Episode 9: The Carmichaels’ Ball

THE SCIENTIST: Experiment 31E, supplemental notes.

Date: October 28, 1843.

I have returned from the Carmichaels’ to the inn where we are staying. I brought the Vox to record any important notes…I forgot how heavy this device can be. I may have to experiment with a more portable model if I intend to do any further travelling. But that is not where my focus is at the moment. There is…much to talk about.

Having to wait a fortnight, worrying over whether Herman or the Rubedo might find their way to my door, did not lend itself well to good sleep. Instead, I spent many an endless night planning for what was to come.

The Boy tried to stay up with me, but he began coughing worse than ever after a few days. Clearly, he must rest well, or his health suffers. I sent him to bed the next night and continued preparations on my own.

I did not anticipate the hardest part of our plan to be stealing the ingredient from Hooker. Lady Carmichael said his samples would be on display in the library before and after his lecture. No, the hardest part would be maintaining my cover…

I knew… I realized… [sigh]

I had first asked Agnes to help me try on a gown, to get used to wearing one, walking in one. I do not own a dress, so she let me borrow one of hers. It was a simple dress, but as this was for practice, that was of no concern.

I put it on and…well, John summed it up nicely when he said I looked like I was heading to the gallows. It was quickly decided I could not pass for a lady, not a proper one.

But I know I can pass for a man.

I have a suit—multiple suits—that would work well for such an event. Of course, Lady Carmichael was expecting Miss Victoria Trafford. So, in the letter accepting her invitation, I said I hated to disappoint her, but unfortunately, I had to send another in my place as I was simply too busy to be dragged away from the manor. My cousin from America, William Corvino, would be happy to attend on my behalf, with his nephew from Manchester, John Archibald.

When I informed the Boy of his new identity, he gave me a look, a look that said plainly: you don’t remember my last name. Which is absurd. Obviously, I remember John’s last name, it’s…

I will remember John’s last name later.

But now that we would be presenting as two gentleman, we needed to learn the proper etiquette. This was…an unexpected difficulty, but I feel we were able to largely surmount that obstacle. Leaving Agnes in charge of the manor—and in charge of feeding the Boy’s cat—we took the coach down to Devon, where the Carmichaels live.

Of course, no matter how fast I ordered the coachman to go, such a journey could not be completed in one day. The Boy and I had to seek out inns along our route. For a bit of practice, we kept up the act that the two of us were gentlemen. I think John appreciated the ruse. People treated him differently…he looked amazed the first time someone called him sir. And when his stoker’s lungs began acting up again, our host for the evening offered him a dainty handkerchief. Later, I caught him staring at it, running his fingers over the delicate fabric.

I have to admit, he was a fine companion. If I’d acted the lady instead, I would’ve had to bring Agnes, and while she is pleasantly quiet and obedient, I don’t feel as if I can comport myself around her in quite the same way as I can with John. He has seen me at my worst, so I can be myself around him—he expects nothing else from me—whereas with Agnes…I feel as if I must act a certain part, like in a play… Agnes is…well, she’s a servant so…but Lydia never felt like a servant. While my family pays for her services, Lydia has always been much more than that. Of course, she didn’t start off as a servant. She and my mother had been friends, and when Lydia needed a job and a place to live, my mother offered her one. Because of that, my mother never treated her like a servant, and she was given free rein around the estate. She was more like my mother’s partner…especially after my father’s death…

Of course, John is a servant. But he’s not…he’s not my friend, of course… But…I have grown accustomed to him…

I-I am getting distracted. I must focus.

We finally arrived at the Carmichaels’ yesterday evening. After practicing for days in our new personas, we stepped confidently out of the coach.

And we promptly forgot everything.

At the door, John nearly introduced me as Miss Trafford, barely covering his mistake by amending it hastily to Miss Trafford’s cousin. I then gestured to him and said, “And this is John…” My mind emptied of every surname I’d ever known. Luckily the Boy added the missing Archibald without too awkward of a pause. But the attendant at the door seemed to think nothing of our bumbling and allowed us inside the manor.

In all the anxiety over maintaining our personas and stealing a rare sample from a scientist I admired, I had pushed aside the anxiety of being at a ball with so many people.

So. Many. People.

I shall never understand why anyone would want to be surrounded by so many. The noise, the movements, the various smells—overwhelming. The only possible comfort was that in such chaos it is easy to slip through the crowd without having to pause for social niceties. Or so I thought.

“Mr. Corvino, is it?” someone said from across the hall.

An older woman with brown skin and silver hair, dressed in the finest of gowns, held out her hand to me as she approached. Beside her was a smiling man of a similar age. He was bald and had a pale, round face with ruddy cheeks and a stark white beard.

These, I assumed, were the hosts of the event, Lord and Lady Carmichael.

“Yes, I—I am William Corvino,” I said, my mind crushed so severely under the overwhelming crowd that all I could think was how proud I was I hadn’t forgotten my fake name. “And this is my nephew, John Archibald.”

“Yes, yes, Miss Trafford said you would be attending,” Lady Carmichael said, giving me a scrutinous look, and I suddenly doubted how well my suit could hide what lay underneath. “It’s a shame she couldn’t make it. Oh, where are my manners? I am Lady Esther Carmichael, and this is my dear husband—and our birthday boy—Lord Fitzwilliam Carmichael.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I lied.

“You know,” Lord Carmichael said, “my family has been good friends with the Traffords for generations. My parents were the closest of companions with Miss Trafford’s grandparents, and I became quite good chums with her father and his brother when we were growing up. Of course, James was always so very quiet—always with his head in a book—so I didn’t know him as well as his brother. But my lovely wife here…”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Carmichael said. “I knew James rather well. My family comes from a long line of wealthy merchants, and we lived near the Traffords when I was young. In fact, I met my dear husband thanks to them.” She smiled lovingly at Lord Carmichael.

“Very good,” I said, distracted. I needed to extricate myself from this conversation—for many reasons—and find the samples. “Miss Trafford sends her apologies, of course,” I said. “But she has tasked me with listening to those lectures you promised. May I ask where your library is?”

“Oh, it’s down there and to the right,” Lady Carmichael said, gesturing toward a long corridor. “But the lectures won’t begin just yet. You should at least make an appearance at the dance. And I would love to speak with you more about your family, the Corvinos, as I do not know much about their heritage. Tell me—”

John suddenly began coughing. Severely. I glanced at him, worried, and he gave me a look. I’m not always the best at deciphering nonverbal cues, but I could see this for what it was—he was giving me an excuse. And I needed to use it, quick.

“I’m so sorry, Lady Carmichael,” I said. “My nephew here has been dying of thirst since we left our inn, and now, as you can see, he’s become quite choked up. May I ask where the refreshments are?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Lady Carmichael pointed in the exact opposite direction of the library. “We have plenty of food and drinks in that room over there. Do take care, Mr. Archibald.”

John coughed out a “thank you” as I herded him away from the Carmichaels and toward the refreshment room.

As soon as we were safely out of sight, John stopped coughing.

“We’re going the wrong way if we’re trying to get to the library,” he shrewdly observed.

“We are getting refreshments,” I said. “Because we said we are getting refreshments. We are gentlemen, we are at a party, we are enjoying ourselves as is expected—and when the Carmichaels are distracted, then we go to the library.”

“That may be difficult,” John said. “They seem to have set up camp here in the entrance hall.”

Unfortunately, he seemed to be correct. The Carmichaels were eagerly greeting each new guest as they arrived. To get to the library, we would have to pass them again, and who knows if we would escape unscathed a second time.

Unless there was another way around.

In the dining room, refreshments were laid out on several tables, mounds of food being carefully picked over by a half dozen guests. I performed a quick visual inspection of the room, seeking out alternative routes. There was an open door that led to the ballroom, the sound of music and dancing echoing loudly. The ballroom had several more doors leading off it.

“The ballroom might lead past the entrance hall,” I said.

John nodded absently, his eyes on the food.

I sighed and said, “We are not actually here to eat.”

“You said we are gentlemen,” he stated. “We are here to enjoy—”

“You may eat one thing,” I said.

John quickly snatched a pastry and shoved it whole into his mouth.

Like a gentleman.

I then dragged him to the door of the ballroom.

There were…so many people.

I took a fortifying breath, and we stepped inside.

Couples danced in the middle of the hall, musicians playing music to accompany them, and those either waiting their turn or merely observing lined the walls. Everyone was dressed in the latest fashion, elegant gowns and suits on display.

It was awful.

But I could see a door on the other side of the hall. If it led anywhere near the library… We had to take the chance. Slowly, dodging dancers and laughing bystanders, John and I made our way across the ballroom.

We couldn’t seem like we were trying to cut our way through. We had to keep up the ruse that we wanted to be there, that we were delighted at being around so many people being so very loud. A booming guffaw cut across the room from dead ahead, and I winced at the sudden noise. I turned to glare at the perpetrator and froze.

“It’s James Clark Ross,” I gasped.

John looked at me, quirking an eyebrow. “Are you well?” he asked. “You’ve gone all pale and wide-eyed.”

“It’s James Clark Ross,” I repeated. “Returned from his expedition to Antarctica.”

“Same expedition as Hooker?” John asked.

“The very same,” I said. “Ross was the leader of the expedition and captain of the flagship, Erebus. I think that man with him must be Francis Crozier, his second-in-command. And that woman on Ross’s arm must be his fiancée—or wife, now, I think—Ann Coulman.”

John squinted at me curiously. “And you admire this Jack Clark Ross?” he asked.

“James Clark Ross,” I corrected, “and of course I admire him. He’s set foot places we never will, he’s made advances in magnetic observations integral to our understanding of the world. What’s not to admire?”

John shrugged. “Just looks a like a man…” he said. “A man with fantastic hair perhaps, but just a man. He hasn’t brought back anyone from the dead, now has he?”

“No, but neither have I,” I said.

“Not yet,” John said.

I appreciated his belief in my abilities, but now was not the time for such pleasantries.

“Do you want to go meet him?” John asked me.

“No, no, no,” I said. “I doubt I’ll be able to string two words together. But…” I glanced around the ballroom. “He might know if Hooker has already set up his samples in the library,” I said. “It might be worth it to listen in on his conversation.”

“For the mission?” John asked, quirking that eyebrow again.

“Of course,” I said. “For the mission. Now, remember, we are gentlemen, we are enjoying the party, we are merely walking by…”

“Right,” John said. “Gentlemen.”

I nodded and said, “Yes, gentlemen…we’re gentlemen…be gentlemen…”

“Be gentlemen,” John repeated, and we crept closer to where Ross and his party were standing.

“…and he’s already chomping at the bit to head north again,” Ross was saying as we neared. “I swear we’ve been home less than two months, and he wants us back in the ice again. He wants to find the Passage before he retires. I hear there are even plans to use steam engines.”

Crozier scoffed and said, “Steam engines didn’t help you on the Victory.”

“We dumped it on shore that first winter,” Ross said with a laugh.

I was perhaps a little too excited to be hearing this in a way that had nothing to do with gaining information about Hooker’s flora samples. Here I was, in the presence of two men who had explored both poles of the world, who had faced death, frozen in for months on end, but survived to tell the tale. I confess I may have been…slightly distracted from my cause in that moment.

“Of course,” Crozier said, “this next expedition will only occur if we don’t go to war.”

“Yes, I’ve heard the conflict in France is heating up,” Ross said. “But if it weren’t for that mess, Dumont d’Urville wouldn’t have turned back, and he might have beaten us to the Barrier—or worse, my dearest wife’s new island.” He took Ann’s hand and kissed it.

Ann laughed and said, “While I appreciate you naming an island—and penguin—after me, it was not a necessity, my darling husband.”

“You’re right, my dear,” Ross said. “What is a necessity is that I do not break my promise to you—I will not be returning to the Arctic.”

“Have you told Barrow that?” Crozier asked.

“Oh, he knows,” Ross said. “I told him plainly I would not be the one leading the next attempt at the Passage. But I did make a suggestion for my replacement.” He nodded toward Crozier.

But Crozier shook his head, saying, “I’m afraid I’m not destined to be a leader. I’m a good second, but that’s all I am.”

“Nonsense, Frank,” Ross said. “You already are a good leader. You don’t give yourself enough credit for all you’ve accomplished. And the men all think highly of you.”

“I doubt Hooker thinks that highly of me,” Crozier said.

I perked up at that, hoping to hear more.

“Hooker doesn’t think much of navy men in general,” Ross said. “We get in the way of his observations and collecting. He’s supposed to be here, isn’t he? Where did he go off to?”

“I saw him go that way,” Crozier said, pointing. “I think he was heading toward the librar—oh, god, is that Sophia? I thought she was still in Van Diemen's Land—”

“Look away, Frank,” Ross said, grabbing Crozier by the shoulders and pulling him in the opposite direction of the woman he had spotted. “Look away.”

Ann opened her fan and used it to block Crozier’s view as she and Ross hurried him elsewhere.

Out of curiosity, I tried to find the woman who had caught Crozier’s eye, but I could not identify her out of the many guests milling about. But I did see the door he had gestured toward…

“Hooker went that way,” I whispered to John, and we continued across the hall.

After numerous polite excuses and nearly being run over by a few dancers, we made it to the door. It led to a much quieter corridor, and across the way stood another open door. John and I walked toward it. I could see shelves of books…

Finally, we’d found the library.

A cluster of chairs stood in the room, currently empty. But there were no samples. All I could see was a diagram of some strange device displayed in front of the chairs.

“What is this?” I asked aloud. I didn’t expect an answer, as the only person with me was John and I doubted he knew what was happening better than I.

Which is why it was so surprising to hear a woman behind me say, “That’s the Analytical Engine.”

I turned to see a woman perhaps a couple years younger than I, wearing a gown I could never imagine being able to afford.

“It still only exists in theory,” the woman added. “Hence the diagram. Babbage hopes to get the funding to build a prototype one day. And perhaps then I can see if my notes on how it can calculate Bernoulli numbers are correct.”

All I could do was gawk. My mother had always bemoaned being a scientific woman surrounded by a world of flibbertigibbets. While I had quickly learned to expect being condescended to by most men, I was always so disappointed that it was often the women of the town where I grew up who would harshly criticize my interests and masculine dress, who would impress upon me how I was failing to be a proper woman, how I would never attract a husband. Because of that, I have always been wary around women and often avoid them all together. Therefore, growing up as secluded as I was, I had assumed my mother and I were rarities. But here was a woman—a stately woman—who seemed just as fascinated by science, inventions, and the theoretical as I am. Perhaps…I’m not as rare as I’d thought.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I asked.

The woman tilted her head at me. I realized that this was most likely not the proper protocol for introductions, but she smiled nonetheless.

“Lady Ada King, Countess of Lovelace,” she said. “And you are?”

“Vic—William Corvino…” I said. “Oh, and this is John…Archibald.”

John waved meekly.

This was not at all how this was meant to be done, I could feel it in my bones, but this Countess seemed to take pity on us and our social ineptitude.

“It is lovely to meet you both, Misters Corvino and Archibald,” she said.

“It is lovely to meet you too, Mis—Count—uh, Lady King?” I said—if one could consider that jumble of words something that was said rather something tumbled from my mouth. “My apologies if we were rude before—”

“No need,” the countess said. “I do not mind. Honestly, I’m simply happy to get away from that awful bore Shelley. He’s trying to tell me stories about my father again, as if I weren’t already aware of who my father was. But no, Shelley and—what’s his wife’s name? Oh, whoever she is—they insist on speaking with me no matter how I tire of their reminisces. I excused myself by saying I needed to help Mr. Babbage here in the library. If you want to learn more about the Analytical Engine, he’ll begin his lecture within the half hour.”

“But what about Joseph Hooker?” I asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to give a lecture too?”

“Oh, unfortunately, Mr. Hooker is not feeling well and had to cancel his lecture at the last minute,” she said. “I think some of the food disagreed with him.”

“No,” I gasped, unable to hold in my disappointment. “Is—is he still here? Where are his samples?”

Countess Lovelace gave me an odd look—was I being too forward again? Perhaps. But we had come all this way, I could not let this opportunity slip through my fingers.

“I think he placed his things in the parlor,” she said. “He’s waiting for his coach to be ready. You might be able to catch him before he leaves—if he hasn’t left already.”

“Thank you,” I said and ran out of the library, John at my heels. I regretted leaving the countess in such a brusque manner—in any other circumstance, I would have desired to speak with her further on this engine she spoke of—but there was no time to waste.

Barging through every door down that corridor, I eventually stumbled across what must have been the parlor Countess Lovelace had mentioned. Several carrying cases and trunks sat about in the center of the room in a tall pile. But Hooker was nowhere to be seen.

I hurried to the pile and opened a case, looking for the Breutelia pendula. The top box did not have it, but it did have samples, proving I was on the right track. I told John to help me find the moss, and I knelt to open another case at the base of the pile.

“What are you doing?” demanded someone.

I froze. Hidden behind the pile, I could not see who had just entered the parlor. But John stood out in the open, his hand on a small travel case.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded again, and I realized it must have been Hooker, returned to collect his things.

John’s mouth fell open. He glanced down at where I crouched behind the pile of cases. “Uhhhh…” he said. “…Stealing?”

Without another moment’s hesitation, John grabbed the travel case and bolted from the room.

“Thief!” shouted Hooker as he followed John out of the parlor.

Which left me alone to continue my search.

Frantic, I went through case after case. I didn’t know how much time John had bought me—and I worried what would happen if he were caught. My hands felt clumsy as I pawed through sample after sample. But then, I found it. I slipped the moss out of its case and hid it inside my coat.

I stood up, turned, and found myself face to face with Lady Carmichael.

“I’m terribly sorry to startle you, Mr. Corvino,” Lady Carmichael said. “Why were you on the floor just now? Are you feeling well? Mr. Hooker became ill from one of sandwiches, and I’m worried this party will be remembered as a disaster if everyone else succumbs.”

“No, I’m not ill,” I said, my brain working fast on an excuse. “Well, actually, maybe a little ill. I think my nephew and I might be leaving early…”

“Understandable, understandable,” Lady Carmichael said. “I hope the both of you feel better soon.”

“As do I,” I said, grateful at this perfect opportunity to leave. As long as I could find John before Hooker had him arrested for theft, this was shaping up to be a success.

“I wish you could stay longer, though,” Lady Carmichael said. “It would have been nice to speak with you more.”

“Alas,” I said, wondering if I could begin inching toward the door or not, “but we must be on our way…”

“Of course, of course…” she said. Lady Carmichael gave me another piercing look, like when she had first greeted me. “You know…” she said, “you do look a lot like your mother…but I can see your father in your eyes.”

I froze again, for the umpteenth time that night, like a rabbit sensing it’s been spotted.

“My…I don’t…I don’t think you know my father, or mother,” I stuttered out.

“Oh, oh, my dear,” Lady Carmichael said. Her expression was kind but pitying. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone else noticed. But…I knew James. We grew up together, although I was a little older. I would recognize him anywhere, even to this day. And I can see him in you. Is…is this why you’ve always avoided me?” She gestured at my attire. “Is William the name you prefer? Should I have been writing that instead of Victoria?”

I did not know what to say. I had not anticipated being recognized. Nor had I expected such a response to being found out. She…she was so…understanding.

“I…I don’t go by William,” I said. “I prefer…Vic.”

“Vic,” she said with a smile. “I like it… Based on your hesitation—and your attempt at hiding your true nature—I must assume your father never told you about me.”

I shook my head, confused. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose he was probably only being considerate, keeping my secret. My parents were able to help me hide it in my youth, but if anyone were to know the name I was baptized under, I image there would be quite the scandal. And my poor husband…I suppose our marriage would be annulled… I don’t think the church recognizes the union of a man and a woman when the woman is…well, when she was not born such.”

I was flabbergasted. Not at the revelation, but that she had been able to make a good life for herself and become so distinguished. I felt a sudden flood of admiration.

“If you need my help,” Lady Carmichael said, “I will offer whatever assistance I can. I know how difficult it can be to try to live as the person you know you are when the circumstances of your birth do not grant you the ease of doing so. So if you wish to live as a man—”

“I don’t,” I interrupted. “I don’t think I’m a man, but…I don’t know what I am, to be honest. I wish I could do without the whole concept of sex, I wish I didn’t have to be beholden to the rules of one or the other. I’ve never understood why such a thing should dictate how I dress and behave, or what interests I have.”

Lady Carmichael chuckled slightly. “You wouldn’t be the first,” she said. “I have known many people who do not fit comfortably within the confines of what society says they should be. But I feel it is our right—nay, our duty—as a species of logic and intelligence to allow ourselves to live however we wish to live. Forcing ourselves to obey the strictures of precedence and societal habit is as nonsensical as forcing ourselves to live solely on primal instinct. We have created these rules of society—we can change them.”

There was…an emotion I felt in that moment. It was too big for words, too big to be understood. I suddenly regretted not speaking more with Lady Carmichael while I simultaneously wanted to be alone to feel this emotion in peace.

Perhaps this showed on my face, as Lady Carmichael gestured for me to follow her out of the parlor. “Come, let’s get you to your coach,” she said. “We can speak more the next time we meet—and I do hope it won’t be long before that happens. And I hope you don’t mind if I keep writing you letters.”

“I don’t mind,” I mumbled, unable to process much language in that moment.

“And I suppose next time I won’t try to entice you with eligible bachelors,” Lady Carmichael said. “Do you prefer ladies instead?”

“I prefer my own company,” I said.

Lady Carmichael patted my shoulder with another light chuckle and said, “Your father was the same. Then perhaps I will dispense with the matchmaking and merely offer more scientific lectures?”

“That would be preferable,” I said.

Lady Carmichael escorted me out of her manor. As the hostess she needn’t have bothered, but she insisted. I found John, slightly winded, standing at our coach, which was already prepared for leaving. I thanked Lady Carmichael for the evening. I wasn’t sure of the protocol for this moment, but she smiled kindly again and bid farewell. John and I climbed into the coach as she returned to the party.

“Did you get it?” John asked as soon as the coach door was closed.

I nodded. “How did you escape from Hooker?” I asked.

“I ditched his case on the steps and threw myself into the bushes,” John said, picking a leaf out of his hair. “He gave up looking for me pretty quickly after that—he did look a bit ill.”

“It was the sandwiches,” I said. “Good thing you only ate a pastry.”

“I suppose you were right to make me focus, then,” he said with a laugh. Then with a cough.

The cough got bigger, louder, and he pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket. When he pulled it away from his mouth, he paused, staring at it. Then he carefully folded it up and put it back in his pocket.

I didn’t see what was on the handkerchief. But I could see the red on his lips.

Whatever buoyant emotion I had felt after my conversation with Lady Carmichael vanished.

This excursion had made me briefly forget…many things. It had been so long since I’d spoken to anyone outside of my small circle, it was almost exhilarating to speak with someone new, to interact with those who could understand the parts of myself I had always felt the need to hide, to see people I’ve admired from afar in the flesh. It was like the fairy tales my mother had told me, of young maidens whisked away to another world, one of light and peace. But now I remembered who I was, why I’d come here. I was dragged back down to a world of darkness, of death lurking in the shadows.

“Are you well, John?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“Of course, ma’am,” he said. Lied. He looked out the window as we lurched forward, heading back to the inn. He did not look at me. “You know, ma’am,” he said, “my father was born around here—Romansleigh.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Your father…he’s a coachman, right? Like Gregory?”

“You mean Geoffrey?” he corrected.

“Yes, of course,” I said, not caring in the moment about the name of my coachman. “It doesn’t pay much, does it?” I added.

John shook his head. “Not as much as some jobs,” he said. “But better than the ones he could get around here. That’s why he left. But most of his family is still here.”

“Do you want to visit them?” I asked, keeping my eyes on him. He kept his eyes on the window.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “No need.”

“As you wish,” I said. I hesitated a moment then said something I had been mulling over since the Rubedo meeting. “The alchemists are conspiring to use you against me.”

John frowned at the window. “I’m no turncoat,” he said. “I wouldn’t let them.”

“I know,” I said. “But they mentioned possibly using your family to get to you.”

It was a cruel way to get his attention, but it did the job. He turned from the window and looked at me.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Are they in danger?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “But you may want to suggest they visit your father’s family in Devon for a while. That should get them far enough away for now.”

John shook his head and said, “They can’t afford taking time off from work—”

“I’ve been thinking,” I said, “that recently you have been performing duties well above what you agreed to in your initial contract. I think a renegotiation of payment is called for.”

John looked lost, confused. Whatever he had expected me to say was not this.

“How—how much, ma’am?” he asked.

“How much do you need?” I asked. “Double? Triple?”

He shook his head again and looked down at the floor. “That’s…that’s too considerate, ma’am,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“Triple, it is then,” I said. “And a bonus for this excursion—traveling across the country and pretending to be a gentleman at a fancy party is certainly above and beyond your typical duties.”

John didn’t look up at me. He glanced out the window again. “Thank you, ma’am,” he murmured.

I stared at him, his face pale in the moonlight. A fleck of red still on his lip.

“Thank you, John.”