The Zeppelin Deception Read online

  The effervescent drink was refreshing and slightly sweet. I sipped again as I made my way through the crowd toward the main table of food. I was nearly there when I realized I was somehow holding a crumpled paper in my hand. I’d find a place to dispose of it in a moment—but first I was going to try the flaming beef skewers. They turned out to be salty and delicious.

  I had just discovered the tower of chilled shellfish when I noticed the snake headdress making its way through the crowd. (Even though Mina has reminded me numerous times, I can never remember what the Egyptian crown is called. The name seems vaguely unpleasant.)

  I snatched up another miniature crab claw (it was absolutely adorable—only the size of my thumb, completely shelled, and chilled with just a pinch of spiced fruit relish on it) from the rotating spiral tower that also offered shrimp puffs along with caviar-laden pastry scoops, and started to push my way toward Mina.

  I’d taken two steps from the table when someone hissed in my ear. “What on earth are you doing, Evaline?”

  I spun, nearly dropping the crab claw. “Mina?”

  She was not dressed as Sekhmet.

  Miss Holmes

  ~ In Which Our Heroines Are Forewarned ~

  Who are you?” Evaline said.

  As she had just uttered my name a moment earlier, I assumed she wanted to know the identity of my costume. “I’m a flapper.”

  “What on earth is a flapper?” she asked, and stuffed yet another crab claw into her mouth. “And how did you know it was me? I was supposed to be Marie Antoinette.”

  I rolled my eyes behind the relative safety of my mask. It had been an elementary exercise to identify Evaline even among the throngs of masked individuals. All I needed was to watch the food table. I knew she’d eventually make her way there and stay for a time. “Her ears were all wrong,” I told her.

  “Her ears?”

  “Evaline, have you not listened to anything I’ve tried to teach you over the last year? There are three elements of an individual’s appearance that are virtually impossible to disguise. The eyes, the hands, and the ears. Not to mention a number of mannerisms of which most people are unaware—and thus rarely take the pains to change or hide—which can also be used to identify them. That is, in part, how I was so readily able to identify the Ankh even at the earliest stages of our acquaintance.

  “Thus, I knew immediately that the woman dressed as Marie Antoinette was not you because her ears were wrong. Aside from that, she’s been here more than an hour and she’s not had even a morsel of food.” I lifted my brows at the third crab claw Evaline had snatched over the last two minutes. However, because my face was obstructed by its mask, the effect was lost on my companion.

  “What’s a flapper?” she asked again as she nibbled on a shrimp puff.

  I heaved a sigh of exasperation (an almost pleasant experience, since I was not wearing a corset). I supposed I’d better explain or we would continue in this circuitous conversation for some time.

  “It’s the way women dress—and, I suppose, act—in the future. In the 1920s, particularly in America. It’s sort of a revolution from wearing clothing that is so restrictive. The Ankh would be most enthralled.”

  She seemed impressed, and her eyes roved over my attire. “It’s very nearly scandalous, Mina! You’re quite brave to wear such a thing.”

  I sniffed, though I confess I was fully aware of the scandalous nature of my costume. And I’d almost changed my mind about it at the last moment. In fact, I truly might have done if Inspector Grayling hadn’t arrived at the former Mrs. Thistle’s shop to pick me up. By that time, I no longer had the luxury of time to change my mind.

  Based on the descriptions Dylan had given me about these flapper girls, I’d had Madame Trouxeau design a rather simple frock—insofar as the silhouette goes—for me to wear. The scandalous element was that it reached barely past my knees, and—although known only to me—I was wearing no corset or restrictive body wear at all beneath it. Merely a close-fitting chemise of a strong rust color. It laced up tightly on both sides from beneath my arm to below my hip, and sported wide straps over my shoulders.

  Over that chemise, I wore a sleeveless shift of a golden hue with a faintly bronze tint. It hung straight down my body (which isn’t as curvy as Evaline’s), for apparently this was the appearance flapper girls aspired to: long, smooth, and lean. (How very different from the current fashions where a female’s body is coerced, tied, and laced into a particular shape.)

  The overdress’s fabric was stunning, for it was translucent and woven of glittering threads that made it appear as iridescent as the wings of a housefly. Rows of silky, delicate fringe, one atop the other, decorated the bottom half of the shift in the same golden-bronze color. Every time I moved, the fringes filtered and swayed delightfully. (I’m not ashamed to admit that I’d spent a significant amount of time looking in the mirror, admiring the shining, dancing rows of fringe.)

  I had not been courageous enough to leave my lower appendages bare but for silk stockings (which, according to Dylan, was how the real flapper girls would have dressed), so I’d consulted with Madame Trouxeau, and she’d created elegant boots that stretched up and over my knees! (That way, when I sat, if the short skirt shifted, my knees would still be covered. I cannot imagine the scandal it would have created had a knee been exposed.)

  The boots were rust-colored to match the under-chemise, which, of course, could be seen through the translucent fabric over it. My footwear sported short heels that bulged sweetly at the top and bottom, but curved into something quite slender in the center. (Due to my propensity for tripping and slipping, I appreciated the relatively stable shape of the heel’s base.)

  As both chemise and overdress were sleeveless, I wore gloves in a sparkling gold fabric that fastened tightly from wrist to just past my elbow with buttons in the shape of daisies—each of which was as wide as two of my fingers. To complete the look, I had two very long ropes of copper and bronze beads that were anchored to the chemise straps to hold them in place at the tops of my shoulders. They hung down in graceful arcs all the way to my midriff and lower back, clunking gently against me with every movement.

  Instead of a hat, I wore a sequined white headband that went straight across my forehead and met in the back at a cluster of airy feathers and silk daisies in white, gold, and rust. My mask coordinated, being in the Venetian Carnival style, and was white with gold decoration. It covered my forehead, eyes, and most of my very prominent nose.

  “Good gad, did you cut your hair?” Evaline shrieked suddenly. Fortunately, it was so loud in the ballroom that no one could have noticed.

  I inclined my head and felt the still-new, but pleasant, tickle of curls brushing my cheeks and the sides and back of my neck. “It was a practical as well as a fashion decision—”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said with such awe that I couldn’t help but believe she truly meant it. “The way your hair curls up so prettily around your neck. I bet it makes your nose look smaller, too, Mina, though it’s hard to tell with the mask on. And now the color seems more like auburn than dark brown—”

  “My hair has always had threads of chestnut and copper in it,” I interrupted. Her enthusiastic commentary was making me feel a little uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to having my appearance criticized—or complimented—quite so vociferously.

  “And it doesn’t make you look like a man at all,” she continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “Has Grayling seen you? I’ll bet he swallowed his tongue!” She giggled, and I could see her eyes dancing from behind the helmetlike mask that all but obliterated her identity.

  “We rode in the same carriage,” I replied, feeling uncomfortable with her mirth. What was it about Evaline that made her so interested in Grayling and his reactions? “And I must return the compliment, Evaline, for your costume is not only utterly appropriate for you, but I do believe it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen you wear.” I suspected I’d discovered the identity of Madame Trouxeau’s l
ast-minute customer.

  “Thank you. Miss Adler said the same.”

  “Miss Adler is here? How is she costumed? Of course I could easily find her, but if you tell me it’ll save some time—”

  “She’s dressed as Annie Oakley, but Mina, she wants to talk to us.”

  “And I must speak with her as well. Evaline, Dylan has gone missing!”

  “I know.”

  I frowned. “How on earth could you know that?”

  Her mouth moved between the sides of her mask, as if she were contemplating how to respond, and then she said, “Well, Miss Adler told me. But it’s not as if I couldn’t have somehow discovered it myself—”

  “Then Miss Adler knows. Drat. I’d rather hoped she knew where he was. What does she want to speak with us about?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me. But it sounds serious. She slipped off into the crowd before I could ask her more. She said we must talk tomorrow. That there have been complications.”

  I frowned, feeling the mask shift against my cheeks. I had wondered for some time whether Miss Adler had been giving me ludicrously mundane tasks to keep me occupied—or distracted. But what was she trying to keep me distracted from?

  And then another thought struck me. One I didn’t like very much, but nonetheless, a hypothesis could not be summarily discarded simply because one didn’t like it.

  It had become clear there were two people trying to keep me occupied and distracted, unless…

  Was it possible Miss Adler had arranged for me to be suspected in the murder of Frederick Boggs?

  Surely not. Of course Irene Adler wouldn’t resort to murder.

  Still. Something seemed wrong. And—

  Someone jostled me sharply from behind, and I turned to accept their apology. But the figure didn’t even hesitate as he—or she; I couldn’t tell—moved past. It was a jumble of people, complicated costumes and accessories, and movement that obstructed my view, along with a slightly askew mask. I felt someone brush even more rudely past, shoving so that a dark blond ballerina stumbled against me. I opened my mouth to express my consternation when Evaline made a sudden exclamation.

  Adjusting my mask so it was in its proper position, I was about to join her in her outrage at the rudeness of certain individuals when I realized she was looking down at a crumpled paper in her hand.

  “What ails you, Evaline?” I asked, rubbing the soft part of my posterior, where something dull but pointed had just prodded me during the little altercation.

  “Look at this, Mina!” She thrust the bedraggled paper at me. “Someone shoved this into my hand a little while ago after they bumped into me.”

  I took it and read the words hand-printed on it.

  BE READY

  A prickle shot down my spine. “Where on earth—”

  “And Mina, look! This fell to the ground just now when you tripped and almost fell—”

  “I didn’t trip. I was pushed. Like you,” I added, suddenly realizing the significance of it all.

  But Evaline was still talking. “It just now fluttered down during the confusion. I think they shoved it at you, or into your hand, and you didn’t take it.” She bent gracefully to scoop up a piece of paper. “Look.”

  The writing was identical; the message was the same.

  BE READY

  “Someone dropped this just now?” I spun around, once more bumping into the lithe ballerina who was standing next to me. “Did you see who that was?” I demanded of her. “Someone just bumped into me, and then you, and they dropped this paper! Did you see them?”

  The ballerina, whom I immediately recognized beneath her gold and white mask as Miss Bella Scott-Rondeau, gaped at me. “I didn’t really see him—”

  “Him? Are you certain it was a man? Or was it a she?” I asked, furious with myself that I hadn’t seen who caused the little altercation.

  “I’m not certain.” She rose on her toes, which were in sequined bronze ballet shoes that laced up her legs, looking out over the crowd as if to attempt to discover who had assaulted us. Her skirt, which was fashioned of alternating and overlapping panels of gold, bronze, and copper leather, lifted and shivered gently above a froth of sparkling gold tulle. “It might have been that person with the sparkling blue cape, but I’m not sure. I didn’t really see who it was. It was all rather confused.”

  “It certainly was,” I muttered in frustration. Not with her, but with myself. How could I have been so oblivious?

  “Evaline, I don’t suppose you saw who it was.” Then I sighed, because my companion had discovered a serving maid who was delivering frothy meringues via a tray.

  “I wasn’t paying attention,” she replied—surprising me not in the least.

  I huffed. “Well, there is no help for it, then. At least tell me how you came to be in possession of this note”—I gestured with the crumpled paper I still held—“and you didn’t see fit to mention it until now.”

  “I didn’t realize I was holding it until just now,” my companion replied as she reached for another meringue.

  “How could you not realize—”

  “Someone bumped into me and my mask got pushed aside. I nearly fell myself, because it was quite a crush. I didn’t see who helped steady me, but they grabbed me by the wrist. They must have stuffed the paper into my hand when they did. I didn’t realize I was even holding it until a few minutes later, and then I was looking for a place to discard it—which is why I still had it in my hand. When the same thing happened to you—”

  “I thought you said I tripped,” I snapped.

  Her lips curved behind her mask. “I just said that to tease you, Mina. And you reacted exactly as I thought you would. Anyway, when the same thing happened to you,” she continued over my irritated sniff, “I saw the paper fall to the ground, and it reminded me of the one I was holding, that I’d somehow acquired. That’s when I actually looked at it for the first time.”

  By now, we’d edged away from the food tables—and thus the worst of the crowd. I found it much easier to breathe and think now that I wasn’t hemmed in on either side, and knowing Evaline, I suspected she felt the same way.

  “Someone made a point of giving us both the same message. Something is going to happen tonight, Evaline.”

  “Do you really think so, Mina?”

  I opened my mouth to make a sharp reply about her obtuseness before I realized she was being facetious. I lifted my nose. She really could be the most incorrigible, annoying individual.

  “There’s very little clue to the writer of these messages.” I peered at the papers through the eyeholes of my mask. “They’re written on simple paper in block letters. It could have been done here, or before the messenger arrived. The ink isn’t smeared, nor is it anything unusual. There seems to be a bit of embossing at the edge of one of the papers, though—as if it were torn off to keep me from identifying the source of the stationery.” I peered at it more closely, but the ballroom’s dim ambience wasn’t conducive to a close examination of anything. I stuffed it into my glove to look at later.

  “But how did the individual know it was us? Well, I mean to say, you’re rather obvious, Evaline, if anyone knows anything about you. Coming as Diana the Huntress is almost like wearing a sign, to be fair. But I’m surprised anyone could have recognized me—”

  “Wait!” Evaline grabbed my arm. “I thought you were going to be here as Sekhmet, so I was watching for that tiara with the snake on it so I could find you—”

  “It’s called a ureaus, Evaline.”

  “Fine. But it sounds disgusting. Anyway, I saw someone wearing it. I thought it was you, and I was trying to follow them through the crowd—”

  “The Ankh,” I whispered. “She’s here. It’s got to be her. Dressed as Sekhmet.”

  “But Lady Cosgrove-Pitt is in mourning! She wouldn’t— Oh. What a perfect chance for her to do something social.” She smiled again. “No one would even know she’s here with all the masks. But why would she warn us to be ready?”


  “Well, did she not do the same thing at the Yule Fête? Don’t you remember what she said to me that night? ‘I’m so very glad you’re here. It’s going to be a very triumphant evening.’ That’s what she said. It was very nearly the same as ‘Be ready.’”

  “Right, then. We need to find that Egyptian person. I’m not sure it was Sekhmet, Mina—I couldn’t see whether the head was a lioness or not.”

  “We’ll find her. And we’ll do as the note suggested: be ready. How is the back of your neck, Evaline?”

  “Normal,” she replied after the briefest of pauses. “There are no UnDead in the vicinity.”

  “Well, we can be thankful for that, at least.” I hesitated, then plunged on. “Evaline, do you know how Sir Emmett is costumed tonight? I want to find him as well.”

  “Sir Emmett? Why?”

  I didn’t want to tell her about the photograph that included my mother, along with Sir Emmett, Hiram Bartholomew, and Pix. I wasn’t ready to share that information with anyone else quite yet, even though Evaline had had her own relationship with my mother.

  Siri, she’d called her. Siri, apparently a derivative of Desirée—the name by which I’d known her.

  Perhaps that was why I didn’t want to tell my partner. It was one thing I had of my mother that she didn’t. Yet. Besides, knowing Evaline, she’d go off and stir up trouble without thinking things through or making a plan. She’d probably walk up to Sir Emmett and demand to know how he knew her.

  I wondered if Miss Adler would know about the picture. Yet another reason I needed to speak with her.

  “I was just curious,” I replied belatedly to Evaline. Then I was saved from further questions, for I noticed Grayling standing near the edge of the crowd on the opposite side of the food tables. “I see the inspector over there—he’s dressed as Phileas Fogg. I’m going to tell him about the notes we received.”