Vivian pictured Myrtle, staring through the bars that covered her windows, smoking and plotting revenge.Hux likes to know everything. And she was beginning to understand why.
There was a lot of power in being the person who knew things—the person who could find the answers to other people’s questions.
“For a little while, at least,” she said. “I shouldn’t be out too late.”
If she found enough answers, maybe one day she could piece together who she really was.
But first, she’d start with who really killed Willard Wilson.
THIRTY-FOUR
New York was a city of streetlights now, puddles of gold breaking through the shadows, leaving the spaces in between even darker than they used to feel.
Heading out that night, after everything that had happened, was harder than she expected. Vivian hesitated at the door of her building, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the street. Music drifted out from somewhere, voices raised in shouts and arguments, laughter and song.
Maybe there were parts of the city that fell quiet at night, but there was never silence in the New York that Vivian belonged to, the world that came alive at night, where you didn’t need to have a mansion on Fifth Avenue to be someone who mattered.
She only had to go a few blocks on foot before she was able to hail a cab, unconcerned for once about the cost. She was going home.
Vivian looked for Honor as soon as she was on the stairs. The whole place was laid out before her: sweaty couples dancing as if their lives depended on it, tables tucked in dark corners, music filling the air like magic. The trumpet was wailing like it could hold the roof up with sound, like it could sweep her onto the dance floor without even trying.
Silence had held the door open for her without waiting for the password. Vivian wasn’t sure, but she thought there had been something like respect in his sullen eyes. Maybe he had heard about last night. Maybe there was gossip about her and Honor. Maybe he was finally used to her coming around.
Whatever the reason, when she paused at the top of the stairs, she knew she was where she belonged.
Bea was already working, and she caught Vivian’s eye from where she was waiting by the bar for a tray of drinks. When Vivian finally made her way through the press of bodies, Bea was still waiting—the bar was packed that night.
“Everything okay?” Bea asked, her eyes warm with concern.
She was asking about so many things—about Florence, about the police, about whether Vivian was going to keep poking at things that were better left alone.
But Bea couldn’t say all that, not in the middle of a crowd when she was supposed to be working. The table closest to the dance floor was hollering for drinks, a group of young men in sharp suits and girls in spangled dresses. Money was flowing at the Nightingale that night.
So was the champagne. Vivian smiled as a glass slid next to her elbow, and she turned just in time to catch a wink from Danny before he went back to the other customers.
Vivian took a sip, bubbles hitting the back of her throat. “It will be,” she said, leaning her head next to Bea’s so she could be heard over the noise. “I promise, I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“I’m never sure about that,” Bea snorted, picking up her tray. “Honor’s busy at the moment—I assume that’s who you were looking for?” At Vivian’s nod, she gestured toward a back corner with her chin. “Wait until she’s done if you’re looking to stir up trouble,” she added over her shoulder as she went on with her work.
Honor was sitting with a woman in a gold dress, both of them with their heads bent close together. Vivian eyed the tableau in surprise, unable to decide what kind of meeting it might be, before turning away. What she had to say would wait until she could have Honor’s full attention.
“You okay there, kitten?” Danny was back, watching her from across the bar.
Vivian downed the rest of her champagne. “Thanks for the bubbles. I’m in desperate need of a dance—who do you recommend?”
“You’d be doing us a favor if you got the tallest fella from Bea’s table onto the dance floor—he looks like the sort to get rowdy if he’s not distracted. Plus, his dancing feet ain’t half bad. Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s the pretty blonde at the other end of the bar.”
The blonde was pretty, all right, with a wavy bob and lips painted the same deep red as her dress. Vivian glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, then turned toward the table of well-dressed boys. “I’ll ask her for the next one,” she said. “The tall one, you said?”
He was happy to jump up from his table and ask her for a dance as soon as she smiled at him, and he was more than able to keep up with the Charleston the band was playing. Vivian stayed on the dance floor—first him, then the blonde from the bar, then Mr. Lawrence surprised her by requesting a waltz. Vivian had a sudden memory of waltzing with him the night Wilson died, but she pushed it aside and accepted with a smile. She kept an eye on Honor the whole time, her feet moving through the rhythm of the dance almost without her.
Just as the waltz finished, the woman in gold stood and held out her hand. The two shook—a business meeting, Vivian decided. Honor held the woman’s hand a moment after she would have pulled away,and even in the dim light Vivian could see that her expression was serious. But the woman shook her head, patted Honor’s shoulder, and walked away.
Honor remained at the table as the waltz ended, chin in her hand as she gazed at nothing. Vivian thanked Mr. Lawrence and started to cross the dance floor toward her, but as she moved through the press of bodies the woman in gold crossed her path.
It was Sadie Monaldo, and the sight of her made Vivian pause, though she had to dodge out of the way of a dancing couple a moment later. She hadn’t realized Sadie and Honor knew each other. Honor noticed everyone that came into her club, of course, but their talk in the corner had seemed personal. Frowning, Vivian changed course, following as Sadie left the dance hall. She had to dodge around several more couples on the way, and by the time she made it to the back hall, Sadie was already heading out the door to the alley.
Stepping outside made Vivian shiver. It felt the same as it had the night Willard Wilson died, the same staccato bursts of light, the same distant noises. She glanced at the corner where Wilson’s body had been, though there was no trace now that anything had happened there. She wondered how many other corners of the city had seen death swept so casually away.
