Page 34 of Hawk & Sparrow

“Good luck!” He was already walking down toward the field.

Vesper watched him go, a more complicated array of emotions churning within her. She certainly would have preferred that Maximilian stay with her, but she was also a bit relieved to get some space from him. She replayed what had happened in the coach, and thought of the firmness of his chest under her palm, the way his lips had parted just slightly as he’d stared at her. She was normally so good at reading people, but Maximilian was continuing to prove the exception. Why?

Never mind that. Focus. If Maximilian wants reconnaissance, that’s what you’ll do.

Vesper steeled herself, then headed toward the field.

If Vesper had anticipated an easy trek to the cluster of small white pavilions where the match spectators were expected to sit, she was quickly proven wrong.

Though the grounds themselves were flat, recent rainfall made for a particularly muddy and difficult slog. Bisan had sent a new dress to the Globe for her to wear—a plum-colored walking gown with an elaborate bustle and matching hat, and Vesper was loath to ruin it. She found a group of empty seats near the field’s border and settled into one, trying to think of a best course of action from here. Usually, when Tom sent her off on an assignment, she prepared a list of interviewees and questions she wanted to try to answer in advance. Here though, she had no list, no idea where to start.

“Is this seat taken?”

Vesper looked up. The young woman approaching her looked familiar. Vesper remembered her name.

Ada.

They’d met at the exhibition. Today, Ada was wearing a less formal—albeit just as expensive-looking—yellow walking dress. She stopped before Vesper and cocked her head. “Have we met?”

“I don’t think so,” said Vesper quickly.

Ada’s expression turned skeptical. “Are you sure? I could have sworn we had.”

“You must have me confused with someone else.”

“No.” She was studying Vesper more closely now. “I met you at the exhibition, didn’t I? You’re…” She tapped her temple a moment, thinking. “Vesper.”

Vesper started. She remembered Ada, but she certainly hadn’t expected the young woman to remember her.

“You were wearing different clothes at the exhibition,” Ada went on as she took her seat. “These are much nicer. But the fact that you said we hadn’t met even when you almost certainly knew we had tells me you’re hoping no one from the exhibition will recognize you now, including me.”

Vesper didn’t know what to say. In her line of work, she was used to being the one who made deductions about others. It was an odd sensation to have someone make conjectures about her, particularly ones that were correct.

Ada’s expression turned coy. She leaned in. “I think I know why you’re here.”

Vesper’s mouth went dry. “You do?”

“You’re a reporter.” Ada looked smug. “No doubt, you’re writing some dramatic exposé about the outrageously wasteful and excessive habits of this city’s crème de la crème. Am I right?”

Vesper breathed relief. “Well, I…”

“Don’t worry.” Ada waved a dismissive hand. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Vesper raised a brow. “You won’t?”

“No.” Ada sighed. “I actually think you should write it. High society could use a bit of a shake-up before the year’s end. Besides, if I blow your cover, I doubt I’ll see you at these sorts of events anymore, and they’re dreadfully boring without good company.”

Vesper smiled, despite herself. She found that she rather liked Ada Bickerton. There was a cleverness in the young woman’s eyes that felt refreshing, even relatable. Ada turned and nodded toward the rest of the grounds.

“So,” she asked. “How did you get here undercover?”

Vesper paused. She had no intention of telling Ada the real reason she was here, but she didn’t think pieces of the truth would hurt. “I’m a guest of Mr. Kite’s,” she said. “He’s helping me with … my work.”

Ada nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. “How very like him,” she mused. There was a touch of fondness in her voice. “He’s always been a bit of a rebel, and I did say at the exhibition that you can find all sorts of peculiar interests to dabble in when you have enough money.”

Vesper saw another opening and took it. “Speaking of the exhibition,” she said carefully. “I wondered if you’d heard about what happened to the inventor who presented that night, Francis Gladwell?”

Ada’s eyes widened. “Oh, of course! I think everyone’s heard by now. It’s practically the scandal of the season.”