‘Nonsense,’ said Lavinia, taking the mask from him and putting it on. ‘If you attach it to your face by way of these ribbon ties like this … there, the beak isn’t awkward at all. Why, I can talk to you perfectly easily.’
‘If I were wearing a similar mask there’d be no end of trouble,’ objected her brother. ‘We’d get into a dreadful tangle. It would be similar to us both wielding swords; a battle of the beaks, as it were!’
Lavinia, aware that she was being ribbed, made a face. ‘You needn’t be so tiresome about it.’ She detached the mask from her face and held it up so that she could inspect it more closely.
‘I think it will suit you very well. It’s quite striking, you know, without being cumbersome. It will cover only part of your face; you’ll be able to eat and drink all right.’
‘Thank goodness for small mercies,’ murmured Cedric, returning to the pages of his Times.
‘Now,’ said Lavinia, having dispensed to her satisfaction with the matter of the masks, ‘have you two given any thought to your costumes? You really ought, you know; it’s not long now till the ball.’
‘Surely you don’t require me to wear a costume as well as a mask?’ groaned Cedric.
‘Well, if you want to be frightfully boring you can wear evening dress,’ conceded Lavinia. ‘But if you want to get into the spirit of the thing, and I’d be awfully glad if you did, you should wear an eighteenth century costume.’ She lowered her voice and giggled. ‘I know for a fact that one or two of my beaus are coming as Casanova, wigs, breeches, buckled shoes and all!’
Rose, who had been listening to the siblings’ good-humoured bickering, gave a smile, confident in her own choice of costume. Initially, she had entertained the idea of wearing a Victorian style gown, complete with crinoline, which would accommodate her swollen stomach. On further reflection, however, she had thought better of it and chosen instead a simple high-waisted Regency gown in the style of a Jane Austen heroine.
‘It has a fitted bodice and little puff sleeves,’ Rose said. ‘Of course, I doubt it will be a patch on your costume.’
‘It does sounds a trifle boring, darling. But I daresay you will find it jolly comfortable,’ said Lavinia, making no attempt to hide the fact that she was pointedly regarding her friend’s stomach as she spoke.
‘Well, I suppose it is quite simple,’ said Rose laughing. ‘But it will do very well for me, and the fabric really is very pretty. It’s cream-embroidered taffeta. Anyway,’ she added hastily, before Lavinia could make any further comment on the drabness of her outfit, ‘that is quite enough about me. I’m sure you are simply dying to tell us about your costume.’
‘Well, I am rather,’ admitted Lavinia. ‘You see, it is rather splendid. I was intending to keep it a surprise, but I simply must tell you because it is absolutely too thrilling for words.’
‘You are not going as Marie Antoinette?’ demanded Cedric.
‘It is quite impossible for me to go as anyone else,’ said his sister, a trifle indignant, feeling her brother had stolen some of her thunder. ‘But how clever of you to guess. Yes,’ she said, not to be outdone, putting a hand to her throat and saying in a voice tinged with melancholy: ‘I shall attend the ball as the beautiful, but tragic, young Queen of France.’ A moment later and she had thrown up her hands and was laughing. ‘Oh, Rose, darling, you should see my costume; it’s simply divine.’
‘I am quite certain it is,’ said Rose, seating herself comfortably on the sofa.
‘The fabric is beautiful, all blue and grey damask silk, and the bodice is embroidered with pearls and little glass beads. That’s not all; the sleeves are edged with gold lace and covered with the most exquisite little ruffles and bows. I do wish you could see it. There is to be a matching cape.’
‘And your mask?’ enquired Cedric. ‘I take it you will not have to suffer the indignity of wearing a beak?’
‘Well, of course not. A mask with a beak would hardly look the thing at all. No, my mask will be covered in black lace and trimmed with ostrich feathers. It will cover only part of my face. I’ll need to wear white powder and rouge to disguise the rest. I suppose,’ she pondered, her forehead puckering with the effort, ‘I ought to powder my hair as well, or else wear a wig, though white hair is frightfully ageing, don’t you think?’ She did not wait for an answer, her mind flitting on to other things from white goose feather fans to embroidered satin slippers with silver buckles. ‘Of course,’ she murmured, more to herself than to her companions, ‘I shall have to wear my diamond necklace.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ said Cedric firmly, ‘at least if you have any sense, which sometimes I doubt.’
Lavinia made a face.‘ You can hardly expect me to wear my paste copy. I am supposed to be the Queen of France. Can you imagine Marie Antoinette wearing fake jewels?’
‘If it is realism you’re after, perhaps you should carry your head under your arm! But seriously,’ Cedric added, before his sister could think of a suitable retort, ‘I think it would be frightfully unwise of you to wear the real thing. Surely you’ve heard about this jewel thief who seems to be stalking the season?’
‘Well, the newspapers do seem to be full of very little else.’
‘According to this article I’m reading, he struck only last night at the Callows’ ball.’
‘Not the one they were hosting for Patricia’s coming out?’ Lavinia looked aghast.
‘That’s the one. According to what is written here,’ he paused to tap the newspaper, ‘the thief made off with a pearl necklace and two diamond bracelets.’ Cedric frowned. ‘I daresay there’ll be all hell to pay, what with Callow being a High Court judge and all.’
Lavinia raised her eyebrows and said petulantly; ‘Well, I hope it won’t discourage people from attending our ball.’
‘As long as they wear paste, they’ll be all right. This thief has a discerning eye. He’ll be able to tell fake jewels from the real thing.’
‘Well, I hope you’re right.’
Rose had been listening idly to the conversation with half an ear, vaguely interested in the news concerning the thief. Something in Lavinia’s voice made her look up. Unless she was much mistaken, the girl’s voice had contained a defiant note which boded ill. A moment later and her suspicions were confirmed as she caught a gleam in her friend’s eye.
Although they were inanimate articles, they seemed to Iris to be watching her every move from where they lay in their elevated position on the little sewing table. It was Raymond who had put them there, when he had entered her boudoir earlier. She could tell at once that he was pleased with his choice. He had wanted her to say something, but, out of spite, she had remained silent. Instead, she had merely stared at the masks as if they were some foreign object, her repulsion for them showing clearly on her face. She had seen him tense, the anger and frustration that he was feeling beneath the surface revealing themselves fleetingly in his expression. With obvious effort, he had taken hold of himself and, when he spoke, his voice had been frightfully, and unnaturally, polite.
‘I chose these particular masks because they are designed to be worn as a pair. You see, they’re quite distinctive. I doubt anyone else will be wearing a mask with a fan attached to one side. It’s made from real Florentine paper, the man was telling me. Mine’s quite simple in comparison, of course, but it’s painted in the exact same shade of blue as yours and, if you look closely, Iris, you’ll see that it has been decorated with the same glass crystals.’
He had taken a step forward then and held out the mask to her to inspect, but she had made no attempt to take it or draw near. Instead, she had moved even further back on the chaise longue.
‘You know I’m not feeling well, Raymond,’ she had said in a feeble voice, passing a hand across her forehead. ‘Please, don’t make me go.’
‘You’ll go if I have to drag you there myself,’ Raymond said losing patience. He regretted his harsh words immediately. Taking a deep breath, he said in a gentler tone
: ‘Do be reasonable, Iris. This sort of thing is not in my line, either, but we’ll have to attend; if only for appearance’s sake.’ Receiving no response, he added: ‘Look here, Iris, you need to pull yourself together. We have to go. You might as well try to make the best of it.’
With that, he had shrugged his shoulders and left the room, almost colliding with Miss Crabbe who was that very minute coming in, carrying the costumes in her arms.
‘Oh, beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you there, what with my hands being full, as it were.’
Raymond muttered something that Miss Crabbe did not catch, and hurried off along the corridor. The lady’s maid stared after him for a moment before entering her mistress’ boudoir. She glanced at the reclining figure on the chaise longue and raised her eyebrows.
‘Beautiful shade of blue they are,’ she said, turning her attention to the clothes draped over her arm. ‘China blue, I’d call it, though there’s some who’d call it royal. Anyway, it’s a much nicer colour than that there navy, or what they call peacock. Oh, is that the masks you’ll be wearing? They’ll match the blue of the costumes something lovely. Ever so pretty, they are. Fancy yours having a fan! Never seen nothing like it, I haven’t, and all nicely trimmed with gold lace, too. You’ll look as pretty as a picture, if you don’t my saying, ma’am. The master too, what with his blue breeches and waistcoat; right handsome he’ll look. I’ll just hang these up in the wardrobe. You won’t want no creases in them when you come to wear ’em and I wouldn’t want to take an iron to them, not with them being silk.’
As Miss Crabbe set about hanging the outfits in the wardrobe, Iris peeped at the costumes out of the corner of her eye. Her own outfit appeared to be a faithful replica of an eighteenth century robe à la française gown, complete with petticoats and stomacher, all in the same dazzling shade of bright blue that had so impressed her lady’s maid. Indeed, the only relief came from the yards of white lace that had been used to trim the neckline and the cuffs.
She gave only a cursory glance at Raymond’s outfit. One look was sufficient to confirm that Miss Crabbe had spoken the truth. The breeches and waistcoat were indeed the same vivid blue as her gown. To those guests who observed them at the ball, they would make a truly striking couple. All eyes would inevitably be drawn to them. A more conspicuous pair of costumes, she could not imagine. Had they been wearing sparkling gold or silver, they would hardly have been more noticeable, so rich and intense was the shade of blue.
She suppressed a gasp that caught in her throat like a sob. She would be forced to suffer the indignity of being paraded around the room on Raymond’s arm like some prized trophy or possession. Even were she to manage to dance with another partner, she would always be in his sight. The dazzling blue of her mask and costume would see to that. And in the eyes of the other guests they would be one, deemed inseparable, drawn together and fastened as if by some invisible cord. She sighed. She could not escape him if she chose, not even in the hustle and bustle of a crowded ballroom.
Later, alone in her room as the day drew to a close, the masks took on a more ominous guise in the shadows cast by the fading light. Their decoration, even in the half-light, looked gaudy and severe. More than that, in the semi darkness they seemed to come alive like some malignant beings, staring down at her mockingly through the blank spaces where their eyes should have been. Where her eyes would be, Iris corrected herself with a shudder, when the more elaborate of the two masks was tied around her head. It was a repulsive thought, as was the notion that the mask in some way resembled a blindfold, in which her emotions were concealed and hidden from the world.
Hot, angry tears spilled down Iris’ face; never had she felt more wretched. In one furious movement, she had crossed the floor and thrown a scarf over the offending objects, hiding them from view. Such was her agitation, she was almost minded to smash the masks into little pieces. Even the thought of Raymond’s anger did not discourage her. Indeed, her arm was half raised as if she meant to carry out her intention, when the germ of an idea came tumbling into her mind with a violent force. A moment later and her arm was still hovered in the air, but the destruction of the masks no longer dominated her thoughts. The notion that had arrested her took hold, though she acknowledged readily it was ludicrous. Still, she let her mind dwell on it, the shadow of a smile appearing on her face for the first time in months.
‘I wonder,’ she said softly to herself. ‘It’s ridiculous, of course, but, for all that, it might work.’
Chapter Five
‘Hallam, darling, is that you? How thrilling!’ exclaimed the speaker on the other end of the line.
‘Well, considering it was I who telephoned you and gave my name to that maid of yours, I can’t imagine who else you thought it might be.’
‘I say,’ said Lavinia, her voice forsaking some of its initial excitement as a thought suddenly struck her, ‘I do hope you’re not telephoning to say you can’t come to my masquerade ball. I shall think it jolly rotten of you if you are. And you needn’t think for a moment that I’ll ever forgive you, because I shan’t.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ replied Hallam, ‘But listen, old thing, I …’ He faltered for a moment, reluctant to continue what he was saying, wrestling with his conscience. Was he about to utter a deliberate lie, or would he merely be distorting the truth? And did it really matter, anyway? Was one any better than the other if the aim and intention were the same?
He cursed Commander Wrenfield heartily for having placed him in such a damned awkward position, and yet, he had no one to blame but himself. Had he not mentioned Rose’s reputation as an amateur sleuth, the commander would most probably have taken Cedric into his confidence, and that would have been the end of it. He would not be required now to play the role of a pawn.
‘I spoke to Josephine the other day and she says you’re doing something frightfully important in the City,’ Lavinia was saying, apparently quite oblivious to Hallam’s discomfort. ‘She says it’s terribly hush-hush, and that I mustn’t ask you a thing about it, though of course I’m absolutely dying to.’
‘What absolute rot,’ Hallam said quickly. ‘It’s not important at all. I wouldn’t listen to half of what my sister tells you about me, if I were you. She does rather like to exaggerate my achievements, you know.’
‘I can’t think why you’re working in an office, of all places,’ Lavinia continued. ‘I should have thought helping your father to manage the Dareswick estate would have been much more in your line.’
‘Well,’ said Hallam, this time truthfully, ‘Father was bitterly disappointed when I was sent down from Oxford, you know. I thought it best to give him rather a wide berth until he’d got used to the idea.’
‘But an office! I know I should hate it like poison,’ Lavinia said. ‘For I daresay it’s quite like working at Renard’s.’
At the other end of the line Hallam raised his eyebrows faintly at the suggestion, for he could not see the similarity himself.
‘I can’t tell you how ghastly it was working in that awful little dress shop for all those months.’ Lavinia made a face in the mirror, which hung on the wall above the telephone. ‘Why, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I knew I’d never hear the end of it from Ceddie if –’
‘Lavinia, do be quiet, there’s a dear –’ began Hallam, mildly exasperated.
‘Well, really, darling. You needn’t speak to me like that, as if I were a little child, I mean. I’m heaps older than you, you know.’
‘I know you are, heaps, though you don’t look it. And, of course, you’re much cleverer and more sophisticated than me. Now, Lavinia, listen,’ Hallam hurried on, fearful of another interruption, ‘I should think it jolly decent of you if you could let me have a couple of invitations to your ball. I’ve received mine, of course, but I’d be awfully grateful if you could give me a couple more to give to some chums of mine.’ He hesitated a moment and then took what he considered to be not too wild a guess. ‘Didn’t you tell Jose
phine that you could do with a few more gentlemen to balance out the numbers? These two friends of mind would be just the ticket.’
He paused, awaiting a response from the other end of the line which, rather disappointingly for him, was not forthcoming.
‘I say, Lavinia, are you still there?’
‘Yes,’ said Lavinia. ‘The line’s not gone dead. I was thinking, that’s all.’
‘Oh?’ Hallam said apprehensively. ‘They’re frightfully good sports, you know.’
‘I daresay they are, but are they good dancers?’
‘Oh, absolutely, two of the best,’ said Hallam trying to rid his mind of the image of an English bulldog, waltzing around the room, Lavinia clutched between its paws. ‘They’re pretty accomplished dancers, as it happens.’
‘What are their names? Do I know them?’
‘No. They’re just pals of mine from Oxford.’ Hallam waited with bated breath, wondering whether Lavinia would insist that he give her their names. He tried to recall the names of boys who had been with him at Oxford and who he was fairly certain would not be attending the ball.
‘Oh, all right,’ said Lavinia, boring a little of the subject. Hallam was just about to utter a sigh of relief when she added: ‘You can bring them with you.’
‘Well, that’s just it. They’ll be arriving separately,’ said Hallam, taking a deep breath. ‘They won’t be coming with me or each other, come to that. So you see, I’ll need you to send me two more invitations to give to them.’
‘Why can’t you bring them with you?’ demanded Lavinia, not unreasonably.
Was it Hallam’s imagination or had a note of suspicion crept into the girl’s voice? If only Lavinia wasn’t so dashed inquisitive. Really, it was awfully tiresome of her. He was quite certain that any other girl of his acquaintance would have accepted quite readily his request without requiring that he provide them with a detailed explanation. In the next minute, she’d be asking after their ages and their looks, and then he’d definitely need to lie.
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 4