“Mrs. Rose, please give me a moment alone with my niece,” Percival said.
“But Lord Devereux, the gossip columns—”
“Please. Only for a moment,” he said, smiling kindly.
Mrs. Rose looked at him, huffed, and then stomped out of the room. Percival didn’t try to remove Elswyth from the floor. Instead, he moved to the workbench, examining her schematics.
“Quite ingenious, I dare say,” Percival said, standing on his tiptoes to look inside. “Was this your idea?”
Elswyth looked at the orb, then back to the desk. “Dr. Gall’s. The actual formula is my own, as well as the pressurized solar chamber you see there. Once it works—if it works—the reinforced glass will allow sunlight in. Photosynthesis should allow the microorganisms to create a self-sufficient source of flammable gas. But I can’t get the balance of microorganisms right, and it just keeps exploding.”
Percival let out a brusque laugh. “So it was your idea. You have a way of shying away from the sun, my dear.”
Elswyth stood, brushing off the grime from her gown. She moved to the workbench next to her uncle. “Some flowers do better in the shade. Last time I was the center of attention, I poisoned a ballroom of eligible bachelors. And nearly killed the only one I actually fancied.”
Percival frowned. “You and I both know that wasn’t your fault,” he said. “The Forscythe girl tricked you.”
“Wasn’t it? It was my fault for trusting her. I was naïve, and I paid for it. And now I’ve ruined my chances at finding Persephone’s killer. Not to mention finding a match for myself. She outwitted me and succeeded in making me a pariah. My only question iswhy?She was supposedly close friends with Persephone. Why go out of her way to ruin my reputation?”
Percival’s face twisted into a frown. “Elswyth, you worry me. What are you implying?”
“I thought that Persephone’s killer was a nobleman. Someone with power and status enough to influence the police. Perhaps a jilted lover or an admirer whose advances she rejected. Venus insisted they were friends, but I’ve seen the way she treats her friends. Perhaps Persephone’s killer isn’t a noblemanat all. Perhaps it’s Venus Forscythe.”
Percival looked horrified. “But why? What possible motivation could Venus have?”
“Persephone was just as beautiful as Venus and a thousand times as kind. Perhaps Venus saw her as competition. And then there is the matter of Captain Burr. He was murdered in her house. How simple would it have been to lace his drink and have a servant deliver it?”
“Elswyth, this is madness. You cannot go about accusing every significant person in London of being involved in Persephone’s death. Besides, a girl of eighteen does not have the influence to sway the Metropolitan Police, as you claim.”
“No, but her father does. He has the funds and the title to sway anyone. If his only daughter was involved in a murder, certainly he would help cover it up. Especially if she might one day marry the prince. His grandchildren would be kings.”
Even as Elswyth explained her reasoning, doubt crept in. What motive did Venus really have to hate Persephone, let alone to kill her? And what of the Reaper? She doubted that Venus Forscythe was involved in the dismemberment of prostitutes, but she was certain that Persephone was in the Rows on the night she was murdered. Nor could she discern why Venus might want to kill Captain Burr. None of it made sense, and yet Elswyth couldn’t vanquish the itching feeling that somehow everything was connected. Each thread she uncovered twisted up the wall like ivy, tangled together until she could not discern one possibility from another.
“Perhaps, Elswyth,” Percival said, shifting uncomfortably. “Or perhaps it is more comforting to you to believe in a grand conspiracy than it is to accept that sometimes people die for no reason at all.”
An awkward silence settled between them. Elswyth turned away, not wanting him to see the tears pricking at her eyes. She took the papers on her desk and began stacking them. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore. Half the important people in London were at that dance, and if they weren’t, then they heard about it in the gossip columns. I’m ruined.” She let the word linger. That word meant failure. It meant watching her father die because she could not afford the medicine to save him. It meant failing to find a husband and being cast into the world as a woman alone, to suffer whatever fate awaited her there.
“Elswyth—”
“It’s true. You know it, I know it, Mrs. Rose certainly knows it. And because I am no longer welcome in society, no one will answer my questions about Persephone, as I’m sure Venus intended. She has ruined my marriage prospects and my search for my sister in one swing of the blade. I would almost respect her, if I did not hate her so.”
Elswyth’s tears fell freely now, staining the papers on her desk. “I would do well to return home and wed Cousin Ficus,” she said quietly, “if he’ll still take me, monster that I am.”
Uncle Percival sighed. He took a seat on the stool near the workbench and exhaled slowly. “You confound me, sometimes, Elswyth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here you are, worried if these people will accept you on your social graces. What gown you wear, how your hair is done—”
“If I poison them…”
Percival smiled. “While here you have something that none of them do. How many people in this city could conceive of this?” He gestured to the living engine, still seeping green foam from its mouth. “Hell, how many people in the bloody world could conceive of it?”
“It was Dr. Gall’s idea—”
“Like hell it was! Oleander is a friend, Elswyth, and the man is full of fantasies of impossible machines. You turned his idea into reality. That’s a rare gift, Elswyth. Far more rare than beauty.”
“And what does it matter?” she asked, turning on him. She hated the softness in his voice when he spoke to her, as though she were a wounded animal that needed to be coaxed from its cage. “Who cares about methane or photosynthesis or chemoautotrophy? No one! The only things people care about are how well I can dance and how fair my face is and how many more fair daughters I could bear, if they deigned to impregnate me!”
