These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(59)

“It’s true—’e did that,” William said ruefully.

“Yeah but ’e dinnit wanta, did ’e?” Arthur turned back to me, earnest. “Tore ’im right up that ’e couldn’t control his power, but he didn’t hav’a choice—he was locked up. Dr. Beck’ll do anything for his research. It starts out real friendly-like, but then one day ’e locked us up, and ’e would’a cut us open if Braddock hadn’t helped us ’scape.”

“And if Mr. Braddock hadn’t let Dr. Beck go,” I said, “you or my sister wouldn’t have been locked up in the first place.”

They both frowned and exhaled. “That’s a messy business, dearie,” Arthur said. “You’re right ’bout your sister, but Beck ’ad us in another laboratory.”

“If Braddock had killed ’em instead of followed ’em, we’d’a never been found.”

I stared into my cloudy glass, watching the whirling liquid settle into stillness. So Mr. Braddock had told me the truth. He really hadn’t had a choice. And he’d saved Arthur’s and William’s lives. But the two images—of Mr. Braddock killing an innocent and showing mercy to Dr. Beck—proved impossible to banish with Rose still out there.

The duo seemed to silently communicate again with glances before Arthur cleared his throat, speaking low. “Even if ’e don’t tell ya everything, you can trust ’im to ’ave a good reason for it.”

“Did he tell you Dr. Beck has an unknown power of his own?” I took a heavy gulp of the ale.

When I set down the glass, I was faced with identical expressions of confusion. “Dr. Beck’s special-like?”

“We only learned of it yesterday. We’re quite sure he has a power—we just don’t know what it may be.”

Nauseated, William pushed aside his drink, while Arthur drained half the glass, foam collecting on his beard. Neither reaction was entirely reassuring.

“Then I gather you don’t have ideas of what it might be?” I asked. “Did you ever see anything out of the ordinary with him? Anything at all?”

Arthur closed his eyes a little and touched his ears, wincing in pain at my strained tone. “Dinnit think ’e could get scarier, didja, Willy? But that ’bout makes me wanna run ta ’nother country,” he said miserably.

“Sorry, can’t say I noticed anything,” William put in. “Cunning bastard iffin you’ll pardon me for sayin’ so. Always planned well. Never let it slip. He musta known ’ow to hide the power. Nuthin’ ever seemed strangelike.” He nodded in his short-necked way.

I took a final sip of the beer. The bitter taste was a bit more tolerable this time, but it was nothing I’d miss. “And do you still mean to keep watch here for Mr. Braddock? You still trust him?”

They both nodded, without the need to look at each other for agreement. Very well. Staunch supporters of the cause.

“Then I will thank you for your help and take my leave. You two are infinitely more suitable for the task, and I’ve distracted you long enough.” I pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote down the Kents’ address. “If you discover anything at all, please include me. You can imagine how difficult it is knowing the danger my sister is in and not being able to help.”

They stood up with me and Arthur took the address. “We do. And I s’pose that fella there knows a bit about it, too,” he said, nodding toward Robert, who by now had buried his face into the crook of his elbow to weep.

“He is a dear friend of mine. Would you make sure he does nothing stupid?”

“If you’ll do us a favor in turn.”

William gave me an earnest look. “You try ta forgive Braddock. He means ya well.”

I pushed in my chair and nodded a clumsy, hesitant good-bye to them. The sticky floor brought me through the smoky haze and out the front door, where I found a sudden, blinding reminder that it was still the middle of the day.

Lost in the bustle of my thoughts, I only realized where I was when my cab came to a jolting stop outside Camille’s building. When I knocked on her door, an elderly man poked his head out this time. “Oh, Miss Wyndham, come in.”

She led me into the dressing room, where she tilted my chin up, admiring her work one final time. “Did it all go accordingly?” she asked.

“Not quite,” I said. “But it was instructive, nonetheless.”

“It often is.” She soaked a rag in a bucket of water warmed by the sunlight and set to reversing the process, scrubbing off my makeup, massaging a tingling substance into my hair, manipulating my shoulders and chest. As she worked, I could swear my muscles were relaxing and my hair lengthening with her every touch, returning almost imperceptibly to equilibrium. It took only a fraction of the time to undo her work.

When she had finished, she motioned to the large looking glass. “Please tell me if there’s anything I’ve missed. I’ll fetch your dress from the other room.”

She left me alone with my reflection. My appearance looked as close to normal as I could tell, though it still felt strange with the loose men’s clothing I wore. Maybe my dress—wait. I’d left my dress in this wardrobe.

I cracked the dressing-room door open and called out, “Miss Camille, my things are here.”