“Suit yourselves,” she said and linked arms with the Chef.
“We look stupid just standing here,” I said.
“Yeah,” Vic said. “So. Shall we?”
I looked up at his hands. Parts of me tingled that I had forgotten I even had.
Finally, breathing through it, I grabbed his hand, and off we went, my feet stepping awkwardly until I found our mutual rhythm. He was a good teacher. We whirled around gently, trying to spin nearest other groups of dancers. Vic would nod, and off I would go.
“Look,” he said, in my ear.
“What?”
“Past-Me and the Widow Foster are dancing,” he said. “Let’s move closer.”
We whirled nearer them. The two appeared engaged in a deep conversation, and judging by the Widow Foster’s face, she wasn’t too happy with what was being said. After a few moments, she spun off and ran into another room.
“She does not look good,” Vic said, spinning me.
“I know,” I said, at the end of his arm.
“Be your best,” he said and spun me in the opposite direction.
I let go of his hand—reluctantly—and slunk off past the spinning couples and new pairings and into an adjoining hallway. The Widow Foster’s dress flashed around a corner. I followed her from a distance, trying hard not to be seen. She was stomping off in one direction. It looked like it was more towards the Pink Staircase. Which could mean only one thing… she would be headed towards the Duke’s room. Had past Vic told her about the books?
She entered a different room entirely, slamming the door behind her, and soon enough, I heard the polite sounds of crying. I checked a nearby mirror—my outfit still looked servantly, so I mussed my hair a bit as if I were harried, and gently knocked.
“Go away!” I heard.
There was a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped, startled. William Corcoran was staring at me, all flash and jumble. His eyes, from this angle, seemed bizarre…
“When a woman is in pain, it’s in my nature to soothe her ills,” he said. “You. I haven’t seen you before. Who are you, again?”
“Just a serving girl,” I said.
His eyes looked me over.
“A bit too pretty and smart for that, I should think. I can see it in your eyes. I suppose you saw her face sour earlier in the dance hall.”
I nodded.
“Well, your insight is keen. The Widow Foster and I go back some time. I should think it’s the comfort of a friend’s bosom she should wish to cling to, rather than someone of your bearing. No offense intended.”
“None taken,” I said.
“Dearest Poppy, it’s your friend. Billy Corkie.” Corcoran called this through the door.
“Billy?” I heard, from behind the door. “Billy Corcoran. How kind of you to come check on me. Give us a moment.”
The door unlatched after some time, and the mascara-smeared face of Widow Foster appeared. Her gaze glazed over past me, and slid to William.
“Come in, then,” she said.
“Do you mind if I just tidy up a bit?” I asked. “I’ll just be a fly on the wall, in and out. Consider it a turn-down service.”
“Oh, I suppose,” Widow Foster said theatrically, and she stalked back into the corner nearest a vanity and threw herself down. She, too, had brought some dressing things, and seemed prepared to stay for a number of days. “Come over here, Corkie, be a lamb and help me fix my hair. You, girl. Can you summon up some refreshments?”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Just have to turn down the sheets.”
