These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel (22 page)

“Quite . . . well,” he said, regaining himself after a momentary befuddlement. “The play is very good, is it not? A true example of drama at its best.”

“If this play is the best drama that can be mustered up, Mr. Edwards, I’m afraid it’s fighting a losing battle,” I said.

“Evelyn, don’t be so critical,” Laura scolded theatrically. “I think this show exceedingly good so far.”

“I wholeheartedly agree and applaud your taste, Miss Kent. I especially like the blend of this production’s dreamlike opulence with the truthful, human performances,” he said
superciliously.

“Yes! Just the words I was about to say! A striking compromise between the real and . . . a lavish dream!”

Mr. Edwards raised his thick eyebrows and seemed to find Laura more attractive as she repeated his opinion back to him. “Mr. Irving always does a wonderful job, doesn’t
he?”

“I don’t find him particularly unique,” I cheerfully lied.

He waved his folded program as if it contained his proof, and he almost hit a passing couple. “I doubt you’ll find anyone in London who is better.”

“I especially liked his
Hamlet
,” Laura proclaimed. “And last year’s
King Lear
.”

“Oh yes, I saw
King Lear
four times!”

“How unfortunate for you,” I said, finding my role as a cynical baiter rather easy and enjoyable.

“I find it an unfortunate shame that you feel that way. You are missing out,” he returned, straining to remain polite.

“Yes, honestly. You should be more agreeable.” Laura’s voice had a sickening shade of honey in it when she turned back to Mr. Edwards.

“Did you know that they originally planned to stage
The Merchant of Verona
last year?” Mr. Edwards asked, looking at Laura with a speculative glint in his eye.

“Truly?” Laura asked, looking utterly shocked—and not at his error. Heavens. Who would have thought this would actually work? She didn’t even need my help. The two
blathered on, both agreeing that Mr. Edwards was deeply fascinating, while I just stood and watched, silently amused, until someone brushed by my back and a familiar tremor ran up my spine.

“Pardon me.”

Mr. Braddock. I spun around to see him slinking away from me, while awkwardly keeping a safe distance from others. His slow gait was enough to fool almost everyone else, but I could see the
attempts to hide his pain in every step. Why had he come in this condition?

“Excuse me, Laura, Mr. Edwards,” I said and stepped away before there was an objection.

I marched across the room toward him, keeping my eyes on his feet, struggling not to make a scene with the hundreds of people surrounding us. I seized his jacket and pulled him into an alcove.
We were a snug fit, and I couldn’t help but be acutely aware of him and the few inches of breath that separated us. The bitter scent of medicinal herbs seemed to sharpen all my senses.

“What is it? What are you doing here?” I hissed.

He leveled his gaze, chin up, and when he spoke it was determined, as if he had been waiting all day to tell me. “This morning, you said guilt can be effective motivation . . . and, well,
I’m feeling too motivated to sit by idly. I’ve made terrible decisions that I regret to no end, and you have every right to distrust me, but I can only apologize and try to do some good
by finding Miss Rosamund before any harm or pain comes to her.” His eyes refused to drop mine.

“And what? You decided Rose was probably an actress in
Much Ado About Nothing
? Or are you simply here for your own fun?”

“Is this outing with Mr. Kent part of your search?” His eyes flashed with something that looked suspiciously like jealousy as he drained a glass of liquor in his hand.

“Don’t be absurd. We can’t all just mysteriously vanish from society for a year. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“And I am upholding our bargain. I am following a man connected to Dr. Beck.”

I stiffened. “What? Do you have more information? Why did you not inform me?”

“I am informing you now. It is a delicate situation, so I must handle it myself.”

“What is it?” I whispered, pitching my voice low. “You cannot keep something like this from—”

“When Dr. Beck was trying to convince me to join him, he wanted me to meet this man. I never did, but Camille’s mention of Dr. Beck’s funding last night made me consider their
relationship. I believe he may be the benefactor or part of a society funding Dr. Beck’s research.”

It seemed we had the same thought. “Who is he? What is his name? What society?” The words tumbled from my mouth as I looked around for this man I knew nothing about.

“I’ll spare you the details,” he said with an infuriatingly condescending glint to his eyes. “We can’t startle him. If he is funding Dr. Beck’s work, he will
undoubtedly be secretive about it.”

“And you think he is in attendance?”

“He is.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

“Absolutely not. This is far too dangerous.” I thought he was about to take my hand, but he pulled his own back and stuffed it in his pocket, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s dangerous to everyone around you if I don’t come,” I persisted. “You’ll be sitting in a row of sick, unconscious people, or is that part of your
testing—” He paled so much that I immediately regretted the words.

“I purchased seats in different parts of the theater and will move every hour. But by all means, continue. The guiltier I feel, the less likely I’ll be to give you life-endangering
information.”

“Ah, so that’s what you’re doing? Protecting me by neglecting to mention this mysterious man’s name? Like you kept the fact that Dr. Beck has a power from me?
Ha!”

At those words, he fixed me with such an intense stare, it seemed as if the rest of his world lost all significance. “What did you say?”

It was strange to see him so perturbed. “You did not know?”

He shook his head urgently. As quickly as I could pour out the information, I explained Miss Grey’s sudden arrival, her abilities, and her visions of Dr. Beck.

“And she has no idea of what the power may be?” he asked at the end of it.

“She’s never witnessed it.”

“Then that is more of a reason to be cautious. Dr. Beck could be capable of anything.”

I gritted my teeth slightly, refusing to be swayed. “And I’m capable of recovering from anything.”

“Your healing is not instantaneous. We have no idea if it is fully effective for every situation, and I do not want to test its limits. I want you to stay out of this. There are worse
fates than death, especially in the hands of that man. You must trust me to get her back.”

This time he did take my hand—imploringly. Behind the drapery no one could see us, though my mind was far from propriety anyway. I idly wondered how many more times Mr. Braddock and I
would find ourselves in odd corners and too close. The spinning current was dulled through our gloves, but I knew he felt it, as well. My legs trembled as I looked up at him, and I could see he was
equally affected—skin flushed, lips slightly parted. The heady feeling was almost enough to make me agree to stay away. But not quite.

“This is precisely the problem,” I said, pulling my hand away. “I keep foolishly wanting to trust you, and then you always provide another convincing piece of evidence for why
I shouldn’t.”

He peered down at me, and the air practically hummed with our competing powers and annoyance. “Very well. I’d much rather lose your trust than lose”—he frowned at the
turn of phrase—“anything else.”

The bell chimed. The sea of people began drifting back into the theatre. Refusing to give in, I drew back, crossed my arms, and prayed as I grasped for the most likely name from Miss
Grey’s diary. “Perhaps I’ll just visit Lord Ridgewood at his home and ask him myself.”

His eyes widened. I’d guessed correctly. He shook his head, jaw tight. “You are impossible.”

I was, and I refused to break eye contact.

“Fine,” he said at last. “I will send for you tomorrow at nine o’clock. Do not go anywhere without me. You must promise to do nothing reckless.”

“Says the limping, head-bandaged man pursuing infinitely dangerous people late into the night.”

Smiling against his will at that, he held my gaze for a second, hesitating with some unspoken thought behind his eyes. But he sighed and changed tactics.

“Oh, please convey my apologies to Mr. Kent. I was to have nothing further to do with you, and it appears I’ve completely disregarded that,” he said, before leaving the
nook.

I followed him out, trying to set aside my roiling frustration. He gave my hand a final squeeze before limping off down the hallway.

When I took my seat again, Laura would not look at me. I whispered to her, “How did the rest of the conversation go?”

“I don’t want to talk, ever again,” she spat, looking down and contemplating the wonders of her lap.

“Laura,” I persisted. “Laura.”

Sullen, she turned her whole body away into a very uncomfortable-looking position to make her point.

On my other side, Mr. Kent leaned over and spoke right into my ear in a low voice. “I must say, that was a curious change you made to my sister’s plan.”

“She was doing perfectly fine without me. She didn’t even need my help,” I returned, perplexed.

“Then let’s remove safety nets under tightrope walkers to boost their confidence,” he said with a bitter edge.

Was he really so angry about this? “Sometimes it’s more helpful to let someone do it on their own,” I replied calmly. “I clearly ruined her evening, and I’m sorry.
But I had to talk to Mr. Braddock about finding Dr. Beck.”

“Ah, yes, another secret rendezvous at an inconvenient time. Mustn’t miss those. Do you think, has he just been keeping Miss Rosamund in his house this whole time?”

So he was jealous, as well. Ridiculous. I tried to keep my voice even, diplomatic. “No, he’s trying to help.”

“So am I, but I have to do double the work when you keep information from me. Tell me honestly, do you even think you need me to find her?”

“No,” I said. “But that’s because Mr. Braddock knows them—”

He stood up. “Of course, I quite understand.” He turned to the rest of the group and gave a bow. “Good night, all, I’m sorry but I must be off.”

“But Mr. Kent, you’ll miss the ending,” Miss Verinder simpered.

“All the ending does is ruin perfectly good suspense,” he said with a wink and headed for the door.

I shot up, squeezed past Miss Verinder, and stopped Mr. Kent by the box door. “Wait!” I whispered. “That does not mean I don’t want your help. Please. Stay.”

His face softened a bit, but not enough. “Miss Wyndham, a wise girl told me something a long time ago, and it’s stuck with me ever since. She said, ‘Sometimes it’s more
helpful to let someone do it on their own.’ ” And he left me to the box, where no one else seemed to be on speaking terms with me. Delightful.

When the play, the clapping, the curtain call, and the agony finally ended, our party was rightfully exhausted as we passed through the lobby toward the exit. Lady Kent exchanged parting words
with Mr. and Mrs. Verinder, Laura sulked over to the side and stared at framed playbills of old productions of
Romeo and Juliet,
and without Mr. Kent to cling to, Miss Verinder fell into
step with me.

“Miss Wyndham, I’m sorry I was quite occupied with Mr. Kent tonight. It’s a shame we did not have much opportunity to speak,” she said, to my silent disagreement.
“How did you enjoy the play?”

Without Mr. Kent or his stepmother within earshot, I didn’t quite know what she was planning. I hardly knew how to speak to her like a normal person. “It was . . . dreadful,” I
replied, hesitatingly.

“I agree,” she said. “Hero’s ending always bothers me.”

“Yes, marrying someone as boring as Claudio does seem terrible,” I joked, unsure of her intentions.

“Oh, I think she was rather lucky.”

“You would be happy to have Claudio?”

“No, Hero was lucky for an entirely different reason. She was the target of a false rumor, saved only because the villains confessed to their lies. Everything turned out perfectly, just
because the play happens to be a comedy with a happy ending. Unlike Othello. Poor Desdemona—she was proclaimed innocent far too late, the damage already done. Can you imagine being the target
of such a rumor in society now?”

“I can’t,” I replied coldly, the blood rushing through my veins as the realization of what she was suggesting overtook me. I rubbed my gloved hands together as we stepped
outside into the wet London night.

“One would never recover from it. Fortunately for us, it’s perhaps harder to lie and make up false stories, at least in London, yes? There always happens to be someone noting where
you are at all times, even if you don’t see them.”

I tried my best to look less rigid. The question of what exactly Miss Verinder knew beat in my head, and I could barely contain the annoyed scream. Did this girl exist just to make provoking
remarks? With everything on my mind, I had no patience for these elaborate Shakespearean metaphors she’d undoubtedly spent all day devising.

“Yes,” I said. “But it’s a shame those people don’t have anything better to do with their time.”

At that moment, Mr. and Mrs. Verinder voiced their good-byes and called for their frowning daughter. With a swift curtsy, she wished me good-bye—her voice a veritable coo. “It was a
pleasure seeing you again, Miss Wyndham.”

“
Pleasure
can hardly describe it.”

She flashed me a knowing grin, amusement and devilry glinting in her hard green eyes. “I will see you at tomorrow’s dinner party, then.” She disappeared into the waiting
carriage. I hoped it had a loose wheel.

Our ride home was a silent one. Laura closed her eyes and shut herself off from the world. Without anyone to listen to her, Lady Kent lethargically peered out the window and recited her
dinner-party guest list for tomorrow, which was, coincidentally, also my list of people I hoped would get horrifically sick. When we returned home, Laura sulked up the stairs, and I had to chase
her to provide another apology.