Page 148 of The Siren of Sussex

His face was half-shadowed in the dim interior of the cab. “You want me to call on you here? At your uncle’s house?”

She imagined him applying at the front door instead of the tradesman’s entrance. Joining her for tea in the drawing room. A proper courting call. “Yes,” she said. “Or you can seek me out at one of the events I attend.”

He gave her a dark look. “I’m hardly likely to be invited to a spiritualist ball, Evie.”

Her mouth tilted. “Who said anything about an invitation?”

Thirty-One

Evelyn had often read about Cremorne Gardens in the newspaper and in ladies’ magazines. Descriptions of grand events featuring tightrope walkers, balloon ascents, and military exhibitions. It had made Cremorne seem an exciting place. A true pleasure garden, where one might enjoy music, dancing, and spectacles under a starlit sky.

Reality was no less magical.

Indeed, as she crossed the grounds with her friends, Evelyn was unprepared for the beauty of the vast illuminated landscape—twelve glorious acres of it sprawling along the northern bank of the Thames. It was studded with fountains and statuary, and tables were tucked into every available nook and cranny to accommodate the fashionable crowds.

But it was still a garden. One edged by ancient trees and boasting private walks, hidden corners, and many a dark place for a secret assignation.

“Take care,” Anne warned. “It can get rowdy after dark.” Her alabaster décolletage shimmered in the moonlight. She was wearing the black ball gown Ahmad had made for her. A sumptuous confection of watered silk, it boasted a daring neckline, cut low across her bosom and shoulders, and a gored skirt that drifted to the back in a luxurious swell of fabric.

Julia traipsed along at her side, the flounced skirts of her own silk-and-lace ball gown held in her hands. “Only if one wanders away from the music and dancing.”

The orchestra pavilion loomed ahead—a majestic Chinese pagoda illuminated by hundreds of colored lamps. It was surrounded by a circular wooden dancing platform.

“I’ve read that it can accommodate as many as four thousand dancers,” Stella said.

“Oh,” Julia moaned. “I get sick to even think of that many people.”

Evelyn gazed up at the brilliantly lit pagoda in unvarnished wonder. Cool evening air kissed her bare chest and shoulders, and orchestra music hummed in her veins.

Her own ball gown was made of a shade of amber silk and crepe so delicately pale it resembled the glow of gaslight. Becky had come by Russell Square this evening to affix gold roses and frosted leaves on the skirts and bodice and in the stylish waterfall rolls of Evelyn’s coiffure.

“Lady Blackstone has reserved half of it for us,” Anne said. “Though it will be difficult to keep the two sides from mingling. One never can at these sorts of events, even with screens.”

“Why does she not use her own ballroom?” Evelyn asked.

“She prefers to host her entertainments out of doors.” Anne gave Evelyn a wry look. “A medium once told her that there should be nothing between her and the stars. And if there’s a full moon, all the better.”

“And yet,” Stella remarked, “she still keeps a roof over her head when she’s not entertaining.”

“I prefer this to a ballroom,” Julia said. “It’s less stifling.”

Evelyn nodded. “It reminds me of riding. All this fresh air and excitement. I can feel it in my blood.”

“I agree,” Stella said, straightening the fall of lace at her bodice and sleeves. She, too, wore one of Ahmad’s dresses. The ice-blue muslin enhanced the silver of her hair and eyes and lent an ethereal glow to her complexion. No one would ever guess that it was a gown originally made for another lady. “Providing we can all find partners.”

“We will,” Anne said.

Stella smiled. “You’re very confident.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? Nearly everyone Lady Blackstone invited is a spiritualist. And we four have much to recommend us in that regard. Me because of my mother, you because of your gray hair, Evie because of her purported psychic energy, and Julia—”

“I have nothing to recommend me,” Julia said morosely. “Not even my ball gown.”

“Why did you not go to Mr. Malik and order something new?” Evelyn asked.

“Because,” Julia answered, “his gowns make the wearers look beautiful. And I have no wish to draw attention to myself. Too much attention and I go all to pieces.”

“Oh, Julia.” Anne sighed. “Don’t you long to wear something pretty for once?”