AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That was hardly a yes.”
“True. But it definitely wasn’t a no, either.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “I know you’re as hungry to solve this as I am, Miss Wadsworth. I’ve started receiving complaints from patrons that aren’t very promising for the Moonlight Carnival’s future. Now, will you help me break into her chambers or not? As you said, she’s dead. I doubt she’ll mind our investigating.”
I pointed half-heartedly at the stage. “What about the milk-can act?”
“You’ll simply have to wait until tomorrow night and experience it with the rest of the passengers.” He held his hand out again. “Ready for some mild criminal activity?”
I most certainly was not. With a sinking feeling dragging me down, I stood and followed the illusionist to the empty chamber of the murdered woman, already regretting my foolishness.
TWENTY-TWO
CAKE AND MASKS
PROMENADE
RMS ETRURIA
5 JANUARY 1889
We exited onto the promenade deck, discovering a different type of chaos from the one we’d walked through only half an hour before.
Like a swarm of ants, the crew and performers disassembled tents, folding striped canvas of black, white, and silver, packing it away for another moonlit revelry. Gone were the passengers indulging in all manner of wickedness beyond candy and treats. Scantily clad stilt walkers no longer danced like ghostly snakes in baskets, swaying to the rhythm of both the sea and seductive music. Clowns and fancy ladies smeared their waxy makeup until it looked like torn flesh over their own skin. However, no matter how tired and bedraggled the performers appeared, none of them had removed their masks.
“Why do they all keep their masks on after the show?”
Mephistopheles jerked his chin forward. “They earn twenty dollars a week plus cake with one stipulation: they are never to be seen unmasked. Ever.”
“All you offer to feed them is cake?” I raised a brow. “And they agree to such things?”
“Hardly.” He snorted. “It means food is included in their wage.”
I frowned at the carnival jargon and stipulation; there were an awful lot of rules for a band of people who wished to live without them. “You don’t hold Harry Houdini to the mask clause,” I pointed out. “Doesn’t that cause internal strife? I should think the rules ought to apply to everyone or none at all.”
With a nod to detour around the opposite side of the ship, the ringmaster guided me forward, along the empty starboard deck. Here we were alone with the creaking of rope and slumbering passengers. I tried not to shudder as the wind snapped at my collar, violent and threatening as any disturbed beast.
“Harry is different,” Mephistopheles finally said. “He’s going to be a legend one day, mark my words. A man like him already wears a mask—he’s creating himself from the ashes of what he once was. Why make him wear a disguise when he becomes a new person each night, shedding a bit more of the old Harry?”
“Who is the old Harry?”
I didn’t truly expect an answer, but Mephistopheles was full of surprises.
“He’s a Hungarian immigrant, but you know where he tells people he’s from? Appleton, Wisconsin. Harry’s got so many invisible masks, a physical one would never be as authentic.”
“Is Harry even his real name?” I asked, jesting.
“Nope. It’s Ehrich.”
“Ehrich?”
“Ehrich Weiss. If that’s even true. No one but his mother can really be sure.” He counted off the cabins and slowed. “Here we are.”
We halted outside a cabin two doors down from the stern of the ship. Remembering Uncle’s insistence that murderers often revisit their crime scenes, I spun in place, taking in the surrounding area. Across from us there was the railing and endless sea. On either side of the cabin, rowboats were mounted on the wall like prized animal specimens. There wasn’t much in the way of hiding places, so I wondered how her body had been removed.
“How do you know which cabin is Miss Crenshaw’s?” I asked, suddenly. He hadn’t been present when we’d investigated her room. “Have you been here before? How did you recognize that scrap belonged to her dress?” Another thought crashed into me and I narrowed my eyes. “Were you lovers?”
“Is that jealousy I detect? There’s plenty of me for everyone, Miss Wadsworth. Though if you’d like to be my one and only, we might need to address the Cresswell situation. Once I’ve committed myself, I do not enjoy sharing.”
I didn’t deign to respond to such idiocy. Though it did add another layer to the mystery of Miss Crenshaw’s last hours. If she’d been with the ringmaster, might someone have been watching his movements? It made me think of Cassie again—had she been jealous of his late-night escapades? Or did her husband follow him here, hoping to set him up for the crimes?
