It was nearing midnight. Celine and Pippa should have returned to the convent hours ago. Instead they’d been sequestered in the shadowy chamber on the second floor, seated on an ornate divan in the style of Louis XIV, surrounded by a gathering of illusionists.
As well as five members of the Metropolitan Police.
Though it was the least of Celine’s concerns, the Mother Superior would undoubtedly have their heads upon their return. But that could not be of issue now.
Far more pressing was the fact that Pippa and Celine were likely being counted among the possible suspects in a murder. If Celine found any humor in the irony, she would be on the floor, laughing maniacally.
But humor would not save her now.
Once the truth of Celine’s and Pippa’s association with Anabel came to light, it would not be easy for them to explain why they’d been unaware of Anabel’s presence until the moment they’d discovered her body. Even to Celine, it sounded suspicious. Not only had they been nearby at the time of the victim’s death, but they’d also known the poor young woman personally. Briefly Celine considered trying to summon the Mother Superior to vouch for them. Alas, that old bat would be just as likely to foist blame onto Celine as she would be to help her.
It was too much of a risk.
Celine knew she should reveal these truths the instant after she was introduced to the Metropolitan Police’s best detective. But it might color his judgment against them, causing him to forgo looking elsewhere for evidence. If she waited, however, he would undoubtedly be suspicious.
Zut. Celine sighed to herself. When would be a good time to tell him?
Never was definitely not an option . . . was it?
Alas, Celine could not conceal these things from him forever. Resentment swirled through her like a fog tinged in red light. Pippa began crying quietly, her fingers winding around one of the handkerchiefs Celine had fashioned to raise money for the convent. One of the many embroidered fripperies Anabel had sold Odette earlier that very day.
How had it come to this?
What kind of horrible misfortune had befallen Anabel?
And why the devil had she acquiesced to the Mother Superior’s wishes? Celine clenched her fists in her skirts, anger heating her blood.
Tonight, the cost of Anabel’s decision had been her life.
Celine shook her head quickly, fending off the rising guilt. Wishing to banish the image of Anabel’s mauled body from her mind. Her efforts proved futile. Even in the few seconds before Pippa’s scream and Odette’s shout had torn through the night—before Bastien and Arjun and Nigel had raced to their sides—the image of Anabel’s death mask had seared itself forever onto Celine’s eyelids.
She glanced about, wondering how long the Metropolitan Police’s most celebrated detective would take to question them. None of those waiting had yet to speak with him. Upon arrival, he’d gone straight to the place where Anabel’s body had been found, and the semicircle of grim-faced officers standing around them did not exactly afford Celine a vantage point from which to discern much else.
Across the way, Arjun sat on a tufted velvet stool with an ankle crossed over a knee, his posture easy. From his fingers dangled a crystal tumbler, the contents within it swirling around the glass in shades of amber and gold. The monocle swaying from his throat shimmered as the whiskey danced about his glass. Celine urged her mind to become lost in the warm prisms cast by his motions.
Better she lose herself in drink than look to her immediate right.
Toward the figure standing in the shadows, bereft of his revolver, glaring at nothing.
Celine feigned a cough to clear her throat.
Where was this cursed detective? Why was he taking so long to examine the scene of the crime? And where in God’s name was Odette?
Chaos had ensued in the moments following the discovery of Anabel’s body. There hadn’t been time for Celine to take stock of what was happening around her. Too many flashes of movement in all directions, too many questions crowding her mind.
But now that a tense kind of calm had descended—an aerialist on a tightrope—several details struck Celine as odd. First, the only immediate reactions from the second floor had been those of herself, Pippa, and Odette. The other members of La Cour des Lions had kept strangely silent and still, as if murder was not at all a surprising event.
It wasn’t until everyone below reacted to the news that a gruesome death had occurred