With their grand entrance, it was rather impossible to miss them. The impeccably dressed Mrs. Verinder and her tall, shrewd-eyed husband floated through the archway, sending smiles to their numerous acquaintances, while the golden-dressed Miss Verinder followed close behind and was currently killing me twenty different ways with her eyes.
“I did see, but tragically, I’ve been blinded by that sun she’s wearing,” Mr. Kent replied, but then they were upon us, and introductions were made all around. Mr. Kent made a valiant attempt at politeness while Miss Verinder somehow managed to find herself at his side, clutching his arm, shooting me a gloating smile.
The ladies nattered on about nothing, and I kept quiet, knowing Miss Verinder would twist around anything I said. My thoughts began to slip to my search for Rose, or rather how it had come to a complete standstill. My sister was trapped somewhere in this city (I refused to consider that she might be anywhere else by now), and here I was, acting just like my mother, trying to keep our family’s good name by wasting hours at a play.
Not that I even knew where to start looking. Dr. Beck’s planning, preparation, and power made this far more complicated than any of us had anticipated. Mr. Kent was confident that we’d find them soon, but he always sounded so confident that it was getting harder to believe him, especially when Miss Grey’s power to see them wasn’t even enough. Every plan I imagined with the three of us came down to the same unfortunate conclusion: We needed Mr. Braddock. And it wasn’t despite his past mistakes, but precisely because of them.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to force away the imagined scenes of his past. But when I opened them, Mr. Braddock was still there. Only now he was in evening dress incongruously paired with the bandage on his forehead, and curiously, he was attempting to hide behind a large fern. I withheld a gasp as I realized it really was him and not a conjuring from my imagination. Before I could investigate further, Miss Verinder’s voice buzzed in my ear.
“Yes, when will the elusive Miss Rosamund be able to join us? She always seems to be with the sick.”
“Sadly, she’s actually taken sick herself. She’s been resting,” I said.
Of course, Lady Kent couldn’t miss an opening like that. “That’s what happens when you work as a nurse!”
I might have been unable to hold back a rude retort there, but fortunately I was still too busy darting glances at the plant. Mr. Braddock looked exceedingly silly and was entirely visible, which meant when Mr. Kent followed my line of sight, he had no trouble determining who had captured my attention. He shifted his weight, his expression turning rapidly dour.
A bell chimed brightly, alerting us that the show was to begin. “Shall we take our seats?” Mrs. Verinder suggested.
If Mr. Kent wished to speak to me, he was given no chance. The group followed Mrs. Verinder, except Laura, who tugged me aside like her rag doll. “Mama,” she said. “Evelyn and I must go to the dressing room!”
Lady Kent, hanging onto the Verinders’ story of a recalcitrant servant, waved her aside without a glance. Before I could protest or even decide if I wanted to protest, Laura steered me down a narrow hallway and into the lavish, lavender-scented room, where bored theatergoers could escape to gossip or tidy up their appearance.
Laura set me down onto a red velvet settee and bore her eyes into mine, spots of pink surfacing high on her cheekbones. “Evelyn, this is a matter of life and death.” She managed to sit completely still and composed as she said this. No bouncing around the room or high-pitched squealing. Even her hair appeared serious.
“Are you ill?” I asked.
“Yes! My heart is aching,” she said, sighing overdramatically and snatching up a bolster to hug.
“What on earth is the matter?” I asked, sick of the theatrics. And the play hadn’t even begun yet.
“Did you not see Mr. Edwards when you came in?”
I couldn’t say that was my first priority. “No . . . I don’t even know what he looks like. Is he not here?”
“He is! He was the magnificent-looking man in the lobby! I must have a tête-à-tête with him during intermission. You must help. I can’t do it alone. Please!” She attempted a small dive across the sofa toward me, almost kicking a vase of flowers behind her.
“Yip! Help with your . . . tête-à-tête? About what?”
“Whatever he wants!” she said, grasping my hands tightly. “The subject does not matter in the least.”
“Why do you need me? What have you talked about before?”
Distressed, she sat back up, looked down into her lap, and swung her legs back and forth under her seat. “We’ve been introduced. And he had marvelous things to say about the weather!”
I should have expected this. He’d probably spoken no more than ten words to her, and she’d fallen in love after the third.