Page 44 of The Cannibal

“Phoebe,” I said sharply.

She was still fidgeting with her gloves like she was unsure whether they were staying on or off. But she did give me one of those sad looks when she finally glanced at me. She worries herself sick over separating, she always had. It was as if we were twins, an unmistakable bond that transcends friendship.

“I’ll be all right,” I told her. “I’m going to rest.”

Phoebe’s shoulders immediately settled.

“Then I suppose I should leave you to it.” She stood there awkwardly, like there was something else she wanted to say, which seemed like most times. Always biting her tongue. “Don’t spend your appetite,” she teased.

“If there’re any exotic fruits, please save some.” I clasped my hands in prayer. “Pretty please?”

“Missing sweets already?” Her fine brow rose. “We can test if you can handle bloodwine if you want something sweet.”

“Deal.” I crossed my arms over the lip of the bath, resting my chin on them. “I’ll wait for you.”

With that, she threw me a smile, a nod, and one last look before the door clicked shut on her way out. Finally.

I leaned forward to tug the plug from the drain, reaching toward the rolling cart for a towel.

I reached under the clawfoot bath and pulled out my disguise for the night.

A plain black gown, an apron, and a maid’s cap to hide my hair under.

While relaxation is certainly something I could do, I thought my time was best spent studying. Instead of scientific study, this was more of a social study. I had a vague grasp of the household as it was. The layout was familiar to me now, I knew which of my girls came from Buffalo, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge. These new faces that arrived with Silas made me uneasy; I had to get a lay of the land. A social event was the perfect place, and these people don’t seem to pay any particular attention to the staff.

I dressed myself, tying my apron and securing the headpiece to my hair.

When I stepped back to look in the full-length mirror, I almost recognized myself again, but I suspected it was just because of the black dress. The apron flap buttoned to my chest instead of tying behind my neck.

One last thing.

I opened the drawer and pulled out a tin. I popped open the mascara and rubbed the tiny brush in the salve. With careful, less than steady hands, I brushed it carefully over my white brow, then the matching lashes. Suddenly homogeneous with any other staff member.

When I slipped out from the bathroom, the hallway was empty. At the very end, Sidney’s back faced me as he leaned his shoulder against the window.

With soft steps I slipped into the parlor, which was immediately next to the bathroom. The doors weren’t creaky, the hinges well oiled, but the empty hall echoed when the doors opened and closed. I guided the door closed slowly, keeping pressure on the handle until it was fitted into place and I could gradually let go. Not even the slightest click.

I made for the servants’ entrance, pulling at the trim to reveal the hidden door and the alternate pathway behind it. The wallpaper glue was sweating from the humidity, the steps steeper than the others. It was a miracle no one broke their neck navigating these passages in the dark, but I suppose I wouldn’t know if they ever did before I woke from my . . . long slumber.

The farther I descended, the richer the smell coming from the kitchen, but I stopped a floor short. The clamoring voices and shuffling of stiff shoes marked my destination.

My fingers grasped the inside handle of the door, pushing it just a hair to gather the scene. Everyone was facing a catered table, some waiting with empty plates and others behind their plate-bearers. I assumed those were Vipera awaiting their Host companions.

Memories from the Nest in London flooded my mind. The stark difference between the two was enough to know this was a new place, but why did it feel like it could be the same fear with new dressings?

I closed the door and continued through the servant hall, peeking from the next door to watch. Just one single sliver of the scene.

Now all I had to do was wait.

I had wished I could attend these things as less of a player and more of an observer. Tonight my wish was granted. I was invisible, no one looked twice at me. Hidden in plain sight as long as I wasn’t in the way.

The food was fragrant, mostly cooked meat. But to my surprise, I could smell herbs and char, fermentation of brined fish and citrus zest. It felt less like I was smelling food, and more like I was smelling chemical reactions. It was brilliant.

This was a less formal evening, but still nice based on the necklines and glove choices. Some new faces, largely the men. Rebecca was off with a group, mostly women. The new men had those uniforms again. All black, even the shirts. Burgundy was used sparingly, such as their ties. All with clean haircuts and facial hair, still individual, but meticulous in their upkeep.

Phoebe’s laugh rang through the room, even among the chatter. She was in the next sitting area. The pinks stood out immediately.

Her lips moved quickly, yet still with pleasant posture and smile, all while holding the dainty stem of a tiny cordial glass. She looked sharp, yet soft. Phoebe had always been comfortable with the masses. Entertaining was truly her talent. She knew how to work a crowd, when to stop and go, when to push, and when to discuss business rather than pleasure. I, on the other hand, wasn’t the most aware of social hierarchies and the miscellaneous knowledge needed to hold people’s attention. I was too direct, too concise, no garnishes or embellishments—a requirement for socialite endeavors.