Then, five days ago, another toff had died in the same fashion.
Ben had found this second man attacking a prostitute, the dilated pupils and raging expression eerily familiar. He’d just hauled the man off the woman when the bastard’s knees buckled, his body shaking with paroxysms as he hit the ground.
This time, Chen had managed to revive the man. Searching through the fellow’s pockets, Ben had found a small snuffbox. Made of glazed crimson ceramic, the distinctive round container was trimmed and hinged with bronze. The letters “D” and “B” were painted in gilt on the lid…and it was identical to the one Ben had found on Winford. Inside the box were the same white powdery dregs.
“Is this what made you ill?” Ben had demanded.
The man had stared up at him with glassy eyes. “I had a wager with the Devil…”
“Where did you get this drug?” Chen had asked.
“All gone. But the Devil will be at London’s fanciest masquerade—”
The man’s singsong voice had dissolved into a choking fit. Convulsions seized him, blood leaking from his nose. Despite Chen’s best efforts, the fellow had soon lain lifeless in the dirt.
“His name was John Hagan,” Chen said now. “We located his family. His father is a well-to-do merchant and had no inkling of his son’s drug use.”
“Have you spoken to Hagan’s friends?” Ben asked. “Perhaps they know more about his habits.”
“Not yet. I have been focused on identifying the substance in the snuffboxes. The chemist I consulted thought it might be some highly potent derivative of opium. Something neither he nor I have seen before.” Grooves bracketed the healer’s mouth. “I’ve also been inquiring at shops to see if anyone has information on the snuffboxes themselves. No luck thus far.
“This drug is dangerous, killing two men—that we know of—in a month alone. We must find the source, the Devil Hagan spoke of, and put a stop to the spread of this poison.”
“I have an idea where to look,” Ben said.
Chen lifted his brows.
“Hagan mentioned that the Devil will be at London’s fanciest masquerade. The Earl and Countess of Edgecombe are holding a costume ball in ten days, touted as the fête of the Season.”
“How does one secure an invitation to such an exalted event?” Chen asked.
“As it happens,” Ben said resolutely, “I already have one.”
5
1843, London
Livy is 14; Ben is 26
“Are you in here, little queen?”
Hearing Hadleigh’s deep voice, Livy quickly dashed away her tears.
“In the nook,” she called back.
The nook was a lush alcove in the orangery and her private hideaway. It was shielded by a wall of potted citrus on one side with a glass-framed view of the gardens on the other. Usually, she enjoyed the tranquility of the space, yet today she found no comfort in the solitude. She felt separated and cut off, a barrier between her and the outside world.
A fresh wave of heat rose behind her eyes. Befuddled, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. She prided herself on being a level-headed girl. Since she had turned fourteen and started Mrs. Southbridge’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, however, her emotions had been as bumpy as a country road. Up and down, up and down they went, like a runaway carriage she could not control.
She hated feeling powerless. Hated acting like a ninny.
In fact, she felt so unlike herself today that she was even avoiding Hadleigh, one of her favorite people. In the two years since he’d saved her life, he had been a frequent visitor to the house. He and Papa had become friends and partners in various business ventures, and Mama invited him to all the family celebrations. He often came alone as his wife apparently kept a busy social calendar and was in much demand.
Livy did not mind. The few times she had interacted with the Duchess of Hadleigh, she had run out of things to say. In the glamorous lady’s company, she felt gauche and as dull as ditchwater.
Seeing Hadleigh’s lanky form round the lush green wall, Livy composed herself.
“I thought I would find you here.” He strode over in his easy, long-limbed stride. He sat beside her on the wooden bench with the familiarity of an old friend. Studying her with dark sapphire eyes, he said, “Did you not know that I came to call?”
She considered lying, but she was no good at social niceties. That was part of her problem.
“I knew,” she said.
“But you didn’t come to see me?” A furrow appeared between his dark brows. “Have I done something to annoy you, little one?”
He was the only adult she knew who would ask such a question. It was one of the reasons she liked him. He cared what she thought and treated her as his equal.
“Of course not.” She expelled a breath. “I just wasn’t in the mood for company.”
“Come to think of it, neither am I.” He smiled faintly. “Do you mind if we are alone together for a while?”
She shook her head. Quiet settled, each of them lost in their own brooding thoughts. Of late, Livy had discovered that silence had many forms. The awkward kind when one had nothing to add to conversations about frippery and eligible matches. The cruel kind when one’s classmates stopped talking when one approached, their backs forming a wall.
The present silence was comforting, like a trusty and timeworn blanket. It made Livy feel safe. Safe enough to let the truth out.
“They hate me,” she blurted.
Hadleigh angled his head at her. “Who does?”
“Everyone. All the girls at Southbridge’s,” she said morosely.
“Why?”
This was another reason Livy liked Hadleigh. Whenever she had brought up this topic with her parents, they tried to fix the problem for her. Papa had even threatened to have a “discussion” with the headmistress
