The Golden City

He could have given this to his cousin in the police instead, but he’d handed it over to her. It was a gesture of trust. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Were you injured again? Or is that the other wound reopened?”

“The old one,” he said, glancing back at his blood-smudged shirt. “Nothing that requires an application of brandy, Miss Paredes, I assure you. I’ll get my man to bandage it after I get cleaned off. If you see Marcellin downstairs, could you mention to him that I’m here? I need to get cleaned up before di

A vast understatement. “I’ll do so, sir. Will we still go to the ball?”

“Absolutely, Miss Paredes. If there’s one thing we could use more of, it’s information. Especially if it helps make sense out of all the other information we have.”

Oriana did her best to salvage the journal. Some pages were wetter than others, so she took a towel and carefully dabbed at them, trying hard not to smear any ink. The book had been tightly wedged into Mr. Ferreira’s pocket, so the water hadn’t crept too far into the pages. He’d been lucky.

She skimmed a couple of pages, most describing building one house or another, along with a few others that contained arcane mathematical calculations. Deciding that she could read it the next day, she laid the journal atop the chest of drawers in the dressing room. She weighed down each side of the cover with what appeared to be unused snuffboxes, trinkets that must have belonged to Alessio, and the pages fa

They were to leave the house at ten, so Oriana stewed in her room for a couple of hours. If Nela’s Lady did show up in the Carvalho’s library, what should she ask? Unfortunately she understood what Mr. Ferreira had meant when he’d given her the journal. They had a great deal of information already. They simply didn’t know how it tied together. Too many aspects of this didn’t make sense. If only she could ask the right question tonight and get the right answer, perhaps everything would become clear.

Teresa had left the blue dress, now freshly sponged and pressed, on the bed. When ten approached, Oriana do

Oriana quickly drew on her mitts. “Yes, Ana?”

“Teresa said I could come up and see if you needed help with your hair.” The young woman sounded uncertain, but she went on. “I’m not a proper ladies’ maid, but she’s been letting me help her, and we girls all fix each other’s hair below stairs.”

“I’d be grateful for your help pi

The housemaid came in and, once Oriana handed over the pins, brushed out Oriana’s hair, braided it again, and pi

If she hadn’t known that Mr. Ferreira had been attacked twice in the last two days, she wouldn’t have been able to spot it. He looked dashing in his black evening jacket and gray waistcoat. Yes, dashing was the right word. He carried a satin top hat and a silver-handled cane, which Oriana suspected was more for decoration than for supporting himself. When the carriage rolled up to the side of the house, he helped his mother up first, and then Oriana. It wasn’t even a mile up the Street of Flowers to the Carvalho house, but Oriana didn’t fancy walking that distance, so she settled next to the lady and clutched her small handbag close.

In the flickering light of the little lanterns inside the carriage, Lady Ferreira looked stu

Mr. Ferreira joined them in the carriage. Once he’d settled in his seat, he drew a silver case out of an inside pocket—a cigarette case. It had to be an affectation on his part. She’d never once caught a whiff of smoke on him—except for today. He took out a cigarette and then offered the case to Oriana, one brow raised. She shook her head. Isabel might have taught her to drink coffee and brandy, but she drew the line at smoking. Her gills would never forgive her. “You’re not actually going to smoke that, are you?” she asked.

“I don’t allow it,” his mother said softly.

Duilio returned the silver case to his pocket. “Marcellin already complains enough about the scent of others’ smoke in my garments. I don’t want to displease him more than necessary, much less my mother.” He turned to Lady Ferreira. “Are you still feeling up to this, Mother?”

The lady sighed. “Yes. Only I don’t wish to stay too long, Duilinho. I’ve forgotten how to endure late nights.”

“Of course, Mother. A couple of the footmen will meet us at the Carvalho house. They’ll be able to escort you home should you grow tired.” He tapped on the wall of the carriage with his cane, and the vehicle lurched into motion. “Miss Paredes,” he said in a cheerful tone, “your hair is lovely in that style. You must wear it like that more often. Off your neck, I mean.”

He continued to natter on, talking about the various merits of his mother’s dress, and after a moment Oriana’s bewilderment subsided. He’d become the inanely chattering Duilio Ferreira she’d met on the submersible, a strange transformation to behold. His voice even sounded different, higher in tone. The cigarette case had to be a prop meant to help him remember his role, much as her garments fixed her securely in her own disguise of a Portuguese gentlewoman.

He’d stopped talking and was regarding her with a questioning expression. Oriana realized she’d stopped listening at some point. Does everyone do that to him? “I’m sorry, Mr. Ferreira. I lost track.”

His eyebrows crept upward. “I was asking whether you have a watch in your purse. I don’t recall if the Carvalho family has a clock in their ballroom. I will come fetch you in time to take you along to their library. Is that acceptable?”

She nodded mutely.

“Now,” he continued, “I think it would be easiest to claim that Lady Isabel introduced you to my mother a couple of weeks ago. Pla

He went on as the carriage rattled up the street, making suggestions how to handle the many rumors that would be swirling about her. By the time they reached the section of the street where the Carvalho family lived, Oriana felt prepared to take on an army of gossips.