“I had nothing to do with it,” Honor replied. It was the first time she had raised her voice, but there was still no hint of what she was feeling in it. “I’m as surprised as the rest of you. But I do have to point out, Miss Rokesby, that it’s hardly strange for a man to leave his money to his child.” Honor paused, and Vivian could almost picture the ironic smile hovering on her lips. “Which I am, however much of a bastard I may be.”
“She’s right, Aunt Edith.” That was Corny Rokesby, sounding exhausted. Or maybe just disappointed. “She has more claim to his money than either Mother or I do, and we all know it.”
“Corny, don’t you dare!” Miss Rokesby snapped, while Mr. Buchanan’s business partners chimed in with their own protests and outrage.
The babble continued while Mrs. Buchanan cried. Apparently, whatever Corny Rokesby thought, the rest of the room could not bear the idea of Buchanan’s low-class daughter walking away with his fortune. Throughout it all, Honor stayed silent.
Was she standing there in her men’s trousers and perfect cosmetics, determined as always to do things her own way? Vivian could picture it, could picture the confident, defiant smile on Honor’s face.
Or was she angry at these people? Was she actually sad about her father’s death? Had she cared about him at all? Vivian didn’t know, because Honor had kept it all from her. She had stood there while Vivian told her what had happened and said nothing.
The thought made Vivian angry all over again. The arguing in the next room was continuing unabated, and meanwhile she could only sit there wondering when one of them would say something that mattered, something that would help her. A week had seemed like a long time when the commissioner first set his deadline.
But it was no time at all. Vivian wondered if she should take the opportunity to leave. There’d be less of a risk that they’d hear her going upstairs if she did it while they were all still yelling at each other anyway. And maybe there was still time for her to head to Bellevue before the medical examiners went home for the night. Maybe one of them could tell her something,anything,that would help. Because she was running out of time, and the folks on the other side of that door were too busy yelling about money to care that someone had stabbed a man to death, and the only suspect the police had was just a poor Irish girl afraid for her life.
Vivian discovered that her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists and pressed her knuckles against the unyielding wood of the stairs.
She’d stay until they were done, because she couldn’t afford to miss anything that might be important. Even if listening to them did make her want to scream with frustration.
Vivian pulled her knees against her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and stayed.
“Did you learn anything helpful?” Bea asked as she held open the door beside the garage.
She had come for Vivian once the meeting was done, wanting to get her out while the rest of the staff were occupied with the other guests. Vivian had waited only a few minutes at the top of the stairs with the door just barely cracked open, wanting to be out of sight in case anyone who wasn’t Bea happened to come into the storage room.
When she had heard a familiar voice whisper, “I’ll dance ’til last call,” Vivian had darted out, not needing Bea’s gestured reminder to stay silent.
They only had a brief moment to talk at the door by the garage before Bea had to duck back inside; her question made Vivian hesitate. “I might have,” she said, thinking of Honor’s presence, the business partners with their condescension and complaints about controlling interest, Mrs. Buchanan’s sister-in-law so determined that her relatives would make a profit from Mr. Buchanan’s death. She shuddered. “Sounds like everyone in his life was a nasty piece of work. Or at least…” She trailed off, her mind turning to Honor once more.
“Look, I’ve gotta run. We’ll talk tonight, okay? I’m on with the band at nine.”
“Sure thing.” Vivian nodded. “Get back in there. I’ll sneak around front without anyone seeing me. And Bea?”
“Yeah?” Bea paused with the door half-closed.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to do this, but I—”
“Get out of here,” Bea said, rolling her eyes. “Before someone sees you and I do get canned.”
“You don’t even care about this job,” Vivian pointed out. Clearly Bea didn’t want her getting sentimental. And that was just fine. Vivian wasn’t sure she’d be able to hold it together if she did.
“Maybe not, but I don’t want to give them any excuse not to pay me. I’ll make it at least through the full day, thanks.”
“Ha,” Vivian said dryly. “See you tonight.”
She wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but she forced herself to walk slowly, not wanting to draw any attention if someone happened to look outside. The alley that went behind the house connected to several others on the block, and she kept her head down, hoping that if anyone did spot her, they’d assume she was there for one of the neighbors. But just as she was about to step out of the alley, she drew back into the shadows, staring at the street, where Honor Huxley was climbing into a cab.
But it was too risky to linger in the alley. As soon as Honor’s back was turned, Vivian started walking. She thought she was headingdowntown, but all she really knew was that she was getting away from that house. Away from anyone who might recognize her.
Away from Honor Huxley.
She had said she couldn’t help. And that look in her eyes when Vivian had told her what happened… had she been sad for Vivian or her father? Vivian didn’t know why she hadn’t admitted who he was to her, or why the fact that he was her father meant she couldn’t help. Was there some other reason, something else she was hiding?
Had that moment in the Nightingale’s basement been the moment she found out that her father had died?
Vivian’s feet slowed to a stop, the thought making her feel sick. She stood in the shadow of another looming house, arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the people passing by. None of them gave her a second glance.
Honor had sounded cool as ever in that room, but Vivian couldn’t blame her for that. She wouldn’t have shown any grief herself, not in front of those Fifth Avenue bloodsuckers, with Mrs. Buchanan sobbing about how it all wasn’t fair and that Miss Rokesby probably looking like she wanted to murder someone herself.
