herself to take a moment to gather her wits. There was a marble stand with printed programs. She picked one up, pretending to read it.
It was all she could do not to turn around and walk straight back to Nick. She could feel him like a fire behind her, a warm, dangerous light in the darkness. But what purpose would running back serve? What exactly could she hope to erase? She hadn’t meant to be cruel. Or had she been? She’d told him the truth.
A fresh wave of tears took over. She turned to the wall, burying her nose in the program for cover. She stiffened, forcing her shoulders not to shake. Fighting her body left her weak, her stomach aching as if someone had kicked her. She sniffed, pulling up the sleeve of her dress. Her wrist had blossomed with a bracelet of bruises where Nick had grabbed her. It still throbbed from the force of his grip. He’d been angry. She’d torn his heart out. But that didn’t make hurting her right.
She tugged down her cuff before one of the other guests milling around got curious. Pulling out her handkerchief, she wiped her eyes and nose and wished she could wash her face. If only her face wouldn’t show her emotions, but it was pointless. She couldn’t seem to stop the slow, steady leak of tears.
Some women cried gracefully, but not her. She was doomed to go through the evening with a red nose and bleary eyes. There would be curious stares or, worse, sympathy. Some would put it down to a broken heart. Well, that was true. Just not in the simple way Lady Bancroft’s novels would have it.
Evelina took a handful of deep breaths until the colors in the room stopped swirling around her. She folded the program in her hand, nodding and smiling as a couple walked by arm in arm. Their obvious contentment made her want to scream.
Instead, she strode briskly into the gallery and stopped next to her uncle, who had finally condescended to use the wheeled chair. She kept staring straight ahead. “You did not return to the office.”
“I have been having some difficulty finding my way to Mr. Keating’s side,” he replied blandly.
She didn’t believe that for an instant. The room was crowded, but that would barely slow him down, chair or no chair. “Nick found me.”
“I thought he might.”
“We argued.”
“Ah.” He made a face. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“It was somewhat inevitable and, unfortunately, necessary.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know foolhardy young men, having had personal experience of the state. They don’t exit the stage quietly, even for their own good. Even if they have no immediate role in what is to come.”
Her insides clenched. “How do you know all this?”
He have her a grimace that said he detested the topic. “He has no role because you won’t permit it. Therefore, his proud nature demands that he leave. The math is simple. I took advantage of it to play something of a long game.”
She hiccuped, her roiling emotions at war with his so-called simple math. “I don’t understand.”
Her uncle waved an impatient hand. “Tears and explanations must wait. But remember I told you that your friends would be out of harm’s way.”
He had saved Nick. That was good, but what about the Roths? Panic seized her. Imogen and Tobias were in trouble, because there was no way Lord Bancroft was innocent.
Holmes gave her an impatient look as he read the panic on her face. “Focus. Right now the show is about to begin. Look carefully about the room and take note of who is here.”
She did as she was told, beginning on her left and sweeping her gaze slowly to the right. Many of the guests were very familiar. The Roths, of course. Jasper Keating held court among a clump of hangers-on, his silver hair perfectly waving around his patrician head. She recognized Captain Roberts, a friend of Lord Bancroft, mopping his forehead from the heat. There was Professor Teasdale from Oxford, sipping tea and chatting with the Duke of Westlake. There was another man slumped against the wall, looking sourly at the others.
“Who is he?”
“Harriman, Keating’s cousin and the owner of the warehouse you visited.”
She took a second look. Harriman was younger than his cousin but had blurred versions of the same features, rather like a bad copy of a famous painting. “Very well, now what?”
“Take note of the exhibits. They are as advertised—bowls, wine jars, helmets, jewelry—Schliemann found a burial ground with considerable wealth. They are still translating the inscriptions, but it seems to be the property of a warrior king from Homeric times, but those details are irrelevant.”
A glance around confirmed what he was saying. She thought of the bar of gold Grace Child had been carrying. The stones that had been with it were roughly cut, just like the gems set into the items on display. She suddenly jumped, an idea filling her with dread. “I left my basket in the curator’s office.”
Sherlock blinked lazily, then looked around for Watson. He waved him over. “Would you please retrieve Evelina’s basket from the curator’s desk? It contains vital evidence.”
Watson nodded and left at once, apparently used to playing errand boy. Evelina pressed a hand to her mouth, a bad feeling filling her.
“Never mind,” Sherlock ordered. “We need to press on.”
She swallowed hard. “What next?”
“A bit of theater. I would like to topple that vase over by the window. The delicate one.”
Evelina stared. “Why? It’s incredibly old and valuable!”
“It is neither. As I said, these are copies. Do you have a means of discreetly knocking it off its display?”
“I do.”
He opened his hands in a showman’s gesture. “Then let the demonstration begin.”
She slipped Mouse out of her pocket and dropped her program at the same instant. As she bent to retrieve the booklet, she set Mouse loose.
“Be careful,” she whispered. “Don’t get stepped on!”
It rose up on its hind legs, nose twitching.
She straightened. “Wait a moment.”
Holmes cocked an eyebrow, but Watson returned before he could speak.
“I looked in all the offices,” said the doctor. “The basket is gone.”
“Did you see Nick?” Evelina demanded.
Watson shook his head. “No.”
The meaning of that
And best of all, no one could blame her or Uncle Sherlock for knocking it over. She kissed Mouse’s nose and put it back into her pocket.
“Clever,” her uncle said softly. “Now watch everyone’s reactions.”
Jasper Keating had picked up the vase and was staring at it with a thunderous expression. Never a man to hide his displeasure, he vented his wrath in a spray of spittle. “It’s chipped! The gold is flaking right off! But this piece is supposed to be solid gold!”
“They’re running!” Evelina cried. “Look at Captain Roberts and the professor!”
“Never mind. Lestrade has his men waiting outside the doors.”
“Then they’ll catch Nick!”
“Do you really think so? From what I understand that young man has a penchant for crawling along rooftops. Now pay attention.”
Jasper Keating exploded. “What is the meaning of this?” He rounded on his cousin, grabbing him by the arm and bodily dragging him over the wreckage of the vase. “Explain!”
“Why are you looking at me?” Harriman raised his hands like a bank robber surrendering to Scotland Yard.
