Vivian cleared her throat. “Violet,” she said slowly, watching the man as she spoke. His shoulders, which had been stiff and pulled up, as though he were preparing for something unpleasant, were relaxing once more. She wanted to shout with triumph, but she kept a disarming smile pasted across her face while she tried to picture the words Rokesby had written. “Charmer. Snakebite…”
Damn it, what was the last one?
“Gin.”
This time, she was sure she hadn’t imagined the smile as he stepped over to the column-shaped table. Flicking open the top of the box with a single finger, he pulled out a white half-mask, black ribbons dangling from its sides, the whole thing sparkling with glass beads. He held it out to her with a little bow.
Vivian took it, trying to hold back the urge to laugh. What was this baloney? But hiding her face from whoever was on the other side of that curtain probably wasn’t the worst idea in the world. As she tied it across her face, the man stepped aside and gestured toward the velvet curtain. “Enjoy your evening, madam.”
“Thanks so much!” she said brightly, giving him a little wave, whichhe returned with a bemused nod. She pulled the velvet curtain back just enough that she could step past it.
The first room had been smaller than she expected. This one was larger, though half of it was still left in shadow. There were three small, round tables set up in the middle of the room, though only a few people sat at them. A handful of other men and women hovered near the chairs or around the edges of the room, some chatting, others silent. Though they were all dressed for the party upstairs, none of them were wearing costumes, other than half-masks like the one she had been given.
Vivian had the feeling that this gathering, whatever it was, was the real reason each of them had found their way to the lodge ball that night.
Two women in skimpy, spangled outfits with feathers in their hair were moving through the room with trays, offering the guests glasses of champagne. Everyone she saw accepted, some of them toasting each other with the familiarity of old acquaintances. Or maybe rivals—their smiles weren’t exactly friendly. Others tossed back their drinks with grim determination or sipped them slowly, leaning back in their chairs as they surveyed their surroundings.
Vivian didn’t much want another drink herself; she’d had plenty upstairs already and getting fuzzy-headed didn’t sound like such a good idea when she still didn’t know what was going on.
But she didn’t want to stand out either. When the waitress came to her, Vivian accepted a glass, lifting it to her lips and taking the smallest sip possible as she tried to look around without being too obvious.
The people were well worth looking at, even with their masks on. Every tie and handkerchief there was silk; every gown was beaded or fringed, and to her eye, clearly hand-sewn. The weight of money was thick in the air. As her gaze moved around the room, Vivian suddenly realized why.
Each table had a clear glass box set in its center. All the boxes werelocked with small, heavy padlocks. And clearly visible inside each were three unopened packs of cards and two trays of ivory dice.
Gambling.XXwas code for gambling—exclusive and, she could guess from the wealth on display, very high-stakes gambling. Vivian didn’t know whether to laugh or run for the door. She had no experience with cards or craps and knew she couldn’t bluff her way through a single game. But she didn’t want to leave before…
Vivian turned slowly, still hiding behind her champagne, to eye the rest of the guests. There. He was slouching in one corner, his masked face turned away from the room as he talked with one of the other gamblers. But she recognized those bright red curls and the way he tapped his fingers against his thigh in a fidgety, anxious rhythm. She hoped, for his sake, that he didn’t do that while he was gambling.
If he was here tonight, that probably meant that the day his stepfather was murdered, he was busy losing money at the craps table. Or maybe winning it at poker. Either way, he couldn’t have been doing that and killing Buchanan at the same time.
But maybe he had lost early and headed home. Someone had been sticking arsenic in Buchanan’s drinks, after all, and who better than the stepson who lived with him? Maybe Rokesby had been content to wait for his inheritance until he had stumbled home that day, broke and desperate, and wanted to hurry things up. Or maybe Buchanan had found out about the gambling, and they had gotten into a fight—
Vivian was so busy thinking through all the ways that Rokesby might still be guilty that it took her a moment to notice the scowly man in the checked suit. He was stationed at the opposite wall, the only one there not wearing a mask, watching the room with a greasy, narrow-eyed gaze. And as that gaze found her, he frowned.
Vivian’s stomach clenched. He had been talking to Rokesby upstairs, which meant the masks were to protect their identities from each other. The scowling man must know who everyone was.
He would know that she didn’t belong.
Vivian kept her gaze moving around the room, turning slowly away from the man in the checked suit, not wanting him to realize that she had seen him watching her. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. She wasn’t that far from the door. It would be easy enough to slip out, and—
“Hello again, pretty girl.”
Vivian started, spilling champagne over her fingers, as the suave voice spoke right near her ear. Spinning around, she found herself facing her partner from the Charleston upstairs, the wings of gray hair at his temples looking like an elegant extension of his own mask. He grinned at her and took the hand holding the champagne in his own.
“Dear, dear,” he murmured. “Let’s not have that go to waste.” Before she could protest, he had lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed away the drops of champagne.
Vivian, hot all over, pulled it away as soon as she could without spilling more. “I told you I was only interested in a dance,” she said coldly, though she kept her voice low enough that no one else in the room would hear.
He only laughed, releasing her without complaint. “Well, pretty girl, clearly you’re interested in more than that,” he said, gesturing around the room. “If I had known we were heading to the same place, I would have offered to escort you down. But…” He looked her over once more. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before?” There was a curious lilt to his voice, and she saw his brows rise behind his mask as he waited for a response.
He was a regular, then. Which meant he’d know whether Rokesby had been at the last one or not. Vivian gave him a flirting smile while she tried to remember what she had read in Rokesby’s appointment book. “My pal would have gotten me into the one on the fifteenth, but it’s harder to slip away in the daytime, isn’t it? At least, for a girl like me.” She gave him an unsubtle look up and down while she took another sipof champagne. “I imagine a fella like you has a lot more say in how you spend your days.”
He laughed again. “True enough, I suppose. Though now I’m curious who among our fellow players got to know you before I did.”
It was the opening she was waiting for. Vivian tilted her head toward Corny Rokesby. “My fire-haired friend over there.”
“Mr. Red?” The man glanced at Corny, looking surprised. “I bet he’s glad you weren’t there after all. No man likes to have a pretty girl see him lose that badly.”
