37

In the safety of her bedroom, Molly carefully emptied her coat pocket of the small object she’d taken from the church. Pulling the trousers and peasant shirt from her body, she collapsed naked into bed.

She needed to sleep. It was the only way she could do what she had to do tonight.

And in sleep, the dreams came, dancing around her secret.

She woke hours later to the rattling of the dinner tray. Outside, the light was already shifting, moving lower in the sky.

“You’ll want to eat something.” Maeve lifted the silver lid off a steaming plate of mashed vegetables and a tureen of milky soup. “It’s a common mistake young girls make, forgetting to eat before a big party and then letting the champagne go to their heads.”

“I don’t plan on drinking.”

“Even so, you might like a little of the soup.” Maeve didn’t move away until Molly was actually out of bed and seated at the makeshift dinner table.

Finished, she called for Maeve to draw the bath. After over a month of living with Ava, Molly could give the commands without hesitation. She began to prepare herself in the finery of a lady as a soldier might for battle.

When the water lost its heat, Maeve helped her out. A special oil of primrose and sandalwood sat in a small glass bottle by the fire, and the maid rubbed the heady scent into every inch of Molly’s skin and hair as she dried by the flames.

Wrapping her mistress in the sumptuous silk of a dressing robe, the maid began arranging her hair. Ava, it seemed, had specified a new style for the party, and Maeve’s sweet face contorted with concentration as she struggled to get the twists and pins just right.

Finished, she held out the pearl-backed mirror for examination, and Molly couldn’t hide her shock. The curling mess had been tamed into a magnificent fiery knot. Rather than following the style of the day that swooped over each ear, Maeve had parted Molly’s hair on the side and then slipped a low, thick braid around her part, perfectly pinning it in a tight chignon at the back of her neck, similar to Ava’s. The result highlighted the angles of her face instead of hiding them. It looked like a magician had been at work, and the illusion only heightened as Maeve slipped the specially ordered ball gown over Molly’s head.

The dress was made of a pale-green silk, so light as to appear almost white. Its cool starkness called to mind arctic skies and frozen oceans. The silk dipped into a low V on her chest and was accentuated about her waist with a thin velvet belt. Below this, yards of crinoline tipped with gauzy organza exploded into a layered skirt that looked like the top of an intricately frosted cake.

She was certain Ginny had made it, her former friend’s clever fingers molding the fabric to suit Molly exactly.

Maeve finished the illusion by dotting the smallest bit of crushed apple-red rouge on Molly’s cheeks and lips. “You look beautiful,” she said, unable to hide her surprise.

Perhaps it was true. Molly didn’t care.

She studied her palm, running a finger up the scar.

As soon as Maeve left the room, she poured a glass of port from a slim decanter that had come with her dinner, hands shaking. But the liquor’s heat did little to warm the icy sluice of dread gushing through her veins.

---

There was no question of driving the body wagon—not in this dress. Molly ordered her aunt’s carriage prepared and waited.

A short hour later, she stood outside the Red Carousel. This time, Ginny was not there to meet her.

Molly heaved a sigh of relief when Kate answered instead, her thin face peering suspiciously through the cracked door. “We don’t open for another hour.”

The sight was so similar to last night’s scene at the wayward women’s house that Molly flinched, wondering if she’d ever left at all. How many young girls did this city hold? And how soon would she find their bodies left like scraps of paper from a party’s trash, scattered about its graveyards?

I ain’t never killed nobody in my life . . .

If the Tooth Fairy’s claim was true, then the real Knifeman was still out there. Still planning to kill more women and girls on society’s outskirts, just like the one in front of her.

“Let me in, please.”

“Come slumming it?” Kate tried for her usual flippant tone but turned shy as she took in Molly’s hair and dress. “Don’t think it’s the best idea. Ginny don’t want to see you.”

“I’m not here for her,” Molly said. “I want to see the Duchess.”

Confusion clouded Kate’s face.

“Please. I know she’s sick. I’ve brought her some medicine.”

Frowning, Kate stepped aside. “You give her the medicine, and then you get out.” She eyed Molly’s dress with contempt. “Ain’t no place here for you anymore.”

The Duchess answered the door herself. “What a lovely surprise! Would you like some tea?”

Molly had to stop herself from gasping—the woman looked terrible.

The Duchess’s eyes were a dull copper, her frame so small and shriveled she looked like she might break up and blow away. The entire room smelled of death.

“Let’s just sit,” Molly said.

The Duchess nodded. Picking her steps across the floor like a broken bird, she made her way over to the ratty velvet chair and sank into its nest. With a sigh, she pulled the blankets around herself like a mummy. “I know why you’re here.”

Molly startled. “You do?”

The Duchess’s beard suggested a masculine sex. But a surgeon’s knife would not be fooled.

Molly reached into her pocket. The cold metal of the syringe she’d taken from the church burned as she wrapped her fingers around it.

“I scared you, didn’t I?” the Duchess said.

Molly stilled. “No.”

“Course I did. All that talk about how people liked to hurt each other.”

Molly clutched the needle tighter in her hand. “You were right. People like to use others.”

“Oh, child.” The Duchess winced. “No. Everyone has their own pain is all, especially the ones who give it.”

She coughed, setting off a visible rattle near her collarbone. Her skin was so thin that Molly imagined she could lay a finger on it and rub it away, like the powder on a moth’s wing.

The Duchess’s eyes fluttered closed, and Molly saw a pale-pink trickle at the corner of her lips. The old woman raised a filthy handkerchief to wipe away the blood.

Now. While her eyes are closed.

It would be over in an instant. She needed only to lift the needle and push down on the plunger to release the lethal mixture of chloroform and ether into the Duchess’s heart.

Silently, she moved closer.

But suddenly the Duchess’s eyes sprang open, and this time they were completely clear. “The pain is just part of it, girl. It’s a gift, our lives. They’re over far too—” The coughing took her again, and her eyes fluttered back closed.

In Molly’s hand, the needle gleamed its deadly glow—there was no hiding it now.

A gift.

These were not the same words of the woman who’d only a week ago begged for death.

The syringe hovered in the air between them, wet with the faintest pearl of liquid, trembling on its end.

It would be a murder of mercy, this. Nothing more. She could not fail again.

A soft snore issued from the chair as the Duchess’s head fell to her chest.

Now. She needed to do it now.

Instead, Molly found the needle in her hand floating back to her side.

She stood, legs trembling, and tucked the blankets around the ancient body. Bending, she kissed the fragile skin of the old lady’s forehead, her hand tracing the lines across it as gently as she would handle an egg.

Letting herself out into the hallway, Molly found only more silence.

Shaking, she moved quietly down the hall to Ginny’s door and paused.

“She’s not in.”

Hans appeared as stealthily as a shadow behind her, a freshly steamed mug of coffee in his hand.

“I just . . . I wanted to say hello,” Molly said, feeling the inadequacy of the words.

“Well, you won’t catch her now.” His manner was stiff. “She’s gone to some party.”

“A party?”

Finally, Hans showed some emotion, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“Some damned thing with an orchestra and waltzes.” He said the last with a grimace. “Said there was a client who needed her, though I think she’d have gone for free.”

“I guess I’ll find her another time.”

“I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.” There was no sarcasm in his voice.

Molly started to leave, then hesitated. “What’s the party?”

“Don’t know. Only that it’s somewhere on High Street.”

High Street. A small chill worked its way up her spine.

“Sorry, love. But I’ve got to go. Big night tonight.” He reached around her and opened the door to Ginny’s room, slipping past.

Of course. Molly blushed. The two of them probably shared the space.

Hans lifted his mug in a salute goodbye.

But as he shut the door, it was not coffee but a new, sharper smell that laced its way out of the room—the familiar scent of peppermint.