“I’d really like to look now.” Amie twitched beneath her sisters' attentions.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Ruby gripped her shoulders and pushed her back down onto her stool. “Emma has to practice if she's going to be able to do this to you in a broom closet.”

They would both be slipping into the house as maids early in the day tomorrow. The plan was to carry in a few dress and hat boxes, all containing Amie's costume, and then disappear into some little used room to wait for evening. Emma would help Amie dress in the elaborate guise, then slip out once more as a lowly maid.

Amie hated sitting still, possibly even more than Ruby herself did. She also wasn't fond of others making decisions for her, not even her dearest sisters. But a few more tugs and pins made Emma step back with a sigh of satisfaction.

“The hair is definitely the hardest part. I think that's it. What do you think, Ruby?”

Ruby came to stand in front of Amie and gazed at her critically. Amie crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, but Ruby ignored her. “It's good. It actually looks like a costume.”

“They are always costumes,” Amie muttered. She was tired and cranky from sitting on a stool—in whalebone stays! And bustles!—whilst Emma and Ruby did maddening things to her hair. And she was hungry again. Now that they had plenty of food, it seemed she couldn't get enough of it. “Is it teatime yet?”

Ruby looked at her with an understanding smirk. “Yes, pet. And for being such a good doll and letting us dress you up, I'm going to give you one of my lemon seed cakes.”

It was childish to be so pleased with such a silly reward. Infantile, really. Amie slid a hopeful gaze toward Emma.

Emma shook her head. “Not a possibility, my dear. I baked them. I'm eating every crumb of my share.”

Resigned, Amie wriggled on her stool. Her bum was numb. “Can I look now?”

They nodded, and Amie stood, wobbling slightly on the old-fashioned high-heeled shoes. Fortunately, she had small feet for her height. Otherwise Mama's old shoes would never fit.

She turned toward the tall looking glass with only mild anticipation. Usually, no matter what she did, she still looked like herself. Good or bad, the original Amie always seemed to shine through.

Not this time. Another woman gazed back from the glass. Another woman from another time. The rich sapphire silk gown was nearly thirty years out of date, which Ruby declared just old enough to make it a costume rather than simply out-of-date. It was an open robe style, clasped at the waist over a disturbingly low-cut lace petticoat which was meant to be seen.

The hidden stays made Amie's waist drop low and small until it reached her hips, which then bounded out, supported by the false-rump padding that tied beneath the gown. Her hair was piled high and luxuriously curled and pinned within an inch of its life. Her eyes seemed dark and enigmatic behind her mask.

She looked exotic, nostalgic, and rich. All with nothing but Mama's ball gown, Mama's shoes, and a mask that Emma had concocted from glove leather and feather trim, sacrificing a few stolen pearls as well.

“You look like her,” Emma said quietly.

Amie lifted her chin. “Mama was beautiful. I am merely sufficient to escape notice.”

Ruby clicked her tongue. “Not in that gown, you're not. Your bosom looks like a dessert tray.”

Amie spared a glance at her bodice in the mirror, then looked away. “If I think about that too long I won't be able to go out in public like this.”

Emma smiled at her in the mirror, her eyes full of understanding. “If it helps, your arse looks like a hippopotamus.”

“I shall take that comment in the spirit in which it was intended,” Amie said darkly. “Will my hair do?”

“Well, we didn't want to waste money on a wig. I think if I powder that, it will look quite passable.”

“Because no one will be gazing at your hair when they can look at that bosom,” Ruby said helpfully. Then she yipped and clutched her side, even as Emma's elbow returned to its former position.

Amie took a long breath, feeling the tightness of the stays that reached from her armpits to her hipbones. She looked nothing like herself. He would never recognize her.

“So we are entirely prepared.”

Ruby bounced on her toes, her eyes alight. Emma nodded with calm assurance. “We are entirely prepared, Amie. Nothing can possibly go wrong.”

* * *

Elliott entered his rooms at the Liar's Club and shut the door behind him. It was time for him to prepare for tonight. Capturing the Vixen would be his redemption. He tried to remind himself that was a good thing. She was playing a dangerous game with dangerous men, and compromising the Liars' efforts at the same time.

She was very good. Likely she was on her way to a very successful career. Yet, it was a chancy business, thieving. One moment of inattention, one guard or footman breaking routine, one slip, one fall would bring a tragic end. Prison...or worse.

It would be a grand idea to redirect all that talent and skill into something more productive than simple thieving. She would, in short, make a magnificent Liar.

His preoccupation with his lovely red-haired target consumed his mind, so he didn't see the fellow in a chair by the fire in his sitting area.

“You need a haircut. Which works out nicely, actually.”

Elliott turned at the teasing comment. “Good afternoon, Button. Are you here to trick me out in grand peacock style?”

Button rose and sauntered forward with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was a small fellow, with thinning gray hair and a pair of mischievous blue eyes in his puckish face.

“I’ll admit that you make up a rather marvelous package of raw materials, and you have such a lordly way of walking.” He shook his head. “But I didn't think I should dress you as a peacock. All those feathers can make for a rather awkward costume.”

Elliott looked at him in confusion. “I need a costume? I thought I'd simply dress well and wear a mask.”

“To a Grand Masquerade?” Button looked horrified. “Not on my watch!” He held out a large pasteboard box, presenting it in both hands with a little bow.

Elliot grinned at his theatrics. “The Golden Fleece? A new suit of armor? No, I've got it—the Emperor’s New Clothes!”

Button pursed his lips but his eyes twinkled. “Wouldn't that be fun? But no.”

So it was that Elliott found himself dressing in a blousy embroidered shirt, pointy hat, and full medieval hosiery.

“I look like a Prussian court jester.”

Button stood back and tapped a finger on his chin. “Nonsense. You look like a huntsman. You have excellent legs, due to riding often. So many of the upper classes look like spiders in knitted hose.”

Elliott had to admit that he did have very fit thighs. And the mask would surely hide his face. “Well, if this is my assignment…”

At which point Button flopped back down in the chair and laughed until he had to press his hands to his sides. “Oh, what a good little Liar you are! I cannot wait to tell my lady Agatha that she called this one entirely!” He looked fondly at Elliot. “I may be out one beribboned bonnet, but it was worth losing the bet to see your face just now.”

Elliott sighed. “This is not really my costume, is it?”

Still chortling, Button pulled another box out from under the bed. “You are still a huntsman, but a rather more manly and intimidating version, I hope.”

As Button handed him the new clothing, which Elliott much preferred, the little costumer managed to worm a few more details about his target from him. Elliot tried hard not to sound, well, smitten.

“I knew Jackham quite well.” Button told him. “I found him gruff, but he always treated me fairly. Not everyone does, when one is different as I am. I sought out his opinion when I designed those secret pockets you all use.”

Elliot paused in dressing. So that's how she knew about my secret pockets!

Button went on. “I liked him, and although he came to a truly unfortunate end, I can only judge the man that I knew. Until I was informed otherwise, I thought he was quite a good fellow.”

Elliott frowned. “Yet we cannot excuse his betrayal, can we? To sell men's lives for no reason other than greed? I do not think that describes a good man!”

Button gave a sad smile. “I suppose it does not. However, I can attest that one's parentage does not always determine oneself. This lady thief of yours may be another sort of person entirely.”

Elliott buckled the wide belt around his thankfully much more formfitting leather jerkin. “I liked her,” he said quietly. “She fought me fairly and didn't cheat until she had no choice. She was smart and skilled and…”

“And pretty.”

Elliott shot Button a glare. “So much more than pretty.”

Button narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. Alright, let's take a look at you.” He moved Elliott to stand before the mirror. “Oh yes, that will do nicely.”

Elliott liked this costume much better. The dark green jerkin fit close to his body and the leather trousers with the laces down the sides, along with the high-top boots, made him look rather untamed. A man from another time.

Button handed him the mask and Elliott tied it on behind his head. It was a molded close-fitting half mask that covered from the tip of his nose on up. It was unadorned leather was stained to such a dark green it was almost black.

“You look a proper predator now.” Button stepped back. “I almost feel sorry for your Vixen.”

Elliott turned to regard Button as the man gathered up his boxes and wrapping in preparation to leaving. “It's for her own good,” Elliot told him. “She's only going to get deeper and deeper in trouble on her own.”

Button straightened and considered Elliott for a long moment over the top of his burden. “That may be. But let me leave you with one piece of romantic advice that I know is true. You will always regret the one you allowed to get away.”