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“I’m glad you asked. I’ve been thinking on this quite a bit.”
“And?”
“I’m in favor of hiding in your chamber for the remainder of the week.” A smile twitched across his lips as I raised a brow. “Drinking, kissing, debauching ourselves until we arrive in New York.” He sighed dreamily. “You must admit, we’d be safe from the murderer. Deliriously happy. And both of those options are much better than standing over cadavers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Or we could finish the postmortem and see what we find.”
“A less fun but more valiant choice as always, Wadsworth. Though your uncle wishes to resume the postmortem tomorrow per the captain’s request.” He exhaled, though there was a troublesome gleam in his eyes. “I’ve been tasked with escorting you to bed, a difficult job, but one I shall take very seriously, I assure you.”
I shook my head. Thomas had dragged me from the deepest parts of my worries and restored my focus… all while managing to steal another kiss. I couldn’t say that his method wasn’t appealing as we made our way down the promenade, arm in arm.
T
HREE
ACE OF CLUBS
AUDREY ROSE’S QUARTERS
RMS ETRURIA
1 JANUARY 1889
An attendant braided my hair and helped me into a cotton nightgown with lace-trimmed sleeves without uttering a word—while the majority of passengers still believed Miss Prescott’s murder was an elaborate show, most of the crew aboard the ship seemed to hold their breath along with their tongues, unsure if another nightmare would soon be unleashed.
Once she’d gone, I released an exhausted sigh and glanced around. My chambers were handsomely appointed with a marble nightstand, a carved vanity, a small table and chairs, and a wardrobe that would have pleased King Louis with all its gold embellishments. However, the industrial-sized bolts and steel surrounding the small window couldn’t hide the truth of where I was. Despite the lavish dressings, a chill seeped in through the cracks.
Our luxurious ship was nothing more than a floating prison.
I pulled a pair of thick stockings on and lay on my bed, knowing sleep was the last thing I’d accomplish with so many thoughts spinning through my mind. I picked up the Ace of Clubs I’d found staked to Miss Prescott’s body and inspected it. What connection did it have to this murder? I mulled over a few potential clues, the most prominent having to do with magic tricks.
Sleight of hand was something I’d not given much thought to before, though I’d seen street magicians roll cards across their knuckles in London. They must practice for long hours to make it appear so fluid a motion, their deception flawless to an untrained eye. Not too different from a cunning murderer.
Crime scenes were filled with their own sort of sleight of hand. Murderers tried fabricating scenes, manipulating them to cover their true intentions and identity. Mephistopheles was gifted in the art of misdirection, something based in fact, not fantasy. He made a person look one way when they ought to do the exact opposite. If he hadn’t been onstage when Miss Prescott was killed, he’d be the most likely culprit.
I sat up, heart racing, as I finally understood my earlier preoccupation with the young ringmaster. I wanted to learn his very particular skills—utilizing that part of my brain while placing myself in the minds of deviants and murderers would be most beneficial. Something niggled around the edges of my mind, some hazy, far-flung idea that would be nearly impossible to pull off. If I could mislead Thomas Cresswell, make him believe the impossible—that my feelings had shifted—then I’d know for certain I was an expert at that art form…
Abandoning that plan, I settled back into my pillows and flipped the Ace of Clubs over, searching for significance. It was sliced through its center and stained with dried blood, but the back had the most interesting design. A raven—dark as ink—opened its wings against a silver moon. Vines and thorns were intricately woven around the card’s edges in thick black strokes. On both the top and bottom center, a strange double eight lay on its side, overlapping itself.
I avoided touching the place where the knife had torn it, still in denial that Miss Prescott had been slain right beside me and I hadn’t been any the wiser. If only Uncle hadn’t—
A soft knock came at the door connecting my room and my chaperone’s, startling me from my ruminations. I pushed myself up, deposited the card on my nightstand, and wrapped an embroidered orchid dressing robe about me. Gooseflesh rose, though it wasn’t from surprise. The watered silk was cool and smooth as liquid against the parts of my skin not covered by my nightgown.
“Come in.”
“It’s only me, dear.” Mrs. Harvey opened the door, a small tea service balanced on her ample hip. “Thought you could do with something warm. I also brought my traveling tonic just in case you’d like something a bit warmer.”
I smiled, recalling the clever name she’d given her spirits when we’d traveled to Romania last month. Her engraved flask teetered on the tray. The sharp scent of alcohol was detectable from where I sat and I decided it would indeed warm me quickly. And perhaps burn a hole through my stomach in the process.
“Tea will do for now, thank you.” I went to join her at the small table, but she stopped me with a firm shake of her head. She poured tea, then tucked me back into bed, pushing the steaming cup into my hands. Bergamot and rose immediately scented the air, relaxing me at once. “Thank you.”
“There, there, child.” She plopped down beside me and took a generous swig of her tonic. “No need to thank me. I was simply in need of a bit of company myself. Makes the traveling tonic go down easier.” Her gaze drifted over to the card on my nightstand. “Wealth.”
“Pardon?” I asked, wondering if she’d already been sipping her tonic.
“My husband used to dabble in cartomancy—reading fortunes in playing cards—in his youth. It was how we met.” A wistfulness entered her expression. “He was dreadful at it. God rest his soul. Though he was quite talented in other areas.”
“How are you faring?” I asked, quickly changing the subject. I didn’t wish to find out which talents she was dreamily recalling. “It’s been quite a day.”
