Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(11)

Her nose wrinkled. “That’s silly. I’m going to look stunning in something new, and you’ll just look drab in that old thing.”

Heat crept into my cheeks. “Well, if I’m drab, then that means you’ll look all the more beautiful.”

Her eyes popped wide, and a smile flashed on her lips. “True! I hadn’t thought of it like—oh look! The vertical train is here!” She tossed the blue hat onto the nearest table. I barely had time to shoot the clerk an apologetic grin before she whisked me out of the store.

Several breathless moments later, I was wedged in the tiny, gilded compartment beside Allison and a set of somber couples. A porter stepped inside and slid a metal grate over the entrance.

“Second floor,” Allison chirped. With a shudder, the cubicle began to rise.

I fidgeted with the buttons on my gloves. I’d never been on an elevator—or vertical train, as some people still called it. But when, after several seconds, nothing happened but slow ascension, I heaved a sigh. Outside the grate, I could see the next floor coming nearer and nearer until the great contraption finally stopped. The porter opened the grate.

Allison crooked her arm in mine and guided me down a narrow hall with maroon rugs and shiny mirrors. Before us was an open door from which sunlight shone and voices murmured over the tinkle of silverware.

The Continental Hotel’s famous tearoom.

With each step my insides roiled. Mama may have held a successful séance last night and the Wilcoxes may have befriended us, but I still wasn’t overly comfortable in high society. It was one thing to learn the rules of the well-bred, but quite another to actually use them. All the judging and gossip—I simply wasn’t very good at it.

We passed through the door and into a crowded, pastel room lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. The round tables were covered with lacy tablecloths, and almost all of them were full.

A waiter dressed in a prim black suit guided us to a table beside a window, spouted out a long list of items, and then waited for our orders.

My heart plummeted to my stomach. He hadn’t listed any prices!

“A pot of tea,” Allison said. “The fresh fruit platter, a sampling of your pastries, and some of that French bread, whatever it is called.” She glanced at me. “Anything else?”

I shook my head frantically. All the blood had fled my face. What the blazes did etiquette demand when faced with no money?

Allison nodded at the waiter, and he glided off. Then she picked up her earlier conversation, completely unaware of my inner panic.

I slid my hands into my pockets and tried to feel out how many coins I had. Three nickels, four dimes, and a quarter. There was no way it was going to be enough, and this was not the sort of place that would let me pay on credit.

I inhaled deeply, ready to come clean about my “momentary absence of funds,” when Allison’s constant stream of words suddenly broke off.

Her eyes narrowed to vicious slits; her gaze was behind me. “Those lying ninnies,” she said through clenched teeth.

I risked a glance back. It was the Virtue Sisters with two mustached young men.

“They told me they were busy today,” Allison continued. “Why would they say that?”

The sisters noticed us, and though their faces momentarily hardened, they quickly brandished fake smiles and strode toward us.

I twisted back to Allison. “What did they tell you?”

“That they were too busy tending to their mother after last night’s horrors to join us for tea.” She gritted her teeth and then flourished her own false grin.

And in an instant I understood Elijah’s favorite line from Macbeth: “There’s daggers in men’s smiles.”

When the sisters and their two escorts reached our table, Mercy bobbed a curtsy. “What a coincidence seeing you two here!”

“Quite!” chimed Patience with a curtsy of her own. She waved to the mustached boys. “These are the McClures. This is Tom and this is Luis.”

I nodded politely before noticing they were twins—matching dark red hair, olive skin, and perfectly tailored suits. Even their bushy mustaches were identical!

“Imagine seeing you,” Allison said icily. “I thought you were busy.”

“Oh yes!” Mercy twittered, and avoided the comment. “That séance was so amazing, Eleanor! Our mother spent the whole night with a case of the vapors!”

“Where’s Mr. Wilcox?” Patience asked Allison with an arched eyebrow.

Allison’s nostrils flared. “Clarence is at home with our mother. She’s still distraught.”

“And your brother?” asked one of the McClure twins, his gaze focused on me. “Is Elijah still detained?”

My lungs grew too large for my chest, and for a moment I had no response. He had asked the very question I still needed to answer myself.

I tugged at my earrings. “He’s not back yet. From New York, I mean.” I laughed shrilly. “D-do you know Elijah?”

“Oh yes,” said the other twin. “We were all at Germantown Academy together.”

My eyebrows drew together, and my lips flicked down. Elijah had been miserable at Germantown Academy. He’d been tormented every day by a quartet of devils led by one boy: Junior. Were these boys a part of that bullying gang?

“He was a year ahead of us,” he added. He smiled kindly, and my frown vanished. Elijah’s tormentors had been older boys—not younger.