Chapter Seven
The Night of the Murder
THAT EVENING, Grace dressed in the gown, one of airy, rose-colored mousseline with a hem covered in spangles made from mirrors and mother-of-pearl. The sleeves cascaded from her bare shoulders like the fountains that drained into the Grand Basin.
She did her level best to create a formal pompadour without the help of Lillie or a maid, sweeping her hair into place with as many pins as she had, and draped a strand of pearls around her neck.
They were paste, but no one need know that.
It was no different than any of the ornate buildings of the fair, made of staff pretending to be Italian marble.
She twirled so that the delicate skirt flamed and fell around her figure. She was pleased. It was perfect for the Glass Ball, to be held in the columned halls of the Palace of Varied Industries.
Oliver had said he would pick her up at seven o’clock.
But when she came down the front stairs into the hotel lobby, she saw the dark outline of a familiar silhouette.
“Mr. Parker!” she said, moving toward him.
He turned and looked at her, his face unchanged save for the slightest twitch of his mouth.
“Miss Covington,” he said, bowing.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. He looked sharply handsome, the way a well-crafted weapon could be, in his tailored frock coat and high white collar.
“Oliver was detained and asked me to ensure you arrived safely from… this place.” He glanced around the hotel lobby with a distinct air of condescension.
“How generous of you,” she said bitingly. “Can you manage to breathe in here without such rarified air?”
“Don’t worry, I brought some along in that paper bag you gave me,” he said.
She took the perfunctory arm he offered, hoping that Oliver had in fact secured her entrance to the party or this was about to be quite embarrassing.
Theodore hired a rickshaw to take them across the fairgrounds to the brightly lit Palace of Varied Industries.
They crossed beneath the massive gate and made their way toward the Louisiana Monument and the Grand Basin, surrounded by fountains and the illuminated Cascades.
She leaned forward, feeling the night breeze on her face, and he watched her with a bemusement that felt patronizing.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she ordered.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like I’m some sort of puppy,” she said.
He snorted. “Then stop acting like one.”
But the side of his mouth quirked in half a smile, and that place in her chest warmed. She didn’t hate him anymore, she realized. She had almost come to like his aloof company, in those rare moments when he shed the storm clouds he wore like a cloak.
The air smelled like sugar and roses, and the Palace of Varied Industries felt even more massive in the night.
It was lined with impressive columns, and intricately carved statues of men and women crowned the rooftop, perched above cornices and dentil molding.
As the rickshaw drew closer, Grace caught sight of the vast arched windows above the carved double doors.
A hundred evenly fitted glass panes glowed warm with golden light, beckoning them inside.
Theodore offered Grace his hand to disembark from the rickshaw.
“Mr. Gatewood!” she said with delight, stepping down.
He was an old friend of her grandfather’s, and she remembered a party she had once been to at his house where fir trees were lit with live candles.
She and Lillie had found a fairy nutcracker and taken turns closing its mouth by pressing its wings.
He had always been kind to her, asking about her mother when no one else would.
But this time, when she approached him, Mr. Gatewood looked at her like she was something on the bottom of his shoe. She had reached out her hand to greet him, but he regarded it with scorn.
“You have a lot of nerve,” he said.
He took his wife’s arm and they hurried into the Palace. His wife, Roberta, looked back with a troubled glance.
Grace was confused.
Had he not recognized her? Mistaken her for someone else?
A group of people around her were staring and beginning to whisper.
“I don’t understand,” she said faintly as Theodore appeared at her side. There were many people she expected unkindness from, but not Mr. Gatewood.
Theodore hesitated, then bent so that his voice grazed her ear. “He and your uncle had recent business interests that ended badly,” he whispered. He caught her eye and added roughly: “It wasn’t you.”
There was a compassion in his voice that made her skin flush as they approached the entrance.
“Name?” the doorman asked.
“Theodore Parker,” Theo said.
“Grace Covington,” she said, hoping that Oliver had, in fact, secured her entrance. She was unsure she could handle any more humiliation at this point as she glimpsed the elegant array of guests inside, drinking flutes of champagne and dressed in the finest clothes Grace had ever seen.
She spotted Oliver with relief, who came to greet her.
“Cousin,” he said. “You look magnificent.” He ushered her past the doorman, nodding with the air of someone accustomed to being accommodated by people eager to do his bidding. It was endearing and infuriating at the same time, even when done on her own behalf.
“Thank you for helping me to be in two places at once,” he said to Theo. “Can you believe my mother cast her out?”
“Martyrdom looks good on her,” Theo said.
“I just had an unfortunate encounter with the Gatewoods,” Grace said, irritated that Theo had been dispatched to fetch her like an errand.
“Ah, such a shame,” Oliver said, instantly sobering. “I always really liked them—admired them, even. Alistair took me under his wing for an apprenticeship one summer when I was nothing but a knobby-kneed kid.”
“What on earth happened?” Grace asked.
Oliver’s brow knitted as they passed through a bazaar draped with billowing, jewel-toned silks, then climbed a wide, grand staircase to the second floor. “They think Father screwed them earlier this year with a large business deal—to the point they’ve made threats against our family.”
“Threats?” Grace asked, shocked. She could still see the anger that lit in a flame behind Mr. Gatewood’s eyes at her presence.
“I’m surprised they’re here, to be honest,” Oliver said. “They haven’t been as welcome in high society since that deal blew up and they defaulted some of their debts.”
Earnest came to greet them as they arrived at the top of the stairs. Dressed in tails, with a high white collar and bow tie, and carrying a dapper cane, he looked so much better than he had yesterday morning. His bruises had been covered over with a bit of powder so that they had almost vanished.
“Good evening, friends,” he said, smiling. He opened his hands wide, the right one still heavily bandaged. “Grace, I’ve never seen anyone lovelier.”
Grace curtsied. Her hearted lifted, and her eyes lit up to see him.
Theodore cleared his throat. “Mr. Allred,” he said, bowing stiffly. He stepped away from Grace and excused himself to greet someone else.
“It’s good to see you,” Grace said to Earnest warmly.
It was relieving to see him looking so much better, as though despite his dramatic fall from the sky and her being thrown out of her aunt’s house, they were survivors, and everything was still going to turn out all right.
She felt a kinship with him as she scanned the room for Lillie.
Immense chandeliers dripped from painted ceilings with crystals and lush white flowers.
The lighting was turned dramatically low, save for the displays of cut glass set as centerpieces on tables.
These were illuminated so that they almost appeared to be floating.
And in the center of the room was the Libbey Glass Company’s prized cut-glass punch bowl.
It was 134 pounds of intricately decorated glass, shimmering with patterns of fleurs-de-lis that refracted the light.
It was the largest single-cut glass object in history, and was accompanied by a sterling silver ladle with a matching cut-glass handle.
The Palace of Electricity shimmered beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the fountains and boats studding the Grand Basin below.
The floor beneath Grace’s feet had been covered in a thick sheet of black glass that reflected the candlelight, as though they were walking across dark ice.
It smelled like melting wax and unfurling flowers and smoke.
For a moment, Grace was overwhelmed. Most moments she lived melted away like snow on a fingertip. But a few seminal ones stayed. Captured in a globe, to be turned and examined from every angle.
Something in her sensed this night could be one of those.
“Allow me to introduce you to my good friend Copper,” Earnest said, bringing her toward where Frannie nursed a drink at a standing table.
“We’ve met,” Grace said.
“It’s good to see you again, this time in better circumstances,” Copper said, offering her a bow. His red hair was brilliant against his black tails. His eyes were a dark, striking blue.
Frannie was staring up at Copper with unmasked adoration. Poor Frannie. She always seemed to be hoping someone worthy of her fortune would notice her.
And this time, Copper turned and smiled at her. He bent his head to whisper something in her ear and she brightened. It was rare and then gone, like one of the flickering bulbs on the Palace of Electricity.
“Would you like to dance?” Earnest asked. A string quartet was situated in a dim corner, playing quietly as couples took to the dance floor.
Grace grasped his wrist, to avoid his bandages. His other hand slid around her waist.
“Where’s Lillie?” he asked, looking around the crowd.
“I’m not sure,” Grace said. “I expect she’ll be here soon.” There was a wistful look on his face that made Grace’s heart fall with the weight of a feather.
He must have noticed. “She helped me so much that night, you see,” he added gently.
“Of course. Do they know what happened yet?” she asked, studying his face.