She blinked furiously, clearly startled to find herself face-to-face with a strange man in a state of shocking dishabille. My own appearance must have done little to reassure her, but the sight of Undine’s face seemed to calm her. “Undine, what has happened?”
“You had a giddy turn,” Stoker told her. “Nothing more. Your pulse isa little too fast, so I would like you to sit quietly for a few moments before you attempt to move.”
Wide blue eyes looked from one of us to the other. They were pretty eyes, and would have been unremarkable in another young woman, but in Eliza Elyot they carried such an expression of wariness, of tragedy even, that I could scarcely stand to meet them.
“Are you a doctor?” she asked in a thin, reedy voice. “You don’t look much like a doctor.”
Stoker gave her a gentle, rueful smile. “I don’t look much like anything reputable at present,” he admitted. “I am supposed to be Samson. But I used to be a surgeon’s mate in the navy. My name is Templeton-Vane, and this is Miss Speedwell.” To my astonishment, he extracted a card from his loincloth and presented it with a flourish. Undine Trevelyan twitched it out of his fingers and read it closely, as if suspecting us to be impostors.
Eliza Elyot nodded at me. “How do you do?”
“Very well, Miss Elyot.”
She flinched a little, but her reaction was nothing compared to Undine Trevelyan. “How do you know her name?” she demanded.
“Really, Miss Trevelyan, there is no call for you to be pugnacious. We know who you are because we have been looking for you. In fact, we are only here tonight in hopes of making your acquaintance.”
Undine flushed deeply, an unfortunate circumstance, given her freckles. She seized Eliza’s hand and would have pulled her to her feet if Stoker had not put himself bodily between them.
“We are leaving,” Undine said stoutly. She was tall for a woman, reaching above Stoker’s ear, but she was nothing to his solidity. Her frame was bony, and I had little doubt she could hold her own if it came to wringing the neck of a chicken or wrestling a reluctant child into a bath, but Stoker could have flicked her away like so much thistledown if he’d chosen. Instead, he merely looked down his nose—an aristocratictrick they must learn in the cradle, for in my experience, anyone from an ancient family can do it, regardless of height—and waited.
Undine was an impetuous woman but not a stupid one. She knew when she was beat, and she sagged against the wall. “What do you want?”
“We wish to ask a few questions about Lord Ambrose Despard,” I told her.
Eliza gave a little cry of dismay and shrank backwards. This time, Stoker stepped aside, and Undine went to her, clasping her near and petting her hair. “It is monstrous of you to torment her like this,” Undine said, fairly spitting the words.
“We have no intention of tormenting Miss Elyot, but we require answers,” I replied. “It is a matter of justice. A young woman has met with misadventure—possibly even murder. And we believe Miss Elyot can help us discover her identity.”
“How?” Undine demanded.
“By telling us about her brother Julius,” Stoker replied.
And that was the moment Eliza Elyot slipped unconscious to the floor.
CHAPTER
18
We roused her once more—resorting again to the burnt feather—but this time Undine Trevelyan thwarted us. She looped one arm around Eliza and hauled the ailing girl to her feet.
“We are leaving,” she said stoutly. “And you will not stop us.”
Stoker took an obliging step backwards and let them go, Eliza sagging heavily against Undine as they went. They did not return to the refreshment room but left the club altogether.
“Well, that did not go particularly well,” Stoker observed.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “They are afraid—clearly and desperately so. Giving them a little time to think matters over might just persuade them that they need allies. If we present ourselves in a calmer moment, perhaps they will confide in us.”
“Or Undine Trevelyan might set fire to us. I think it could go either way, honestly,” Stoker said.
We quitted the anteroom to find Lady C. coming our way with all of the imperiousness of a steamship. “There you are! I have been searching for you everywhere. The votes have been tabulated and all of the participants are requested to be present for the awarding of the prizes.” She shepherded us into the refreshment room again where we were made tostand next to Eve. Her erstwhile serpent, Puggy the flatulent lapdog, took quite a shine to Stoker, sitting firmly upon his feet and refusing to budge.
“Oh, he likes you! Isn’t that nice,” Eve remarked. She looked more closely at Stoker. “You aren’t by any chance a connection of the Templeton-Vanes? Only you do put me in mind of the viscount.”
“Tiberius is my eldest brother,” Stoker admitted through gritted teeth. “I am Revelstoke Templeton-Vane.”
“Revelstoke! And I thought my father ran mad when it came to naming his children,” she said merrily. “I think as we are all half-naked, we needn’t stand on ceremony. I am Lady Bettiscombe, née March.”
