These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(35)

“Who are you?” I asked her.

She cocked her head in disbelief. “What has gotten into you? It’s me, Rose.”

“Fine, Rose, then who am I? Just a simple question,” I persisted.

“My darling sister. Now, I don’t understand what’s gotten into you, but please stop. You’re worrying me.” She shook her head and ducked behind the curtain to change her clothing.

“And who is he?” I asked, pointing to Mr. Braddock.

Rose peeked out. “I think it’s best that you two leave now.”

Mr. Braddock stepped up by my side and held his ground. “Answer the question,” he demanded.

“Your husband, of course.”

A thick silence dangled in the air. Unsure how to act, Mr. Braddock and I exchanged baffled looks when suddenly, the curtain flew back in a blur and not-Rose leaped out of the window and out of the room. Quick as a wolf, Mr. Braddock rushed to follow and hurdled through the gap. Blast it! My skirts would not fit through there. I regained control of my legs and went for the door, hurried down the dim hallway, and burst out the back exit into another dreary alleyway.

The cold air hit me hard, prickling patterns of awareness onto my bare skin. I drew a sharp breath, held up my skirts, and awkwardly pursued them in my unwieldy outfit as rats squeaked and skittered at my feet. Mr. Braddock flew down the passage, and it seemed a hopeless struggle to catch him. His shrinking figure led me across the empty stone street into another connecting alleyway, through a cracked wooden fence, and to a sharp right turn at the end of the passage. As I emerged onto the main road, Mr. Braddock escaped my vision, vanishing around a distant, gaslit corner. His long shadow chaotically bounced across the streets and buildings, serving as my only guide.

Hastily crossing the road to follow, I barely dodged a whinnying horse and its carriage and splashed through a puddle of what I hoped was water. The icy jolt shot a rush of energy up my burning legs, and I pushed forward, panting and stumbling up and down high sidewalk curbs and around piles of sharp gravel by a half-constructed building.

After the next block, I stopped at the intersection, lost and gasping, the chase out of sight. A cough echoed down the vacant street, leading me to the entrance of another concealed back alley, where a collapsed woman wheezed and coughed as she climbed to her knees. Next to her, a blushing, bearded man bent down to inquire about her health.

As I approached, Mr. Braddock stepped out and raised his eyebrows at me before centering his attention back on the woman. She still wore Rose’s dress, hidden under a dark cloak from her dressing room, but her skin was now a caramel color, her hair charcoal black, and her blue eyes narrowed.

“How did—you catch her?” I asked Mr. Braddock through my staggered breath.

“She believed kissing a man on the street would hide her from her pursuers,” he replied with an accusatory glare.

“Little did she know her pursuer was such an expert,” I shot back.

“Miss, are you all right? W-what have these two done?” the bearded man asked meekly, as if he really didn’t want to get involved.

“They are advising you to continue on your way, sir,” Mr. Braddock growled.

The man flinched, but he still shook his head and stood his ground, unconvinced.

“We are from the . . . London health department,” I added. “This woman has a highly contagious fever. I suggest you see a doctor immediately and rest.”

The woman tried to say something, but she coughed again, punctuating my suggestion. It was enough for the man. Wide-eyed and wordless, he hurried away.

“We will return to the Argyll Rooms to talk,” Mr. Braddock told the woman as he led the way. “Are you hurt?”

She was well on her way to recovery—no injuries, just tired out from the chase. Not that it mattered: Either way, I lacked the patience to let this go on any longer.

“No, we’re not waiting!” I exclaimed, grabbing her arm and stopping in front of her. “What is—why did you do all of . . . this?” I gestured to the remains of her disguise.

“I was hired,” she replied in a nasally French accent.

“By whom?”

She scoffed. “I am a professional, and I enjoy getting paid large sums of money for my secrecy.”

I looked to Mr. Braddock, unsure what to do as she sauntered past me. Perhaps he could be more threatening.

“The only thing I enjoy more is getting paid a larger sum for my betrayal,” she added coyly over her shoulder.

Without a second thought, Mr. Braddock reached into his pocket and handed her a small bag of coins. I was beginning to owe this man quite a bit of money that my family didn’t have. Her eyes glittered as she turned, snatched the money, and smiled sweetly at us—her new clients. “How can I be of assistance?” she purred.

“Who are you?”

“Camille. I do not give out my last name for any amount of money.”

“Do you know where my sister is?” I demanded.

“Yes,” she said with a wink. “She is quite lovely, you know. Easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever been.”

That sent a chill down my back. “Where did you see her?”

“No need to be so threatening. I will explain. You’ll get your money’s worth.” She looked at her dim reflection in a storefront window and adjusted her hair as we walked. “I don’t work for the men you are seeking or whatever their organization is. I work for myself.”