Lottie stood terrified as hostess Vesper Alderbrook seized her chin, pressed a crystal water goblet from the head table against her tightly closed lips, and softly threatened the child to drink if she wanted her mother to stay.

"Silas," Godwin said, never taking his eyes off his cousin. "What did Kane find back there?"

The service door swung open. Kane stepped through, his face bleached of all color. He leaned down toward Godwin’s ear, but Godwin held up a palm.

"Speak so my cousin can hear you, Kane," Godwin commanded. "Every word."

"Clara is on the floor beside the dish station, Mr. Alderbrook," Kane reported in a flat, militaristic cadence. "Pulse is thready. Pupils dilated to pinpricks. She’s convulsing. There’s white foam along her lower jaw."

"Call Dr. Sterling to the private dining room," Godwin said. "Now."

"Already moving, sir," Kane said, turning back into the kitchen corridor.

Vesper laughed, a high, brittle sound that made two women at the neighboring table flinch. "Clara has an undiagnosed heart condition, Godwin! I’ve told you for months she was unfit for formal service! She had an attack! It’s a tragic medical emergency, nothing more!"

"Is that why you were trying to force three ounces of water down her six-year-old daughter's throat?" Godwin asked, stepping closer until his shadow completely eclipsed her.

"The girl was hysterical!" Vesper fired back, her American accent turning shrill and defensive. "She was screaming and making a scene! I was trying to give her water to calm her down! Ask anyone at the table!"

Lottie tugged sharply on Godwin’s jacket sleeve. "She’s lying, Grandpa."

"Tell me, sweetheart," Godwin said, glancing down at the little girl without softening the hard line of his jaw.

"Aunt Vesper went into Mommy’s apron pocket before the soup came out," Lottie said, her small voice cutting through the stunned quiet of the surrounding guests. "She took Mommy’s keys. Then she took the little gold bottle out of her own purse and put the drops in your glass."

"You little liar!" Vesper screamed, thrashing against Silas’s grip with enough force to strain the seams of her emerald gown. "You miserable little gutter-rat! How dare you make up stories about me in front of this family!"

"Silas," Godwin said softly.

Silas applied a fraction more pressure to Vesper’s shoulder, forcing her down until her knees kissed the velvet bench.

"Check her purse," Godwin said.

"Godwin, no! That’s private property!" Vesper shrieked. "You have no right to search my belongings! Marcus! Where is Marcus? Somebody get my attorney over here right now!"

Godwin ignored her shrieks. He reached down to the small satin clutch resting beside Vesper’s place card. He flicked the clasp open with his thumb. Inside sat a compact mirror, a tube of coral lipstick, and an antique gold perfume vial no larger than a chess pawn.

He lifted the vial between his thumb and index finger.

"This perfume, Vesper?" Godwin asked. "Or should we ask Dr. Sterling to test the residue?"

Vesper’s face drained of every drop of color, leaving her fair skin looking like wet plaster under the brilliant chandeliers. "Godwin... please. You don't understand the pressure I was under."

"Pressure from whom?" Godwin asked.

"You don't understand what’s coming to this city," she whispered, her voice dropping into a desperate, frantic plead. "They gave me no choice. If it wasn't you, it was going to be all of us."

"Who gave you no choice?" Godwin demanded.

Before Vesper could answer, a tall man in a midnight-blue tuxedo pushed his way past the gawking socialites, his hands raised in an authoritative gesture.