The Chess Queen Enigma (9 page)

And princesses had arranged marriages. That was how it worked. It even worked that way for non-princesses here in London. If a young woman was wealthy and from a good family, she was more often than not married to a “perfect match,” whether he was of her choosing or not.

“He's the Duke of Sparling. He owns a large estate and is very rich. He's the elder son of one of my father's
trusted advisors. He's barely as tall as I am. He has bad breath. And he likes
cats
. I hate cats.”

Blast
. That didn't sound promising at all. No wonder Princess Alix was concerned about Lurelia's time here in London. “You don't sound happy about the engagement.” Maybe it wasn't as bad as she made it sound.

“Happiness has nothing to do with it. But of course, I must marry to carry on the family line. And do what my father, the king, commands.” She sounded brave and resigned at the same time.

Now I understood why she wasn't very lively. She was a princess and had no choice in her future. So it was up to Mina and me to make sure she had fun while in London . . . while directing her away from the likes of Mr. VanderBleeth.

And Mr. Dancy, for that matter.

I kept Lurelia occupied in the ladies' lounge for as long as I dared. It would be nice if Mina would come along and play nursemaid too, but she didn't. So, trying to buy time, I encouraged Lurelia to show me the steps for the
kelva
, and pretended she had a row of lace on the back of her gown that took me some time to fix.

Just as we were practicing the
kelva
for the second time (I pretended to be a slow learner), the lounge door opened. Three women, all of whom were older than Lurelia and I, swept in.

“Why, Princess Lurelia! I haven't had the opportunity to tell you how lovely you look tonight.” Lady Isabella
Cosgrove-Pitt said with a graceful, generous curtsy. “I hope you are enjoying our little celebration,” she said on the upswing.

“I am, thank you.”

“The princess was just demonstrating the steps to the national Betrovian dance,” I said, for they were all looking at us curiously.

“Ah, the
kelva
, is it? I remember it . . . a four-step beat. One-two-
three
-and-fourrrr,” murmured Lady Cosgrove-Pitt, perfectly executing the steps Lurelia had just taught me. She spun on the last beat with a smooth dip, then stepped back into the rhythm without a hitch.

“Excellent!” Lurelia clapped, and Lady Cosgrove-Pitt bowed again. “How did you know it?”

“From my youth,” the older woman replied. “I visited your country more than once. And excuse me, Your Highness—I have been rude. Allow me to introduce my friends. I dragged the two of them from the ball, for my gown is in need of some little repair.” She showed us the tiny blue and green butterfly that had come loose from a row along the edge of her gown's bodice.

The other two women—Lady Merceforth and Mrs. Rathbottom, both married to wealthy and powerful men as well—seemed pleased to meet Lurelia. They curtsied and engaged her in conversation as I looked on. I was tempted to slip away. However, I decided better of it. It wasn't so much Mina's temper I wanted to avoid, but the disappointment from Miss Adler or, worse, Princess Alix, if something went awry with Lurelia.

After sewing on Lady Cosgrove-Pitt's butterfly, the ladies fixed their hair, pinched their cheeks, adjusted their gloves, and even brushed a subtle bit of color onto their lips. It wasn't until Lurelia and I were leaving the lounge that I remembered I was supposed to be trying to get samples of face powder. But by then, they had departed in a flock of chatter, and I was out of excuses for delay.

When we left the lounge, Lurelia and I went to check our dance albums. To my disappointment, one of the dances I'd missed was my second, and last, waltz with Mr. Dancy. Blast it all! And I was startled to realize my dance with Mr. VanderBleeth was next. We had been in the lounge for longer than I'd expected.

“Mr. Southerby,” Lurelia said, peering at her album. “I hope he is a good dancer.”

I knew for a fact the young man was fairly light on his toes. But he was also deadly boring (I had a feeling he couldn't make conversation because he was counting steps the entire time) and very shy, and therefore no threat to the princess's reputation. I watched with relief as Mr. Southerby led her away.

“Avoiding me again, Miss Stoker?”

I turned to find Mr. Dancy at my elbow. “I beg your pardon?”

“You missed our second waltz.” He frowned mockingly. “But at least I have reserved my place for a third one—and the final waltz of the evening.” He extended his arm with a warm smile.

“Er . . . but I believe there must be a mistake.” I turned to retrieve my dance album, but it had already been taken away to be erased. Not that I wouldn't rather take a turn with him than Mr. VanderBleeth, but duty called.

“A mistake?” Mr. Dancy frowned. “I don't see how . . .”

“But you've only signed up for two dances. And—”

“Well, hello there, Miss Stoker. I reckon it's time for our waltz now, isn't it?”

I turned in time to find Mr. VanderBleeth in mid-bow. When he came up, he captured my hand and looked at me with laughing, dark eyes.

Familiar
laughing, dark eyes.

“W
ell, that explains the confusion,” I said to Pix once I'd recovered from my shock. I gripped his arm firmly as he led me to the dance floor. “You crossed off Mr. Dancy's name in my album and added your own. That's why I could hardly read it.”

“It was to be the bloke's third waltz with you, luv,” he said. His voice was somewhere between his usual Cockney and the American accent he'd been using all evening. “'E was bein' greedy.”

Pix's hand was steady and solid at the back of my waist as he shifted me into position for the waltz. Lurelia claimed he was a divine dancer, and I was curious to find out whether that was truly the case.

But I was more curious about other things. “Should I even ask what the blazes you're doing here? And how on earth did you manage . . . 
this
?” I removed my hand from his shoulder to encompass his whole character, and the fact that he'd
gained entrance to a very exclusive ball. “Unless . . . good gad, you aren't really named Martin VanderBleeth, are you?”

“Bloody hell, of course not!”

“Well, you'd think you'd pick a less ridiculous name than VanderBleeth if you were choosing one.”

He laughed, but I could hardly see his mouth because of the absurd mustache. “That was the point, luv.”

His fingers, gloved in proper coverings for once, curled around my left hand and we stepped into the fray on the dance floor. Smoothly, but more leisurely than with Mr. Dancy. In fact, Pix held me tighter than was strictly proper for a waltz. Our legs brushed against each other as we stepped
one
two-three,
one
two-three, swirling almost lazily around the room.

He smelled delicious: of cinnamon and clove and other things. His movements were graceful and confident, his hands firm and yet gentle. His dark eyes—the only recognizable part of him—looked steadily down at me. I could see only a hint of his full lower lip below the luxurious blond mustache. I wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with a mustache like that . . . even if it was fake.

Blast it! What on earth was I thinking? He was a thief and a sneak. And I couldn't believe half the words that came from his mouth. Less than half. I didn't even really know what he looked like . . . although there had been one time he'd removed all of his disguise so I could see his face. But it had been shadowy and dark in my bedchamber . . . and who knows if he
truly
had removed it all.

“Right then. Why are you here? And why are you masquerading as a rich American? And how in the world did you manage to get an invitation? Is Martin VanderBleeth a real person?”

“In fact, he is,” Pix said, executing a pass between two other couples. We came so close I felt the air move, but we didn't touch either of them. “Aye, and to the best o' me knowledge, the bloke remains in New York City, completely oblivious to the borrowing of his name.”

“And you chose to borrow his name, as you put it, for what reason?”

“Perhaps it's jus' so I can see 'ow the other 'alf lives. See wot it's like t'dance at Mister Oligary's bloody Midnight Palace . . . and maybe even take a gander at ye and yer Mr. Dancy. Ye make a fine lookin' couple, the two o' ye, even though the fop thinks he ought t'be worthy of three dances.” The smile curved his mustache but did not extend to his eyes. Instead, they glittered darkly. And his Cockney accent had become even thicker than usual.

“I believe your motives are that innocent about as much as I believe you're an American heir,” I returned.

The mustache curved even more, and now his eyes danced. “Ver' well, then, luv, ye've caught me out. Me motives are never innocent.”

“So why
are
you here?”

The humor faded from his gaze. “I thought me new customer—the one wot's causin' me some consternation—would
be likely t'be 'ere tonight. The most exclusive gatherin' o' the wealthy an' powerful. I was hopin' I might identify 'im. Or 'er.”

“You think it's the Ankh.”

He didn't respond, but his fingers tightened over mine a trifle.

“How did you think you'd identify him or her by coming here? You only have the paper, the note, you gave me . . . how would you know? Have you ever seen him? Or her? Or spoken to him?” Once more, he remained silent, but I wasn't going to let it go. “Tell me what else you know about this new customer, Pix, and why you're so blasted worried about him. Or her.”

“Bloody 'ell, Evaline, yer gonna be th' death o' me—or at leas', the death o' me peace.”

“I hardly think you have any peace to speak of, Pix. Sneaking around in the stews, wearing disguises all the time, dealing with whatever illegal trade it is you do. That doesn't seem like a very peaceful life at all. It doesn't seem like a
life
at all.”

I was one to talk, being a vampire hunter and all, but he was making me angry. Always half-truths. Always hiding. And blast it all, even though I didn't trust him, I couldn't stop thinking about him either. That was what infuriated me the most.

His expression turned blank and I felt his body become rigid as steel. “Do ye think I'd choose such a life if I 'ad the choice?”

“Pix . . .” I didn't know what to say. There was something raw, something real about his words. Bleakness darkened his eyes. “What do you—”

“Leave it, Evaline. Just leave it
be
.” He'd never spoken to me in that tone before. Cold, hard, cutting.

I scrambled for something to say, but no words came to mind. Instead, we paced through several more steps until the waltz ended. At least he hadn't abandoned me on the dance floor.

“There's yer Mr. Dancy,” Pix said as he escorted me off the dance floor. “Waitin' for ye like a pantin' hound dog.”

“Thank you for the dance, Mr. VanderBleeth.” My voice matched his chilly one. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

I spun smartly and took myself off to locate Lurelia, managing to avoid Mr. Dancy at the same time. The princess should have just been finishing the same waltz with Mr. Southerby. I nearly bumped into Mina, who grasped me by the arm and towed me off.

“Well? Have you learned anything? Did you see anyone using vanilla face powder?” she demanded.

“No. I—”

“And where's Lurelia?”

“She was dancing with Mr. Southerby—”

“
There
is Mr. Southerby. And Lurelia is not in his vicinity.”

Mina and I both spun in different directions to scan the room. “It's impossible to find anyone here,” she muttered
over her shoulder. “With all those ridiculous flowing draperies and so many alcoves, and the lights are always moving about. And now that the dancing is finished, everyone is in the way. Drat it! Where could she have gone?”

“Surely she can't be far. The waltz just ended.”

But Mina didn't reply. I turned back to see her pushing through the crush of people, heading toward Mr. Southerby. By the time I joined them, she'd already begun questioning the poor man.

“You mean to say you didn't even dance with her at all?” Mina's voice rose alarmingly.

“I intended to, of course, but we were nearly to the edge of the dance floor when she stopped and asked me to fetch her a glass of apple-tea, with a caramel cinnamon swirly-stick. When I came back, she was gone.”

“Double-drat!” Mina whirled on me. “How could this happen?”

“Calm down,” I said, even though I felt a little disconcerted. “Perhaps she merely wanted to freshen up. There's no reason to panic. Surely she's not gone far.”

But we couldn't find her anywhere. We checked the ladies' retiring room, then Mina and I split up. We went in different directions, meeting up at pre-arranged locations. I didn't see Lurelia or Mr. VanderBleeth, although I did have another near encounter with Mr. Dancy. But I managed to avoid him at the last minute, for I had a feeling he would become difficult to dislodge if we met up.

Suddenly, my arm was grabbed in a deathly grip. I spun around, ready to lose my temper, when I saw Mina's face. It was strained and white, and for once, she wasn't telling me what to do.

She was looking up . . . up . . .

There, on the highest balcony overlooking the room, was Lurelia, teetering near the edge. Even from here, I could see she was disheveled and wore a terrified expression.

Oh my gad. She is going to fall!