“The gown is all the rage in Paris?” Slane guessed, his tone heavy.

  The house still had lights burning behind the lace curtains and as they drew closer to the door, it was opened by a butler, and the pair stepped inside. It gave Adele a better look at the woman’s face.

  “I know the gown because I know the woman wearing it,” Adele said. “Lady Mary of Farnsworth.”

  “That’d be the Baron of Farnsworth?” Slane asked.

  She rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. It felt better, doing it. “If Diggory was a Baron, he’d be Baron Farnsworth. He’s the Marquess of Farnsworth. Mary is his wife…and the daughter of the Baron Essendon.”

  “Hmm…” Slane said, his tone thoughtful. “Should she be sipping mulled wine in Farnsworth, then?”

  “Precisely,” Adele said, even though nobody drank mulled wine anymore. Champagne was the beverage choice of society, these days.

  She watched the door close behind the pair. “I did not think Mary was capable of something like this.”

  “We don’t know what it is, yet,” Slane pointed out. “She could be there to pick something up.”

  Adele recalled the way Steinhauer’s hand had rested on the small of Mary’s back as he shepherded her into the house. “They’re lovers…or they soon will be,” she said firmly.

  “Or she’s a messenger,” Slane said, his tone just as flat.

  “Mary Renauld a messenger?” Adele laughed.

  “You said she wasn’t the sort t’tarry in another’s bed.”

  “I’ve been wrong about people before,” Adele said. “But I’m not wrong now. In a moment a light might go on in one of the upstairs windows, and the one burning downstairs will be extinguished.”

  “Or Lady Mary will re-emerge and hurry back to the street.”

  “He dismissed the cab,” Adele pointed out with a touch of exasperation.

  “In a moment, we’ll see who is right.” Slane’s tone was confident. “‘tis as well you’re here. One of us must follow her.”

  Adele made no move to reach for her coat and hat, even though Slane should by rights remain by the window.

  They watched the house in silence.

  The light gleaming through the lace-covered windows disappeared at the same time a smaller, flickering glow emerged from an upstairs window. A candle, Adele guessed.

  The pair were silhouetted against the window, for no one had drawn the drapes closed. They were not conversing and no message was given, except for a most fundamental and ancient kind.

  Adele turned and looked at Slane, long and hard.

  He sighed. “I guess ye’re right about that, then.”

  “So gracious of you,” Adele murmured. She stiffened, as the stairs beyond the door creaked.

  Three taps came, a pause, then two more.

  “Melville,” Slane said, sounding relieved.

  Adele unlocked the door and held it wide.

  It wasn’t Melville on the top stair.

  “Daniel, what on earth are you doing here?”

  “Following those two from their dinner party,” Daniel said, pointing toward the windows. He stepped into the attic, ducking under the low doorway. “I’ve been hanging about Reeves Mews since seven-thirty and I’m frozen.” He bent and kissed her cheek, delighting her. “I’d do more than that, but I would pass on the chill.” His dark blond hair held a sheen of dampness. His green eyes held a hint of strain in the way he held them.

  “Your lips are cold,” Adele admitted. She locked the door behind him.

  Daniel took her by the arms, turned her to face the window, and examined her. “I never thought a man’s attire would look good on a woman, but you have changed my mind. I don’t think I will look at waistcoats the same way ever again.”

  Adele could feel her cheeks tinge pink.

  “Although I much prefer a pretty dress and lace,” Daniel admitted.

  “If you like the waistcoat on her, then she’s not wearing it right,” Slane said. “You don’t admire waistcoats on other men.”

  “He has a point,” Daniel said judiciously. “Perhaps, beneath the shirt, you might…I don’t know…strap everything down?”

  “Bandages will do it,” Slane added.

  Adele could feel her cheeks burning. “I…I will consider that, next time I am forced into this charade.”

  “If you treat it like a charade, then you will be noticed,” Slane said.

  “Ignore Slane,” Adele said firmly. “He doesn’t like being wrong.”

  “Because I rarely am wrong,” Slane replied.

  “You were wrong about Lady Mary.”

  Slane made an impatient sound.

  “Then it was Farnsworth’s wife,” Daniel said. “I couldn’t see her face clearly enough from across the road to be sure.”

  “She might still be a messenger,” Slane muttered.

  “Lady Mary?” Daniel clarified. “Not a chance, old boy.”

  “If you’re both so right about her, then why is she in Steinhauer’s bed right now?” Slane demanded. “Lady Adelaide said it wasn’t like her.”

  Adele sighed. “I didn’t think it was…but what do I know about anyone, these days? No one knows about the real me, either.”

  Daniel gave a soft laugh. “Dear, sweet Adele. You do like to think the best of people. Lady Mary is…well, let us say that she has a reputation among men that makes her most sought-after company.”

  “Mary?” Adele breathed. But she didn’t doubt Daniel. “Why do so many people I know wear masks? Ever since I returned to London I’ve been continually astonished to learn of all the…the nefarious goings-on happening everywhere. Affairs and hidden scandals and secret babies and lovers who live with the couple, and…oh, it goes on and on! Lords who can’t read, and ladies who can’t function unless drunk…but you’d never suspect any of it, looking at everyone sitting about the dinner table in their tuxedos and diamonds!”

  Daniel held still. “Good Lord, Adele…what dog bit you?”

  “She’s waiting for Melville, to tell him she’s through.” Slane’s tone was withering.

  “Slane!” Adele hissed.

  “No privacy, remember?” Slane shot back.

  Daniel turned on his heel to look at Slane directly. “There’s lack of privacy and wholesale breach of boundaries, Slane.”

  Slane shrugged, and peered out the window.

  “I guess decency is something they don’t teach in Ireland,” Daniel muttered. He unbuttoned his coat.

  “All Irishmen are decent. They just don’t abide by your standards,” Slane muttered.

  “Remind me again why you are here, among Englishmen?” Daniel asked.

  “Oh, leave him alone, Daniel. He’s still smarting because I was right about Mary being Steinhauer’ s lover. He wanted her to be a messenger.”

  “So you would have to follow her and stop plaguing me,” Slane shot back. He looked at them both. “You’d know about Lady Adelaide quitting by tomorrow, anyway.”

  “That’s quite beside the point,” Adele said hotly.

  “Why are you resigning, anyway?” Daniel asked. He hung his coat over the top of hers, put her hat back, then carefully balanced his own on top of everything.

  “Please don’t wind her up again,” Slane said quickly.

  “I thought this work was important to you,” Daniel added, ignoring Slane. He drew her away from the window, to the shadows at the back of the attic.

  “It is important to me,” Adele said. “It’s important to everyone in Britain and someone must do it, but I no longer believe I am that person.”

  “Why?” Daniel demanded.

  “Because we think she’s stupid,” Slane said.

  Daniel drew in a breath and let it out, visibly controlling his response to Slane. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said gently. “Neither does Melville, or he would not have asked you to work for him in the first place.”

  “Perhaps,” Adele said. “But you all treat me like a woman.”

  “Well…yes.” Daniel’s puzzlement was thick now. “I should not open doors for you?”

  “I like you opening doors for me,” Adele admitted.

  “Make up your mind,” Slane interjected.

  “I like the little courtesies,” Adele went on, feeling her temper stirring. “It isn’t that which I object to. It is the unconscious assumptions you make.”

  “I don’t understand,” Daniel said.

  “Then let me give you an example,” she replied. “The other day, when I arrived here to take over from you. As you were leaving, you reminded me to lock the door behind you.”

  “Of course I did! We’re supposed to remain at the window, and watch the Steinhauer house at all times. If you’re so focused upon the house, you would miss someone sneaking up the stairs behind you. It’s a simple precaution.”

  “But you reminded me. Did you think I might forget to lock the door if you didn’t? That I might not understand why I should do it?”

  “I…” Daniel began. “It’s simply that…”

  “That I am a woman.”

  “No! Well…yes! I don’t want you to come to harm when a turn of a key will prevent it.”

  “It isn’t your responsibility to keep me safe.”

  Daniel’s mouth opened. He shut it with a snap. “Then whose is it?” His tone was cold.

  “Mine.”

  His lips parted once more. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re whipping me because I’m concerned for you. Your father gave up that responsibility a long time ago, and your husband is dead. Why shouldn’t I want to watch out for you?”

  “Do you watch out for Melville, Daniel? Or Slane?”

  Slane snorted. “Extend a helping hand to an Irishman? Chance ‘d be a fine t’ing.”

  Daniel rubbed the back of his neck and shifted on his feet. “It is only because of how I feel…well, you know.”

  Adele nodded. “But when I came to relieve you the other day, you reminded me to turn the key because I am a woman and have a somewhat personal relationship to you. But I work with you, Daniel. Would you have reminded Melville to turn the key?”

  Daniel let out a heavy, gusty sigh. “No,” he admitted.

  Adele spun on her heel. “And you, Slane. You always explain everything to me, as if I can’t possibly know something all by myself.”

  Slane lowered the glasses. “I do not.”

  “You do,” Daniel said. “I’ve heard you do it.”

  “If I do, then, ‘tis only because you keep reminding us that your family wouldn’t educate ye.”

  “A lack I’m making up for more than adequately,” Adele pointed out. “When it’s Melville and Daniel you speak to, you do not explain anything. You presume they know what a Fibonacci scale is, that they understand the fundamentals of fall off in radio signaling.”

  “They’re esoteric matters.” Slane’s tone was a touch defensive.

  “I was there when you told Melville and Daniel about Guglielmo Marconi’s commercial transatlantic radio communications between Ireland and Nova Scotia, using high powered long wave transmissions. Do you even remember that I was there?”

  The glasses hung from one slack hand. Slane stared at her. “No,” he said at last. “I didn’t recall ye being there, until just now.”

  “Because I didn’t ask a single question, or ask for clarification about a single point, which might have reminded you I was there? Or because in your mind, I simply wasn’t part of the conversation?”

  Daniel gave a soft sound that Adele thought might have been smothered laughter.

  Slane shifted awkwardly.

  “I just don’t count as an equal, with either of you, and while I might have to put up with that out among society, I do not think I should have to put up with it when I work with you. I face the same dangers, and do the same work. I should get the same consideration.”

  The two remained silent for a long while. Then Daniel stirred. “And are you going to skewer Melville the same way you have us, Adele?”

  “Why not? He won’t let me do anything interesting because in his mind it takes more intelligence than he believes I have. He actively discourages me from doing so. Charlie Rowbottom is a case in point.”

  “But he asked you to work for him!” Daniel sounded strained.

  “And I do believe that if you were to ask Melville, he would swear that women are just as capable as men in this work. But it is what he does, not what he says, that really counts. And what he does tells me that deep in his mind, from where instincts arise, he does not truly believe that.”

  “If ye feel so strongly about such matters, then why aren’t you a registered Suffragette?” Slane demanded, his tone hot and hard.

  “Because I must pretend to be a society matron and hide who I really am!” Adele cried.

  The little silence rose once more.

  “Phew!” Daniel breathed. “You are resigning just because of male instincts, Adele?”

  “Lord, no,” she said quickly. “That’s just part of it.”

  “The Lady cannot have a single moment with ye, is another part of it,” Slane added.

  “And that’s a minor consideration,” Adele said quickly.

  “It is?” Daniel asked, sounding aggrieved.

  “Compared to losing my dear friend Isa, because she knows I lied to her? About lying to all my friends and family? Compared to knowing that Melville is lying to me about Hugh?”

  “I see I’m at the bottom of the list,” Daniel said.

  “No! You don’t see at all!” Adele stamped her foot. The flat shoes she wore did not make nearly the same satisfying stomp as her heeled boots did, but it had the same effect. Daniel looked stunned.

  “This isn’t about personal concerns! I wish you would see that! Melville lying about Hugh comes at the top of the list, because if Hugh was working for Melville, that puts his death…and my son’s death…it puts the house fire in a completely different light!”

  “Oh,” Daniel said, his tone flat.

  “As far as I know, Daniel, you’ve never lied to me. That is why you would be at the bottom of a list of grievances. I do not have to worry about what you’re not telling me.”

  “You think Isa Haas is not telling you something, then?” Slane asked, his tone curious. His back was to them once more, and he had the glasses up, studying the house across the way.

  “She knew about the fire. She told me about Hugh being Melville’s man. I think there is a lot she is not telling me,” Adele said grimly.

  Slane stiffened. “Quickly. Look.” His tone was urgent.

  They both hurried to the other window. There wasn’t room for both of them in the small section not lit by moonlight, so Daniel pushed her to the window and stood behind her and looked over her head.

  “The bedroom window,” Slane said. “D’ye see it?”

  Adele did see it, and sick rage tore through her. The silhouettes against the window played out the drama for them as if the two were on a stage, lit by limelight. They were arguing. Adele could hear the voices, muted and without detail, faintly through two windows.

  Lady Mary was clearly attempting to dress, prior to leaving. Just as clearly, Steinhauer was not ready for her to go. He tugged at the garment in her hands, taking it away from her and tossing it aside. Then he gripped her arm and pulled her toward him.

  Mary pushed against his chest, her voice rising again, but not in fear. She was angry. She wanted to depart.

  Adele silently cheered at her determination.

  Steinhauer raised his arm and struck her with the full force of the back of his hand.

  Adele didn’t realize she was trying to move to the attic door until Daniel’s fingers dug into her arms.

  “You can’t go to her,” Daniel said quietly. “None of us can. He can’t know we’re watching him.”

  Mary’s silhouette sagged in Steinhauer’ s grip.

  “He’ll kill her.” Adele’s voice was hoarse.

  “The man isn’t trying t’kill her,” Slane said, as softly as Daniel. “Just…correct her.”

  Adele swallowed and watched as Steinhauer pushed Mary into a stumble forward. Her shadow skewed and disappeared as she fell forward. Then Steinhauer’ s also lowered itself down. The window became empty of telling outlines.

  Adele closed her eyes. “I do not care what men say of her. Mary doesn’t deserve such treatment.”

  “She went into the man’s bedchamber.” Slane’s tone sounded apologetic.

  “Then it is her fault?” Her voice rose.

  “Not her fault, precisely,” Slane replied. “But she doesn’t know the man at all. Some’d say that’s foolish.”

  Adele sighed. “That is true,” she admitted, hating that it was. And she abhorred that she could see a positive side to this. “Now we know more about his true nature. We might be able to use that.”

  •

  Melville was late.

  It was close to two o’clock by the used, dented pocket watch she had bought from a jeweler on Bond Street and still Melville hadn’t arrived. She sat on the splintered fruit crate once more, her back against the attic’s sidewall.

  Slane stood unmoving at the window. He hadn’t spoken since half-past-one, when he reported that Lady Mary had left the house, and that a motorcar had collected her from the footpath outside the garden.

  Daniel sat on the floor next to Adele’s crate, his knees bent, his head back against the wall. She wasn’t completely certain he was awake.

  She had not moved toward sleepiness. Her thoughts careened, while her pulse throbbed heavily. She just wanted this over.

  “I hate being torn this way,” she said.

  Daniel stirred. Breathed in heavily. Perhaps he had been asleep.

  “I want to do this work,” Adele added. “It is important. It is for the sake of Britain. But I just…I cannot find a way to live with what the work requires of me.”

  Slane answered her. “Life is like that, Lady Adelaide. It isn’t fair. It isn’t neat. It’s confusing and layered and truth is always in short supply. It isn’t just the work we do where the truth is obscured, as you’ve already discovered.”

  She thought of Lady Mary, whom she had always admired for her gentility and her refined empathy for everyone she met. “Then why bother even trying to live well?”