The parade of expressions across Oczkar Korvin's face would have been humorous under other circumstances. But to his credit, he mastered them, and came to take the chair remaining between Virgil and Mrs. Smith. He seated himself, collected and precise, with his posture folded in onto itself. "Señor de Ulloa," he said, "I owe you a rather abject apology."
"You made your point," Sebastien said. Now he rather wished he had a plate; utensils to manage would make a welcome distraction. "Won't Mademoiselle LeClere be dining with you?"
"She is unlikely to be down to lunch," Korvin said. "Judging by the hysterics that consummated our recent conversation."
"Your remorse does not extend to her?"
Korvin turned his water goblet with his fingertips. "A man doesn't like to be manipulated into doing a woman's dirty work for her," he said. "I made an unfortunate choice in listening to Eugenie—to Mademoiselle LeClere."
"She suggested your trick with the burning glass?" Sebastien asked, leaning forward.
"She said that you were going to accuse her—and me—of murder. That Madame Pontchartrain had disappeared while she and I were together, and—" an eloquent shrug. "Even sorcerers who are under a crown's control are viewed with a certain amount of suspicion."
"I'm acquainted with prejudice," Sebastien said. "What's changed to bring you to me now?"
"I had a word with Mr. Leatherby," Korvin said. "Mademoiselle LeClere and he had some unhappy history, it appears, and he was kind enough to warn me—"
"She was blackmailing him." Lillian set down her spoon and picked up her wine glass, slouching against the chair-back in a manner which she never could have managed in a corset. Mrs. Smith gave her an envious glance.
"Or her guardian was, with her assistance." Korvin said. He lowered his voice as the waiter came to take the soup away.
"Miss Meadows seemed to think Mademoiselle LeClere might attempt reform for your sake," Sebastien said.
"Who could ever trust her? Fortunately, I was not overfond of the girl."
Just willing to use her affection for you. Sebastien bit his tongue. Korvin wasn't the first or last of his kind. Not that Sebastien was any better, he thought, with a sidelong glance at Jack, who fiddled his cuffs, seemingly oblivious.
But, that piece in place, Sebastien abruptly remembered Mrs. Leatherby hurrying into the salon behind the others, her blouse still unbuttoned at the collar. He remembered her pulling the comb from her hair, and the scent of her perfume filling the room as her hair tumbled over her neck.
He put his water goblet down sharply enough to slop fluid on his hand. "Mrs. Smith," he said. "Or Lillian. . .I don't suppose either of you recalls when Beatrice Leatherby arrived in the lady's washroom to be inspected for a tattoo?"
"Late," Lillian said. "Out of breath."
And Sebastien nodded, the completed understanding filling him with lazy satisfaction. Jack was looking at him, smiling, and Sebastien wondered if the triumph were so transparent on his face. "Summon the Captain," he said. "She and her husband are the murderers."
* * *
The Leatherbys walked into quite a different luncheon than they must have been anticipating. Captain Hoak was waiting for them, flanked by the burly crewmen—alike as a brace of hounds—who had been guarding Korvin and Sebastien. "Your bags will be searched for a bottle of laudanum and for a magical hair-comb, which Korvin úr will inspect for enchantments related to concealing the presence of the wearer." he said. "You are accused of the murder of Leonelle Pontchartrain, and as master of this ship, I am placing you both under arrest."
"Konrad," Beatrice Leatherby said, and laid a hand on his arm. "Surely—in front of all these people—"
The captain flushed red to the roots of his hair. In the corner by the piano, Mr. Cui bent down to whisper something in his wife's ear, and she covered her mouth with both hands. Michiel van Dijk laid down his silver fork, but did not stand. "We'll not speak of it now."
Hollis Leatherby retained his composure, and bulled forward, pulling his wife away from Captain Hoak. "On what evidence?" His gaze swept scornfully over the assemblage, hot enough that Sebastien almost felt it curl the fine hairs on his skin. "I suppose the vampire and the sorcerer have joined forces to save their necks?"
"That's the tone I object to," Sebastien murmured in Mrs. Smith's ear, drawing a short sharp laugh before stepping forward, around her and away from Korvin and Jack. "Mr. Leatherby," he said, "would you like a list?"