These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(36)

“Organization?”

“There were three men, but they appeared quite well funded, so I presumed there was a source for the equipment.”

“Three men—” I started.

Camille interrupted. “Try to be patient.” I was ready to hit her.

“I have always had a talent of sorts for disguising myself. Some people are naturally fast or strong. I am naturally skilled at studying and imitating others. My makeup, costume, and acting abilities are flawless.”

“You have a power?”

Camille looked at us skeptically. “I do not know what you mean.”

“She does,” Mr. Braddock jumped in. “I’ve heard stories about her.”

“I have a natural skill, yes, but it was nothing without training. I’ve done this for the last twenty years and developed a reputation for my services as London’s specialist.”

“There are people who hire you to impersonate another?” I prodded.

“That is only half my work. I can also disguise clients however they wish,” she replied, delicately tapping her forehead. Had those wrinkles been there before? “Three days ago, a man arrived at my home. He asked for a week of my services.”

“Was his name Claude? Or Mr. Cheval?”

“He was a very large, swarthy, singular-looking man. He spoke with a quiet voice en fran?ais.”

Good—we had the right one this time. Mr. Braddock’s attention was fixed on Camille as we turned a dark corner under a broken gas lamp, and she continued: “He briefly explained the job, the payment, and asked whether I had the appropriate resources and abilities, to which I said yes.”

“Who was the employer?” Mr. Braddock eagerly questioned.

Camille shot him a glare. “He did not give his name. Now, please stop interrupting the job you paid me to do.”

He narrowed his eyes and stopped in front of her as a threat. “We are in a hurry,” he said. “She may be in danger.”

She brushed by him, unperturbed, and continued down the street. “She is safe. It is in their best interests to keep her well, it seems.”

Mr. Braddock turned and followed, confusion lining his brow.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“The large man brought me to a house to meet the two others in a laboratory room. The first man was pale, thin, and did not speak much. The other—a short man who appeared to be in charge—he told me to play the part of your sister for a week and build up a public reputation for her. When I agreed, they led me up one floor to your sister’s room and gave me some time to speak with her so I could study her face, voice, and mannerisms.”

“Was she—was she well?” I asked.

“Well enough to trick me. When I spoke with her, I pretended to be a servant trying to help her escape. I asked about her nearest relations and who to contact first for help.”

I felt a surge of anger. It was both a horrible lie and a clever trick. “So you would be prepared with enough details to fool anyone who came looking for Rose,” I said.

Camille nodded. “But it seems she did not entirely trust me. She told me she calls you Evie sometimes, and that you are married. I gather that isn’t true.”

I shook my head, unable to withhold a proud smile. Imprisoned in that room, Rose still outwitted them.

Mr. Braddock rejoined with a renewed charge of urgency. “What were you to do after the week was over?” he asked Camille.

“After I made a reputation for your sister, they would supply me with a body to be disguised as her and discovered, so any search by the police or the family would be ended.” For such a horrible topic, she was rather nonchalant about the matter.

“You—you must be joking,” I said.

“Not at all. I gathered he did not want to be bothered by a wealthy family’s search,” Camille replied, sashaying down the street.

“If I can provide you sufficient compensation, will you abandon your next few days of work?” Mr. Braddock asked.

Camille nodded greedily. “That can be arranged.”

He handed her another set of notes. “Very good,” he replied.

The elaborate kidnapping plan left me further unnerved. Whoever had taken Rose planned for and anticipated everything. Why was she so important to a man with a laboratory? What were they planning to do with her? If there were scientists who knew about powers, did that mean Rose could be someone’s research experiment? My anxiety gave way to anger, and stamping on a discarded newspaper provided little relief.

“We’re going now,” I said firmly to Mr. Braddock.

“Were they settled in this house?” he asked Camille.

“I believe so. I was to receive half my payment there next week.”

With those hopeful words, we found ourselves back in front of the Argyll Rooms. Hundreds of cabs waited along the street for the night to end so they could take passengers home or to a hotel. Drunken couples occasionally sauntered out, oblivious to their surroundings. One gentleman somehow procured his lady’s shoe and vomited in it.

Mr. Braddock found a pencil and a card in his pocket. He handed them to Camille. “The address, please.”

She wrote down the information. When she finished, she handed me her own card and, as a good-bye, made me one last offer: “If you have the money, I can disguise you much more convincingly!”