about my lack of reputation, I’m going to punch his nose.”
“If you must.” Nutall looked thoughtful. “Rogers sounds like someone it might be useful to know. Watch out for him. You’re going back tomorrow?”
“Three o’clock,” Thalia said. “Sharp.”
“Keep your temper in check,” Nutall advised. “Try not to punch the goose who lays the golden eggs. This gig of yours is a great piece of luck. Come back from tutoring your Trader as soon as you can. By the time we leave for the Imperial, I want neither of us looking anything like our usual self. Wear something appropriate yet unrecognizable. I won’t give that weasel Von Faber the satisfaction of knowing we’re in the house.”
Thalia ran a swift mental inventory of her wardrobe. “Er.”
“Ask Mrs. Morris for advice.” Nutall resumed his attack on the slice of pie before him. “But don’t stay up all night sewing your disguise.”
Thalia couldn’t help laughing. “I’m no seamstress.”
“Don’t I know it. Try not to get carried away.”
* * *
Thalia waited until dinner had been cleared up and the evening chores finished before she asked Mrs. Morris for advice on her disguise.
“Bless you, I’ll be happy to lend you my sister’s Sunday hat. Put the veil down and you’ll look older than I do.” Mrs. Morris, delighted to consult, gave Thalia advice on how to move as if she were three times her true age.
“Now, what was it like at the Trader mansion you visited this afternoon?” Mrs. Morris was clearly bursting with curiosity. “Lots of servants?”
“An army,” Thalia assured her, “so well-trained, I only saw four altogether the whole time I was there. But the place is huge. They must have dozens of Solitaires to help.”
“I suppose that’s one thing Traders are good for,” Mrs. Morris said. “They do give a lot of people work.”
* * *
In the morning, Mrs. Morris presented Thalia with the receipt she’d written for the twenty dollars she’d received on account. “Where did Mr. Nutall go last night? I would ask him myself, only he’s gone out already. I remembered your payment on account quite late last night. I wanted to tell him you’d paid, but when I knocked on his door, he didn’t answer.”
Thalia frowned. “How late is quite late?” Nutall had come in during dessert, but he’d stayed in for the rest of the night. Hadn’t he?
“Oh, well past one in the morning.” Mrs. Morris sounded sheepish. “I know it was rather late to disturb a paying guest, but Mr. Nutall has always been so friendly. I thought I would just try on the off chance he was still awake.”
“He must have been asleep.”
“That’s what I thought, but then it struck me that I didn’t hear anything. Not a snore. Nothing. I wondered if he was all right. I opened the door.” At Thalia’s expression, Mrs. Morris added hastily, “It was quite unlocked.”
“Of course it was,” Thalia said. “Go on.”
“Everything was in perfect order, but Mr. Nutall wasn’t there. He’s come in since then,” Mrs. Morris assured Thalia. “When I checked a few minutes ago, his bed had been slept in, but he’s gone out again already.”
“I’ll ask Nutall about it when I see him.”
“It’s just that it was quite late to be out,” Mrs. Morris explained.
“You keep a sharp eye on us, don’t you?”
Mrs. Morris gave Thalia a penetrating look. “If you knew the world the way I do, Miss Thalia Cutler, you’d keep a sharp eye too.”
“I wasn’t criticizing.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I’ll ask Nutall about it. I’d like to know where he was myself. I thought he was in for the night.”
* * *
Nutall still wasn’t back by the time the Ryker automobile arrived to collect Thalia. She scratched out a note to remind him where she would be and for how long, and then went out to the car. She’d worn her best suit the day before, so she was back in the clothes she’d worn to visit Madame Ostrova on Wednesday. She chose a less imposing hat and her best gloves. She felt smart enough to do justice to the Pierce-Arrow.
This time the car created an even greater sensation among Thalia’s fellow lodgers than it had the day before. Once aboard, Thalia spent less time fiddling with the luxurious fittings in the passenger compartment and more time paying attention to the route the driver took. It was a windy, overcast day. Street-corner newsstands were hawking Trader papers, with “Manticore in Manhattan!” and “Send for the Skinner!” in the headlines chalked on the notice boards