Cora spies the home’s owner, Mr. Ward McAllister, lingering in the hall, now dressed rather informally in a maroon smoking jacket and slippers. “Your, ah, Grace? If I may—”
“You may not,” the fake duchess says. “I’ll handle this myself, Mr. McAllister.”
The man gives a ceremonious bow, then brightens as he spots the decanted wine.
“In that case, I shall take my nightcap in the study.”
He plods languidly between them, swirls the rust-red wine inside the crystal decanter, then with one more smirk, glides out of sight.
“Nice place he’s got here,” Cora says wistfully once his slippered footsteps have retreated.
“Yes. But again, why are you in it?”
“I remember what you said.” Cora sweeps forward. “And I understand that wecouldlet sleeping dogs lie or whatever.”
“It seems youdon’tremember what I—”
“The thing is,” Cora charges onward, “I believe we can help each other.”
Her Fake Grace lets out a thunderclap of a laugh.
Cora persists. “I think I could learn quite a bit from you. You see, a turn of unfortunate circumstances led me to Prospero’s employ in the first place, and try as I might to flourish under his tutelage, I feel stymied, stuck rather,and I don’t necessarily see a way out... which is why I had found myself in Mrs. Witt’s chambers in the first place. But then when I fell upon you, I just... I truly feel like fate had a reason for bringing us together.”
The duchess’s face remains blank, carved of stone.
Cora feels dizzy but refuses to relent. “I only mean to say that I have plans to... well, I suppose I have lofty goals, but there’s a divide between what I know and what I need to know in order to make them happen, which is why I could really stand to benefit from a mentor. A real one. Prospero the Great hardly qualified, and I think—”
“Ithink it’s past time for you to go.”
But Cora isn’t stopping now, not after practicing her speech at least ten times on the carriage ride here. Obviously she was prepared for friction. She knew this woman was not just going to throw open her arms and say,Yes, of course, I’ve always desired a mangy mutt as a protégé.
Cora has to go all in or else it’s all for naught.
She takes a step closer, drops her voice. “See, the thing is, I believe I can do far more damage with the information I gleaned tonight than you can with the hypothetical crime you claim you saw committed. And anyway, I’m a puff of smoke, a nonentity. Prospero doesn’t even know my real name. Besides, no one cares about a sly act from the likes of some nobody like me. Not a princess or duchess or... whatever you’re pretending to be. And I have a feeling whatever prize is at the end of this, it’s a big one. One you’re not about to jeopardize.”
Only Alice’s brow betrays her. One crinkle between the eyes.
“Prospero’s troupe leaves for Providence soon. Anotherprivate show, of which I’m sure he’ll pocket all the proceeds, but this time I very much hope I won’t be part of the act.” Cora hands the woman the calling card she’s prepared by hand. “I go by Cora Mack. I’m staying with the troupe at the Hopper House, near the river. We’re scheduled to depart at five o’clock sharp this evening. You can send a servant or a messenger or come yourself, however you like. But if I don’t hear from you by the time I’m expected to load up and out, I’ll assume I need to resort to my contingency plan.”
The duchess arches an eyebrow. “And what is that?”
“I’ll be forced to alert Mrs. Witt that she was not hosting royalty but rather an outright fraud.”
The woman laughs again. “Who in their right mind would believe a magician’s stagehand over Ward McAllister?”
“I’m not sure Iris Wittisentirely in her right mind,” Cora notes.
A glimmer of a smile sparks in Alice’s eyes. Enough to give Cora hope that this might possibly work and keep going.
“From what I’ve experienced of your world, its access feels quite... tenuous. All it might take is a shadow of doubt. A wrinkle ruins an entire dress, as they say. Just think about it.” Cora smooths her own skirt, partly to avoid the reaction on Alice’s face, then nods curtly. “I can see myself out.”
It’s only when she’s stepped out into the rising sun, emerging to pierce the brisk New York morning, that she gasps, residual fear seeping out of her as she hurries down the McAllisters’ steps, a rogue tear running down her cheek.
Oh yes, she could learn loads from that woman. An entire trade. Enough to get her farm back and maybe a brand-new life to boot.
Here’s hoping she gets the chance.
Chapter 4
