Murder at the Masquerade Ball

by Margaret Addison

  It was definitely Iris Franklin’s presence, Hallam reflected, that put a dampener on the proceedings. Despite Lavinia’s conviction that he must be acquainted with her, he knew of her existence only from what he had read in the newspapers. In stark contrast to her companions, she remained resolutely mute. More than that, the woman did not appear even to be making any effort to follow the discussion, let alone contribute to it. Despite valiant attempts by the young man to draw her into the conversation, she remained withdrawn. Indeed, she gave the impression of being detached from her surroundings, almost as if she were present merely in body, and then only in a vague, shadowy form. It was not simply that she was aloof, rather that her thoughts were elsewhere, far away from the confines of the drawing room at Kingsley House and the rather trivial matters that occupied the minds of those who inhabited it.

  It was perhaps for this reason that Hallam found himself becoming more conscious of her presence as time progressed. For, beneath the idle chatter that left his lips, his own thoughts were preoccupied with more weighty matters. The two other women, he noted with interest, made little attempt to include Iris Franklin in their conversation, almost as if they were already resigned to her bored indifference.

  ‘And the supper rooms,’ Lavinia was saying. ‘There’ll be two. The buffet will be here, in this room. I’ve requested that there be champagne as well as lemonade, and devilled eggs, stuffed finger-rolls and little cakes; I absolutely adore devilled eggs, don’t you?’

  ‘Will there be ices?’ asked Priscilla earnestly. ‘One must simply have ices when one is dancing.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ agreed Lavinia. ‘Ices are just the thing. And of course there’ll be a sit-down supper in the dining room at half past eleven, though I know I shan’t feel the least little bit like eating anything substantial, will you?’

  ‘Oh, I daresay I could manage something,’ Hallam said rallying. ‘I always find dancing gives one a tremendous appetite. I say, the dining room is just across the hall, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know very well it is. You’ve dined here often enough,’ said Lavinia teasingly.

  Before Hallam could think of a suitable retort, the girl had taken him by the arm and he found himself being hauled out of the room and marched across the black and white tiled floor of the hall, very much as if he had been an unwilling child. The dining room, as he well knew, was situated directly opposite the door to the small drawing room and, had he leaned forward when he had been sitting on the sofa, he would undoubtedly have caught a glimpse into the room. However, that would hardly have suited his purposes, for he was keen to renew his acquaintance with the precise layout of the room.

  As he stood in the doorway, he surveyed the dining room as if he were seeing it for the first time. Even the most cursory of glances revealed it to be an impressive room, not least because it occupied the full length of the house. As a consequence it benefited from having windows on three of its four sides so that it overlooked not only the side street and the large stretch of communal lawn in front of the house but also the courtyard garden situated at the rear of the property. It was also more formally decorated than the small drawing room. A heavy silk wallpaper, of a rich damask design and sage green in colour, lined the walls and gave something of a masculine feel to the room, which was dominated by a huge mahogany dining table, around which were grouped some sixteen Hepplewhite oval-backed chairs.

  Hallam slowly began to walk the perimeter of the room. An astute observer might have speculated that he was scouring the walls as if looking for something in particular. As Lavinia was nothing of the sort, she continued unperturbed with her largely one-sided dialogue, which happened to be focused still on the food to be served at the ball.

  ‘There’ll be mousse of ham and prawns in aspic, of course, but I haven’t quite made up my mind whether the soup should be hot or cold. Which do you prefer, darling? Do you have a particular preference?’ It was only then, on receiving no reply from her companion, that she looked up and noted Hallam’s rather strange behaviour. ‘I say, darling, what are you doing? Why, you’re making me feel quite dizzy just watching you go round and round like that. If you’re wanting to stretch your legs, I suggest you do a turn around the master drawing room.’

  ‘I thought there was a concealed door in this room that led into another room.’

  ‘Oh, you mean ‘The Retreat’? Quite a ridiculous name for a room, don’t you think? I mean, it’s little more than a library-cum-study, but Ceddie will insist on calling it that; apparently every Georgian gentleman of worth had one.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. I say, the door’s jolly well hidden.’

  ‘Well, of course it is, for the very simple reason, darling, that it’s not in this room, it’s in the other one.’

  ‘In the small drawing room?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  They retraced their steps and re-joined the others in the small drawing room. Priscilla, perched on the arm of a sofa, looked up as they entered. Her natural inclination had been to follow them out into the dining room, but politeness had dictated that she remain in the drawing room with Iris.

  Lavinia crossed to the wall furthest from the hall and paused before turning around, as if to satisfy herself that she had an audience. She turned back and seemed to be scrutinising the wall in front of her, looking for some hidden catch or handle. A moment later and her hand went out and touched the wooden panelling. The next minute she was throwing open the door in a dramatic fashion to a round of applause.

  ‘Well I never!’ exclaimed Priscilla, clasping her hands together in excitement. ‘I never knew that door was there and I’ve visited this house ever so many times.’

  It did not surprise Hallam in the least that he had been oblivious to the door’s existence while he had been perched on the sofa making himself agreeable. For one thing, he had been sitting with his back towards it and, for another, the concealed door was very well hidden, having been panelled and wallpapered to blend in with its surroundings. He made a remark to that effect.

  ‘Yes, well, Ceddie says it was very commonplace in the Georgian period; to have hidden and false doors, I mean,’ Lavinia said, rather dismissively, apparently bored with the subject now that the element of surprise was over. ‘Apparently it had something to do with maintaining the balance of the rooms, whatever that means.’

  ‘I see,’ said Hallam, his attention drawn to the hidden room itself. He strolled over to it and peered inside.

  On first glance it appeared to be roughly half the size of the small drawing room and, like the other two rooms on that floor, overlooked the pavement and beyond the communal stretch of lawn at the front of the house. As a room, it

  was very much as Lavinia had described it, a rather ordinary library-cum-study. Indeed, the furniture in the room was of a far inferior quality compared with that of the rest of the house. In stark contrast, the walls and surfaces were decorated with a number of fine paintings and sculptures and other antiquities from the classical world which had been brought back by Belvedere travellers of the eighteenth century as mementos and souvenirs of their Grand Tours of Europe.

  ‘Will you be using this room for the buffet?’ asked Hallam, in as casual a tone as he could muster.

  ‘Hardly!’ Lavinia made a face. ‘It’s not the sort of room one would dream of showing to one’s guests. Besides, even if I wanted to, Ceddie would hardly let me use it for the ball.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but some of those copies of ancient artefacts on the shelves and in the cabinet are really rather good, those bronze miniature Roman temples in particular.’

  ‘One or two of those etchings on the walls look rather valuable too,’ Hallam observed, taking the opportunity to step into the room.

  ‘Do they? Personally, I think they’re rather ghastly. Anyway, Ceddie’s awfully afraid they might get damaged.’

  Inwardly, Hallam breathed a sigh of relief. This room would suit his p
urposes very well. He idly wondered how difficult it would be to open the concealed door without being observed. If he were to stand in front of it with another fellow, might a chap slip behind it unnoticed? He thought it just possible that it might be accomplished. Lavinia’s next words put his mind at ease.

  ‘In fact, he’s so awfully worried about his precious artefacts that he’s insisting that I have the leather folding screen that’s in the dining room positioned in front of the door.’

  ‘Not the screen you were telling me about?’ exclaimed Priscilla. ‘The one used by your Georgian ancestors to conceal a chamber pot?’

  ‘The very one!’ Lavinia answered gaily. ‘It meant they didn’t have to leave the dining room when they were entertaining.’

  Both girls promptly dissolved into a fit of the giggles. Hallam, eager to divert attention from the hidden room and, in particular, his interest in it, walked back into the small drawing room, sat down and started to avail himself of the tea and cakes that had been brought in on a tray. Much to his relief, talk soon returned to the ball, and specifically to the costumes. Priscilla leaned forward and whispered something in Lavinia’s ear. Hallam did not catch the words but, whatever was said, caused Lavinia to raise her eyebrows, whether in surprise or shock, he could not tell; nevertheless a mischievous gleam appeared in Lavinia’s eye.

  To all intents and purposes, the two girls appeared to have forgotten his presence. Hallam took the opportunity to glance at Iris Franklin. All the while the woman had been toying with the fabric of her dress, twisting it over and over in her fingers. It is quite possible that she suddenly became conscious of the young man looking at her, for she chose that very moment to look up. She caught his eye and instead of averting her gaze, as Hallam had half expected, she held it for one brief, electrifying moment. In those few seconds, he was aware of nothing but that her eyes were filled with some dreadful emotion that seemed to spill over and catch at his very being.

  He thought later that it might as well have been just the two of them in the room, for all the notice they took of the others. Acting on a strange and sudden impulse, he had leaned forward and whispered:

  ‘I say, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you all right?’

  Iris did not answer immediately but her eyes never left his face. It seemed to Hallam that she was trying to formulate in her mind how to give voice to some awful, private terror. Snippets of Lavinia’s and Priscilla’s conversation came drifting to his ears. How inconsequential and trifling their talk sounded now. Instinctively, with his back towards the other women, thereby obscuring their view, he took Iris Franklin’s hand in his. Taken aback by his own forwardness, he fully expected her to recoil and withdraw her hand. Instead, she let it linger for a moment in his own.

  ‘If I can ever be of service to you,’ he began, his words sounding ridiculously formal even to his own ears, ‘I …’ He faltered, not quite sure what it was he wished to say or convey. How did one put into words what he was feeling? How could he possibly explain to Iris Franklin that he experienced her fear and sorrow as if it were his own? It was all too ludicrous for words. He had recognised her name from the society pages, but until this afternoon he had never laid eyes on her, and now here he was pledging his allegiance to her, as if she were some revered monarch.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ muttered Iris Franklin. Her voice was barely a whisper and Hallam had to lean forward to catch her words. ‘I’m … I’m dreadfully afraid of my husband.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Daniel?’

  The word had escaped her lips even before she knew she had uttered it. She had whispered it, yet the sound still seemed to fill the quiet, night air; indeed, she had the impression it had been carried on the breeze out into the garden and beyond. Certainly, her companion appeared to be of that opinion. In a harsh whisper, he said hurriedly:

  ‘Ssh! Do you want everyone to know I’m here? I’ve had a frightful job climbing over that wall of yours, I can tell you. Why didn’t you leave the back gate open as I asked?’

  ‘I … I was afraid,’ said Priscilla, her face pale beneath its olive complexion. She had opened the door a little way and still clutched the handle tightly. ‘I’ve been awfully frightened, you know.’

  Now she knew that the figure lurking in the shadows was Daniel, and not someone intent on doing her harm, she began to relax a little. She loosened her grip on the door handle and some of the fear that had possessed her ebbed away. She had a little space inside her now for other feelings and emotions. They seemed to struggle with one another, taking it in turns to govern; relief rubbed shoulders with trepidation, happiness with pain. Above all else, she was struck by the notion of how ludicrous it all was, carrying on a conversation on the doorstep in the dark when she had a perfectly good set of rooms in which they might parley. She bit her lip, not knowing if she should laugh or cry, for a part of her had to resist the bizarre and awful temptation not to giggle. It was not the infectious, merry sort of laugher she enjoyed with Lavinia, but the high, shrill type that bordered on hysteria.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?’ Daniel asked. He sounded sullen. ‘I suppose that maid of yours has left for the day? It wouldn’t do for me to be seen loitering here, you know. There’d be no end to pay, I can tell you.’

  ‘For you or for me?’ said Priscilla with a little spirit, rallying a trifle.

  Now that the fear was beginning to disperse, she was minded to be vexed. In fact, she was very tempted to give him a piece of her mind and be done with it. She quite often held imaginary conversations with him in her head where she played the dominant role, scolding him bitterly. During those one-sided colloquies of her own invention, the young man, who now stood before her glowering, remained obligingly silent. In her mind’s eye she pictured him gazing up at her, meek and repentant. In fact it had become something of a habit of hers to plan what she would say to him when next they met and yet, when they did, her mind would invariably go blank and the speeches she had so carefully prepared be forgotten.

  She opened the door a little wider and stood back to allow the young man to enter. He snuck in hurriedly past her, much in the manner of a fleeting shadow or a scurrying mouse. She wondered, as she closed the door behind him, if anyone was watching the house. She shivered. What an eerie thought it was to believe one’s movements were being observed and studied by some malevolent emissary.

  The back door opened into a short corridor, which was unlit. Priscilla was able to navigate her way in the dark, but her companion was not so fortunate and stubbed his toe. She heard him curse, a whispered, wretched sound. The girl made no comment, but led the way instead across the checked linoleum floor to the room that served as a sitting room. In stark contrast with the corridor, this room was high-ceilinged and brightly lit with a couple of armchairs and a small sofa covered in glazed chintz.

  Priscilla turned around to address her companion and immediately let out a gasp, clasping her hand to her mouth to suppress the cry that sprung involuntarily to her lips. For it was the first time she had had an opportunity to study her visitor properly and the picture that greeted her was far from being a pleasant one.

  ‘Your face,’ she cried. ‘Your poor face, what … what’s happened to it? It’s all purple and swollen. Why, your nose is bleeding!’

  ‘You needn’t take on so,’ grumbled Daniel. ‘It’s a bit sore, that’s all. Some fellow saw fit to punch me and I wasn’t quick enough. If I’d had my wits about me, I’d have given him what for, I can tell you. I wasn’t expecting him to hit me, that’s all. I mean to say, you don’t expect a chap like that to be at a house party, do you?’

  ‘Are you saying he was one of the other guests?’ Priscilla said, appalled. Clutching at the top of an occasional table, her nails scratched the polished surface. She sunk down heavily in one of the arm chairs and half closed her eyes. She felt light-headed and giddy. Matters were evidently even worse than she had supposed. ‘Do you owe him money?’ she asked faintly. �
�Is that why he hit you?’ She did not receive an answer. Silence filled the room, save only for the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece. In her agitated state, the sound seemed to mock her. She said: ‘Oh, Daniel, how could you? What will Father say?’

  ‘Father won’t say anything, because he’ll not know. And you needn’t think about telling him,’ her companion said, a savage note in his voice. ‘I’ll never forgive you if you do. You know he hates me like poison. He’s searching for any excuse to disinherit me. Still,’ he added, somewhat nastily, ‘I daresay that’s what you want. It’ll mean all the more for you.’

  Priscilla flinched slightly, but said nothing. She’d heard these words too many times before to retort, uttered in the same self-pitying tone. The first time he had said them, they had stung her to the core, but now she felt very little. She didn’t bother to protest or react. She knew from bitter experience it would do no good. Instead she said:

  ‘He’s just disappointed in you, that’s all.’ She passed a hand wearily across her brow. Though quite unconscious of the fact, the image she presented bore more than a passing resemblance to the picture portrayed by Iris Franklin. ‘We both are,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.

  ‘I say, that’s a bit harsh, hitting a man when he’s down,’ said Daniel. ‘I thought better of you. Still, if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. I’ll not have it said that –’

  ‘Where will you go?’ cried Priscilla. ‘Goodness knows you can’t stay here. I only wish you could, but Bella will be here tomorrow and I shouldn’t want her to see you like this. It would scare her dreadfully and she’s a frightful gossip. If she sees you, she’s certain to tell Aunt Maud, and then there will be no keeping it from Father.’