Chapter Eleven #2
Maximilian shook his head. “I despise smoking in all its variants—it’s a nasty habit, if you ask me. But as I was saying, many of the people attending today’s match are members of high society. You’ll have an opportunity to speak to people who knew him, and gather information. You’re welcome.”
Vesper crossed her arms. “And what exactly will you be doing?”
“I—”
“Maximilian!”
An older, well-dressed couple was approaching them. The man’s hair was gray, the woman’s pale blond. Vesper guessed they might be in their sixties or seventies. She also thought she recognized the woman, who spoke first.
“Maximilian.” She stopped before them and kissed both of the sorcerer’s cheeks. “So good to see you, dear.”
“And you, Lara.” Maximilian’s voice was instantly warmer, smoother.
Lara. Vesper combed through her memory before it came to her. Lara Oelrich. She was from the Basalton Museum of Art’s Heritage Society, the woman who’d introduced Mr. Gladwell at the exhibition Friday night.
“And John.” Maximilian addressed the man beside Mrs. Oelrich. “It’s nice to see you as well.”
“How rude of us.” Mrs. Oelrich turned her attention to Vesper, as though she’d just noticed her there. “We didn’t introduce ourselves to your friend.”
“Please, allow me.” Maximilian turned to Vesper. “Miss Evans, this is Mr. and Mrs. Oelrich. John, Lara, please be introduced to Miss Vesper Evans.”
“Vesper.” Mrs. Oelrich repeated the name like it was an exotic dish she’d never tried. “That’s lovely.”
“Thank you.” Vesper did her best to smile.
From a distance, Mrs. Oelrich had looked normal, but up close there was something decidedly unsettling about her face.
Her skin was too white and smooth, her nose too pointed, her coiffed hair a shade too bright.
She looked like one of those caricature drawings Vesper sometimes saw street artists peddling.
“Are you new to Basalton?” Mrs. Oelrich asked. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”
Vesper paused. “I…”
“Miss Evans is from Maplegrove,” said Maximilian. “We met this summer, while I was there on business.”
Vesper exhaled in relief.
“Maplegrove,” Mrs. Oelrich repeated. “How interesting!” Her tone was mild, but there was a new touch of shrewdness in the woman’s eyes. Vesper had the distinct feeling she was being assessed.
“Mrs. Oelrich, I was just telling Miss Evans about the wonderful work you did to lead the Heritage Society’s restoration of the museum’s botanical garden and maze,” said Maximilian.
“You’re too kind!” said Mrs. Oelrich. She turned to Vesper.
“Normally, I’d give you a private tour of the grounds myself, dear, but in light of recent events…
” She shuddered. “Well, hopefully all that business is taken care of soon.” To Maximilian, she said: “I received your letter and will have my personal secretary send you a copy of the maze’s blueprint this week! ”
The sorcerer bowed. “Much obliged.”
Mr. Oelrich cleared his throat. “Lara and I wanted to express our condolences, Maximilian. We were very sorry your wonderful event was marred by such a terrible tragedy with that Gladwell fellow. Sad business indeed.”
“Thank you,” said Maximilian courteously. “I appreciate it.”
Perfect, Vesper thought, an opening. “Did the two of you know Francis Gladwell?” she asked.
“We met the inventor once, and I introduced him at the exhibition because I’m a member of the Heritage Society,” said Mrs. Oelrich, “but we were never especially familiar with him.”
“Did you speak to him on the night he died?” Vesper pressed. “Did anything about him seem off?”
“Apologies,” said Maximilian quickly. “I think I’ve just spotted someone waving me down. Please, excuse us.” He gently but firmly escorted Vesper away.
“Well, that was subtle,” he muttered once they were out of the couple’s earshot. Vesper was surprised to hear annoyance in his voice. She turned on him, frowning.
“Are we here to gather information, or socialize?” she asked. “I was just trying to get to the point.”
Maximilian rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re at a polo match, not in an interrogation room.
” He leaned in, looking serious. “If you want to get any useful information out of this crowd, you’re going to have to use a different approach, employ a bit more finesse. Can you manage that?”
Vesper crossed her arms. “Fine.”
“Thank you.”
She let a beat pass before the question on the tip of her tongue escaped her. “What was wrong with Mrs. Oelrich’s face? She looked … odd.”
Maximilian shifted his weight, visibly uncomfortable. “A bit too much cosmetic sorcery is my guess,” he said.
“Sorcery?” Vesper blinked. “Do you mean people use sorcery on themselves, to change their appearance?”
Maximilian nodded. “It’s not popular, but yes.
Some people use it to enhance or change different physical features on their body.
The work is complicated and has to be performed by sorcerers with specialized training.
The incantations are fairly short-lived, which means they also have to be renewed somewhat frequently.
As you saw, doing it too often can have a somewhat … jarring effect.”
Again, Vesper stared directly into Maximilian’s eyes.
They’d been blue the night they’d met, then green, then gray.
Today, they were hazel. Were those color changes the result of cosmetic sorcery too?
Was that how Maximilian knew so much about it?
She opened her mouth to ask him at the same time the sorcerer looked down at his watch to check the time.
He checked his watch. “Ah, I’m late.”
“Late?” Vesper repeated. “For what?”
Maximilian shrugged off his coat. To Vesper’s surprise, he wasn’t wearing his usual suit and tie underneath, but a crimson polo shirt and tan trousers.
“Are you quite serious, Mr. Kite? A polo match, now?”
“Some of the men playing today were chummy with Gladwell,” he said. “You’re going to do your information gathering, and I’m going to do mine. I’ll report back after.”
“But—”
“Good luck!” He was already walking down toward the field.
Vesper watched him go, a more complicated array of emotions churning within her.
She certainly would have preferred that Maximilian stay with her, but she was also a bit relieved to get some space from him.
She replayed what had happened in the coach, and thought of the firmness of his chest under her palm, the way his lips had parted just slightly as he’d stared at her.
She was normally so good at reading people, but Maximilian was continuing to prove the exception. Why?
Never mind that. Focus. If Maximilian wants reconnaissance, that’s what you’ll do.
Vesper steeled herself, then headed toward the field.
If Vesper had anticipated an easy trek to the cluster of small white pavilions where the match spectators were expected to sit, she was quickly proven wrong.
Though the grounds themselves were flat, recent rainfall made for a particularly muddy and difficult slog.
Bisan had sent a new dress to the Globe for her to wear—a plum-colored walking gown with an elaborate bustle and matching hat, and Vesper was loath to ruin it.
She found a group of empty seats near the field’s border and settled into one, trying to think of a best course of action from here.
Usually, when Tom sent her off on an assignment, she prepared a list of interviewees and questions she wanted to try to answer in advance.
Here though, she had no list, no idea where to start.
“Is this seat taken?”
Vesper looked up. The young woman approaching her looked familiar. Vesper remembered her name.
Ada.
They’d met at the exhibition. Today, Ada was wearing a less formal—albeit just as expensive-looking—yellow walking dress. She stopped before Vesper and cocked her head. “Have we met?”
“I don’t think so,” said Vesper quickly.
Ada’s expression turned skeptical. “Are you sure? I could have sworn we had.”
“You must have me confused with someone else.”
“No.” She was studying Vesper more closely now. “I met you at the exhibition, didn’t I? You’re…” She tapped her temple a moment, thinking. “Vesper.”
Vesper started. She remembered Ada, but she certainly hadn’t expected the young woman to remember her.
“You were wearing different clothes at the exhibition,” Ada went on as she took her seat. “These are much nicer. But the fact that you said we hadn’t met even when you almost certainly knew we had tells me you’re hoping no one from the exhibition will recognize you now, including me.”
Vesper didn’t know what to say. In her line of work, she was used to being the one who made deductions about others. It was an odd sensation to have someone make conjectures about her, particularly ones that were correct.
Ada’s expression turned coy. She leaned in. “I think I know why you’re here.”
Vesper’s mouth went dry. “You do?”
“You’re a reporter.” Ada looked smug. “No doubt, you’re writing some dramatic exposé about the outrageously wasteful and excessive habits of this city’s crème de la crème. Am I right?”
Vesper breathed relief. “Well, I…”
“Don’t worry.” Ada waved a dismissive hand. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Vesper raised a brow. “You won’t?”
“No.” Ada sighed. “I actually think you should write it. High society could use a bit of a shake-up before the year’s end. Besides, if I blow your cover, I doubt I’ll see you at these sorts of events anymore, and they’re dreadfully boring without good company.”
Vesper smiled, despite herself. She found that she rather liked Ada Bickerton. There was a cleverness in the young woman’s eyes that felt refreshing, even relatable. Ada turned and nodded toward the rest of the grounds.
“So,” she asked. “How did you get here undercover?”
Vesper paused. She had no intention of telling Ada the real reason she was here, but she didn’t think pieces of the truth would hurt. “I’m a guest of Mr. Kite’s,” she said. “He’s helping me with … my work.”