Page 12 of A Vocation of Violence
I was beginning to wonder if we were watching a woman lose her sanity in front of the devil and everyone else gathered in Jorah’s ballroom.
The baroness’s nostrils flared ever so slightly, her cool composure a mask I knew belied a tempest brewing within. “Miss Bloomfield-Smythe, one’s wit can cut deeper than any blade,” she said, the portrait of dignified grace. “Pray, let us not turn this jovial gathering into a battlefield.” I baroness kept hervoice even, though the undercurrent of warning was clear as crystal.
“Battlefield?” Vivienne laughed, though the sound held no joy. “No, my dear baroness, the true fight lies beyond these gilded walls. Here”—she gestured to the masquerade of decadence surrounding us—“we merely play at war.”
Before the baroness could retort, Vivienne turned her cruel gaze upon Drumft, who watched the scene with hawklike intensity. His broad chest rose and fell beneath his impeccably tailored jacket and his scalp flushed an unnatural shade beneath painfully thin tufts of silver-blond hair.
“There’ll be a battle soon enough in the ring,” Darcy cut in, the tension in his shoulders belying the chirpy good nature in his tone. “Are you planning on attending the match as well, baron? Mr.…Drumft, was it?”
“I will certainly be there.” The man sniffed down his Germanic nose at Darcy, his clipped, accented words sounding more like a threat than an answer.
“I’ve a small fortune riding on it,” the baron agreed, visibly relieved for a safer topic and a respite from Vivienne’s verbal onslaught.
“Is that wise?” Vivienne asked, running a manicured finger around the rim of her third glass. “When the walls whisper, they say asmallfortune is all you’ve left in the coffers.”
At that, Darcy took her elbow in a none-too-gentle grip. “Now, Viv. EvenIknow it’s gauche to tease about money in such company.”
She whirled on him, eyes blazing. “You speak to me of gauche when we stand in the one structure that would make Sodom and Gomorrah look like a midnight mass in comparison? When a cretin like Herr Drumft is welcome to lurk in the shadows?” Her smile turned into a snarl as she addressed the portly Prussian. “Tell me, Oswald, do you wait like a dog beneath the table foryour victims to throw you scraps, or have you finally managed to convince these people you’re not a common beast?” Vivienne’s voice dripped with venom, her insult echoing in alarming fractals over the swell of the music.
Drumft’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “There are some beasts one would do well not to provoke, Miss Bloomfield,” he replied, his enunciation sharp as a knife’s edge.
Vivienne’s laugh was a cruel purr, and a twisted smile playing upon her rouged lips. “But where would be the fun in that?”
“Toying with certain people can be dangerous,” the baroness warned, dark eyes intense and unblinking. “You’ve risen so fast to fame. Are you not afraid such behavior could lead to infamy? That another, more civilized woman would overtake you should scandal arise?”
Vivienne’s laughter sang over the melodious strings as she breezed away with an air wave. “Overtake me? Now, my dear baroness, they’d have to catch me first,” she said before chasing the footman with the champagne tray into the throng of bodies and out of sight.
Darcy cleared his throat before dipping his head to look down at me, then out to the scowling handful of people who’d been privy to Vivienne’s behavior. “I-I suppose I should go after her.” He chuckled. “She can get a bit…diabolical on anything with bubbles.”
I hadn’t realized Mr. Tyndall had found us until he trailed Darcy into the crowd like a long wraith.
They left behind a trail of disquiet, and I blinked after them until I felt the weight of many eyes upon me.
“Are you also an…associate of Mr. O’Dowd’s, my dear?” The baroness skewered me with those dark, dark eyes, and I suddenly wanted to be anywhere in the world but in this ballroom.
“Just—the younger sister of an old friend from back home.” I leaned into my Irish accent, the edges of which had been smoothed by my time in London. “Here for a night in a borrowed dress.”
“How nice for you.” As was my hope, I was readily dismissed with icy politeness as they formed a tightly knit group to whisper their displeasures to one another.
Left to my own devices, I decided to procure some champagne of my own. I’d a respectable wine collection at home, but nothing of the kind that Jorah could afford.
Beneath the crystal chandeliers dripping with opulence, I couldn’t help but feel the shadow of dread creeping into the ballroom, its icy fingers brushing against my spine. The night was young, but a darkness within it had taken root, spreading its sinister tendrils through the revelry.
As if by design, the chandeliers dimmed as the night deepened. Gloves came off. Jackets and wraps were discarded, white ties pulled loose. The dancers pressed their bodies closer and gulped champagne by the crate.
My gaze found Jorah’s once more in the crowd. He was, as usual, surrounded by sirens and sycophants, none of whom I wished to make an acquaintance with. He motioned to the balcony above the grand staircase with his head, and I took it to mean he planned to meet me there.
I was asked to dance twice on my way to the stairs, and twice I was obliged to accept.
My first partner wanted to talk about nothing but Darcy, and my second spoke very little English, while I understood no Spanish.
By the time I finally made my way to the landing, Jorah was nowhere to be found.
I checked the grandfather clock, and the night had rounded one thirty and was creeping toward two. It had descended intoa muted hum of unease, the earlier exuberance curdling like sour milk. I opened my ear to the elite, their whispers knitting a shroud of foreboding that draped over the gilded ballroom. The clinking of crystal and swishing of silk did little to mask a growing sense of concern.
I touched a glittering matron on the arm as she passed me. “Pardon, but do you know what’s going on?”
“I can hardly believe,” she breathed. “Vivienne Bloomfield-Smythe, the night’s brightest star, has vanished from our midst.”
