“Simply lucky to find a host of generous, welcoming friends.”
“Impressive for someone so new to these shores.”
“Though surelyunimpressive to arrive late to a kind invitation.” She resists the urge to grit her teeth. “Another time, perhaps, Mr. Archer?”
With a curt nod, she begins to ascend the stairs.
Cal calls out, “You seem different from the last time I saw you.”
Cora stops, neck prickling. Is he referring to her accent? No, it’s impeccable and she knows it. Her demeanor, then? Some other element of her carefully constructed persona that isn’t rendering consistent?
Cora slowly turns around again, smile stitched tight as a corset.
“More... settled,” he finishes with a smile. But there’s an uptick to his tone again.
“The last morning we spoke, I had just received word of my brother’s death, at the hands of the Hungarians.” Cora lifts her chin archly. “I was not, as you say, myself that day.”
“Ah. Right. My condolences. The Hungarians, you say?” Mr. Archer flips his book to a page full of dark ink. “Speaking of, I haven’t been able to connect with the grand duchess lately. She’s quite hard to pin down. I’ve been trying to get her for days, but even when I manage to find a window, she’s as opaque as a front door.”
Cora can’t help but smile at that. Another apt comment from Mr. Archer. She feels the same way about Alice. Often, in fact.
Sensing her resistance crumbling, Cal pounces, “Truly, Miss Ritter, just a few questions on Württemberg, the nation’s state of affairs—”
She sighs. “Why, may I ask?”
“The paper wants to cover the situation in full.” He surveys his notes, murmuring, “I don’t think anybody fully knows what in Sam Hill’s going on over there and the place is suddenly the talk of the town. My editor wants a longer feature piece, but there are a few loose ends I’ll need to tie up first.”
Longer feature piece.Meaning the front page ofThe Herald. Real, legitimate news. A piece like this could actually help Alice, now that she thinks about it—those horrible railroad men seeing their story confirmed in black and whitewhile they sip on their early morning tea. A perfect next step in the plan.
With all Alice is managing, perhaps Cora should take more initiative. Alice could be in over her head, despite what she says to the contrary, overwhelmed with all she needs to achieve in a few months’ time, as she desperately seemed last Sunday. Cora has proven she is a trustworthy member of the team, has she not? What did Alice tell her about dealing with the press?“Start with the truth.”Surelythere is a way to spin the truth just so to this man, in order to sell their lies?
“Loose ends,” she repeats. “What type of loose ends?”
“Well.” Cal considers her carefully. “I suppose I’m perplexed as to how Württemberg has kept its apparent bounty of natural resources out of all the history records.”
His stare becomes penetrating.
“I’m not sure I understand your question, Mr. Archer.” Somehow Cora manages to keep her tone both accented and cool.
Tucking his pencil behind his ear, Cal takes a step closer.
“These lavish emerald mines that have the entire town in a tizzy,” he says softly, one perfectly arched eyebrow rising. “Why is it that this spring is the first time I’ve... well, I’ve ever evenheardof them?”
A dull buzz mounts between her ears, building to a voiceless scream.
How, again, did Cora think she could “spin the truth” to cover a gaping hole of a fabricated investment opportunity?
“Ah... yes. I do appreciate your confusion there.”
Just breathe, Cora. Breathe and reset the stage.
The stage. One thing she learned from countless hours watching Prospero... if a performer expects the audience tobelieve, to ignore the lies and suspend their doubts, the performer must lead them. Must evoke certainty incarnate, a confidence so unflappable that the audience has no choice but to pledge their poetic faith.
Lead him there.
Confidence.
Think.
