Chapter Thirteen
DRESSED IN ONE of Lillie’s lush lavender satin gowns, and elbow-length white gloves, Grace jumped as the carriage wheels jolted over a pothole that night. Her chandelier earrings jangled against her throat.
“Are you all right?” Lillie asked.
“Just a little on edge tonight,” Grace said. She stole a look at Earnest, who was seated across from her. He gave her an unassuming smile that she tried to return.
But her mind was flush with questions.
She tried not to flinch when he offered his hand to help her down from the carriage, his palm brushing the small of her back. She had promised Lillie no more secrets.
But she needed Earnest to get her inside the Ball, first.
And she couldn’t very well say anything to Lillie about Oliver’s claims right in front of him, now could she?
Earnest flashed an invitation and ushered them inside before the guard could question them.
Grace’s breath caught in her chest like a trapped bird as they stepped into the magnificent Sculpture Hall in the Palace of Fine Arts.
It was the only structure built to last beyond the fair.
Everything else would be turned to dust, but the marble floors and the dramatic, soaring ceilings, modeled after the grand public baths in Rome, would remain.
To house the world’s most precious treasures, it had to be fireproof.
Grace paused in front of the museum’s facade, reading the words etched into it: ART STILL HAS TRUTH. TAKE REFUGE THERE.
She followed the sound of rushing water and the train of Lillie’s emerald dress as it swept across the gleaming floors.
Inside the museum, Roman arches and white walls were framed with blood-red roses and burgundy leaves.
One of the walls was covered with plush moss, and in the center of the hall was a stone fountain filled entirely with floating peonies and lilies.
There were sculptures by Rodin and works of art hung in gilded frames by artists like Winslow Homer, Hokusai, and Juan Luna de San Pedro y Novicio Ancheta—not to mention a seventeen-foot portrait of the Empress Dowager of China.
It felt as though gold dust glittered through the air.
The crowd parted to let them through. Earnest led the way, but once he had passed, the glances became decidedly sour. Women in satin and tulle turned their backs to snub Lillie, whispering as she walked by. Grace was used to it, but she felt proud to see the way that Lillie’s head remained high.
Lillie’s parents stood at the far end of the room, apart from the crowd. Aunt Clove was sipping a drink as though she didn’t have a care in the world, but her mouth was tight.
As Lillie went to greet her parents, Grace dropped away.
And to Grace’s surprise, Earnest came with her.
She stiffened, instinctively searching the room for Theodore. But all she saw were unfamiliar faces, many of them frowning back at her. Her heart sank a little.
“I know we all spoke to the police that night, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear what happened from other people’s perspectives,” Earnest said, surveying the room.
Grace eyed him. “It’s a good idea.”
Her pulse skipped a beat, and she pondered asking him about Oliver’s revelation, but at the last minute she said, “I’ll start with the Gatewoods.”
“Their daughter had quite an advantageous proposal,” Earnest whispered covertly in her ear. “From someone close to the fair’s head, David R. Francis. That’s why they are back on the map, like chess pieces.”
Grace ordered herself a flute of sparkling lemonade from the bar and made her way through the labyrinthine galleries, trailing Mr. Gatewood at a distance.
She watched him, sipping her drink, until he stopped in front of a Caravaggio painting.
She bit the inside of her cheek.
She would do this for Oliver.
Gathering her courage like it was the dress in her hand, she approached, joining him to admire the artwork side by side.
For a moment she stayed quiet. She thought he hadn’t noticed her. A small bead of sweat began to slide down the curve of her back. Until, without deigning to look at her, he drawled in the direction of the painting, “Did you have something you wished to say to me, Miss Covington?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I’ve heard my family may have something to apologize for.”
He seemed surprised.
“You’d be the first of them to admit it,” he said.
“It probably doesn’t mean much coming from me,” she conceded. “I’m hardly the family figurehead.” She cleared her throat.
He turned and finally looked at her. “No,” he seemed to agree. “You hardly speak for them. And yet, it does mean something.”
Grace’s lips were dry. She drank in the rich colors of the painting in front of them. It was the opposite of comforting. In fact, it was quite gruesome—a depiction of Salome with the head of John the Baptist. She forced herself not to look away from the severed head resting on the platter.
“Are you still angry with them?” she asked steadily.
Mr. Gatewood sighed. “After what happened to that poor girl, I can’t find it within myself to be angry anymore,” he said, swirling the gin in his glass.
“I will admit that in my darker moments, I might have wished tragedy upon your family. Betrayals, particularly around money, can short sight you. But now I think that they are going to suffer more than even I wanted them to.”
Grace held her tongue as he shook his head.
“People tend to get hurt around that family. Particularly the ones closest to them.” He drained his drink and looked at Grace sadly. “Be careful.”
Grace stood alone in front of the painting long after he walked away.
She could hardly cross Mr. Gatewood off her list of subjects based on his own word, and yet she felt herself mentally doing it anyway. Perhaps she was naive. But she believed him. His last words to her hadn’t been a threat. They had been a warning.
“It’s an interesting painting to be examining this closely,” a voice murmured near her ear.
A thread of icicles formed along her spine. She turned slowly.
“A little bloody. People might start to get ideas,” Earnest said. He flashed her a charming smile, but this time she realized that she’d never noticed how smooth it was, almost like a Cheshire cat. “Would you like to dance, Miss Covington?”
He held out his hand.
The bandages had been removed, and he wore formal gloves now, hiding the skin beneath that was pink and new.
“Yes,” she said, ignoring the fear that rose in her throat.
She was conscious of his every move. The way his hand slid around her back.
The way he breathed, his breath tinged with something sweet.
Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Lillie standing on the sidelines of the ballroom, sipping her drink.
Alone. For the first time in her life, no one in this fickle crowd had asked her to dance.
Grace felt a red rage creeping along the back of her eyes.
“Were you at the police station today?” Earnest asked. Just beneath his cologne, she could smell the hint of alcohol on his breath.
She tried to keep her own breathing steady.
“I went to visit Oliver,” she said carefully. “How did you know?”
He tightened his grip on her. Subtle, but noticeable. “I thought I saw you there,” he said.
“And yet I didn’t see you,” she said. For a fleeting moment of fear, she wondered if he somehow knew what Oliver had whispered in her ear.
But that was ridiculous.
She and Oliver had been alone.
“What were you doing there?” she forced herself to ask. She faltered a little, her mind tripping on the dance steps.
“The police called me in with their findings about my flying machine,” he said. “They didn’t think the crash was malicious. Just a good old-fashioned engineering failure that almost killed me.”
She paused, her mouth going dry.
“And what do you think?” she asked.
“To be honest, I think they’re wrong,” he said.
He said it with a smile that felt bright yet was tinged with bitters.
The bruises on his handsome face were fading, almost imperceptible now beneath the powder.
“I think someone was trying to make sure I didn’t win that prize money, or maybe even make it out of the sky alive.
But—” He twirled her, and for a moment Grace felt like she might fall, but at the last moment he caught her.
“What can you do?” he said low in her ear.
“There are bigger problems we’re dealing with here. As we are both well-aware.”
Aunt Clove was watching Grace from the dance floor, over Uncle Reginald’s shoulder. While dancing, it was harder to tell that no one was eager to speak with them. Grace could feel Aunt Clove’s glare cut through her, silently blaming her for the way Lillie was standing alone.
How does it feel, Grace wanted to ask her, when people treat you badly for something you had nothing to do with?
“I saw you speaking to Mr. Gatewood,” Earnest said. “Do you think it could have been him?”
Grace’s eyes slid back to Earnest.
“I’m not sure,” she said faintly.
She caught a glimpse of Frannie over Earnest’s shoulder.
Frannie Allred wasn’t traditionally handsome but there was something about her that night that was glowing, as she smiled without a care in the world, twining her fingers through Copper’s red hair.
He said something that set Frannie to laughing, and they walked past Lillie with no acknowledgment.
Doing nothing to save her from the ridicule and loneliness she must be feeling.
Grace gritted her teeth. Frannie Allred was selfish, utterly lacking in compassion, believing others to be beneath herself.
She had wanted Copper or Theodore or even Oliver for herself.
What if she simply couldn’t stand for Harriet to be in her way?
To get something Frannie didn’t believe she deserved to have? Could it have pushed her to murder?
With a deep pang Grace imagined Harriet and Oliver together on the dance floor, where they should have been. Twirling. Laughing. Young, and in love.