“Wait there, then. If she ain’t there by ten, she ain’t coming tonight.”
He stepped to the side, letting the women pass.
“It’s a little cramped up ahead,” Mira said, steadying her nerves. “And dark. But it does open up once we are through.”
“A little darkness never hurt anyone.”
“The footing is a little uneven too.”
“I hope you aren’t suggesting that I turn back.”
“Not at all.”
They moved in silence the rest of the way through the tunnel. Once Mira was in the open room with the blue-green pool, she reached down to help Mrs. Sherard through. Byron’s mother took her hand, using her cane to help her up and out of the tunnel.
“Why, this is quite extraordinary,” she said, looking about at the pool and colonnade. “Is this where the thieves meet?”
“It’s a little further on.”
“I suppose Mr. Davis, the architect, knows nothing of this skylarking?”
“I would assume not.”
They ventured into the tunnels that led to the antechambers, but as the light dwindled, so did Mira’s nerves. She took some deep breaths, feeling altogether unsettled as her mind reminded her of all the ways the Roman construction was like the Parisian catacombs. She jolted as Mrs. Sherard set a hand on her arm.
“Why don’t we go back and wait in the room with the pools, hm? This Sibyl will need to come the same way we did.”
“We don’t know that,” Mira said.
“If she didn’t, then how would that man out there know whether she had come or not? Come along.”
They retraced their steps, coming back into the open where the cold, moonlit sky stared down at them. Mrs. Sherard hoisted herself up onto one of the low walls, making a little seat. From the waist up she looked the picture of elegance, but her legs dangled in the air like a child’s. In the moonlight, Mira could see Byron’s profile in his mother’s face.
“There. That’s better. I can breathe a little easier in all this fresh air,” Mrs. Sherard said. “I’m afraid I’m not used to these sorts of things.”
Mira hesitantly hopped up onto the wall next to Byron’s mother. “It isn’t exactly a society party, is it?”
“I gather that you don’t think much of society?”
Mira averted her gaze. “I never know how to behave, what I am meant to do.”
The silence spread between them, thick and uncomfortable. After a moment, Mrs. Sherard said, “The great secret of society is that no one knows what they are meant to do. Things are always changing. Even the cutlery can’t manage to stay consistent. You think you know what each fork and spoon is meant to do, and then you visit the duke’s and he shows off his new set of tomato spoons. Yet another thing to remember, and all you want to do is ask why the dickens anyone would want aspoon used exclusively for one particular fruit.”
Mira couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Very recent experience, I’m afraid. I bit my tongue to avoid saying anything rude. Mary ordered a set of tomato spoons the very next week. We have a reputation to uphold, after all.”
Both of their laughter petered out at the mention of Mary.
“I do hope Sibyl knows something,” Mira whispered.
“As do I.”
***
It was nearing ten and Mira’s extremitieswere tingling. Mrs. Sherard stood, pacing back and forth in front of the pool.
What if Sibyl didn’t come? Would Adams know where she lived? Or worse, what if she had left town, never to return?
