“Beyond the obvious.”
“What is obvious to some is madness to others,” Silas replied.
Elswyth hesitated. She thought of women found dead in alleyways, mutilated, while the police did nothing and the nobility ate lotus flowers in their gilded palaces.
“One does not need to travel far to see the abuses of empire,” she said. “One simply needs to cross the Thames.”
Silas said nothing. When Elswyth dared to look up from her plate, he was staring at her, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked almost angry, with his eyebrows drawn together, amber eyes smoldering beneath them. His lips twisted into a slight frown, revealing a dimple on his left side.
“What is it?” Elswyth said.
“No one knows quite what to make of you yet,” Silas said.
“Is that so?”
Silas leaned toward her and spoke in a low voice. “Miss Elderwood, I don’t know why I am saying this, but I suppose I shall. I imagine that you want to make an impression here. That your matchmaker has told you to dazzle, stand out, be noticed. Thus your idiocy, upstaging Venus with that tableau vivant.”
“Idiocy? I thought it went rather well.”
He wrapped his hand around the arm of her chair so hard that the wood creaked. His fingers were so close to her thigh that the heat of his skin soaked through the thin silk of her gown.
“One thing you should know about Venus, Miss Elderwood—nothing she does is accidental. Drusilla did not break a cello string. She meant to put you on that stage, hoping you would make a fool of yourself.”
Elswyth blinked. “What? To what end?”
“To remind you of your place,” Silas said.
“And what purpose would she have for that? You should know that she has good reasons to court me as an ally.” Elswyth looked at him significantly and then glanced over her shoulder, checking to see that no one could hear.
“You cannot be so naïve—”
“Naïve?” Elswyth said, raising an eyebrow.
“I only meant—”
“I do appreciate your concern, Sir Silas,” Elswyth said, cutting him off. A chill seeped into her voice. “But I know what I am doing. And you would do well to remember that I know things that would ruinyourreputation as well.”
Silas frowned, turning away and dabbing his lips with a napkin. “If you knew anything, you would know that I am already ruined. A bastard is ruined the moment he is born. And with that knowledge, consider this, Miss Elderwood: When Venus sat you at this table, she sat you withme.”
Elswyth frowned. Captain Burr and Mr. Plum returned to the table and sat. Silas leaned away from her, straightening in his seat.
She glanced down the long table. Lord Forscythe sat at the head, surrounded by other men of rank: Lord Forrester, Lord Barry, and her uncle Percival. Then Lady Forscythe and her peers followed by Venus and the other debutantes. And then there were the others: Captain Burr, a soldier. Mr. Plum, a wealthy commoner. And finally, Elswyth and Silas. No one had been seated to Silas’sleft. He was the very last guest, a strange little appendage, as if he were an afterthought.
Silas turned from her and raised his voice, cutting into Captain Burr and Mr. Plum’s conversation. “Gentlemen,” he said, “why don’t we abscond to the parlor for a cigar? Beat me in cards, and I promise to tell you the story of how the Butcher of Bengal earned his name.”
Captain Burr grinned, crooked teeth slightly reddish from the wine. “Right-o. Come on, Plum.” He moved to stand but then coughed and sat back down. “Ah. Too much brandy,” he said, seeming embarrassed. He blinked furiously. Mr. Plum, to his right, cleared his throat. “Erm—Captain. You’ve got something in your eye. Right there.”
Captain Burr continued to blink. And there, coming from the corner of his left eye, Elswyth saw a small white flower bloom.
Captain Burr paused, wincing before scratching out the flower. It fell on the table. He looked at it stupidly for a moment, and then another flower sprouted in the same spot. He blinked again, scraping at it.
“Are you all right, Captain?” Elswyth said, but she was cut off by Captain Burr’s cough. He hacked once, twice, and then sprayed a plume of blood across the table, speckled with white flowers.
There was a moment of silence before Mr. Plum screamed. Then the room erupted into chaos. Captain Burr tried to stand but tripped and fell over his chair, landing in a heap on the ground. Begonia Pritchett, seeing the blood on the tablecloth and the man writhing on the floor, shrieked. Her Uncle Percival was the only one to run to him. And yet even he paused a few feet away, simply staring at Captain Burr. It took Elswyth a moment to realize why: From the skin of his eyelids, white flowers had begun to bloom.
They were small at first, but they grew quickly. Soon they crowded out his eyes entirely, like clusters of little stars. He clawed at them, but for each flower he tore away, two more sprouted. His nails cut red gashes into the skin around his eyes.
He choked again, spraying blood across the floor. And then, from his open mouth, the stalk of a white flower appeared. More followed it, creeping from his throat and spreading from his lips in a strange smile, a full bouquet to match the ones sprouting from his eyes. Captain Burr twitched once, twice, and then was dead. Elswyth stared at the flowers still slowly pouring from the man’s mouth and recognized the star-white bloom of asphodel.
