These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel (10 page)

He paused, savoring my defeat, before adding, “I gather it was not the right Mr. Cheval headlining the show?” A smile quirked on his lips.

I clutched my right hand at my skirts to keep it from flying at his cheek. “How do you know him?”

“I know him not as Felix Cheval but instead as Claude. And I know him because he is gifted with extraordinary strength. I am sorry for lying before. I needed to understand what was
happening before I gave you even more cause to distrust me. Your absurd opinion that I fancy myself a gothic hero did not help.”

“
My
absurd opinion?” My appalled voice echoed through the streets. “And
how
exactly do you know Claude? Does everyone with a special little power gather at a
club for weekly meetings?”

“That would make matters much easier, but no. I don’t know what Claude wants from your sister, but it must have something to do with these powers. There’s no other reason he
would have sought her out. Believe what you will, Miss Wyndham, but if you agree to try and help my friend, I will find Miss Rosamund.”

“No. I cannot afford the time.”

“The police are not an option, I’m sure. How else do you expect to find her?”

“I—I have many plans. And my friend, Mr. Kent—”

“Trust me. I know this city far better than most, and I know whom to ask about gentlemen with secret powers.”

I did not know what to say. Against my best wishes, Mr. Braddock, in all his arrogance, had an answer for everything. But this insistence on those ridiculous powers . . . it bothered me that I
could not guess his intentions for creating such a wild story.

He sighed at my silence. “Fine, ignore all I said about these powers. You were right. It was a jest, another false tale to make you fall madly in love with me.” He walked slowly
ahead of me.

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m making this simpler for you. You
can
trust that I know Claude and he knows me—you figured that out easily enough at the ball. And you know how quickly I found
you, so you cannot doubt that skill. And at the very least, I know this city better than you. Those facts do not change, regardless of whether I believe in these powers, or if I believe the lost
city of Atlantis is easily accessible via a magical octopus just south of the Royal Docks.”

“That sounds much more believable.”

“We can be of help to each other.”

“And when I am unable to help heal your friend with these nonexistent powers? What then?”

“You can try your medicines the way you usually do, and you’ll either succeed or fail. No matter what, I’ll help you. All I ask is that you give it one day.”

One day. One vital day. Was it worth it?

“I’ll even start the search tomorrow,” he offered, eyes gleaming. “This way, you won’t lose a day of searching—I’ll just be taking your
place.”

The urge to refuse him was overwhelming, just aching to leave the tip of my tongue, but when I considered my plans for the search tomorrow and the hopeless questioning of more druggists and
chemists, I found myself at an impasse. Rose. All that mattered was finding Rose. No matter how crazy, misguided, or deceptive Mr. Braddock was with this theory, if he truly had a sick friend, it
was in his best interest to find my sister, so one of us would help find a cure.

After an eternity, I nodded and muttered, “Fine,” as we rounded onto a familiar street. He had led me back to the Kents’, and I had barely realized we moved.

“Good. Then I will have a carriage sent for you at noon tomorrow—”

“No, you will provide me the name and address of your friend, and I will come on my own,” I insisted, watching his face closely for a reaction.

Not even the slightest twitch. “Very well,” he said and paused, looking at me expectantly.

“What is it?”

“I will need my coat.”

I hastily pulled it off, carefully rearranging my arms over the mess of my gown. He coughed, pulled out a pen and a card holder, scrawled an address on the back of a card, and handed it to
me.

“I still think you’re mad,” I said.

“I’m sure you do.” He stopped at the intersection of street and alley, on the edge of the greasy streetlamp light. “I trust you can find your way from here?”

“I’m not sure I can get inside. It’s ever so difficult.”

A spark of humor altered his features in a rather pleasing way. “I’m sure you can pry a door open with your quips,” he said, gliding back into the dark street, blending into
shadows. Typical.

I crept toward the window I left ajar ages ago and, standing on my toes, shoved it open. A figure flickered by an adjacent window, and my heart jumped along with the rest of my body.
Desperately, I pulled myself up and over the sill, tangling my skirts, falling into the room with a thud, and nearly wrecking an expensive-looking Japanese vase. The noise brought rapid footsteps
down the hallway to the door, and I frantically scrambled over to a nearby couch. With a final burst of effort, I climbed up and splayed out dramatically, only just remembering to cover my ripped
bodice with a nearby blanket.

The doorknob squeaked, and Laura slinked inside, shutting the door behind her. “Evelyn! What in heaven’s name have you been doing?” she whispered as loudly as her voice would
allow.

“I barely even know myself,” I groaned.

“What?”

“Never—never mind. I—I’m sorry. Did anyone else notice I was missing?”

“No, Mama is busy with company. Why aren’t you in bed? I thought you were sick!” she exclaimed. I sensed a fit of theatrics ready to erupt.

“Shh, please, be quiet. I’m not sick. I went to find Rose—I believed the man who took her was a magician, and I went to his show.”

“So . . . you lied about being ill?”

What could I say? “I had to. It was the only night for the performance.”

“And you went alone?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“Oooh, Evelyn! That sounds so exciting!” she squealed, clutching her head as if to keep it from exploding. “I do so wish I could have accompanied you! You must include me in
the future— investigating a dark magician who abducts sisters. It’s utterly delicious! Almost as delicious as Mr. Edwards tonight. He was so handsome, and his conversation so witty and
interesting . . .”

Well. Not the reaction I was expecting. “It was not the same man,” I added, but Laura did not even listen as she continued to chatter and daydream her way out of the room. I followed
her out into the hall, casually wrapping the blanket over the ruined dress like a shawl.

“Ah! Miss Wyndham, I heard you were unwell.”

Like some eternal mosquito that never goes away, Miss Verinder sauntered up to us, perfectly coiffed. “I do hope you are feeling better?” Her voice was thick, syrupy.

“I was,” I replied icily.

“The Verinders came to pick up music from my mother,” Laura informed me.

“Something soothing, I hope,” Miss Verinder put in. “There seemed to be enough excitement for everyone tonight.”

“Indeed. Good night, Miss Verinder,” I said curtly, nudging Laura up the stairs in front of me.

“Oh, and Miss Wyndham?” she called. “I know you’re the expert on health, but I would recommend staying indoors. The cold must have been quite hard on you.”

Rigid as a board, I glanced back, hoping no distress showed on my face. Pale eyebrows raised, and a faint, cruel smile played on Miss Verinder’s lips. Refusing to let her bother me, I
simply nodded before I pulled Laura up and around the banister toward the bedrooms.

M
Y HAND CLUTCHED
the cold railing, my feet tested every stair, and my breath refused to come as I climbed up and up through
the black void. Like a beacon, the strange, dim second-floor landing called to me. In the darkness, even the faintest light was better than nothing.

The moonlight brought me up to a dusty hallway and into an open laboratory furnished with tables, chairs, cupboards, and bookshelves. The walls displayed intricate illustrations of human anatomy
and chalkboards filled with indecipherable notes. Grotesque shadows of containers, equipment, and book stacks twisted and stretched across the floor like ink spills.

Where was I?

The rattling and whistling of glass panes seemed to respond to my question. A large window looked out over London’s foggy gray skyline, speckled with the orange glow of life and activity.
I drew nearer, feeling the chilly draft seeping in as I peered out, but somehow the closer angle rendered it even harder to make sense of the view. The sights blurred, like indistinct smudges of
paint. Colorful blobs took the vague shapes of buildings and streets below, but it was impossible to tell where I was in the city.

“Ev-lyn?”

I spun around to find a figure standing in the doorway, her red hair wild, her face wan. Miss Grey. “Is R-Rose still with you?” she asked, her voice quavering.

I shook my head.

“He took her?” she asked, eyes wide.

The way she spoke sent my heart racing. This time I managed to speak, slightly. “Who took her? Where is she?”

She gazed up at the ceiling. “Then—she must be here. Please, Evelyn, you have to find her before—”

And I saw past her, past the doorway, to the staircase leading up to the third floor, and nothing else mattered. I flew up the stairs, the darkness swallowing me back up and spitting me out into
my bed, and I lay awake until the sun rose, hating these dreams that could solve nothing at all.

T
HE TICKING OF
the giant grandfather clock grew as loud as life as I waited, resentfully, with Mr. Braddock in his
friend’s large and obviously well-loved London home. We stood in a drawing room lined with faded floral wallpaper and elegant chairs inviting us to delight in the rainy light, which, under
normal circumstances, might have made for a cozy morning visit. But for the moment, it was quite the opposite. I crushed the folds of my gown in my fists and hovered in the middle of the room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lodge will be downstairs shortly,” Cushing, their quiet steward, said before shutting the door, imprisoning me inside.

I was even more confused than I was last night. This did not look to be a ploy. Laura had confirmed that the Lodges not only existed, but they were apparently a respectable family that had only
recently withdrawn from social events because of their daughter’s illness. But Mr. Kent had insisted Mr. Braddock was not to be trusted, when I urged him to continue the search without me for
the day. And I hadn’t even told him the whole story about the powers. Mr. Braddock surely had ulterior motives for creating such an elaborate explanation, but for the life of me, I could not
determine what they were. Was the man cleverer than he looked or just crazier? The line separating the two seemed rather thin.

“So, who is this friend of yours?” I blurted out, hoping to distract myself.

Mr. Braddock glared at me as if I had just stepped on a kitten. “Miss Mae Lodge.”

“Quite informative. Where did you meet?”

“A house.”

“Do you willfully circumvent all questions?”

“As I recall from last night, my full, honest answers were not to your liking. At least cryptic responses require less breath.”

“Then you admit to being purposefully cryptic and mysterious?”

“Sebastian!” a rich, friendly voice interrupted Mr. Braddock’s elegiac sigh. An older man and woman stood at the door, both excited to see him—heaven knows why. With an
elegant bow, Mr. Braddock greeted the couple, whom he introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Lodge.

Mrs. Lodge’s puff of blond hair bounced gently as she turned her welcoming countenance toward me. “Thank you for coming, Miss Wyndham,” she said, clasping her hands. “We
are terribly in your debt for helping our Mae.” I had done nothing yet.

Her husband, a thin, red-faced man with snowy hair, had the same honest smile as his wife. I was finally forced to discard the idea that Mr. Braddock might have me here for some other purpose.
Their distress was written into every line that creased their kind faces. “Sebastian has told us the stories of your work. We find that dedication to be by far the most important quality,
after some of the doctors we’ve seen.”