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Thomas sat back, his smile heartbreakingly wicked in the dark. “A good theory, Wadsworth, but the way he runs around and tumbles across the stage… even if he only wore those particular boots during his shows, they’d show a little wear. Since none can be found, what might that indicate?”
“He purchased new ones.”
“Precisely. Even a successful showman wouldn’t spend so much on the fine leather he chooses,” Thomas said. “He certainly wouldn’t purchase expensive pairs every time. Which leads me to believe he’s most definitely someone who already hails from a wealthy household and doesn’t offer much thought to spending frivolously. If you knew you’d need to replace your shoes nightly, would you purchase the most costly ones?”
He had a point. “Well. That would also explain his insistence on wearing a mask and using a stage name, wouldn’t it?” I studied my friend, taking in the familiar sharp angles of his profile. “Yet you believe he’s dangerous.”
“He’s secretive, manipulative, capable of making harmless things feel sinister, and sinister things feel harmless. Two young women are dead. Based on those reasons alone, I do not trust him.” Thomas ignored the polite rules of our world and took my hand in his, twining our fingers together, expression thoughtful. “He wants something from you. I’m not sure what, but my best guess is it’s not for anything good. Whatever his motivations, they are strictly for his benefit or the carnival’s. And if he hurts you…”
“I am capable of taking care of myself, as you know. I’ve already survived meeting him alone, there’s nothing to worry over. I believe getting close to him would be beneficial in multiple ways.”
Thomas stood and paced near the funnel closest to the bow of the ship, shoulders bunched either against the wind or the partial plan I’d blurted out. I slowly got up and followed, wishing I could stuff the words back into my mouth. Steam billowed out behind him reminding me of lounging cigar smokers in a men’s smoke room, puffs of grayish white drifting lazily into the clouds. If only my friend was as relaxed as that imagery. He was wound so tightly I feared he’d spring into the ocean at any moment.
“Honestly,” I said, watching him walk back and forth a few more times, “you know it’s the best method of distraction, Thomas. It gives you a wonderful opportunity to work your Cresswell magic and it offers me time to get closer to the performers. Don’t be jealous you didn’t think of it first. Your sulking is unbecoming.”
He stopped pacing and stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Stepping inside a lion’s cage might be the best form of distraction, but it’s not the safest means, Wadsworth.”
“The very nature of our job is dangerous,” I argued. “This is simply another tool to use in hunting murderers. If everyone’s attention is on the drama unfolding between Mephistopheles and me, they aren’t paying close attention to you or Uncle.”
“Oh, really? So no one will be paying attention to your poor, heartbreakingly handsome, jilted lover while you’re getting close to the ringmaster?” He arched a brow. “Perhaps I’ll use myself as bait. I’m sure I could charm my way into the hearts of a few of the performers myself.”
“Is that what this is about? You feel left out of the excitement?” I asked. “Your job is much more thrilling and important than flirting with the ringmaster. You get to study scuff marks on boots and calculate how they got there and who is responsible. See? Very important work.”
“Then you ought to have the honor of playing my role,” he said. “I’m all for equality in our partnership.” I pursed my lips and he smiled victoriously. “That’s precisely what I thought. There’s no good reason for you to put yourself in harm’s way. Mephistopheles is a potential murderer. Strolling down the promenade with him is as wise as me sticking my head in the aforementioned lion’s mouth. And while that might be grand fun, it’s undoubtedly a bad idea.”
“I disagree.”
“You’re saying I should stick my head in the lion’s mouth, then?”
“If you wanted to, I’d support it even if I didn’t like it.” I lifted my chin. “If Mephistopheles is the murderer, then he wouldn’t be stupid enough to attack me, knowing he would be the first person you and Uncle targeted. However, staying close to him, gaining his trust, even flirting with him, allows me an opportunity to infiltrate their troupe. If he trusts me, then the others will, too. Who knows what I’ll be able to observe that way?”
“There is one too many ifs involved,” Thomas said, voice carefully controlled. “If something goes wrong, then you will also be in the direct line of fire. The risk isn’t worth the reward in this instance, Wadsworth.”
“Then I’m sorry to say we’re at an impasse.” I shook my head. “I feel quite the opposite. Some risks are worth taking, even if they seem impossible at first.”
Thomas snorted, but his expression was laced with mild disgust. “You sound like him now. In fact, I dare say that you enjoy being around him, just admit it. Is that what—”
I reached over and turned his face to mine. “He will neither harm me, nor come between us, Cresswell. I don’t care what sort of illusion he tries casting. My heart is yours, no sleight of hand will steal it.”
Before he could argue, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his. He drew me closer, his hands sliding around my waist, two anchors in a sea of unknowns. We stayed like that, kissing beneath glittering constellations and sporadically falling snow, until the sounds of late-night stragglers broke us apart.
With effort, Thomas escorted me to my door and bid me good night with a chaste kiss. I looked up at the moon, thoughts as scattered as the stars. If Thomas was correct, and I’m sure he was, then who was the ringmaster and what was he either running from or hiding?
I slipped into my room and glanced at the clock. Midnight was fast approaching. After exchanging my fur for a wool overcoat, I listened at the door connecting my room to Mrs. Harvey’s, relieved to hear her quiet snoring. Hopefully she’d sleep through the night and not check on me. There was no way I’d fall asleep now, so I crept along the quiet end of the promenade, hoping to find out some answers from the man in question himself.
“There you are, the curious Miss Wadsworth. I wondered if you’d venture out a second time. But are you here to finish our little chat, or is there something more to your meeting me?”
Mephistopheles emerged from the shadows of the rowboats, a demon rising out of the foggy mist, a wine bottle dangling from one hand. His mask now reflected the moonlight, making me shiver—I wished he’d take the horrid thing off.
“Ah. That’s it.” He gazed unabashedly at my form. “Come to steal back your soul? I may be feeling generous this evening, but not that much. It is mine and I do not share.”
I rolled my eyes. “You fancy yourself quite a bit. Why do you care if I like you or not when you have an entire ship of passengers who are captivated by such theatrics? Shouldn’t you be bothering one of them? They would appreciate your lurking about, brooding. Not to mention”—I eyed him closely—“my cousin says that trapeze artist, Cassie the Empress, is quite smitten.”
He set the bottle down and leaned against the wall, a movement that was too casual and common for him somehow, and scrutinized me. Thomas was right—now that I was looking for it, he did seem to have an air of station about him. One he hadn’t cultivated by observing the wealthy, but by practicing and living it since birth. There was much more to him than he let on.
“Are you in possession of so many friends that you needn’t make another?” he finally asked. “What injury have I wrought upon you to deserve that barbed tongue? I’m simply getting to know you. I don’t see any crime in that. Yet there you stand, ready to convict me.”
“Don’t think I missed that performance earlier or your intention behind it.” I marched over to where he leaned against the wall of rowboats. “You’re trying to create a rift between me and Thomas. I consider that to be injury enough.”
