The inspector’s eyes have always had a merry twinkle in them, but now he’s on official business for the Yard, those eyes seem to look through me and find my sins. I swallow hard and take my seat. The inspector chats merrily with us about our day, the parties we shall attend shortly, Spence’s impending masked ball. It is meant to disarm us, but it seems only to increase my apprehension.
He takes out a small notebook. He wets his thumb and uses it to flip through pages until he has the one he wants. “Ah, here we are. Now. Ladies. Have you heard anything unusual—sounds late at night? Have you noted anything amiss? Anything suspicious?”
“N-n-nothing,” Ann stammers. She bites her cuticle until Felicity takes hold of her hand, no doubt squeezing it tight enough to cut off the flow of blood in her arm.
“We are asleep, Inspector. How could we possibly know what goes on with Mr. Miller’s men?” Felicity says.
The inspector’s pencil hovers over the page. His eyes flick from Ann’s face to the sudden hand-holding. He smiles warmly. “The smallest detail might be the biggest of clues. No need for shyness.”
“Have you any suspects?” I ask.
Inspector Kent holds my gaze for a second longer than is comfortable. “No. But that gives credence to my theory that these men, under the bottle’s spell, wandered away from the camp to sleep it off and then, fearing the foreman’s wrath, decided to leave altogether. Or perhaps it is an effort to bring suspicion on the Gypsies.”
“Perhaps it is the Gypsies,” Felicity adds quickly. I should like to kick her.
“That would be convenient,” the inspector says, stirring milk into his tea. “Too convenient, perhaps, though I did see that one of theirs was missing this evening.”
Kartik. He’s gone already.
“Well, the truth shall come to light. It always does.” Inspector Kent sips his tea. “Aye, that’s what’s right with the world. A good cup of tea.”
When we return to the realms, I’m ill at ease. The trouble with my brother, my visit with Circe, and the fight with Kartik all weigh heavily on me. But the others are merry and ready for a grand party. Felicity takes Pippa’s hands in hers, and they twirl about on the thick carpet of vines. They laugh like the old friends they are. I envy them. Soon, the others join in the dance. Mae and Mercy take Wendy’s hands and lead her about. Even Mr. Darcy hops in his cage as if he should like to take a partner. Only I stand apart. And secretly, I fear it shall always be this way, me alone, belonging to no one, no tribe, always standing just outside the party. I try to push the thought away, but it has already spoken truth to my soul. The sadness of my independence sinks deep into my blood. It rushes through my veins with a fierce, pulsing refrain: You are alone, alone, alone.