“Eoin?” Calliope arched a golden eyebrow.
“Oh, we decided to use first names to maintain our charade,” Hannah said quickly, hating how her heart plinked inside her chest like a tightly wound harp string. She thought she did a fairly good job of obscuring her reaction, but Eoin flushed a deep scarlet. The stoic man really had more tells than Hannah had ever suspected.
“Never knew of a nob who wanted to look like a ruffian.” Alun thankfully broke the uncomfortable spell as he once again lifted the burnt cork.
“Put that ridiculous charred thing away. Skin doesn’t look like a sooty smudge when bruised. Flesh mottles.” Calliope made a shooing motion with her hands.
“And how does a gentlewoman such as yourself come to obtain such a breadth of knowledge about contusions?” Alun demanded.
Calliope rolled her eyes. “I have four brothers who are constantly getting into scrapes, and Blackglen is the worst of them all. It’s not as if my sisters and I are particularly sedate. Do you seriously think that we’ve led such rarefied lives that we haven’t even bumped our shins on heavy furniture?”
“Do you really wish for me to answer?” Alun’s voice perfectly matched the smirk on his face. Even Hannah, who tended to agree with him about the nobility, wanted to scrub away his pleased expression.
“Your bickering is not productive.” Hannah wished she could bash something—preferably Alun’s and Calliope’s heads together. It was likely the only way for the two to see eye-to-eye.
Alun sighed heavily. “Fine then, Princess Poet. How do you propose that we make a bruise look realistic? I have ochre powder that works for faded contusions, but if we’re hiding Foxglen’s identity, we need something darker. I don’t have any blues, though, which we’d require for purple hues. That pigment is too damn expensive even for the Grand.”
“As it so happens, I do.” Calliope opened an alabaster box covered in images of the Muses. Inside were smaller circular containers inlayed with decorative pieces of mother-of-pearl. She unscrewed one of the wooden boxes to reveal a vibrant blue powder. As far as Hannah knew, such a color could only come from pulverized precious stones.
Although Calliope had been coming to the Black Sheep for half a year now, Hannah still was not accustomed to her casual displays of wealth. It was clear that Alun wasn’t either.
“You do realize that is a crushed gem,” Alun scoffed.
“Of course,” Calliope answered, her voice sounding deliberately blithe as she was clearly intent on baiting the playwright. “It’s high-quality lapis lazuli. My sister, Clio, is an artist, and I borrowed her supplies. Clio suggested that we mix some of her lapis and vermillion with a touch of oil of myrtle and gum arabic. We both think that will produce a good paint.”
“I agree,” Eoin said.
“Calliope will mix the ointment, and Mr. Powys will apply it.” Sophia broke into the conversation, clearly trying to stave off another dispute. Not for the first time, Hannah was thankful for her cousin’s levelheaded foresight.
“A capital idea,” Calliope cheerfully agreed as she set about pouring the crushed minerals into oil.
“Do you acquiesce to my unparalleled skills in stage cosmetics?” Alun asked, his voice once again punchably superior.
Calliope rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I’ve had plenty of experience painting my siblings’ faces for my brother’s masquerades. I simply don’t wish to be bitten by that goose!”
“So I must sacrifice my ankles?” Alun demanded as Calliope handed him the solution.
“Aren’t you always accusing me of being a hothouse flower?” Calliope asked archly. “How would my delicate skin endure such an assault?”
“She makes an excellent point,” Sophia pointed out.
Alun started to open his mouth for a rebuttal, but Hannah gently pushed him in Eoin’s direction. “Work your artistry!”
“While he’s still holding that menace?” Alun asked, glowering at the goose.
“Perhaps the gosling will allow me to hold it,” Hannah said.
Eoin handed her the goose. To Hannah’s surprise, the bird didn’t protest too much as long as Hannah stood close to Eoin.Thankfully, Alun and Calliope stopped spatting long enough to create rather convincing bruises.
As the fake welts blossomed over Eoin’s countenance, an ominous feeling swelled inside Hannah. Something was clearly amiss at the Horse and Hen, and she had no idea what she and Eoin would encounter. But Hannah had never been one to shy away from danger.
Chapter Eleven
Eoin had always preferred the country air to the smells of London, but he’d grown accustomed to the scent of manure from the endless stream of horse-drawn carriages. And even in the nicer sections like Mayfair, odors lingered in the air from the refuse of city living. But this particular area of Covent Garden possessed a uniquely terrible stench. Sourness mingled with desperation, and the tight weave of buildings trapped the oppressive atmosphere, distilling it into a potent brew of discontent.
Or perhaps it only felt that way to Eoin, and the alley was really no different than any other cobblestoned close lined with disreputable businesses. Eoin had little occasion to visit unsavory establishments, and moreover, he had no personal ties to those grim passageways. Yet at the end of this dark, twisty corridor, his parents had met, and after his father’s death, his mother and his sister had likely been forced to live on a similar sordid street.
Don’t go chasing after spirits and secrets.Those hoarse, foreboding words whispered through Eoin, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked him.
