The carriage came to a stop outside of the countess’ residence. Auntie Frances was forced to calm herself somewhat, though her body still trembled as she wrenched Dora from the carriage.
“I do not wish to see your face today,” Auntie Frances told her, as they swept through the door into Hayworth House. “Do not let me see you once until the ball, Dora, I warn you!”
Dora did not respond to this. But inwardly, she thought: That will be no problem. I do not wish to see you either.
Dora spent the rest of the day inside her bedroom, with the treatise open in front of her. Though short, it was also exceptionally dense—it had many strange words which she assumed to be technical terms for magical things. Thankfully, Albert’s partial translation had given her references for some of these words already; she left the remainder untranslated, with guesses from the surrounding context.
The majority of it seemed to be a compilation of various curses from different eras, along with their supposed cures. Dora understood very little of it, but she did see a reference to a sleeping curse, which she supposed must have been the main thing to catch Elias’ interest. She spent extra time on this section, to be sure that it was painstakingly accurate. Unfortunately, the cure to that particular curse was true love’s kiss, and Dora greatly suspected that such a cure was both very rare and not at all applicable to orphaned children.
The work was mentally taxing, which was just as well; it prevented her from dwelling on her aunt’s words. The pile of ugliness at the bottom of her mind was bigger than it had ever been before, pressing dangerously at the surface of her consciousness. Dora knew it was becoming a problem—but she continued to ignore it mostly because she did not know what else to do with it. She could not sob on her pillow as Vanessa might have done, and there was no one about to whom she might turn for comfort—and so she continued her translation, vaguely aware the entire time of the sickness that pressed for her attention.
Dora had gotten through about three quarters of the treatise when she heard a commotion downstairs. She padded over to the door, creaking it open to peer down the hallway. Voices filtered up towards her.
“—quite all right, Mr Lowe,” Miss Jennings was saying breathlessly. “A little bruise will not put me in a sickbed.”
“You should hold a cool cloth against it, at least,” Albert told her, with obvious worry in his voice. “You’re not still bleeding?”
Dora headed out, forgetting for the moment her aunt’s order to stay out of sight. As she reached the stairs, she saw that Albert, Vanessa, and Miss Jennings had returned—but Miss Jennings was leaning slightly on Vanessa’s arm, and there was a slowly-darkening purple bruise along her right eye. Albert had a deeply concerned look on his face, and Vanessa seemed to be in a similar fright.
“Please, won’t you sit down?” Vanessa asked Miss Jennings. “I will see if we can get you some tea.”
“What on earth happened?” Dora asked from the top of the stairs.
Vanessa glanced up at Dora sharply. Her expression turned even more distressed. “Oh, Dora,” she said. “I... it’s too terrible, I’m sorry. I think we will all need to have some tea before I’m even able to speak of it.”
A few minutes later, once they had all settled into the morning room and had a pot brought out for them, Vanessa began to explain. “We went to the Cleveland Street Workhouse—the first one you had been to, I think? Miss Jennings and I were asking questions of the children, and one of the boys told us—”
“That awful George Ricks creature!” Miss Jennings burst out, with a sudden, animated anger. “He threw that pregnant woman out on the street and pretended he’d never taken her in at all! He would have forced her to give birth out on the street if Mr Lowe hadn’t been there to protest!”
Albert had settled directly next to Miss Jennings—he was still trying to convince her to press a wet cloth to the awful bruise along her eye, but she barely seemed to notice him. “I seem to recall you doing much of the protesting, Miss Jennings,” Albert said dryly. “Though, to be sure, I would have done the job if you had let me.”
“Miss Jennings confronted the workhouse master,” Vanessa said quietly. Dora’s cousin had curled into her chair with a pale face. Her fingers shook on her teacup. “He struck her for impertinence. I think his cuff link might have caught her eye as well.” She paused, and a fearful smile crossed her lips. “Mr Lowe struck him back much harder, I would wager.”
Dora frowned at Albert’s silver right hand. She had at first assumed that the blood on it was from Miss Jennings’ injury, but now that she looked, she saw that there was far too much blood for that.
“I wish I had been there to see it,” Dora murmured. She could not imagine any greater satisfaction in that moment than seeing the pain that solid metal could inflict upon the workhouse master’s face.
“That miserable excuse for a human being deserved far worse,” Miss Jennings seethed. “He mustn’t be allowed to remain in charge of that workhouse, Mr Lowe! Surely, this sort of thing must be illegal—oh!” The ex-governess had gestured too violently at this, and jolted the cloth so painfully against her eye that she had to let out a gasp.
“Please stay still, Miss Jennings,” Albert begged her, reaching out to grab her chin and keep her still. “You still have a cut near to your eye, and it will be most unpleasant when it swells up.” He shook his head. “Someone will do something. But it will not be you. Any of you. Please, leave the man’s fate up to me.”
Dora expected that the workhouse master would not be getting off as easy as Miss Jennings clearly feared. There was a hard look in Albert’s eyes that she had never seen before.
Albert pulled back from Miss Jennings, though he kept the cloth gingerly against her eye. “In the meantime, I will want your notes from the last few days, Miss Jennings,” he addressed the ex-governess. “And Miss Ettings—whatever you have of that translation, I would like to take it with me.”
Dora went up to fetch the partial translation for Albert. He put himself quickly together to leave once more, but he insisted that Miss Jennings should come by Carroway House in the morning so that he could check on her eye again. When the two of them had both left, Dora turned her attention back to Vanessa, who had yet to move from the place where she had huddled in her chair.
“You are upset,” Dora said.
“Oh, Dora,” Vanessa said, with a tremble in her voice. “How could I not be? I tried so hard not to be a bother while I was there, but it was just so awful!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I cannot seem to forget any of it, no matter how hard I try. I cannot imagine going to some silly ball tonight!”
Dora settled into the chair next to her cousin, pulling her into an embrace. Vanessa held her back, sniffling into her shoulder. “I should not be so relieved to see you this upset,” Dora said. “But I cannot help that I am. I wanted to believe that you would be of a mind with me on this matter, and you are.”
Vanessa swallowed hard. “I do not even know what to do about it, Dora,” she said. “It all seems so very overwhelming.”
“We must choose little things to fix where we can,” Dora told her, remembering what Elias had said about small evils. “I have decided to help Elias fix Jane, and maybe undo this awful plague. But perhaps you will pick something else.”
Vanessa chewed at her lip, clearly thinking hard on the matter. But their conversation was cut short by Lady Hayworth, who swept into the room, clapping her hands.
“Look at the two of you!” the countess said, with a disapproving look. “There is barely time before the ball, and neither of you is properly dressed!”
Vanessa hesitated, tightening her arms on Dora. “I am... not feeling well,” she said softly. “It might be best if I did not go, Lady Hayworth.”
The countess laughed. Dora thought that a strange response to Vanessa’s obvious distress, but she was probably not the best person to judge. “Rumor has it that Lord Carroway’s oldest son has suddenly decided to attend,” Lady Hayworth sa
id. “He intends almost certainly to spend more time with you. If you were dying in your bed, Miss Ettings, you would still be going.”
Vanessa knitted her brow. Auntie Frances had rarely crossed her daughter’s moods—though to be fair, Dora thought, Vanessa rarely had moods at all. “Perhaps my mother—” she began tremulously.
“Your mother will agree with me,” Lady Hayworth chastised Vanessa with a stern look. “I have told her that she is far too accommodating with the both of you. Perhaps that is how mothers treat their children in the country, but it is not proper here.” The countess eyed them both in a most unfriendly manner. “It is time that you both got dressed,” she said, and there was an ominous note to her voice this time.
Vanessa pushed meekly up to her feet, unwilling to further protest. Dora considered the last part of the treatise upstairs—but the look on the countess’ face was dark, and after her earlier carriage ride with Auntie Frances, Dora suspected there was little chance of victory in the matter. She rose quietly after Vanessa and followed her cousin up the stairs.
Only one of the maids had been sent to help Dora with her dress; now that Vanessa had caught Edward’s attention, it was clear that Dora had become an afterthought once again. Since she had so few dresses with her, Dora put on the mint green dress that Lady Carroway had given her, discreetly pinning it up along the sides once more. It was still quite clear that she was wearing a hand-me-down—however expensive—but the dress made Dora feel warm and comforted, rather like one of Vanessa’s hugs. Part of her hoped that Lady Carroway would be at the ball with her son, and that she would be pleased to see Dora making use of her gift.
The maid styled Dora’s hair as best she could in the time they had left. Dora had no jewelry to wear this time, but since she was unlikely to get much attention other than pitying looks, any further adornment was probably unnecessary.
Vanessa was in a new brown and gold dress, with her blond hair done up in rubies. It was quite clear to Dora that the hens had pulled out all the stops to ensure that her cousin would be particularly eye-catching tonight. Vanessa looked calm and composed, but Dora could tell that she was still quietly upset over the day’s events, beneath all of the finery.
The countess was already waiting in the carriage by the time that Dora, Vanessa, and Auntie Frances joined her. She was wearing a rich burgundy gown, along with an embarrassment of jewels—looking at her in that moment, Dora thought that she must surely be the epitome of everything that Elias so hated.
“There you are,” Lady Hayworth cooed, as Vanessa settled into her seat. “Oh, just look at you! I cannot wait for you to walk into that ball. All of the other women will be just green with envy, won’t they?” She shared a smug smile with Auntie Frances, who chuckled as though she’d heard a very fine joke.
“Thank you, Lady Hayworth,” Vanessa said quietly. It was a polite, rote response though; she was already staring out the window of the carriage, and Dora suspected that her cousin’s mind was very far away from anything like dresses and balls.
“You will keep Albert busy as much as possible, of course,” Auntie Frances told Dora in a cool tone. “If he does still harbour an interest in Vanessa, he must not be allowed to show it too much, or else Edward might overthink his own attentions.”
“I will do my best,” Dora promised. But she was thinking about the ball nearly as little as Vanessa was doing; all of her thoughts were on the last quarter of the treatise, still sitting in her room.
Chapter 13
Lady Cushing’s ball was an even grander affair than the one they’d attended at Carroway House; the crowd seemed smaller and more choice, and the outfits correspondingly more expensive. There was a great chandelier on the ceiling with bits of dangling crystal that threw reflections all across the walls, and the entirety of the wooden floor had been chalked up with fanciful geometric designs.
To this affair, they had arrived fashionably late, after the dancing was in full swing. Predictably, Dora had ended up sitting with her aunt in the corner while Vanessa was politely swarmed with dance requests. Much later in the ball, however, Albert made his appearance, only slightly ruffled from whatever diversion had occupied him between the afternoon’s events and the party. To the great satisfaction of Auntie Frances and the countess, he soon came over to ask Dora for her first dance.
“God willing, Master Ricks will not remain in his position for very much longer,” Albert said, as soon as they had reached the dance floor. “My father has taken up the matter himself.”
Dora frowned. “But he is still in charge for the moment?” she asked.
“He is,” Albert muttered distastefully. “I did what I could to dissuade him from further abuses this afternoon, but it is not so simple to remove him at a moment’s notice. There is no exact law forbidding him from what he did, and there are not so many people willing to take his place. But it has occurred to me that Master Ricks looks much richer than his station should suggest. If I am right, and he has been embezzling from the workhouse, a short investigation into his thievery should accomplish what moral outrage would not.”
Dora sighed. “I begin to wonder if moral outrage has ever accomplished anything,” she murmured. “We do not seem to ever feel such outrage at all when it regards matters outside of these ballrooms.” Then, with a blink, she said: “Oh. I am sorry. That was a bit bleak.”
Albert smiled wryly at her. “Just for tonight, I share the sentiment,” he said. “With good luck and plenty of wine, I hope to recover my optimism again by tomorrow.” His eyes focussed over her shoulder, and Dora caught sight of Vanessa and his brother Edward dancing together, not far off from them. “You seem quite close with your cousin, Miss Ettings,” Albert said distantly. “Would you do me the great favour of your honest opinion, and tell me the sort of wife you think she might make?”
Dora gave Albert an openly curious look, and he flushed. “Oh, not for me!” he assured her. “You must have noticed that Edward has shown an interest in her. He asked much earlier my opinion of your cousin, and I did not have an answer for him. After today, I believe she must be quite loyal, but I have realised that I otherwise know very little of her.”
Dora smiled at Albert, bemused. “I am quite close with Vanessa,” she said. “Surely, you must know that I am likely to be biased.”
Albert considered this. “You are right, of course,” he acknowledged. “But somehow, in spite of that, I suspect your opinion to be more reliable than most. I do not think that I have ever seen you mince your words, Miss Ettings.”
The dance ended. Dora kept her arm on Albert’s, however, thinking to herself. “May we take a turn about the room while I think?” she asked. “I would rather not go back to my aunt just yet.”
Albert obliged, and they walked off the dance floor. Dora spent another few moments putting her thoughts together. “I will tell you the truth, Mr Lowe,” she said finally. “But only if you offer me the same privilege regarding your brother. I trust that is acceptable?”
“That is fair, of course,” Albert agreed. “For my part, I have little to disparage. Edward has always done his best to be honourable and to see to both his duty and his family.”
Dora frowned. “But is he a good man?” she asked. “I do not imply otherwise, of course, but I know similarly little of him.”
Albert nodded, taking this in stride. “I think that Edward is a good man,” he said. “But I have thought more than once that his goodness is untested. It is easy to be kind and generous and honourable when there is little to lose by it. Given his inheritance, however, I question whether he will ever be in a position to be tested at all. Perhaps it is a moot point.”
Dora smiled ruefully at that. “I shall say something very similar to you in return, I think. I love Vanessa dearly, and she has always been the kindest person in my life. I fear she can be callous with those things she does not see or understand directly. But to show her such things is a simple enough remedy, and the lack does not negate her other lovely qua
lities.” Dora paused. “As to what sort of wife she would make... I could not know what a man looks for in a wife. But I take much comfort in her company, and I cannot imagine that her future husband would do otherwise.”
Albert gave Dora a warm smile in return. “I am glad to know that,” he said. “If I may say so, Miss Ettings... you have no lack of lovely qualities yourself. I am sure that I am not the only one to notice.”
Dora blinked at the unexpected change in subject. “Mr Lowe,” she said carefully. “I do not mean to get above myself. But if you have suddenly decided to court me in earnest, I am not certain I can recommend the idea.”
Albert chuckled. “I would not dare,” he told her softly. “Speaking of which... I believe I must relinquish you shortly. I hope you do not mind.”
Dora had only the briefest moment to wonder at his statement before she heard someone behind her clear their throat. “Miss Ettings,” Elias said. “I am here to call your bluff. I believe that I am owed two dances—any two that I like, in fact.”
Dora turned to regard the magician. He was not dressed terribly well for the party—in fact, he stuck out like a sore thumb among those who had shown up in their very best attire. His face was obviously worn with weariness, but Dora thought there was an uncommon gentleness to his demeanour tonight, and he had a rare, tired smile on his features.
“You were invited then?” Dora asked, before she could think better of the words. “I am surprised that Lady Cushing sent you an invitation.”
Elias raised an eyebrow at her. “Most people simply assume that I will not come when they invite me to their parties,” he said. “I am sure the lady will reconsider her approach after this terrible mistake.” He held his hand out to her patiently. “I really will not take no for an answer, Miss Ettings. You would not wish to be known as a woman who ignores her gambling debts.”
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