These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(18)
“Should I wear this? I have been saving it for a special evening,” she said, holding up a red monstrosity, far too low-cut to be worn anywhere decent and festooned with an assortment of colored lace, ruffles, netting, bows, and every other possible scrap the dressmaker could find on the floor.
“Laura, that dress is not suitable for today, I’m afraid. It’s only a small dinner party,” I said, hastily stuffing it into the abyss of her wardrobe in exchange for a simple, undecorated blue dress, which would, as Laura passionately claimed, “accentuate her sapphire orbs so Mr. Edwards could not look away.” I sincerely hoped she meant her eyes.
When everyone was ready, we climbed into the carriage, and I prepared myself for the dreadful night, formulating answers and excuses for my sister’s absence in my head. I wondered if we might try to escape after dessert, but unfortunately, Laura was not the type to quietly agree to anything, let alone leaving a party early. The second the vehicle began moving, she bobbed impatiently, and slippery brown strands dislodged from her coiffure. Unaware, she tugged at her mother’s dress, completing the image of a child. “Mama, who all do you think will be there?”
Lady Kent was more than happy to provide a thorough list of all the guests and their many faults, while Laura traced Mr. Edwards’ name in the fogged window (with a heart around it, of course) and waited for the name of this love of her life to reach her ear. Uninterested, I peeked out my sooty window, and a strange sight seized my attention: a large building with two statues posted like guards over the entrance. The Egyptian Hall.
During my season, I’d passed by the theater many times, annoyed that I might never visit Egypt herself. But this time, in front of the building, a simple square canvas overshadowed everything else. I nearly choked on my breath. An advertisement. A magic show was scheduled for “tonight and only tonight” at nine o’clock, and the name of the performer was none other than Mr. Felix Cheval.
Now, there was no conclusive proof the Mr. Cheval I had met was a magician, but once the prospect entered my mind, the pieces all fit together. Felix Cheval was not at all a common name. The show ran only for tonight, which coincided with his return from Bramhurst. Magicians were always far more popular and convincing to audiences if they were strange-looking men from exotic countries. All the things the man did in Bramhurst—lifting the carriage, sneaking into the ball, taking Rose without a sound— must have required clever tricks. And even my cautionary dream had taken place in Egypt. I couldn’t pass up the chance. I had to attend the show. Even if it wasn’t him, the possibility would be stuck in the back of my mind for all eternity, and I’d curse myself for going to a useless dinner party instead.
“Oh my. Oh no,” I moaned weakly.
“Evelyn? What is it?” Laura peered so closely, she went cross-eyed.
“I am feeling terribly, terribly unwell.” I tried to sound vaguely breathy and tightly screwed up my eyes, praying for tears.
“Oh dear! Mama, once we get to the Pickfords’, we shall have to have her lie down!”
“Yes,” Lady Kent said, avoiding the sight of me as if it might infect her. “They will have the necessities to make you comfortable.”
Damn. Oh well, nothing for it.
“Oh, my dear Lady Kent, Laura, I cannot possibly make it so far. I fear I am about to be quite, quite . . . ill!”
“Turn the coach around!” Lady Kent rapped heartily, gasping and wrenching her skirts away. I convulsed my throat, getting into the role, Laura whimpered, and I nearly did feel sick as the carriage swung around in a tight U and bounced back to the house with great haste.
With my arm wrapped around her shoulder, a sweetly distressed Laura helped carry me inside and up two floors to my bedroom, while Lady Kent begrudgingly followed, masking her leg pain with her stiff posture. I insisted I should be quite fine on my own, that they absolutely must go without me, and Lady Kent took very little convincing, agreeing before I finished and hurrying out of the room. Laura needed a bit more, about five words’ worth: “Mr. Edwards will be waiting.”
When their carriage rattled away, I set to work, digging out an old brown walking dress and repinning my hair, doing my best imitation of a simple maid on her day off. I peeked out into the empty hallway. The grandfather clock showed 8:35. No time to send Mr. Kent a message, no one else to accompany me. A foolhardy plan, to be sure, but I had to try. Creeping out and down the main stairs, I managed to make it most of the way without seeing a soul. But as I slipped around a corner in the first-floor hall, my haste sent me almost barreling into a catlike Tuffins, who gracefully swung a hot tray full of tea things away from me in one smooth motion.
“Miss Wyndham,” he said, his startled expression relaxing into relief. “I was just bringing you some tea.”
“I—I am—” I sputtered, at a loss for any plausible excuse.
“Sleeping, I believe?” Tuffins offered, the barest spark of humor seeping into his oblong face. “Naturally, you won’t want anyone to disturb you.”
I could have hugged him, but I knew he’d much prefer a firm nod of the head, which I gladly supplied. “Yes, thank you. I shall sleep for an hour or two.”
He gave me room to pass, and I continued down the hall, poking my head into a few rooms before finding one empty parlor with exactly what I needed: a window leading to the narrow alley by the side of the house.