Page 63 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

I shook my head, but I was thinking the same thing.

I hurried off towards the door, but both Jonathon and Floyd caught up to me. Floyd blocked my exit.

“No, Cleo. Not here.”

I tried to see past him but he was too tall. “It’s the perfect opportunity to question him.”

“Everyone is watching,” he hissed.

He was right. All eyes were on the exit through which Mr. Livingstone had gone, but they weren’t watching me. They were waiting to see if he returned, and whispering to their friends about the shocking display. I heard Amelia’s name several times. Those who didn’t know about her disgrace before, certainly knew about it now. Mr. Livingstone had made sure of that.

He would regret his outburst in the morning. It would be a better time to speak to him then, once he’d sobered up and calmed down.

I assured Floyd I wouldn’t go after him and headed back to where Miss Hessing and Flossy were standing. I passed near Lord and Lady Bunbury, talking to one another in harsh whispers, seemingly oblivious to those watching on. It would seem the Livingstones weren’t the only topic of gossip in the ballroom.

“Poor Mrs. Druitt-Poore,” Flossy said.

I followed her gaze to where our hostess was being supported by my aunt while another woman vigorously flapped her fan at Mrs. Druitt-Poore’s pale cheeks. A helpful bystander offered her a cigarette from his silver case. She shook her head. It wasn’t until Aunt Lilian dipped her little finger into the case that I realized it didn’t contain cigarettes but snuff or some other powder. Aunt Lilian sniffed it off her finger with a deep inhale.

The middle Druitt-Poore daughter, the one whose debut we were here to celebrate, was in tears, consoled by her sisters and friends. A dazed and bloody-nosed Mr. Druitt-Poore was being supported out of the ballroom by two other gentlemen.

“What a to-do,” Miss Hessing said. “For once, I am glad to be a wallflower. We can cry over our misfortunes without being ogled and discussed.”

“You’re not a wallflower,” Floyd cut in.

Jonathon agreed, albeit a moment too late and without conviction.

Miss Hessing blinked back at Floyd, smiling shyly.

The music struck up a lively tune and I was too slow to move away. Jonathon took my hand and ushered me onto the dance floor. Floyd led out Miss Hessing. To avoid looking up at Jonathon, I studied the other guests. Many earnest conversations were in progress. Lord and Lady Bunbury had disappeared.

Most interesting of all, the gentleman who’d danced with Miss Hessing earlier now watched her with Floyd, a rather curious look on his face. Indeed, if I wasn’t mistaken, it was the look of a man enamored.

The ball didn’t survivethe incident much longer. A mere half hour after Mr. Livingstone was escorted from the premises, most of the guests had departed. Mr. Druitt-Poore was not to be seen, his middle daughter had taken to her bed with a headache, and Mrs. Druitt-Poore wore a smile so false and so hard it looked painted on.

We left a little after one. Floyd and Jonathon claimed they had another party to attend, but from the scowl on Jonathon’s face, I suspected it wasn’t a party, it was a gambling venue, and he wasn’t happy about going. My uncle wasn’t happy that Floyd was going out, but he didn’t stop him. He merely lectured him about not lazing in his rooms all the next morning.

As they were talking on the pavement, I sidled up to Jonathon. “Look after him.”

“I’ll try, but he makes it difficult.”

Their cab arrived and they climbed in. Before it drove off, movement up ahead caught my eye. The door to a waiting cab opened and a man climbed in.

My breath caught in my chest.

I knew that figure. The light cast by the streetlamps and the carriage lamps may be poor, but I’d know that tall frame anywhere, and the way he moved, with easy athleticism and an abundance of self-confidence.

Harry.

What was he doing here?

Chapter13

Harry wasn’t in his office the following morning when I arrived at ten-thirty. Nor was he in Roma Café. Luigi hadn’t seen him.

“Where do you think he could be?” I said to no one in particular. “It’s not like him to be this late to the office.”

Luigi picked up a cloth and began wiping one of the cups he’d just washed. “Maybe he slept in.”