the solution.”
That sounded like Pix. Never tell any one person everything.
I looked at Miss Babbage. “I assume you are the one who supplies Pix with those mechanisms. The devices Pix sells. What are they?”
“I’ve invented countless devices—and some for Pix, yes—but nothing that he sells. He recently asked me to work on something special . . . but I haven’t completed the project.” Now she had an odd look in her eye, as if she knew something I didn’t.
I wanted to stamp my foot. “Well, maybe you invented this device once and now he has someone else manufacturing it. It’s about the size of my palm, and it—”
The Chess Queen Enigma Page 20
