Her heart gave a pulsing throb as she passed by people who were lying in the alley’s crevices as though they’d slept there that night. She could see Walt in all of them.
What happened to you?she wanted to ask.What paths brought you here?
But she pressed on, intent on following Harriet. She could just make out the top of Harriet’s hat a hundred feet ahead, where she had stopped to speak with someone.
Was it the man from the restaurant the other night? The one she had claimed not to know, who wanted money?
Grace crept forward. She ignored the people who offered to show her a special deal, standing in front of makeshift stalls selling candles and barely concealed opium pipes.
Grace couldn’t make out the person Harriet was speaking with. They were hidden behind some sort of column. But Harriet was gesturing, and after they exchanged words, she turned and came toward Grace.
Grace hid in the shadows and watched her go by.
Perhaps she should have confronted her. Perhaps, if she had, everything that happened after would have turned out so much differently.
Instead, she waited until Harriet had passed and then went deeper into the Tunnels, searching for a glimpse of the man from the other night.
But the person Harriet had met was gone.
Grace worried the skin at her fingernails and thought over what she would say when Oliver arrived to meet her for breakfast. She sat beneatha lantern-strung garden until noon and finally gave up when it was clear that he wasn’t coming. Annoyed and more than a little worried, she returned to her hotel, where she found a note waiting.
Mother’s still having a fit and is holding us hostage. Come with us to the Glass Ball tonight. I’ll get you in.—Oliver
P.S. And Earnest will be there.
She looked at the hurriedly crossedt’s, the way even Oliver’s penmanship seemed to be rushing off the page toward the future. Though she was not anxious to cross paths with her aunt again, she had to tell Oliver what she had seen with Harriet.
Grace crumpled the note in her hand. She opened her carpetbag and decided that tomorrow, she would go home. She wouldn’t take any more money from Oliver to keep staying at the hotel, wouldn’t drag on this disastrous week just to keep putting off her goodbyes. Her eyes fell on the ridiculous souvenir spoon from Theodore Parker. It made her smile a little. Because tonight, she thought, pulling out her gown—her aunt didn’t own her.
And nothing would stop her from spending one final, glorious night at the fair.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MAY 3, 1904
The Night of the Murder
THAT EVENING, Grace dressed in the gown, one of airy, rose-colored mousseline with a hem covered in spangles made from mirrors and mother-of-pearl. The sleeves cascaded from her bare shoulders like the fountains that drained into the Grand Basin.
She did her level best to create a formal pompadour without the help of Lillie or a maid, sweeping her hair into place with as many pins as she had, and draped a strand of pearls around her neck. They were paste, but no one need know that. It was no different than any of the ornate buildings of the fair, made of staff pretending to be Italian marble.
She twirled so that the delicate skirt flamed and fell around her figure. She was pleased. It was perfect for the Glass Ball, to be held in the columned halls of the Palace of Varied Industries.
Oliver had said he would pick her up at seven o’clock.
But when she came down the front stairs into the hotel lobby, she saw the dark outline of a familiar silhouette.
“Mr. Parker!” she said, moving toward him.
He turned and looked at her, his face unchanged save for the slightest twitch of his mouth.
“Miss Covington,” he said, bowing.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. He looked sharply handsome, the way a well-crafted weapon could be, in his tailored frock coat and high white collar.
“Oliver was detained and asked me to ensure you arrived safely from… this place.” He glanced around the hotel lobby with a distinct air of condescension.
“How generous of you,” she said bitingly. “Can you manage to breathe in here without such rarified air?”
