“You’re certain of this?” Van Helsing demanded the next morning, when Sam told Hel and Van Helsing of her suspicions?—that Lord Lusk had absconded with Mr. Enfield’s ring. He had dressed for the morning in a brown wool overcoat and a copper-colored suit, which only served to deepen the sense that he’d somehow escaped the American West. His cheeks were shadowed with stubble, his eyes with the lack of sleep. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”
“Unless one of you stole it,” Sam said, yawning. Sam had dressed for the day in a high-necked capelet with geometric ribbons of royal blue over a cornflower-blue dress. Her head felt hollowed out with exhaustion, her thoughts slippery and impossible to catch.
After they had returned the night prior?—or rather, entirely too early that morning?—they’d needed to secure Sam a new room. The hotel had been keen to collect on damages, until Hel suggested that perhaps the hotel hadn’t found it necessary to inform them Sam’s room was haunted and that the other guests might find that interesting. A great deal had come together after that, including the morning repast they were now enjoying, the table between them littered with the casualties from their breakfast scones.
“Why would Lord Lusk steal the man’s ring?” Van Helsing furrowed his brow. “He’s one of the richest men in Ireland. He might have bought a dozen just like it without denting his pocket money.” Sam wouldn’t go that far. The emerald had possessed exceptional color and clarity, not a hint of the fogginess that beset lesser stones. Not to mention the size of it.
“They aren’tthatring,” Hel said.
Next to Sam and Van Helsing, Hel looked sharp in her usual suit, her derby hat pinned to her cloud of curls. She had barely touched the breakfast, one hand lazily holding a cup of coffee to her lips while the other supported her chin, steam veiling her eyes. Sam ought to call her out on it, see to it that she took a few bites, but she held her tongue. They were, after all, supposed to be at odds. Though Sam would be lying if she said that was the only reason.
The handprints of the ghost were still burned into Sam’s shoulders, the memory of Hel’s abandonment stark in her mind. The way she hadn’t even seemed to care that Sam had nearly been killed?—not even offering a coded glance.
Sam ached to untangle it with Hel, for the other woman to confess that she’d gone too far, that of course she cared, that she’d never truly let Sam die. But that was difficult when they were supposed to be at odds.
“There must be some secret to it,” Sam said, “something he doesn’t want getting out.”
Perhaps Mr. Enfield’s heart hadn’t been broken by Lord Lusk’s fiancée, but by Lord Lusk himself, and that ring was a keepsake of their illicit relationship, the secret of them engraved inside the band. Perhaps Mr. Enfield had been threatening to go public if Lord Lusk didn’t break off his engagement. In France, a mistress might be something to brag about. In Ireland, it was different. Charles Stewart Parnell, the uncrowned king of Ireland, had fallen from grace after straying from his marriage bed. And if that mistress were a man... well.
Or perhaps the secret was that Lord Lusk had been cuckolded, and by wearing that ring, Mr. Enfield was taunting him with his dishonor. Men had fought duels over less.
Regardless, Lord Lusk was hiding something. Thatushe’d mentioned?—those who had associations with Mr. Bishop. Not simply Dublin high society, or he wouldn’t have become flustered when questioned. The separatists, then? He was known to indulge in the Gaelic revival, which was kissing cousins with the separatist movement.
Sam cracked open her scone and nearly dropped it. Baked into the dough was a long black feather, crumbs clinging to the vane. Ruari had beenhere. He knew where they were staying, had gotten to their breakfast. The feather had been waiting for her.
Quickly, before anyone else could see, she hid it beneath her napkin, her hands shaking. She didn’t want Hel to see it. It wouldn’t stop Ruari, it would only push Hel further over the edge.
“I trust the two of you can handle Lord Lusk,” Hel said, snatching the camera from Sam. “I’m going to develop the film. With any luck, the Viscount managed to get a picture of his attacker.”
“What? On your own?” Sam said nervously, recalling a picture of her taken in a state of half dress. “Shouldn’t we all go together?”
“I’m a chemist, Miss Harker,” Hel said dryly. “I hardly require assistance for developing film. Besides, there’s a whole library at Trinity just waiting for your attentions. You’d be put to better use there, uncovering what varieties of monsters we might be dealing with.”
“Now you’re just trying to distract me,” Sam said sharply.
“Is it working?” Hel gave her that crooked smile, only this time, it edged under Sam’s skin.
Sam turned to Van Helsing. “Don’t tell me you’re all right with this.”
“Enough.” Van Helsing scowled in a way that clearly said he didn’t have time for this?—whateverthiswas. His mind was already on the conversation he’d have with Lord Lusk and the sweetness of proving Sam and Hel wrong. “Miss Harker, you will accompany Miss Moriarty. You can keep an eye on each other. I’ll track down Lord Lusk and retrieve that ring. He will answer for this.”
“But?—” Sam began.
“We will meet in the Long Room at Trinity College afterward to share our findings,” Van Helsing said, as if he were in charge. That was the trouble with asking, Sam decided; it left people with the unfortunate impression that they might tell you what to do. “Miss Moriarty, you claim you haven’t taken over your father’s business and that you’ve been framed. If you want to prove it, you’d do well to give us any leads you have on him.”
“That was years ago,” Hel said. “Do you truly think I haven’t followed every lead?”
“There must be something,” Van Helsing said. “Your old family home, perhaps. The man did raise you, after all.”
“Raisedis not the word I would have chosen,” Hel said dryly. “But no. When I left, I burned it down.”
“All of it?” Van Helsing blinked. “You’re certain?”
“Down to ash.”
Trinity College, Dublin (Coláiste na Tríonóide, Baile Átha Cliath)
Four Days Before Samhain
