The Chess Queen Enigma (26 page)

Disbelieving, I broke the seal. Sure enough: it was the very same note I'd put in the Domesday Book last night—the order for one of Pix's devices. I stared down at it with chagrin and saw that someone—likely Pix himself, for the writing was a dark scrawl—had added a note at the bottom:

10 o'clock. St. Sequestrian's
.

Ugh! How had he known it was me?

That
blasted
Pix. Had he been at Bridge & Stokes last night? How could I have missed him? And if he had been there, why had he not come to anyone's aid during the vampire attack?

I crumpled up the note and shoved it in my reticule, then thought better of it. I fished it out and called for Brentwood, our butler.

“Can you please tell me how this was delivered, and by whom, and when?” I showed him the note with its black wax still partially intact.

“Of course,” he said. “It was delivered only a short time after you left this morning, my lady, by a young gentleman on one of those air-bicycles. Dangerous things, if you ask me, my lady, with the wings protruding as they do.”

“A young gentleman? How young? What did he look like?”

If Brentwood thought my questions odd, he showed no sign of it. But his description of the young man—slight, no more than twelve, blond hair, and—the clincher—a twisted foot, made it clear Pix himself hadn't delivered the note.

Hmph.

Yes, I would meet him at St. Sequestrian's. And I might use the information Mina was sure to provide me by then as a bartering tool to get one of those devices. Blast it. If Inspector Grayling hadn't been in his office when we were there, I would have taken the device that was on his desk.

Florence didn't appear to be home, which meant I would have the opportunity to practice my fighting skills. I generally used the Mr. Jackson's Mechanized-Mentor, which my sister-in-law believed was so I could perfect my waltzing ability. She was in favor of anything related to me getting on successfully in Society. However, the machine had been altered so I could instead use it to practice my vampire-slaying technique.

Last night's battle with Dancy had been more difficult than it should have been, and I was determined not to be caught so unprepared again. That meant getting back to a regular practice schedule like Siri had demanded, and always carrying a stake with me. Pepper was going to have to find new and creative ways of hiding them on my person.

I was drenched with perspiration by the time Pepper knocked at the door to let me know I'd received a message
from Mina, and that Florence had returned home.
Blast!
My sister-in-law didn't need to see me in the loose tunic and trousers I wore to practice. Thus, I'd have to sneak up the servants' stairs to my bedchamber so I could freshen up.

I read the note from Mina—which was long and overly detailed. I was able to summarize the two-page message into four sentences: There had been an unusual number of bodies found near Fleet-street that couldn't be attributed to normal factors such as disease or poverty. In the vicinity was an old Carmelite monastery, built during the thirteenth century for the Whitefriar monks. Most of the area had long been covered up by walls and hills and buildings but was accessible through the sewers near Magpie-alley and Bouverie-street. The mechanical device of Pix's had been found near one of the bodies and may or may not have anything to do with the series of deaths.

Not a lot of information, but enough that I knew I would be paying a visit to Fleet-street to see what else I could learn.

After a bath and clean clothing, I made my way down to have dinner. I had to figure out a way to avoid attending any social engagements with Florence this evening.

I loved my brother's wife. I truly did. She was more of a mother to me than my own—who was quite elderly now, and still living in Ireland. But Florence was also like an older sister. And, she had one thing on her mind for me, and that was marriage.

“I heard the most dreadful news today!” was how she greeted me at the dinner table.

It was just the two of us, for Bram rarely dined at home in the evening due to his obligations at the theater, and my nephew, Noel, was still visiting Florence's cousins in the country.

“What was that?” I said, eyeing the roasted beef tips and gravy and fresh applesauce with interest. I'd worked up more than the usual “feminine” appetite and couldn't wait to dive in. But my sister-in-law would be scandalized if I scooped up a huge portion to begin with; I had learned to pace myself so she didn't notice how much I ate.

“Apparently there was some sort of accident at a gentlemen's club last night, and Lord Wexfeld was killed . . . and so was your nice Mr. Richard Dancy.” Her eyes, usually sparkling with life, were filled with grief. “They say his body was . . . well, unrecognizable.”

My insides lurched a little. “That
is
terrible news,” I said sincerely. And I didn't even correct her assertion that he was “my” Mr. Dancy. What was the point? “I can't believe Mr. Dancy is dead. That's just . . . awful.”

“I'm so sorry, Evaline.”

I nodded, and to my surprise, tears burned my eyes. She had no idea.

“Tonight we must call on the Dancys and pay our respects. His sister and mother will be devastated.” Florence gave me a look that brooked no disagreement.

But for once, I had no desire to sidestep an outing. In fact, I knew it was my duty to attend. Just as it had been my duty to kill Mr. Dancy.

All of a sudden, the beef tips didn't look quite as appealing.

Florence and I arrived at the Dancy household in Mayfair just before nine o'clock—late for a social call, but when a family was in mourning, those sorts of rules tended to be ignored. I would make up some excuse to leave so I could meet Pix at ten.

“What do I say to them?” I asked Florence as our carriage rolled to a halt. “I don't have any idea what to say to make them feel better.” I realized I was nervous. What if I said the wrong thing and made things worse? I didn't know what to do around people who'd lost a loved one. Would everyone be crying? Sobbing constantly? I couldn't imagine a more awkward situation.

She patted my hand and looked at me with sympathetic eyes. “I understand your worries, Evvie. But the main thing is to show you care simply by visiting. You don't even have to say much. People who are grieving often just need someone to
be
there. Just to listen and be present for them. There isn't anything you can do to change the situation. All you can do is let them talk.”

I nodded, still uncomfortable. I would do my best.

The Dancys' home was, as expected, shrouded in black: curtains at the windows, crape over the door. The butler wore a black armband, as did the rest of the servants. Inside we found a number of visitors. Most of them were sitting in the parlor with the grieving family, who was also dressed in black.

Florence had brought a large meat pie and two loaves of fresh bread, for even though the Dancys had servants to cook and clean, they too would be mourning for the loss of their young master. Aside from that, food and drink must be offered to all the visitors and be on hand for the funeral.

I expressed my condolences to Priscilla, the sister, as well as her parents. All of them had red-rimmed eyes and wore expressions of shock. I couldn't help but feel responsible, even though
I
hadn't made Richard Dancy become UnDead.

But the fact remained, if I'd been patrolling the streets of London regularly instead of ignoring my duty, I might have killed off the vampires. Then Mr. Dancy would never have met them. And he would still be here—making sweet jests about my
eau de limone
scent and whirling young ladies around the dance floor.

This realization put me in a foul mood, and I went into the dining room where the refreshments had been laid out for visitors.

I opted for a piece of cheese and some slices of apple, simply to appear occupied. Back in the parlor, Florence remained sitting next to Mrs. Dancy and they were speaking intently, but I had no desire to talk to anyone.

Frustration and rage burbled inside me as I stood in a corner and nibbled on the apple, trying to appear unmoved.

“Why, Miss Stoker, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. Not that the reason for our visit is pleasant, of course, but it's nice to see you again.”

Lady Cosgrove-Pitt. She held a cup of tea separate from its saucer, as if she were just preparing to sip. I gave an automatic curtsy, mildly surprised to see someone of her social stature present. “Good evening, my lady. It is a shame the reason we're here, but I'm certain the family appreciates all of the support.”

“Of course. And please, call me Lady Bella. There's no need for such formality.” She smiled—she was very pretty, about Miss Adler's age with gray eyes and soft brown hair that was pulled smoothly over her ears. Then she cocked her head inquiringly. “I understand you and Richard were quite friendly, and I see from your expression you are taking this quite hard.”

“It's a terrible shame. Mr. Dancy was a very charming gentleman. I can't imagine what sort of accident happened.”

“No, indeed. Nor can I. I understand whatever it was occurred at his gentlemen's club.” Lady Bella gave a little
shiver. “Of course, being a woman, I would have no idea what happens in a gentlemen's club, but one would think they were relatively safe. One never really hears of such tragedies taking place there.”

“No. Not at all.” I nibbled on my apple. “You've heard nothing about what happened? Surely Lord Cosgrove-Pitt would know something . . .”

“Oh, Belmont hates to sully my tender ears with unpleasantries.” Lady Bella lowered her voice conspiratorially. “But I do hear some things from others who aren't quite as restrained. Miss Southerby—just over there—was saying she heard from her brother that Mr. Dancy had been frequenting another gentlemen's club as of late. I can't imagine that had anything to do with what happened, but one never knows.” She shrugged. Then, as if ready to change the subject, she looked around and said, “Why, there's Irene Adler. How curious that she would take time from her position at the museum to come here.”

I was just as startled as Lady Bella to see Miss Adler making her way toward us. My mentor sported the same grave expression everyone else did.

“Hello, Evaline. Isabella, how good to see you.” Not for the first time, I noticed a definite chill whenever Miss Adler and Lady Bella were together.

“Irene. I see you've torn yourself away from your . . . er . . . employment to make a social call. How very kind of you.”

Oh, yes. Definite frostiness. And from both parties.

Both were smiling the cool, false smiles that are common in Society when one is really gritting her teeth.

“Oh, and there is Lady Griffen. If you'll excuse me, please, Miss Stoker, Irene . . . I've been meaning to ask her and her husband to dinner. Politics, you know,” Lady Bella added with a winsome smile. “They're discussing a new bill in Parliament next week, and Belmont wants to ensure Lord Griffen's support. Don't ask me what the bill is, though . . . I haven't a clue!” She tinkled a pretty laugh.

With that, Lady Bella took herself off, leaving Miss Adler and me in the corner. I was torn between wanting to ask my mentor about their history and finding out what I could from Miss Southerby about Mr. Dancy's recent social activities.

I opted for the simplest approach. “I get the impression you and Lady Cosgrove-Pitt don't care much for each other.”

Miss Adler looked startled for a moment, then her expression turned sheepish. “I suppose it is a little obvious. Isabella and I have known each other for a long time. We actually lived in Paris at the same time, oh, goodness—has it been two decades already? Before you were born, at any rate. There was a crowd of us who socialized together—some English, a few French and Betrovians. I was the only American in our little group. Even though I was in the theater business, singing and doing a little bit of acting, I was well connected and we all moved in the same circles. And, well . . . there was a
gentleman
.” Her eyes twinkled a bit, crinkling at the corners.

“A gentleman? Do you mean the case you were involved in that Mr. Holmes investigated?” I remembered Mina telling me about it shortly after we began working with Miss Adler. It was remarkable because apparently Miss Adler had actually outsmarted Mr. Holmes.

“Oh, yes, there
was
that matter with the King of Bohemia . . . a ‘scandal,' I believe Holmes's friend Dr. Watson called it. But it was the handsome young prince of Betrovia who nearly was my undoing.” She blushed. “I was young and we were in Paris . . . but it so happened he was Isabella's cousin.”

“Lady Bella is Betrovian?” That must be why she'd known how to dance the
kelva
.

“Half Betrovian. Her mother was Betrovian, but her father is English, of course. Her aunt had married a Betrovian prince.”