"So, ghosts, huh?" said Julian wryly. "Why are they picking on Lucas' guests, do you think?"
"Annoyed about the ballroom," said Alex, playing along. "It's not lavish enough for their ghostly balls."
"Or too lavish," said Julian, though really it hit a very tasteful middle ground between boring and garish. There were gilded mirrors on several of the walls, and a big wall of windows as well, so dancers could benefit from all the beautiful lighting to admire themselves and others.
"Not purple enough," said Alex.
Julian giggled, which meant Alex won this round of cheering. "Anyway, who do you have left from the fearsome four?"
"Halliwell and Knapweed. Both the Baronets have been playing cards all afternoon." Alex sighed. "I suppose we could change rooms, though it's comfortable here in our little corner."
They were posted up in the same two-person grouping as before, so no one could just sit and join them without moving furniture, which guaranteed people circulating past all afternoon. They were even more persons of interest now that they were investigating a murder, though their rank gave them a certain immunity to being accused themselves.
Julian got up. "We can get more coffee in there, I bet," he cajoled, holding out a hand.
"You do know how to lure me," said Alex, standing up and bringing their long-empty cups along with them. They'd both kept their cups close, just in case, since they were an actual logical choice for next victims, as opposed to either of the first two.
"I still can't find anyone who truly disliked Wicket," said Alex, shaking his head. They passed a few people in the halls, including Halliwell going the other way, but she showed no inclination to stop and chat so they let her pass unbothered for now.
Once in the room, they went first to the bar for fresh coffee, and then over to the card table where Margot and Sylvia Knapweed appeared to be cleaning up at cards with Smythe-Darbyshire and Groundstone.
"Are you ladies taking shameless advantage of these men?" asked Alex, attempting to be charming and possibly failing.
"Nonsense," said Margot. "They've got as good of a chance as we do, so if they were any good they'd be winning."
"We're having fun," assured Darbyshire. "I don't need to be coddled over pocket change."
Given that it looked like a few thousand on the table at least, Julian wasn't sure he'd call that pocket change, but he also was no longer rich the way Darbyshire was rich. The way all of these people were rich, regardless of rank.
Not that they didn't live like they still were, most of the time. Between Julian and Alex's clothing allowances, the brownies, and the house, they were living well above what Alex had been used to before they'd been married.
Julian loved it, of course, but he still balked at calling it pocket change, given how many of his friends could use that cash for good.
"Will you donate your winnings, then?" asked Julian, before he could help himself. "As a little side bet with me."
"If we clean these two out, sure," said Sylvia. "You pick a charity and we'll donate what we've won."
"That way even Groundstone here can be a good sport about it," said Margot, sounding amused.
Groundstone chuckled. "I never did like losing, but you two are too good," he allowed. "I won't mind my money going to a good cause."
"I promise to choose something worthy," said Julian, already thinking of one of Father Stephen's pet projects to help feed breakfast to schoolchildren who might not otherwise get a morning meal.
Alex sent him a warm wave of love and pride.
The other tables were mostly playing for chips rather than money, as befitted proper ladies, but the Knapweeds had made a social career out of bucking the idea of what befit a proper lady of rank and this was no different.
Julian leaned in to see what they were playing, only to feel a sharp spike of distress from Alex. He turned and saw Alex staring in horror at his coffee cup.
"Poison," said Alex, and then he crumpled gracelessly to the floor.
Julian actually managed to catch the cup, while Geoff practically sprinted over to check on Alex. He'd been lurking in a corner when they came in, watching Chudleigh play whist with some of his guests and looking too tired to have taken their advice and napped.
"Belladonna," said Julian, once he'd sent his magic through the beverage, feeling stupid for having been too distracted to do so before. "His and mine both, but I never had a sip."
Everyone looked over to where Smithson was tending the bar. He'd been relieved of suspicion because he hadn't been in the room when Winterson was poisoned.
"Smithson, I need containers for both of these," said Julian. "I don't think he's had much, but the magical version works faster and produces prophetic, hallucinatory dreams, if it doesn't kill you."
