These Vicious Masks: A Swoon Novel (21 page)

I shook my head, feeling a faint envy for Laura’s boredom. Between the horrors befalling Rose, Mr. Braddock, and Miss Grey, there seemed to be merit to the comfortable tedium of my life a
week ago. “The Argyll Rooms were much like a ball or dance,” I said gently, slipping behind the dressing screen to begin removing my attire. “Nothing terribly special.”

“Oh! Oh! What about Mr. Braddock? Was he still dark and mysterious and far less charming than my brother?” I gave her a harsh look over the screen as she squinted her blue eyes and
sucked in her cheeks to remind me what dark and mysterious men look like. Like fish or Miss Verinder, apparently.

“Mr. Braddock is a reprehensible man, and we will not talk of him again.”

She must have sensed something in my tone, because she immediately pounced on the idea and my bed. “Oh, Evelyn! Don’t tell me you are in love with him! Oh, you are! Look at how red
you are, Evelyn! My poor brother. You love him!”

“Goodness, I’m in love with no one, least of all him. He has done horrible things, and he’s dishonest and dangerous, and, well, he has many awful qualities. Not that I ever
think about him anyway—no, no, Mr. Braddock is nothing to me. Nothing at all! In fact—” I could hear myself rambling, and a certain quote about protesting too much flitted through
my head.

Judging by her subject change, Laura still seemed to think I was putting on an act. “Well, since you won’t admit to anything, I have exciting news about our theater outing for
tonight!”

“The Lyceum . . .” I sighed. I didn’t quite miss society yet.

“I know, they are performing some ancient play, but more important, Mr. Edwards will be in attendance! Sadly, he was not able to join our party because the family already had a commitment,
but we will surely see him during intermission!”

“How lovely,” I lied. “Did you say our
party
?”

“Yes! We have a box, remember? It will be us, the Verinders, and of course my brother!” Oh hell. Could I fall sick again?

She sighed and fell back down, staring at the canopy over my bed in utter contentment. “Oh, Evelyn! I don’t think Nick would have come if it weren’t for you! What it must be
like to have two men in love with you!”

T
HE
L
YCEUM
T
HEATRE
might have been a magnificent sight, had the
night’s plans not been so unappealing. Six gigantic Grecian columns planted by the curb created a portico that loomed over the sidewalk, like a monstrous mouth threatening to devour the
entire street. Arched doorways led into a vestibule that opened on a large, warmly lit lobby decorated in dark shades of purple, green, and elegant glints of gold. Thick hangings and portieres were
serenely draped about the room, interrupted only by the wide staircase at the center, leading up to the box tier.

Waiting by this staircase was Mr. Kent, who managed to both grimace at his stepmother and smile brightly at Laura. I received a knowing nod and a quick smile as he met us with bows. I gave him a
curious look in return, wondering whether he had news and whether he’d have the opportunity to tell me. We should have arranged a secret code beforehand.

Lady Kent, with the air of a street cleaner getting a foul task done quickly, greeted her stepson. “Nicholas . . . a . . . most welcome surprise to have you here.”

“Yes, well, life would be so boring without a surprise here and there. You certainly have given me a few,” he said, the joke rather too dry. Lady Kent forced out a guttural, clacking
laugh that I hoped never to hear again.

Mr. Kent managed to keep his eyes from rolling too high in his head by rolling them toward Laura. “And my dear Kit, are there enough dinner parties and outings keeping you and Miss Wyndham
busy?”

“There are less and less!” Laura whined, her voice shaking querulously. “After tomorrow’s dinner, there’ll be nothing to look forward to for the whole
winter!”

“Don’t worry just yet. I’ve spoken to some friends all over London this afternoon,” he said, flashing me an enigmatic smile. “Not everything is set, but I hope to
have good news tomorrow.”

Well. It seems we did have a secret code.

Laura beamed. “Oh, I cannot wait! Please be sure to invite—”

“Ah, here they are!” Lady Kent interrupted. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled broadly, exposing too many teeth. “Nicholas, do you see Miss Verinder has arrived?”

With their grand entrance, it was rather impossible to miss them. The impeccably dressed Mrs. Verinder and her tall, shrewd-eyed husband floated through the archway, sending smiles to their
numerous acquaintances, while the golden-dressed Miss Verinder followed close behind and was currently killing me twenty different ways with her eyes.

“I did see, but tragically, I’ve been blinded by that sun she’s wearing,” Mr. Kent replied, but then they were upon us, and introductions were made all around. Mr. Kent
made a valiant attempt at politeness while Miss Verinder somehow managed to find herself at his side, clutching his arm, shooting me a gloating smile.

The ladies nattered on about nothing, and I kept quiet, knowing Miss Verinder would twist around anything I said. My thoughts began to slip to my search for Rose, or rather how it had come to a
complete standstill. My sister was trapped somewhere in this city (I refused to consider that she might be anywhere else by now), and here I was, acting just like my mother, trying to keep our
family’s good name by wasting hours at a play.

Not that I even knew where to start looking. Dr. Beck’s planning, preparation, and power made this far more complicated than any of us had anticipated. Mr. Kent was confident that
we’d find them soon, but he always sounded so confident that it was getting harder to believe him, especially when Miss Grey’s power to see them wasn’t even enough. Every plan I
imagined with the three of us came down to the same unfortunate conclusion: We needed Mr. Braddock. And it wasn’t despite his past mistakes, but precisely because of them.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to force away the imagined scenes of his past. But when I opened them, Mr. Braddock was still there. Only now he was in evening dress incongruously paired
with the bandage on his forehead, and curiously, he was attempting to hide behind a large fern. I withheld a gasp as I realized it really was him and not a conjuring from my imagination. Before I
could investigate further, Miss Verinder’s voice buzzed in my ear.

“Yes, when will the elusive Miss Rosamund be able to join us? She always seems to be with the sick.”

“Sadly, she’s actually taken sick herself. She’s been resting,” I said.

Of course, Lady Kent couldn’t miss an opening like that. “That’s what happens when you work as a nurse!”

I might have been unable to hold back a rude retort there, but fortunately I was still too busy darting glances at the plant. Mr. Braddock looked exceedingly silly and was entirely visible,
which meant when Mr. Kent followed my line of sight, he had no trouble determining who had captured my attention. He shifted his weight, his expression turning rapidly dour.

A bell chimed brightly, alerting us that the show was to begin. “Shall we take our seats?” Mrs. Verinder suggested.

If Mr. Kent wished to speak to me, he was given no chance. The group followed Mrs. Verinder, except Laura, who tugged me aside like her rag doll. “Mama,” she said. “Evelyn and
I must go to the dressing room!”

Lady Kent, hanging onto the Verinders’ story of a recalcitrant servant, waved her aside without a glance. Before I could protest or even decide if I wanted to protest, Laura steered me
down a narrow hallway and into the lavish, lavender-scented room, where bored theatergoers could escape to gossip or tidy up their appearance.

Laura set me down onto a red velvet settee and bore her eyes into mine, spots of pink surfacing high on her cheekbones. “Evelyn, this is a matter of life and death.” She managed to
sit completely still and composed as she said this. No bouncing around the room or high-pitched squealing. Even her hair appeared serious.

“Are you ill?” I asked.

“Yes! My heart is aching,” she said, sighing overdramatically and snatching up a bolster to hug.

“What on earth is the matter?” I asked, sick of the theatrics. And the play hadn’t even begun yet.

“Did you not see Mr. Edwards when you came in?”

I couldn’t say that was my first priority. “No . . . I don’t even know what he looks like. Is he not here?”

“He is! He was the magnificent-looking man in the lobby! I must have a tête-à-tête with him during intermission. You must help. I can’t do it alone. Please!”
She attempted a small dive across the sofa toward me, almost kicking a vase of flowers behind her.

“Yip! Help with your . . . tête-à-tête? About what?”

“Whatever he wants!” she said, grasping my hands tightly. “The subject does not matter in the least.”

“Why do you need me? What have you talked about before?”

Distressed, she sat back up, looked down into her lap, and swung her legs back and forth under her seat. “We’ve been introduced. And he had marvelous things to say about the
weather!”

I should have expected this. He’d probably spoken no more than ten words to her, and she’d fallen in love after the third.

“I need you to be my foil!” she wailed. “I need someone to disagree with him, so I can agree with him and support him like a good wife should! Please, Evelyn! I cannot become a
ruined spinster!”

I didn’t think fifteen-year-olds had to worry about spinsterhood. I had the urge to shake her by the shoulders and snap her out of it, but the despair in her eyes and the belief that my
disapproval would only render Mr. Edwards more enticing, in a forbidden sort of way, left me with no alternative.

“Fine. We’ll do it,” I said with a sigh.

She just about exploded at those words, jumping up in a dance of silk and joy (a shame, the hair had looked quite nice) and thanking me a million times over. A woman in the corner, whom I had
not noticed before, caught my eye, and her lips pinched into a look of pity.

Eventually, Laura remembered that there was a play to be watched and dragged me back out into our double box overlooking the dull, bluish theater. With people crowding every seat, there was no
way to make out a certain dark-haired man, and there was no time to learn what he was doing here. Two empty seats waited for us: Laura took the space next to her mother, leaving me between her and
her brother, whose other arm was caught in Miss Verinder’s clutches. If only it were Mr. Braddock she were interested in. I spent a few happy moments imagining the results of her grabbing
his
arm.

“My, my, it’s a surprise to see Mr. Braddock here,” Mr. Kent said, a hint of acrimony lacing his voice.

“Yes, it is.”

He leaned in confidentially. “Perhaps he’s come to apologize. Or maybe that also needs to be done in his bedroom.”

I strained to keep a whisper. “You know very well why I was in his bedroom! He was injured, and I needed to check on him.”

“No one is going to make an exception for that where your reputation is concerned.”

“I had other concerns at the time.”

He put his hand on his chest. “I’m feeling quite injured myself. Perhaps we might—”

“Mr. Kent! This is not an appropriate place for that kind of talk!”

“Very well,” he said. “If you wish to speak about it somewhere much more inappropriate, just say the word.”

At that moment, Miss Verinder rapped his arm and pouted for his attention. Fortunately for all our ears’ sake, the lights dimmed, and the crowd’s rumble of anticipation covered
anything she wished to say.

Normally, this was one of my favorite Shakespeare plays, but with so many thoughts, emotions, and anxieties boiling within me, I wasn’t at all in the mood to waste my time here. While the
rest of the audience was drawn into the world onstage, I couldn’t help but find the sets, costumes, and acting completely fake. There was not a single true note in Beatrice and
Benedick’s witty conversations. The “love” between Claudio and Hero was based on nothing. And all the men were too foolish to see Don John’s comically obvious lies.

After the disastrous aborted-marriage scene, the curtain closed and the lights were relit. I didn’t have a chance to speak one word to anyone before Laura—treating the intermission
as if it were the play—seized my hand and pulled me straight to the lobby to find Mr. Edwards.

Sneakily, she wove us through the shifting crowd and arced us behind him rather than charging him head-on. She seemed to have a lot of practice in the clandestine maneuver, and against my will,
I was half impressed and half amused. When we were close, Laura turned her back to her target, leaned, and gracefully bumped into the tall, thin-mustached man, feigning astonishment.

“Oh! Mr. Edwards. Ever so sorry. What a pleasant surprise to see you here!” she simpered. “May I introduce my good friend, Miss Wyndham?”

“Ah, yes, a pleasure, indeed,” he replied, bowing and looking as if he’d just discovered the hard way that there was a fly in his soup. “How do you do, Miss
Wyndham?”

“Excellent,” Laura replied, somehow mistaking my name for her own. “And you?”