These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel(70)

When we entered the darkened Lodge home, I sent two new messages to Mr. Kent and Miss Grey, informing them of my newer lodgings and confirming the next morning’s plans. Sebastian needed no such letter.

Miss Lodge showed me to a small, well-appointed room and kindly informed me that I had a place to stay for however long I required. The bed was already turned down, and I climbed onto the firm, nonsagging mattress with a child’s lack of coordination and pulled the warm quilts up to my neck. My ears felt hot, and the more I thought about my breathing, the more irregular it became. I fell asleep whispering to that confused, frustrated part of me that had held onto an abstract hope: “You stupid girl, what did you think? Why would you even care? It’s fine. It’s good, even!”

And though I managed to convince the pillow, I am not sure I managed to convince myself.





“I SAW ROSE . . . I—I saw her with Dr. Beck,” Miss Grey gasped, clutching me tightly.

I responded with marvelous coherency. “When—how—you—”

She pulled herself away and walked the length of the Lodges’ parlor, fingers of early-morning sunlight reflecting off her tearstained face. “In my dreams. Yesterday.”

“What did you see? Do you know where she is?” I asked, standing at the edge of the room, both giving her space and fearing to go farther inside.

She tried to steady her breathing by leaning on a chair. “No, no, I’m sorry, Evelyn, I’m so sorry, I only saw a brief glimpse. Dr. Beck, Claude, and Mr. Hale were discussing her and what to do next.”

“Was she . . . well?”

“I . . . I—I don’t know. She was weak and injured . . . she had cuts and bruises all over. And Dr. Beck was furious. He said she was being stubborn and refusing to heal, and he had no choice but to . . . find the organ that does it.”

I was wide awake now. My insides wrenched up like never before. This is what Arthur and William had said. He’ll do anything for his research.

“They were planning to go to his surgical laboratory,” she continued. “All I had to do was keep watching and follow them. But I was too agitated, and I only woke myself up.”

I steadied my shaking hand and reminded myself that I would never find her if I kept panicking. It hasn’t happened yet. I organized my thoughts piece by piece and finally managed to find my words. “They never said an address?”

She shook her head miserably. “I lost them before they left.”

Even with Miss Grey’s power, we couldn’t do anything, except learn how much more dire the situation was. But it was motivation enough for me. I glanced at the ticking clock on the mantel. “Now we have all the more reason to find her as soon as possible,” I said in the strongest voice I could hold. “We must go—it’s almost eight o’clock. Let’s hope Mr. Kent will have a plan.”

Shakily, Miss Grey nodded and followed me to the carriage, and within a minute, we were clattering to our destination.

On the way, I recounted what had happened since we last spoke: the play, the public house, Camille, and Lady Kent. Miss Grey finally explained why she had been unavailable. She had taken laudanum to aid her sleep and spent hours desperately trying to find my sister with another dream. As a result, she missed the entire day, only receiving my messages this morning. As if she hadn’t already given me enough apologies, she continued to pour them out for abandoning me and for losing Rose again. Only by the time we arrived at Mr. Kent’s had I managed to convince her that all was forgiven and that I healed rather quickly, in both senses.

Miss Gates let us into the bright, empty entrance hall, where Mr. Kent and Robert happened to be making their way downstairs.

“Ah, Miss Wyndham. A lovely day to solve cases, don’t you think? Glorious lamp of heaven and all,” Mr. Kent said, peering down from the top of the stairs. Sun streaked across his face as he descended.

“Not exactly,” I replied. “We don’t have much time left.”

“That’s what I was saying with my poetic allusions. Carpe diem. Gather our rosebuds as we may.”

“I just hope you have a plan.”

“Not only do I have a plan, but I have a plan for the picnic we will all surely have time for after,” Mr. Kent said, tapping his cane.

Behind the energetic Mr. Kent followed Robert. In contrast, his movements were a bit sluggish, but they were still a dramatic improvement over the collapsed heap he was last night.

“Robert, are you well?” I asked.

“Evelyn, will you please tell me what is going on?” he barked.

I was taken aback by the sudden anger. “I don’t know—”

“Oh, don’t bother with him,” Mr. Kent said as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve already tried to explain everything to him, and he refuses to believe me. He’s convinced we’ve concocted this fantastical story to hide the truth that she’s run off with Mr. Braddock.”

“I don’t care about her virtue!” Robert shouted.

Mr. Kent shook his head and closed his eyes, exasperated. “Neither do we, Robert. Neither do we.”

Robert crossed his arms and remained halfway up the stairs in a stubborn sulk, his attention on a seascape painting beside him.

“Very well, no time for that, then. Now, introductions,” I said, gesturing between him and Miss Grey. “You have both heard of each other. Miss Grey, meet my friend Nicholas Kent. Mr. Kent, my governess, Alice Grey.”