Page 92 of Hawk & Sparrow

Vesper stared at the page for several seconds, her heart thundering in her chest.

At last, she knew who’d killed Francis Gladwell.

THIRTY

MONDAY, 21ST OF NOVEMBER—7:59 P.M.

Vesper stopped before the Basalton Opera House.

She was warm thanks to the fine wool coat Bisan had made for her, but the wind still stung her cheeks and whipped her hair about her face as she eyed the building, bracing herself. Most of the audience had already gone in, so she knew that the show would likely start in just a few minutes. Not for the first time, Vesper felt a pang in her chest as she thought about Max and Ada, as she thought about how much she wished one of them—or both of them—were here. She shook her head, steeling herself. Max and Ada were both counting on her now, she had to make this work. She braced herself, then headed toward the entrance with a confidence she certainly didn’t feel. She steadied herself as the doorman moved aside, opening the doors so that a lovely wave of heat overtook her. One more deep breath, and she was in.

She’d now been to several high society gatherings, but never to an opera. All around her people were gathered in the massive lobby.

The show hasn’t started yet.

A moment later, a uniformed gentleman stepped into the lobby as a small bell rang. “Good evening, everyone.” His voice was prim. “Our production will begin in short order. Please make your way to your seats.”

Vesper fished her own ticket from her bag. She was in a box, but the question was if it was the right one. She followed the rest of the well-dressed guests into a grand theater decorated in rich shades of red and gold. An usher directed her to a narrow set of stairs that led up to the private boxes. Vesper took her seat and accepted a complimentary pair of golden binoculars while others filed in. The house lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated a gentleman in a tuxedo wearing golden glasses at the front of the stage.

“Thank you for joining us here at the Basalton Opera House for our debut of Madama Butterfly, featuring Mrs. Geraldine Rhoades,” he said. “Please, enjoy the show.”

There was a polite round of applause as he bowed his head. Seconds later the wavering notes of a violin shattered the quiet. The red velvet curtains drew back to reveal a beautiful dark-skinned woman in a shimmering green dress and tiara bedecked in emeralds. She began to sing in a lilting soprano. Vesper tried to focus, to appreciate the singer’s talent, but it only seemed to make the seconds crawl.

At last the lights raised to signal intermission. While people talked with one another, Vesper made her way down the stairs and back into the lobby. She only had to look around for a few minutes before she found the man she was looking for, a well-dressed man she’d spotted earlier. She crossed the room and stepped into his path. Her heart pounded in her chest. This, perhaps more than anything else, was the most important part of her plan.

“Excuse me,” she said sweetly. “Might I ask you for a small favor?”

By the time the lights flickered to signal the end of intermission, Vesper was back in her seat. She waited as people resettled in their chairs, then watched as the opera house director returned to center stage. He cleared his throat.

“Good evening again, everyone, and welcome. We are now ready to begin part two of Madama Butterfly, but first, a quick announcement.” He pulled out a small sheet of paper, adjusted his glasses, and read: “A journal belonging to Mr. Franklin Everett has been sent to Lost and Found. If you are Franklin Everett, please head to the east balcony to retrieve your item. Claimants will need to be able to identify specific details about the journal before taking it.”

Vesper was already out of her chair, slipping down the stairs and toward the east balcony. She shivered as she pushed past a set of double doors and stepped onto the veranda, but clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. If she was right, she wouldn’t be alone for long. She began to pace back and forth, counting. If this didn’t work, she truly was out of ideas.

“Miss Evans?”

Vesper started and looked up. Mrs. Oelrich was stepping onto the balcony. Tonight, she was wearing a beautiful ball gown of deep purple, and her hair was styled into an elaborate blond updo. She smiled kindly and offered a little wave. “I’m surprised to see you out here.”

Vesper returned her smile. “I suppose I just needed some air.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Oelrich folded her hands as she approached. “I think I did too.”

For several seconds, neither of the women spoke. Vesper lifted her gaze, and studied the half-moon above.

“I was so sorry to hear about Maximilian,” said Mrs. Oelrich after a pause. “He was such a charming young man. It seems unfathomable that he would have anything to do with the murder of Mr. Gladwell, but I suppose you can never really know a person wholly, can you?” She put a hand on Vesper’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’re devastated, given that he was courting you.”

Vesper looked away. “It’s been … quite hard.”

“Certainly.” Mrs. Oelrich nodded knowingly. “I just can’t imagine why anyone would have wanted to hurt Mr. Gladwell. He seemed like such a kind man.”

“Really?” Vesper asked quietly. “You can’t think of anyone else, besides Mr. Kite, who’d want Francis Gladwell dead?”

Mrs. Oelrich offered a sympathetic smile. “My dear, I’m a housewife and homemaker. I’m afraid I barely knew Mr. Gladwell. I certainly didn’t know him well enough to know of anyone who would have a grievance with him serious enough to want him murdered.”

“What about Frankie Everett?” she asked. “Did you know him well enough?”

A moment’s panic flashed in Mrs. Oelrich’s eyes, but the woman recovered quickly. “Frankie who? I’m sorry, I don’t know the name.”

“Really?” Vesper cocked her head. “Because I think you do.”