Ada’s cheek itched terribly, but she didn’t dare scratch the puckered scar Briar had so carefully sculpted. Briar and Meena had assured her the jagged white line running from the corner of her eye to her jawline would make people flinch, preventing them from studying her face too carefully.

Between the scar, the rags wrapped around her head and the ill-fitting old dress, there was little about her anyone would recognize.

There was little she recognized.

Somewhere in the transition from silks and perfume to rags steeped in onions and cabbage and stale sweat, Ada Templeton, scientist and widow had vanished.

Inside, Ada the woman still reeled from that night of passion. If it weren’t for the soreness in her thighs, she might’ve imagined her time in Edison’s arms.

She scratched the back of her neck where the rough material of her shift dug into her skin. She recalled every kiss, every touch, every stroke of him inside her.

She could see his face—intense, yet intriguingly playful—hovering above her as he found his release. The way the gold flecks in his brown eyes sharpened as his own passion overcame was a sight she’d treasure.

The flashes of memory made her breasts swell, aching for his touch.

Ada slammed the brush down. What if there was no next time?

They’d made no promises. No plans.

Had she been like his other conquests? A convenient tumble?

He was a passionate man. And she was a widow—a woman society allowed a certain amount of leeway. No reason to think otherwise.

Much as she was prepared for that eventuality, the notion left her hollow.

Now, with her breakfast barely digested, she’d been transformed into a filthy charwoman. She spared a thought for the bright blue jewel of a dress and the sensuous feel of satin sliding over her silk-covered legs. Now ragged cotton stockings bit into her knees as she pressed into the dirty tile floor.

It was as if her life had become the preposterous plot of a sensation novel.

Were the situation not so deadly serious, she would have laughed.

Ada dipped the worn brush into the bucket of cold water and swirled the dirty leavings over the floor. She was on her knees in a ragged dress and ill-fitting boots secured about her ankles with snippets of twine, scrubbing the tile floor below the stage of Barton’s theater.

The League’s office girl, Nelly, knelt across from her, scrubbing her own section of floor. Above them, actors strode back and forth across the stage in ordinary dress, reading their lines to an invisible audience.

Edison had waylaid the cleaning crew on their way into the theater and paid them a goodly sum to take the day off. Happy with their newfound riches, the janitor and his charwomen agreed to leave their brooms and buckets for a few hours.

Edison’s group had been at the theater for hours now, although she and Nelly had only joined them at half past three. Meena and Briar stood watch in the alley behind, outfitted as gin-soaked street walkers. Meena’s husband, Spencer, had taken on the appearance of a jack-of-all trades. His face streaked with soot, a large set of old trousers tied around his waist with a scrap of rope, he looked nothing like the well-dressed jewel thief he was.

“You’re the murderer! I see it now!” The lead actor bellowed across the stage.

“Fairmont, how could you?” a woman asked. “I loved you.”

Below the stage, Ada and Nelly scrubbed away, sloshing gray water over the floor.

Ada strained to hear anything over the sound of the actors. The snick of a door opening, soft footfalls, anything to indicate their prey had entered the theater.

She glanced up at the clock hanging above the main entrance from the lobby. Three-forty five. She had imagined the man would want to be early.

“No, no, no. That won’t work,” the lead actor complained. The whine in his tone was mitigated somewhat by his delicious baritone. “My character’s a hero. He’d never shoot anyone in the back. My fans will be outraged.”

“You mean the ladies don’t fancy a cad.” An anonymous voice yelled out from the wings.

Sniggers floated down from the stage as other players joined in the merriment.

The older gent standing in the wings supervising the rehearsal ran his hand through his hair and swore silently. Ada thought it was a wonder he didn’t strangle the conceited boar himself.

She waited, dripping brush poised above the floor, to see how the manager would handle things, when the doors at the back of the theater opened, flooding the space with sunlight from the lobby.

Edison poked his head through the doorway as if afraid to proceed. Then, with jerky, hesitant steps quite unlike his normal gait, he entered the theater.

He was a far better actor than the puffed up stoat on the stage. If Ada didn’t know better, she’d suspect he was frightened half out of his wits.

“Right then, here we go,” Nelly whispered over the sound of her stiff brush. “Don’t seem like it’s any of the players, but keep an eye out just the same.”

The slight girl circled her brush over the floor surface with practiced ease, all the while keeping her attention focussed on her surroundings.

Ada nodded.

Spencer had swept through the lower levels of the theater first thing, checking the dressing rooms and storage closets. If their quarry wasn’t already in the building, Meena and Briar would notice him coming in the back, while she or Nelly or Spencer would see anyone entering through the main doors.

A mouse couldn’t make an entrance now without one of the league taking note.

Which did nothing to ease the sick tension squeezing the back of her neck.

Like as not, the man who’d ordered her death would be feet away from her before the clock struck the hour.

Her hands shook on the wooden handle of the scrub brush. She was almost grateful for the way her knees ached from contact with the cold, wet floor. At least it gave her something else to think about.

Edison slipped into a seat in the back of the theater and caught her eye. One quick, brilliant smile told her he appreciated the irony of her latest transformation.

She grinned back. The shared humor lightened her, dulling the pain in her knees.

As quickly as he’d slipped out of character, he slipped back in. He hunkered down in the seat, the set of his shoulders and the quick, awkward movements suggesting a fearful man brimming with nervous energy.

Ada marveled at the transformation. Strong, confident, controlled Edison had disappeared. In his place waited a man straining to project those same qualities, but failing badly.

She was too far away to know, but so complete was his character, she imagined she could smell the sweat of fear on him.

Dissembling, she was coming to learn, was an art.

An art she had no predilection for.

She understood chemicals far better than people. Liked them better, most of the time.

She yanked the water bucket closer, sloshing more dirty water across the floor. How long was this going to take?

Still on her knees, Nelly stopped to arch her back. “Won’t be long now.”

“Tell me again, sweetheart, tell me again how much you love me,” the leading man urged, his voice deep and unctuous as clotted cream. “I would die for you, you know. I would tear down—”

A ladder crashed to the floor just behind the troupe, making everyone in the theater jump.

“That is it!” The lead slammed his script down onto the stage. “I’ve played the Royal Opera House. I’ve done The Bard. I can’t work in these conditions.” He stalked into the wings.

The manager lumbered back on stage and clapped his hands for attention. “Thirty minutes, everyone.”

As the troupe scattered, Spencer appeared. He pulled an over-sized rag from his back pocket and began polishing the lamps covering the gas stage lights. “Nothing yet,” he murmured.

Backstage, the door to the alley slammed shut, making Ada start.

“That’ll be the actors heading across to the pub,” Nelly said. “I’d knock back a pint or two if I had to work with that ape’s head.”

Edison remained seated, drumming his fingers on the seat in front of him as if his nerves were getting the better of him.

Out of nowhere, she imagined the feel of his hands cupping her, teasing her, stoking a wild hot passion. She bit her lip and dragged her gaze away from those wicked fingers. Now was not the time to indulge in such thoughts.

She made her self focus on the stage, peering deep into the shadows, trying for the hundredth time to locate her tormentor.

“We best move on.” Nelly murmured. “That set of stairs could use some sweeping.” She jutted her chin toward one of the aisles running along the wall of the theater. “I’ll take a dust mop up to the stage, in case our bloke is hanging about in the curtains.”

Ada tossed her brush back into the water pail and sat back on her heels. The scar on her cheek itched. She dug her fingers into the threadbare fabric of her skirts so she wouldn’t accidentally scratch it off.

Legs stiff from so much kneeling, she had to struggle to her feet. Just as she grabbed her broom, Edison stood. He squinted up at the clock, then plunged a finger down the back of his high collar, as if nervous energy choked him. He pushed through the swinging doors to the lobby with such force that they slammed back into the walls.

Now that the great space was silent, Ada could hear him stalking back and forth across the empty lobby as she swept.

It was taking too long. Anyone serious about finding her would have shown up by now.

What if he had?

The thought froze her. When it came to the art of deception and disguise, Edison and his league possessed the most amazing skills, but what if they’d missed one small detail?

What if their man had shown up, only to detect something that sent him running?

It made no sense. They had the theater surrounded. No one coming in or out went unnoticed. Still, Ada couldn’t shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.

It took forever to sweep off every step leading from the bottom of the theater to the lobby doors. By the time she finished, the clock read half past five.

As if on cue, the group began to gather. Edison, walking with his normal, confident gait, pushed through the doors from the lobby. Spencer stuffed his rag back into his pocket and came up from the stage area while Nelly worked her way down the aisles from the far side of the room.

As the actors filtered back onto the stage, Edison jerked his head to the side, indicating that they should regroup in the lobby.

“Something’s off.” Spencer was the first to voice what they all must be thinking.

Edison and Nelly both nodded.

The slight girl pushed her ragged head cloth out of her eyes. “I’ll nip outside and get the ladies.”

Ada slumped onto a horsehair sofa. Disappointment mingled with an odd sense of relief. The combination sucked the last of the energy from her legs.

Edison laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Ada tried to smile, but she feared her acting skills were not up to par.

Why would tomorrow be any different?

* * *

Deflated as an old balloon, Ada let Edison steer her out of the lobby.

Once out on the street, she had to duck her head away from the late afternoon light that pierced her eyes, making them water furiously.

Nelly and Spencer followed them out. Though disappointed, neither seemed as utterly drained. They must be used to the wild emotions elicited by this sort of danger, she imagined.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Meena and Briar coming down the pavement toward them. Their youthful, confident energy contrasted with the worn, tawdry gowns, like ripe, beautiful fruits wrapped in scraps of old newsprint.

“Police! Police!” A man’s voice yelled from across the busy street. “There’s been a murder.”

Spencer and Edison exchanged some sort of silent signal and bolted off toward the commotion.

Before stepping off the pavement, Edison turned to face her. “Stay here,” he ordered.

Meena and Briar must have heard the cries as well. Skirts held up above their ankles, they hurried along with the surging crowd.

Bodies rushed past, pushing Ada against the side of the building, as every person on the street rushed to investigate.

Her heart knocked against her ribs. It couldn’t be him. London was famous for crime. A robbery gone wrong. A falling out between thieves. It had to be a coincidence.

Please, she prayed, let it be a coincidence.

Beside her, Nelly sniffed. “Don’t know about you, but I don’t take well to be ordered about like a dog.”

“Nor do I.”

Nelly turned to Ada, a mischievous little smile curving her lips, and held out her arm.

Ada took a deep, bracing breath and hooked her arm through the smaller girl’s. With a final nod, they plunged into the crowd.

Crossing the street proved an easy task. The curiosity seekers threading their way between the omnibuses and carriages had brought the traffic to a stop.

Making their way down the narrow alley at the far side proved more difficult. The narrow space was crammed shoulder to shoulder with gawkers. Ada could see nothing but jackets and silk hats and bustles.

Being small of stature, Nelly had it worse. As the crowd squeezed in around them, the poor girl was hemmed in by dark-colored coats.

But what she lacked in size, the plucky thing made up for in determination. With the aid of a few well placed elbows, Nelly pried open a sliver of space and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Ada shoulder to shoulder with a group of somber clerks.

She was glad her handbag hadn’t been part of her disguise. The crowd would be a prime hunting ground for pickpockets. Not that she had the least skill in picking them out.

As if by magic, Nelly emerged from the crowd directly in front of her. Her face solemn, she waved. “Come on.”

She gripped Ada’s hand and pulled her through the wall of humanity, as if she were threading ribbon. An instant later, they emerged into a tight clearing. Spencer and a few volunteers were holding back the crowd. A woman’s body—more a pile of rags, really—lay crumpled up against a wall.

Edison crouched next to the form, cradling her head in his large hands. He’d turned the woman onto her back and wiped her long blonde hair away from her face.

Except for the gut-twisting angle of her neck, the poor thing could have been sleeping.

With a nod, he gestured for Ada to come forward. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said, his eyes full of sympathy. “Do you know her?”

Ada swallowed the bile rising in her throat and forced herself to concentrate on the pale face. Nothing about the woman’s features seemed familiar, though it would be hard to tell given her face was so devoid of animation.

Ada shook her head, unable to form words.

It could have been her.

Would have been her, had Edison not charged to her rescue. Only she wouldn’t have looked so peaceful. Death by cyanide would have left her in a rictus of agony.

Gorge rose in her throat. Her ears buzzed, making the voices of the crowd, the shouts, the gasps, the prayers, rise and fall in unnatural waves of sound.

The shrill call of a police whistle cut through the buzz with the ease toluene cutting through paint.

“Here now, let us through,” a voice accustomed to command called out sharply.

Ada caught the knowing look that flew between the league members. Without a word, Meena and Briar and Spencer dissolved into the crowd.

Edison remained by the body. He set the woman’s head gently back down as two blue-coated officers stumbled their way forward.

He acknowledged them with a nod. “Officers.”

Nelly tugged on Ada’s arm. “We best move on.”

Too stunned to think for herself, Ada allowed the girl to guide her through the throng and back out onto the main street.

Traffic on the main road was moving again as if nothing had changed.

Ada blinked in the faltering sunlight. Life had certainly changed for that poor woman. Changed in an unimaginable instant of terror.

Ada clutched her hands together, fighting the urge to run… or burst into a flood of tears.

Meena rushed up to her. “Are you all right?” She took her gently by the arm and steered her to a small table set back against the windows of a cafe.

Knees trembling with shock, Ada sank down onto the chair. “I think so.”

Briar slid into the seat opposite while Nelly took the final chair.

“That’s a nasty business,” the young girl observed.

“Nasty, indeed,” Briar added. Her voice lacked its usual cheer.

Meena sat with her elbows on the wrought iron table, her chin propped in her hands. The smudges of dirt on her cheeks and the sad state of her beat-up old hat only added to the gloom.

Ada shuddered, trying to erase the images. “How awful,” she whispered. “How perfectly awful.”

“I’m sure Detective Burke’ll be on the case,” Nelly said. “He’ll see to justice, won’t ‘e?”

Meena smiled at the girl. “I have no doubt. Our Inspector Burke is an extraordinary detective.”

Nelly nodded, as if eager to stress the positive. “‘E’s all right. For a crusher.”

Before anyone could respond, Edison and Spencer rushed up to the table.

“It was him.” Edison kicked a leaf down the pavement. “Damn it, he got in right under our noses.”

Behind him, Spencer ran a hand through his thick hair. He looked as discouraged as Edison was angry.

“How could it be?” Meena asked. “We had the place surrounded.”

Edison and Spencer shared a long look.

“Found this underneath the body.” Spencer slapped a small card down on the table.

Once white, it was now smudged and water-stained from laying in the damp alley. Though she was intimately familiar with the printing, Ada glared at the card as if she could will the thing away.

The furrow in Meena’s brow grew deeper as she studied the printing. “Oh dear.” She met Ada’s gaze, clearly puzzled now. “How did she come to have your calling card?”

Ada sank back in her seat. Her head whirled, her surroundings spinning about at a sickening pace.

That poor woman was dead because of her.

“However she got hold of Ada’s cards, my guess is she was trying to pull a con on whoever wrote that advert,” Edison said.

Spencer nodded in agreement, as did Briar.

“But how did she get Ada’s cards?” Briar repeated her cousin’s question.

Oh no.

A vision of her handbag laying on the floor, bits and bobs strewn across the carpet sprang to mind.

Ada struggled to her feet. “We have to find him!”

Edison gripped her shoulders, forcing her to still. “Slow down.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms as if calming a spooked horse. “Find who?”

“That boy. He stole my cards.” Ada forced herself to take a breath. “If that woman told her killer where she got them…” She stared into Edison’s eyes, willing him to comprehend the danger.

“He’ll go after the boy,” Edison finished. He gave her arms one last squeeze. “We’ll find him, but we need to keep our heads on straight. Won’t do him any good if we go charging into a trap.”

Ada tried to swallow, tried to slow her mind and think clearly. “You’re right. Of course.” The image of the body in the alley intruded again, making her heart pound. She didn’t want to find another at the mansion.

She shifted from foot to foot, finding the crowds too close, the whole space too confining. “We need to find him. We need to—”

Edison gripped her arms, stilling her. “I’ve never lost a client yet. We’ll find him, but I can’t do two things at once. I want you and Nelly to go back to our offices. We have a telegraph there. She can contact Detective Burke.”

“But—”

“You’ll be of more help there. We’ll find the boy. You have my word.” He tried to smile. “I’ll pick up your things while we’re at it.” His lips curved up in a small smile, as if he were trying to coax her out of her fears. “Unless you prefer onions and cabbage to French perfume?”

Ada stared down at her dirty apron. “I do look a fright.”

“Your perfume doesn’t impress, but that outfit has its possibilities.”

Edison was staring down at her. With the top buttons on her old dress long gone, the valley between her breasts was perfectly open to view.

Despite her agitation, Ada flushed.

“That’s better.” Edison took her chin in his hand, raising her head until their eyes met. “I’m quite good at this sort of thing. We’ll find the lad, then we’ll find whoever did this.”

Ada nodded. Of that she had no doubt.

Edison rushed off with his companions. Arms folded across her chest, she hugged herself tight as he disappeared across the street.

Seduction, passion, and now murder. All in less than twenty four hours.

Damned if this entire escapade hadn’t gone spinning out of control.

She was out of her depth now, farther out to sea than she would’ve imagined possible.