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“Some might argue that entertaining people is helping them.”
I rolled my eyes. “Producing smoke in looking glasses does not equate with creating scientific or engineering advancements that could eradicate disease and save lives.”
“I politely disagree, Miss Wadsworth. There are many ways to assist people. Laughter and distraction are sometimes things people need in conjunction with medical diagnoses and treatments.” Mephistopheles studied me. “You might want to explore other avenues of possibility, since you’re such a gifted student of science. I may only offer a few hours of distraction, but for some that is enough to press on through dark times. Hope is an invisible yet mighty force. Don’t dismiss its power.”
I blinked, stunned by both how correct he was and how ignorantly I had viewed things. A long-ago memory emerged from the grave I’d buried it in. I’d often read stories to my mother as she lay dying, hoping to transport her from her pain, if only for a few moments. Part of me bristled at being schooled by such a devious young man, but mostly my cheeks burned with shame for not understanding his point sooner. People did need to be entertained, to have their minds occupied with thoughts other than a constant bombardment of negativity. Mother’s spirits certainly seemed lifted whenever I’d open a book and take her on a new adventure.
“I am—”
Mephistopheles suddenly grasped my hand in his and pressed a chaste kiss to it. Words of apology died on my tongue as I took in the fire in his eyes and the way they shifted just over my shoulder. He was putting on yet another show, and it was not for my benefit. I yanked my hand away, but it was too late. He grinned.
“An absolute pleasure, Miss Wadsworth,” he said. Perhaps we’ll meet again at our favorite spot…” He leaned in so only I might hear the next part. “Let’s say around midnight? Seems our meeting has come to an abrupt end and I still have much to discuss, if you’re game?” The ringmaster nodded behind me, that antagonistic smile still in place. “Good evening. Mr. Cresswell, I presume? We were just discussing you. And who is the lovely lady with you?”
I let my breath out in a deep exhale, not wanting to turn around and face Thomas just yet.
“Oh? You were discussing me?” Thomas sounded skeptical and appeared even more so when I shifted to find his gaze on me. “An honor considering I don’t possess a trick hat with ink-dyed roses. Or the ability to tumble across the stage. Though I am darkly enchanting. I understand the draw.” He paused as if considering his next words. “You’re still wearing that mask, I see. Does it chafe?”
“Not at all. There’s velvet on the inside.” Mephistopheles turned a smile on Mrs. Harvey, so radiant I feared she’d faint from overheating. “Will you introduce me to this pretty young thing, or shall I die of want?”
“Mrs. Edna Harvey, Mr.…” Mrs. Harvey drew her brows together. “Er… Mr.?”
“‘Mephistopheles’ is perfectly adequate, if you please.” He inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I must tend to consortium business. Good evening to you all.”
We stood together on the deck a moment, watching the ringmaster make his way to the troupe and whatever business carnival folk had postshow. Once he was out of earshot Mrs. Harvey dropped Thomas’s arm and fanned herself.
“He is quite something, isn’t he?” she asked. “So mysterious with that mask and name. I wonder if he ever slips—can’t be an easy thing, taking on a new identity like that. I imagine he’s got to take that mask off when he sleeps…”
“Maybe one of us should sneak into his rooms and find out,” I said, teasing.
Mrs. Harvey’s attention shot to me. “I wouldn’t mind volunteering for that task.”
Thomas grinned, then took Mrs. Harvey’s arm once more, leading us to our rooms in a show of courtly manners I was impressed by. “I doubt any of his performers even know his true identity. There’s a definite reason for the masks, and I’m sure it’s not simply to create an aura of mystique. I’d wager he’s either hiding from someone, or hiding a sordid past.”
I snorted in the most unladylike fashion. “Is this one of your infamous deductions based on observation?”
“Mock me all you will.” Thomas lifted a shoulder. “But his mannerisms speak of aristocracy. As do his boots.”
Honestly, I was unsurprised that Thomas had once again divined some seemingly impossible detail from the salty ocean air. “All right. Tell me more about his boots and how they signal aristocracy in the Thomas Cresswell deduction journal.”
“I bet something terrible happened to him. Poor thing.” Mrs. Harvey stopped walking in front of her cabin. She glanced down the deck behind us. “Miss Wadsworth, since you’re only next door, I think it will be fine if Thomas escorts you home this once. Unless you find it to be too indecent. I’m suddenly feeling quite…”
“In need of your traveling tonic?” Thomas supplied, doing a terrible job of keeping the laughter out of his voice when she poked him in the chest. “Ow
.”
“Hush, you,” she said, not unkindly. “It’s not polite to make fun of your elders. One day you’ll need a nip of traveling tonic to help you sleep, too.”
I ignored the silliness passing between them and smiled at our lackadaisical chaperone. It was entirely improper for Thomas to walk anywhere with me without a chaperone, but we’d been in more-compromising positions than a short walk, much to my father’s horror, should he ever find out. “It’s fine, Mrs. Harvey. Since our rooms connect—I’m sure no one will be too scandalized. Most everyone has turned in for the night anyway. We won’t linger long.”
“What a magical evening it’s been. And not one corpse ruined the fun!” She kissed my cheeks and Thomas’s, then opened her door. “I’m completely spent.”
Once she closed the door, Thomas and I walked the few steps to a bench situated between my room and the next. Sensing that he had something to say, I sat down and patted the spot next to me. The snowflakes had mostly ceased, but the bite was still nipping at the air. Ever attuned to me, he shrugged his overcoat off and wrapped it about my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said. “You were saying something intriguing about shoes, I believe?”
“The soles had no scuffs,” he said, glancing around once before sitting and rubbing his hands together. “Before you mention it, no, I don’t believe that a good buff and shine would explain it. They are new. Or at least they haven’t been worn much.”
“Maybe he only wears them during his performances.”
