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“Will you see if they have Ithal in their camp?” Kartik asks. “He is still missing.”
“Missing? Since when? Why wasn’t I told of this?” the inspector demands.
Kartik’s jaw tightens. “No one cares about one missing Gypsy.”
“Rubbish!” the inspector growls. “I shall see to it immediately. I’ll search the camp from top to bottom, if necessary. Mr. Miller has a great deal to answer for, indeed.”
Mrs. Nightwing and Inspector Kent lead us through the woods. It no longer feels as if this place belongs to us girls for our games and wanderings. It feels as if it is being claimed by someone else.
“Mrs. Nightwing was sick with worry. She never would have allowed you to go to the chapel had she thought there was the slightest danger,” Miss McCleethy tells me, but I’m not listening. I don’t trust either of them.
A slice of moon peeks out from behind the clouds for a moment, illuminating Spence’s roof. My steps slow. There’s something odd about it, though I cannot quite place it. I see the spires, the bricks, the jumble of angles, the gargoyles. An enormous shadowy outline of wings stretches out against the moon’s brief light. The stone beast is standing tall.
It’s moving.
“Miss Doyle?” Miss McCleethy looks from me to the roof and back again. “Is something the matter?”
They could make you see what they wish you to see. It will be as if you are mad. Eugenia warned me, didn’t she?
“No, nothing’s the matter,” I answer, but my hands shake, and now I hear Neela’s words in my head: How will you fight, when you cannot even see?
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“HOW ARE YOU FEELING TODAY, GEMMA?” ANN ASKS. SHE’S sitting on the edge of her bed, an excited smile on her lips. She has on her gloves and her best dress, one of Felicity’s cast-offs let out on the sides by Brigid.
“Tired,” I say, rubbing my aching head. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Today’s the day,” she says. “Don’t you remember? Charlie Smalls? The Gaiety? Between noon and three o’clock?”
“Oh, no!” I say, for with all that’s happened, I’d forgotten.
“We’ll still go, won’t we?” she asks.
In truth, I’d rather not draw on the magic today, not after last night. Not with my mind so tenuous. But there is Ann. She is my friend. She means to take command of her life, and I should like to believe she will this time. But to do that, she will need my help—and I will need hers.
I throw back the covers. “Go and fetch Felicity. This will take all of us.”
We devise our plan together. We direct our efforts toward Brigid. I make her believe that both Ann and I are taken ill with the monthly curse and must not be disturbed. She will repeat this story throughout the afternoon, for I’ve put it in her head quite thoroughly. And of course, Felicity embellishes the tale, as she is wont to do, until everyone at Spence fears to venture anywhere near our door. But it takes time to accomplish this, and once we catch the train to London and secure a hansom to Piccadilly, we are a full hour late. We huff and puff on our way to the theater, but when we arrive, Charlie Smalls is just leaving. In his company is another man.
“Oh, no,” Ann gasps. “What shall I do?”
For a second, I am tempted to influence the clock, pave the way and make it all fine, but I think better of it. This is Ann’s show. Let her run it.
“Do what you must,” I say.
“Mr. Smalls!” she calls out.
Charlie Smalls squints at us. He looks from Ann to me, and finally, there’s a glimmer of recognition. “Miss Washbrad’s chum, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I say. “And this is my friend Miss Bradshaw.”
They tip their hats. “What ever happened to Miss Washbrad? Mr. Katz and Miss Trimble waited but she never showed.”
Ann’s cheeks redden. “She ran off.”
He nods, grinning. “Got married, then? Miss Trimble said that’s what happened. Guess she was right.”
“I read about your composition in the Era,” Ann says. “Miss Doyle says you are very talented.”
