Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(4)
“Yes, and you are sweating.” She stepped close to me and sniffed the air. “I’ll have Mary draw a bath. You smell like a guttersnipe.”
I merely nodded, no longer trusting myself to speak. Fortunately, Mama chose that moment to leave; and in three long strides, she was gone.
I sucked in a shaky breath and collapsed backward onto my bed. My fingers curled around the familiar beige linens.
How could I keep this a secret when I could barely deal with it myself? The Dead had delivered Elijah’s letter. The corpses had my brother!
And before I could stop it, another, much darker thought came. What if Elijah was a walking corpse himself?
CHAPTER TWO
The party around me was a smoky dream. None of it felt real. Not the constriction of my bodice or the poke of my hairpins, not the glittering chandelier or the warm gaslights, and least of all, not the chattering guests.
While our elderly butler, Jeremy, and our young maid, Mary, prepared the drawing room for the séance, the guests and I waited in the parlor. I had successfully deflected old Mr. and Mrs. Moore’s attempts at conversation (discussing church sermons was never my favorite subject, particularly when my nerves were screaming for relief); and fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Cook were wholly occupied by Mrs. Wilcox and my mother.
Meanwhile, the Cooks’ fair-haired daughters, Patience and Mercy—whom I called the Virtue Sisters—were focused on the remaining guests: the beautiful Allison Wilcox and her very rich, very eligible brother, Clarence.
I sat alone on the sofa, avoiding company by feigning a great interest in examining my surroundings.
Mama had drained half our remaining bank account to ensure that our parlor was at the height of All Things Fashionable. The wallpaper had recently been redone; the shelves were littered with peacock feathers, coral shards, and a thousand other knickknacks. The velvet rugs and drapes, recently added for this very occasion, swirled with elaborate patterns.
Mama’s greatest pride was the grand piano. It shone in the light of the gas lamps and told the tale of Fitt taste and wealth. It was no wonder she stood beside it to prattle to the Cooks and Mrs. Wilcox.
By the window, where the dour-faced Moores stood, was the mahogany bookshelf built to house all of Elijah’s theology books. And behind me was the chess table. Our chess table. The one Elijah had gotten so he could teach me to play—and then beat me nearly every day.
My thoughts vanished at the sound of a bubbling laugh.
Through lowered lashes, I peered at Allison Wilcox. She sat in a mauve armchair nearby, and the peach silk of her gown made her pale skin glow and dark hair gleam. In comparison, my white skin looked pasty. Or perhaps Allison’s exceptional beauty came from her obvious joy—she basked in the happy warmth I had envisioned for myself.
Her brother, Clarence, had recently returned to Philadelphia after two years at college, and he lounged elegantly against her chairback. He was just as handsome as his sister in his perfectly tailored black suit. The Virtue Sisters no doubt agreed with me, for they hovered nearby. Lanky Patience on one side and squat Mercy on the other, giggling at every word he spoke.
At each of Allison’s laughs and smug glances in my direction, I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep jealous tears away—and to keep from hurling the nearest knickknack right at her. I wanted my brother here; I wanted Elijah safe.
Catching my eye, she bounced up and waltzed over to me.
“Where’s your brother?” she asked.
“He’s in New York,” I mumbled. She plunked down on the sofa beside me.
“Yes, I know—your mother already said that.” Allison rolled her eyes. “But why didn’t he come? I thought this party was for him.”
Clarence strolled over and settled beside his sister.
“Yes, well...” I fidgeted with my lavender dress and avoided the pair’s gaze. “I believe he ran into some friends and decided to visit.”
“Do you know the friends?” Clarence asked. He slid out a shiny, golden watch from his waistcoat pocket. After glancing at its face, he flicked his eyes to mine.
“No,” I said. “I do not.”
He was undeniably handsome. The delicate curves of youth still clung to the strong angles of his jaw; and when his eyes met mine, I caught my breath. They were so dark it was as if they sucked up all the light.
I’d never met Clarence before this evening. He was twenty and, with the recent death of his father, had inherited the Wilcox business and immense fortune. Mama had mentioned something about political ambitions, too, but I couldn’t recall.
Though I knew the pair expected me to continue the conversation, I kept my mouth clamped shut. Mama would be horrified at my wasted chance to impress Clarence Wilcox, but I didn’t want to talk about Elijah.
Seconds passed in awkward silence. Clarence’s head swiveled about as he studied the room. Allison eyed me, and I fidgeted with my amethyst earrings—a nervous habit I’d acquired ever since Elijah had given them to me on my thirteenth birthday.
At last Allison sighed and scooted closer. “So, what’s wrong with you tonight?”
I scowled. “Nothing.”
“Humbug!” She narrowed her eyes and wagged a finger. “You don’t want to talk to me, you’ve avoided the other guests, and you haven’t smiled the entire evening.”
“Not now, Allison.” I gave her what I hoped was a pleading expression, but I could feel the muscles in my jaw twitch with anger. Ever since Mrs. Wilcox had unexpectedly, and rather abruptly, befriended Mama three months ago, I had been forced into Allison’s company far more than I wished.