The Game of Love and Death(17)

“Thank you for the assignment, Father,” Ethan said. “It’s all right if Henry accompanies me, isn’t it?”

Henry braced himself.

“I suppose, if he can tear himself away from that music. Start by sussing out this Booth character. Where there’s power, there’s most likely corruption.”



Behind them came the tap of high-heeled shoes on parquet floors, followed by the slapping soles of Annabel’s patent leather Mary Janes. Lydia Thorne entered the room holding a small, yellow rectangle of paper. Annabel followed her, carrying a porcelain doll.

“I have news,” Mrs. Thorne said, lifting a pair of reading glasses on a bejeweled chain and putting them on her nose. “Two pieces, in fact.”

“We have news!” Annabel said. “Two newses.”

“Quiet, dear.” Mrs. Thorne patted her blond daughter on the head. Even with the reading glasses, Mrs. Thorne was still a beauty. It was from her that Ethan and Annabel had inherited their fair hair and clear eyes.

“We’re to have a visitor,” she said, relishing her moment as the important person in the room. Mr. Thorne wound his right hand in a circle, as if to tell her to get on with it.

“A visitor!” Annabel said.

“Quiet, Annabel,” she said. She pressed her lips against each other, as if to hide a smile. “It’s Helen.”

“But her debutante ball. I thought —” Mr. Thorne set down his pipe and leaned forward on his elbows.

“Apparently she made the wrong sort of debut.” Mrs. Thorne’s nostrils flared.

Mr. Thorne grunted and settled back in his captain’s chair, with one hand behind his head. He picked up his pipe with the other, most likely so that he could better exude thoughtfulness.

“Helen. Helen is a hellion,” Annabel said.

“Annabel! Where did you hear that word?” Her mother shot her a scolding look.

“May we be excused?” Ethan rolled his eyes for Henry’s benefit. “If we’re to —”

“I learned it from Ethan,” Annabel said.

“That couldn’t possibly be true.” Ethan pretended to look shocked. “I’d never!” He walked to the bookshelf, picked up the clapping monkey, and twisted the key in its back. The clicking revved Henry’s already taut nerves. Ethan pinched the key, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to release it.

“When does she arrive?” Ethan asked.

“We’re to pick her up at the King Street Station” — Mrs. Thorne adjusted her glasses and studied the telegram once more — “next Tuesday at two forty-five.”

Mr. Thorne whistled low. “They didn’t waste much time, although I’m surprised your sister didn’t have her on the first train west.”

Mrs. Thorne nodded and removed her reading glasses. “They’ve probably had all sorts of fires to extinguish … and there’s the issue of managing the gossip. And apparently they are departing for Europe to —”

“Ride out the storm?” He sucked his pipe and exhaled a plume of purple smoke. “Europe’s lousy these days. Spain especially.”

“Well, now,” Mrs. Thorne said, “let’s not overdramatize things. And Spain is lovely, despite what happened to that one little town.”

“Spain is lovely if you like fascists.”

Ethan caught Henry’s gaze and shook his head, smiling slightly. Ethan sometimes called his father a fascist for his domineering ways. Henry drew his finger across his neck so Ethan would cut it out.

“She’s traveling unescorted?” Mr. Thorne said. “Or will we play the hosts to a companion, as well?”

“She’s traveling alone.” Mrs. Thorne fanned her face with the telegram. “It’s come to that.”

Ethan set the monkey down and it clapped wildly. Annabel handed Ethan her doll, took one of her father’s newspapers, and fanned herself as well. Henry, mortified by the monkey, gestured for Annabel to come over and scooped her up. Mrs. Thorne lifted a photograph of a black-haired girl in a navy sailor’s dress from a gathering on a shelf.

“She’s a handsome girl, Henry, wouldn’t you say?”

Henry, his arms full of five-year-old, cleared his throat and looked away from Ethan, who stuck a finger in his open mouth and pretended to vomit.

“Yes.” He blinked, starting to grasp Mrs. Thorne’s point.

“Henry likes her,” Annabel said. “He’s turning red.”

“She’s older now,” Mrs. Thorne said. “This was taken while my sister’s family vacationed in Switzerland three years ago. She and Ethan — and you, of course — are of an age. We haven’t seen her since they were children, but she and Ethan had a marvelous time playing together on the island.”

“She kicked my shins,” Ethan said.

“Ethan, put the doll down,” Mr. Thorne said. “You look ridiculous. Like some sort of nancy boy.”

Ethan set the doll on the shelf and Annabel wiggled down so she could retrieve her baby. Then he started juggling a group of fossilized trilobites. “Helen wears really hard shoes.”

“Ethan,” Mrs. Thorne said. “Those aren’t toys.”

“Well, we’re not even supposed to handle the ones that are,” he said. “Besides, I never drop things.”