The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

as there is not as much glass, there is not as much
incident
. You did say the book did not agree with you.”
    “No, it did not.”
    “The card seems to have agreed with you perhaps too well.”
    “Perhaps … and yet, I believe I have discovered something of use—”
    “I blush at what it must be.”
    Elöise frowned, for despite her weakness she was not ready to accept the mockery of a younger woman so easily, but then Miss Temple smiled shyly and patted the woman’s knee.
    “I thought you looked very pretty,” Miss Temple said, and then adopted a wicked grin. “Do you think Doctor Svenson would have found you even prettier?”
    “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” muttered Elöise, blushing again.
    “I’m sure he doesn’t either,” answered Miss Temple. “But what have you discovered?”
    Elöise took a breath. “Is that door locked?”
    “It is.”
    “Then you had best sit down, for we must
reason
.”
    “As you know,” Elöise began, “my position is—or at least was—tutor to the children of Arthur and Charlotte Trapping, Mrs. Trapping being the sister of Henry and Francis Xonck. It is generally held that Colonel Trapping’s rapid advancement was due tothe machinations of Mr. Henry Xonck, though I see now that in fact Mr. Francis Xonck manipulated it all to engineer—by way of his new allies—a way to wrest the family business from his brother, and all of it arranged—because the Colonel became privy to all sorts of useful government secrets—with that same brother’s blessing. The unwitting key to this had been Colonel Trapping, who would report faithfully back to Henry—passing on both the information and
mis
-information that Francis could supply. Further, it was Francis who persuaded
me
to visit Tarr Manor with whatever secrets I might supply—again, designed to give him the leverage of blackmail over his siblings. But
this
was made suddenly necessary exactly because the Colonel had been killed—do you see? He was killed despite the fact that, either willingly or in ignorance, he was
serving
the Cabal.”
    Miss Temple nodded vaguely, perched on the arm of the chair, feet dangling, hoping that a larger point would soon emerge.
    Elöise went on. “One wonders why precisely because the Colonel was so very unremarkable.”
    “The Doctor did find the second blue card on the Colonel’s person,” replied Miss Temple, “the one drawn from the experience of Roger Bascombe. It was evidently sewn into the lining of his uniform. But you said you discovered—”
    But Elöise was still thinking. “Was there anything within it that seemed particularly … secret? That would justify concealing it—protecting it—so?”
    “I should say not, save for the part containing
me
—except—well, except the very final moment, where I am sure one can glimpse Lydia Vandaariff on an examination table with the Comte d’Orkancz—well, you know,
examining
her.”
    “What?”
    “Yes,” said Miss Temple. “I only realized it now—when I saw the tables, and then of course I remembered seeing Lydia—and at the time I saw the card I did not know who Lydia was—”
    “But, Celeste”—Miss Temple frowned, as she was not entirely sure of her companion even now, and certainly not comfortablewith being so familiar—“that the card remained sewn into the Colonel’s coat meant that no one had found it! It means that what he knew—what the card proved—died with him!”
    “But it did not die at all. The Doctor has the card, and we the secret.”
    “Exactly!”
    “Exactly what?”
    Elöise nodded seriously. “So what I’ve found may be even more important—”
    Miss Temple could only bear this for so long, for she was not one who stinted from absolutely shredding the wrapping paper around a present.
    “Yes, but you have not said what it is.”
    Elöise pointed to the blue card on Miss Temple’s lap. “At the end of the cycle,” she said, “you will recall that the woman—”
    “Mrs. Marchmoor.”
    “Her head turns, and one sees
spectators
. Among them I have recognized Francis Xonck, Miss Poole, Doctor Lorenz—others I do not know, though I’m sure you might. Yet beyond these people … is a
window—
”
    “But it is
not
a window,” said Miss Temple, eagerly, inching forward. “It is a
mirror
! The St. Royale’s private rooms are fitted with Dutch glass mirrors that serve as windows on the lobby. Indeed, it was recognizing the outer doors of the hotel through