“Some more than others,” Tara adds.
“True,” her sister agrees. “Scent is often underestimated, when it can be the most evocative.”
“They are brilliant with atmosphere,” Chandresh remarks to Celia as he joins their conversation, switching her empty glass of champagne with a freshly poured replacement. “Both of them, absolutely brilliant.”
“The trick is to make it seem as though none of it is purposeful,” Lainie whispers. “To make the artificial feel natural.”
“To tie all the elements together,” Tara finishes.
It seems to Celia that they provide a similar service within the present company. Celia doubts that these gatherings would have continued so long after the circus began without the Burgess sisters’ infectious bubbling laughter. They ask the perfect questions to keep the conversation flowing, warding off any lulls.
And Mr. Barris provides an ideal contrast, serious and attentive, keeping the dynamic of the group in balance.
A movement in the hall catches Celia’s eye, and while anyone else might have credited a number of candles or mirrors for the reflection, she knows the cause immediately.
She steps out into the hall unnoticed, slipping out of sight into the shadowed library across from the parlor. It is lit only by a panel of stained glass stretching in a glowing sunset along one wall, sending its warm hue cascading over the closest shelves and letting the rest of the room fall into shadow.
“Can I not have one evening to enjoy myself without you following me?” Celia whispers into the darkness.
“I do not think social engagements of this sort are a proper use of your time,” her father replies, the sunset light catching part of his face and the front of his shirt in a distorted column of red.
“You do not get to dictate how I spend every moment of my time, Papa.”
“You are losing your focus,” Hector replies.
“I cannot lose my focus,” Celia says. “Between new tents and embellishments, I actively control a significant part of the circus. Which is closed at the moment, if you hadn’t noticed. And the better I know these people, the better I can manipulate what they’ve already done. They created it, after all.”
“I suppose that is a valid point,” Hector says. Celia suspects he is scowling despite the admission, though it is too dark to tell. “But you’d do well to remember that you have no reason to trust anyone in that room.”
“Leave me alone, Papa,” Celia says, and sighs.
“Miss Bowen?” a voice says behind her and she turns, surprised to find Chandresh’s assistant standing in the doorway, watching her. “Dinner is about to begin, if you would care to join the rest of the guests in the dining room.”
“My apologies,” Celia says, her eyes darting back to the shadows, but her father has vanished. “I was distracted by the size of the library. I did not think anyone would notice I was missing.”
“I am certain that they would,” Marco says. “Though I have been distracted by the library, myself, many times.”
The charming smile that accompanies the statement catches Celia off guard, as she has rarely seen anything but varying degrees of reserved attentiveness or occasional nervousness on his countenance.
“Thank you for coming to fetch me,” she says, hoping that dinner guests talking to themselves while supposedly perusing books without the aid of proper lighting is not an unusual occurrence at la maison Lefèvre.
“They likely suspect you vanished into thin air,” Marco responds as they walk through the hall. “I thought perhaps that was not the case.”
He holds each door open for her as he escorts her to the dining room.
Celia is seated between Chandresh and Tsukiko.
“This is preferable to spending the evening alone, is it not?” Tsukiko asks, smiling when Celia admits that it is true.
As the courses progress, when she is not distracted by the astounding quality of the food, Celia makes a game of deciphering the relationships between the guests. Reading the way they interact, intuiting the emotions hidden beneath the laughter and conversation, catching the places that gazes linger.
Chandresh’s glances at his handsome assistant grow more obvious with each glass of wine, and Celia suspects Mr. Alisdair is well aware of it, though Marco remains a quiet presence at the edge of the room.
It takes her three courses to determine which of the Burgess sisters Mr. Barris favors, but by the time the artfully arranged plates of what appear to be whole pigeons spiced with cinnamon arrive, she is certain, though she cannot tell if Lainie herself knows.
Mme. Padva is called “Tante” by the entire company, though she feels more like a matriarch than merely an aunt. When Celia addresses her as “Madame,” everyone turns to look at her in surprise.