“Nothing, of course.”
Her eyebrows drew together, and I realized she was actually concerned for me. I forced a taut smile. “Honest, Allison. I’m just hot.”
“Then you ought to rest in the shade.” She pointed to a nearby chestnut tree with her mallet.
“Yes, I think I will. Thank you.”
Her face lit up with a sparkling smile, and she turned back to the game.
I moved to the wide-limbed chestnut that spread its branches over the edge of the field, grateful that Allison had suggested it. I wanted to be alone.
My mallet swung side to side in my hands, ticking and tocking as my brain sorted through my black thoughts. What had happened yesterday with the Spirit-Hunters? Had they taken the Exhibition guidebooks? Had they discovered anything new? And where on earth had Daniel gotten that parasol?
With my eyebrows jutting down, I gazed at the grass beneath my white patent leather boots.
“Miss Fitt,” said Clarence.
I snapped my head up. If I thought he’d looked unwell Wednesday, it was nothing compared to today. Not even the sun could add color to the deathly pallor of his cheeks, and his eyes were rimmed with such darkness, it looked as if he’d rubbed them with charcoal.
Willis was planted on a bench across the field and had taken on some of his master’s appearance. I was certain neither of them had managed to sleep since I’d last seen them.
“Are you all right?” Clarence asked. His voice was gravelly, and his eyes were sad.
“Yes, quite.” I gave him a false grin.
“I don’t believe you.” He approached slowly.
“I promise, it’s just... it’s just the heat.”
“Then I’ll keep you company in the shade.”
I bit back my urge to groan and tossed my mallet on the ground. He winced at the thud, and then gently laid down his own.
He folded his arms over his chest and considered me for several moments. “Have you perhaps had... have you had bad news? Have you heard something?”
“No.” I flicked my gaze away. “I told you, it’s just the heat. I... I had a fainting spell yesterday, and I’m still not entirely myself.”
“You fainted?” He frowned, a pinched expression that gave his skin a papery look—as if it might tear at any moment. “What are you doing here, then? You should be in bed.”
“Mothers.” I flashed my eyebrows and turned away. Looking at him disturbed me. How could this be the same beautiful prince I’d met last Friday?
“Wait,” I murmured, whirling to face him. “Have you had bad news?”
He grunted and dropped his hands. “No.”
“Don’t lie.” I advanced on him. I was certain another headless man had been found.
Clarence stalked from me, circling around the tree trunk and away from the other players. I followed.
“That’s why you seem sad,” I pressed. “You’ve had more bad news—Mr. Wilcox, has someone else died?”
He stopped and rubbed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw pulsed. “You’re entirely too clever, Miss Fitt.”
“Who was it? Another boy from the academy?”
He nodded once. His lips and nostrils trembled, and I could see the battle he fought to keep tears away.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilcox.”
“Then damn it, stop pestering me! This is—” His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly. “This is an incredibly difficult time for me.”
I yanked my handkerchief from my pocket and shoved it in his hands. “Truly, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you, but I... I just knew somehow and... Does anyone else know?”
“No.” He thrust my handkerchief back at me. “I have my own.”
“Of course,” I murmured, stuffing it in my pocket. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He dabbed at his eyes with his fingers. “And I expect you to not talk about it either. Not even the newspapers know. This man, Clinton Bradley, he was...” His words faded, and his eyes went distant.
“Was what?”
“Was my closest friend from childhood. His father, my father—we grew up together. We had...” He ground his teeth. “We had plans for the coming elections.”
“Oh.” I knew that name—Clinton Bradley. His mother had thrown the famous séance my mother had wanted to outshine. It was truly tragic he’d met with a gruesome death. I shivered and hugged my arms to my stomach.
“Have you heard from your brother?” Clarence asked.
I choked and faltered back several steps. What was this change in subject?
“Answer me.” Clarence took a single, long stride, closing all distance between us. He gripped my wrists and hauled me close. “Look at me. Look at me, Miss Fitt. Have you had any news from Elijah?”
I stared with wide eyes. “No.”
“Write him.” He leaned toward me, and the tree’s shadows covered his face in menacing swirls. “Write him and tell him things aren’t safe here. He must stay in New York.”
Clarence dug his fingers into the soft flesh beneath my wrists. “Tell Elijah we’re all in danger. I-I don’t know who’s next. Tell him to stay away from Philadelphia. Tell him that!”