The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

say brothers, for it is the habit of the family, but in truth the brother she wanted to hear from, to whom she sent card after card—Mr. Henry Xonck—did not once respond, and the brother with whom her relations are strained—Mr. Francis Xonck—called upon her throughout the day. On one visit, he sought me out in the house, for he is enough of a family presence to know who I am, and my relation to Mrs. Trapping.” She looked up again at Svenson, who opened his expression into one of gentle questioning. She shook her head, as if to gather her thoughts. “Who of course you don’t know—she is a difficult woman. She has been shut out of her family business by her older brother—she gets money, understand, but not the work, the power, the sense of place. It haunts her—and it is why she was so determined her husband should rise to importance, and why his absence was so distressing…indeed, perhaps more than the loss of her man was the loss of her, if you will permit me…
engine
. In any case, Francis Xonck took me aside and asked if I should like to help her. He knows my devotion to Mrs. Trapping—as I say, he has seen her reliance on my advice, and he is a man who misses nothing—of course I said yes, even as I wondered at this sudden attention to his sister, a woman who despised him as a corrupting influence on her already corrupted husband. He told me there would be secrecy and intrigue, there would even—and here he looked into my eyes—I would not be telling this to a soul, Captain, were it not—what has occurred—” She gestured to the darkened house around her.
    Svenson squeezed her hand. She smiled again, though her eyes were unchanged.
    “He looked at me—looked
into
me—and whispered that I might find advantage in the affair myself, that I might find it…a revelation. He
chuckled
. And yet even as he played at seducing me, the story he told was very dark and horrid—he was convinced Colonel Trapping was being held against his wishes—because of scandal it was impossible to go to the authorities. Mr. Xonck had only heard rumors but was too visible himself to attend to them. It was part of a much larger set of events, he said. He informed me that I would be expected to reveal secrets—compromising information—of the Trappings, of the Xonck family—and he authorized me to do so. I refused, at least without first consulting Mrs. Trapping, but he insisted in the gravest terms that to alert her to even this much of her husband’s predicament was to strain the marriage to the breaking point, to say nothing of what it must do to the poor woman’s nerves. Still, it seemed shameful—what I knew, I knew only because of her trust. Again I refused, but he pressed me—flattering me as he praised my devotion, only to insinuate a deeper devotion lay in doing as he asked. Finally I agreed, telling myself I had no choice—though of course I had. We always do…but when someone praises us, or calls us beautiful, how easy it is to believe them.” She sighed. “And then this morning instructions arrived to take the train and come here.”
    “Who offers sin shall brave Paradise,” said Svenson. Elöise sniffed, nodding.
    “The others were all like me—relations or servants or partners or associates of the very powerful. All of us bearing secrets. One at a time, Miss Poole led us from the parlor to another room. Several men were there, wearing masks. When my turn came I told them what I knew—about Henry Xonck and Arthur Trapping, about Charlotte Trapping’s hunger and ambition—I am ashamed of it, and I am ashamed that while part of my mind did this in earnest hope to save the missing man, another part—the truth of this is bitter to me—was greedy to see what Paradise I’d find. And now…now I cannot even recall what I said, what might have been so important—the Trappings are not scandalous people. I am a fool—”
    “Do not—do not,” whispered Svenson. “We are all so foolish, believe me.”
    “That cannot be an excuse,” she answered him flatly. “We are all also given the chance to be strong.”
    “You were strong to come so far alone,” he said, “and you were even stronger…in the attic.”
    She shut her eyes and sighed. Svenson tried to speak gently. He felt utterly convinced by her story, and yet wished he was not so predisposed to believe it. She had been at Harschmort—with the Trappings, as explained—but still, he needed more before he could trust her