The Chess Queen Enigma (8 page)

Tonight, Princess Lurelia was dressed in something that didn't make her look like a ghost . . . although not by much. Her gown tonight was a pale, water-silk (Betrovian of course) pink. Unlike current fashion in London and Paris, her skirts were wide and full and layered with two gathered-up overskirts. It was a lovely dress, but with Lurelia, it was a case of the dress overpowering the woman inside it, rather than the woman wearing the dress.

Unlike Mina Holmes, who continued to surprise me with her acute fashion sense. Her gown tonight had made me more than a little envious, for it was stunning and elegant. A rich midnight blue gown with an ethereal overskirt and wrap made of fragile netting. Both were studded with glittering beads and sapphire gems. With her hair done up in a pile of soft curls and more sparkling jewels (thanks to me), Mina had looked quite fetching.

“At last I've found you! I was required to take three elevator rides, and one on those odd moving stairways in order to look down and locate you in the crowd.”

As if I'd conjured her up, Mina Holmes appeared. Excellent. I couldn't wait to turn Lurelia over to her and slip out onto the streets, blast the waltzes. Although . . . perhaps I should stay for at least one with Mr. Dancy. He was rather charming and funny.

“Mr. VanderBleeth is the son of an American businessman,” Mina informed us, obviously having overheard part of our conversation. “He was in the trolley ahead of us when we—er, I—came in tonight. There were a number of individuals discussing him in the ladies' salon. All of the young women are batty-eyed and simpering over the chance to meet him. Apparently he is very rich—something about window glass in New York City—and quite handsome. I happen to find mustaches, especially ones as large and thick as his, unappealing. But apparently that is the style in America. One can blame the author Mark Twain for that mode of fashion.
Or perhaps it was that General Custer, who met such an unpleasant fate on the American prairie.”

“Mr. VanderBleeth has claimed a dance from me,” Lurelia said, looking much too interested for a young woman who was engaged to be wed. Apparently, mustaches didn't put her off.

Mina gave me a meaningful look. “Indeed. Well, I'm certain he's to be only one of many.”

“Where is your dance album, Mina—if I may call you that. May I? And I am Lurelia to you, if you please.”

“Of course. And I never need to take a dance album, for dances with me are never in demand.” Her words were blithe and easy. I was certain she actually believed them. “Evaline, if I could have a word with you. Your Highness—er, Lurelia, if you will excuse us for just one moment?”

I had no choice when Mina looked at me that way, even though it was rather rude to leave our charge standing by herself. But my partner cared little for social niceties. There was a table of food nearby. Perhaps Lurelia would find a distraction there.

“What?” I hissed.

“When I was in the ladies' salon—I had to search everywhere for you, Evaline, it was quite a waste of time!—I overheard some of the young women talking about Mr. VanderBleeth. It seems he is here in London in search of a titled heiress . . . but I suspect a princess would be an even more attractive
coup. Especially for an American. We cannot let Lurelia out of our sights, particularly with Mr. VanderBleeth. If they were found in a compromising position, it would be scandalous—”

“History repeating itself. I understand. My dance with him is after Lurelia's. I shall distract him from the princess.”
Blast
. That meant I was going to need to stay longer than I planned.

“Excellent. I am confident you will handle him with the same skill with which you handled Mr. Treadwell during the spiritglass case.” I turned to leave, but Mina grabbed my arm. “There are two more things. First, there was a murder at the museum yesterday. Grayling believes it's related to the robbery of the letter.”

“A murder? Who? Where?”

Mina looked frustrated. “I didn't have the opportunity to get the details from Grayling, but I shall interrogate him about it as soon as possible. It sounded as if it was one of the museum guards. I'll offer my assistance with the investigation, of course.” I barely managed to stifle a snort, but my companion didn't seem to notice. Instead, she barreled on. “But more importantly, at least for now, I found a trace of facial powder with a scant bit of gold dust near the dance albums.” Her eyes were bright and determined.

“The same powder you found on the paper from Pix?”

“Almost certainly. Though there wasn't enough for me to tell whether it carried a vanilla scent, I am confident it is
the same. I will have to test the sample to be certain, but I am confident in my ability to visually identify twenty different types of powder. I wrote an entire treatise on the differences in the scent, granularity, makeup, and flammability of face powder, including—”

“Right, then. So it's possible the person who wrote the note to Pix is here this evening.”

“It's not only possible, it's nearly certain.” Mina had a mutinous look in her eyes. “Yes, the individual who is Pix's client is present at this ball—that very same person whom we believe is the Ankh. I've known the identity of the Ankh for months, and that suspect is also here tonight.”

“You know who the Ankh is?” This was news to me.

Mina seemed to shrink back. “I am fairly certain I know who it is. But I am not going to name the individual. Not yet.”

“In case you're wrong?”

“I'm a Holmes. I'm never wrong.”

“Then why won't you tell me—”

“Miss Stoker, we do not have time to discuss the veracity of my suspicions. At least, not at the moment. We are here to watch over Princess Lurelia, and, now that there is reason to believe she is here, to investigate the person who wrote the note to Mr. Pix. I have been doing the latter, and I merely wanted to share with you what I've found. And in the meanwhile, if you should encounter any female who carries the scent of vanilla in her face powder—”

“And how the blooming Pete should I know that? I would have to be close enough to embrace anyone to even have an inkling of what—”

“Miss Stoker, must you always argue my suggestions into the ground? I was merely suggesting that if you noticed any woman putting face powder on in the ladies' retiring room, you should attempt to determine if it is vanilla-scented. And then identify whether is has a bit of sparkle in it too. Perhaps you could ask to use some for your own nose. It is a bit shiny.”

My jaw hurt, for my teeth were clamped tightly together. “Very well, then, Mina.”

As we made our way back to Lurelia, who'd remained a discreet distance during our conversation, there was a loud trumpeting sound, and the three of us turned as one to see the orchestra's platform rise slowly from the ground across the dark-swathed floor. Celebratory music and an added array of sparkling lights accompanied it, announcing the beginning of the dancing. When the platform had lifted the musicians approximately five feet off the ground, the orchestra transitioned into the first dance: a minuet.

“I shall continue to pursue my investigations while the two of you dance,” Mina said, looking beyond my shoulder. “I have no intention of wasting my time turning about the floor.”

I pivoted. Two young men—neither of whom I found attractive, interesting, or otherwise worth spending my time
with—were approaching. Blast it. I did not want to spend my first dance avoiding Baron Leiflett's oversized feet! It was nearly impossible to do so, and that meant the rest of the evening I would be dancing on injured feet. Evening slippers are so flimsy.

Nevertheless, I sighed, and when he offered it I took Leiflett's arm. This was going to be a most trying evening.

I wasn't wrong. The night plodded on and on, just like my dance partners. I began to wish a vampire would show up just so I'd have something interesting to do. If I hadn't promised Mina I'd dance with Mr. VanderBleeth and keep him away from Lurelia, I would have sneaked out after three dances.

However, the first of my waltzes with Mr. Dancy was a definite bright spot.

“Miss Stoker, at last. I have been waiting all evening to take you into my arms”—I gave him a look of pretend shock, but a little smile twitched free—“and spin you around on the treads,” he continued. His smile made him even more handsome, and flashed a dimple I didn't realize he had.

“Your Highness . . . if I may,” said a flat American voice behind me. “Gee, I've never danced with a princess before.”

I rolled my eyes as my partner led me toward the sea of dancing and swirling couples. As Mr. Dancy settled me into position, I saw Lurelia had taken Mr. VanderBleeth's arm and was looking up at him as if already infatuated. I couldn't
blame her. Even with the mustache, he was the most handsome of her partners thus far this evening.

But then again, she hadn't had a turn with Mr. Dancy yet.

I smiled up at him as we eased smoothly into the flow of circling couples. “Why, Mr. Dancy, I do believe you are quite aptly named.”

“Well, yes, of course, because Richard is such an appropriate name for the son of an earl who—” His eyes crinkled at the corners as my laughter drowned out his words.

“No, that is not what I meant, and I am certain you are fully aware. I meant to compliment you on your skill at the waltz, Mr.
Dance-y
.”

“Ah, that. Well, yes, then of course. One cannot have a surname like Dancy without intending to live up to it.” To emphasize his words, he slipped into a particularly sweeping and complicated step, which, to my surprise and delight, I was able to follow. Our toes did not even brush, and somehow we were on the opposite side of the dance floor without ever having come close to another couple. That was the mark of an excellent dance partner: he should be able to direct his counterpart easily and efficiently without misstep or verbal direction.

“Miss Holmes,” I heard a voice say over my shoulder. “If you would allow me to lead . . .”

I giggled when I saw Inspector Grayling struggling to keep Mina from directing him all over the floor. I was
surprised to see him present at the ball, but not terribly surprised to see him dancing with my friend. She liked to spar with him just as much as she did with me. From the looks of the red at the tips of his ears, she was doing an excellent job interrogating him about the murder.

“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” said my own partner. “I've been trying to find an opportunity to spend time with you since you put me off by spilling lemonade on yourself.”

“I . . . what?” I looked up at him. Shock washed over my face just as the lemonade had done to my gown.

His dimple appeared again but his voice was wry. “At the Rose Ball, last May. You bumped into Miss What- Was-Her-Name on purpose, did you not? I don't know why you chose to put me off that evening, but I can only hope it wasn't me you were avoiding, but that some other task or responsibility took precedence. Otherwise, I would be utterly dejected.”

“Mr. Dancy,” I said, looking up at him from under my lashes, “you know a woman never tells her secrets.”

“And I suspect you might have quite a few of them, don't you, Miss Stoker?”

“Don't we all?” I replied sweetly, then was surprisingly sad. Mr. Dancy was so very nice—and charming and handsome, of course, and somewhat wealthy. And if my sister-in-law, Florence, was here watching, she would have us engaged in a trice. But he was getting a bit too familiar, and a little too
close to the truth. The problem was, he could never understand a person like me. Vampire hunters didn't marry.

And for a moment, I regretted that reality. I regretted the fact that I had no chance of ever being a normal woman with a normal life. I realized at that moment I could never let a man truly get to know me.

I would always be alone.

And along with the loneliness I'd surely feel, I'd also have to bear the disdain of Society. A woman who didn't marry was looked down upon, called a spinster or described as “being on the shelf”—like something that's been put aside or no longer useful.

But little would the rest of Society know that I was much more than useless—married or not. I'd be the one saving their innocent lives from dangers and death at the hands of red-eyed demons. I'd be the one free to patrol the streets at night, watching over my charges and keeping the city safe.

The waltz ended, pulling me from my thoughts, and before Mr. Dancy could question me further. I took the opportunity to excuse myself to the ladies' lounge. On the way, I grabbed Lurelia as she and Mr. VanderBleeth were leaving the dance floor. “Let's go freshen up,” I said, slipping my arm through hers. “I shall see you soon for our dance, then, Mr. VanderBleeth.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” he replied with a deep bow. “Thank you, Princess Lurelia. I reckon I'll have lots to tell
everyone back home about dancing with a princess.” He hardly rose before giving her an even deeper bow.

I had to practically tow Lurelia off with me to the lounge. Once inside, I did a quick look around. No, no one was putting on vanilla face powder with gold dust in it.

There, I'd done my duty, and Mina Holmes could stew on that for a while.

“He is a divine dancer,” the princess said. “That Mr. VanderBleeth. And rather amusing too. I don't think I've laughed so hard in ages. Americans say such funny things, yes?”

She'd laughed? That was a bad sign, because she sure hadn't even twitched a lip since I'd met her. “Tell me about your fiancé,” I suggested. “When is the wedding? Did you have a long courtship?”

What little bit of light that had been in her expression faded. “We had no courtship. I've only met him twice, and he's ten years older than me.”

She sounded miserable. “Is he nice? Is he handsome? He must be rich . . .” I tried to think of something positive to say. But Lurelia was rich in her own right. She was a princess.