Thomas uncrossed his arms and said, “It’s a mermaid.”

“It’s a what?” said James.

“A mermaid,” Thomas repeated. “Enacting some kind of… sultry mermaid performance.”

“Some friend of his from the demimonde, you know,” put in Christopher, who seemed pleased to know the word “demimonde.” Admittedly, Matthew’s frequent assignations with poets and courtesans were a far cry from Christopher’s tinctures and test tubes, or Thomas’s extensive library and intensive training regimen. Nevertheless, they both seemed relieved to have spilled the secret.

“What’s she going to do?” said James. “And… where is she going to do it?”

“In a large tank of water, one hopes,” said Christopher.

“As for what she will do,” said Thomas, “something bohemian with bells and castanets and veils. I imagine.”

Christopher seemed concerned. “Won’t the veils get wet?”

“It will be an experience never to be forgotten,” Thomas went on. “So says Matthew. Surpassing beauty, and so on.”

Without thinking, James found himself reaching for the silver bracelet on his wrist, running his fingers absentmindedly across its surface. He barely noticed its presence after all this time—Grace Blackthorn had entrusted him with it when he was only fourteen. But James had been trying hard not to think of Grace as his wedding approached.

One year, James thought. He must put Grace out of his mind, for one more year. That was the promise they had made to each other. And he had promised Cordelia, as well, that he would not see Grace alone or behind her back: if anyone found out, she would be humiliated. The world must think their marriage was a marriage in truth.

The thought of going through with his wedding to Cordelia while still wearing the bracelet made him ill at ease. He reminded himself to take it off, when he was back at home. Removing it might be a slight to Grace, but leaving it on felt like a slight to Cordelia. He had decided when it had all happened that he would not betray his wedding vows by word or deed. He might not be able to control his heart or his thoughts, but he could remove the bracelet. That much lay within his power.

At the other side of the room, Polly was ordering around a small team of brownies. They had set up a stage at the far end of the room, on which sat, indeed, a large glass tank of water. A pair of brownies moved candelabras around to provide theatrical lighting, and others scampered about, clearing the floor to make way for an audience.

The stairs rattled; Matthew was hurrying down, his bright hair the color of candlelight in the haze of the bar. He had taken off his jacket and was in shirtsleeves and a green-and-blue-striped waistcoat. He flipped himself over the staircase banister and landed on the stage. Standing behind the tank, he held up his hands for quiet.