‘Bella can go to the devil!’ said Daniel unkindly. ‘Why do we have to have such a ninny for a cousin? And why must she come here?’
‘It’s not her fault. She’s been wanting to come and stay with me for simply ages. She’s never been to London. I can’t possibly put her off.’
‘Yet your own brother you’re –’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Daniel, do be quiet and let me think.’ Somewhat reluctantly Priscilla hauled herself out of her chair. ‘I suppose I ought to bathe your face. I daresay it’ll sting like anything.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Daniel, stretching out a hand to her and touching her on her arm as he had done so often when they were children and he’d needed a helping hand and sympathy. ‘That was beastly of me. It’s my mess. I got myself into it and I’ll get myself out of it. Though short of emigrating to America, I‘m damned if I know how I shall go about it.’
This raw honesty, so reminiscent of their childhood, was almost too much for Priscilla to bear. It was as if the years had been peeled away and she was looking at the little boy he’d once been, shy and eager to please. A boy who’d looked up to her. He’d been a truthful child, not full of lies and deceit, as he was now. Goodness knew, she didn’t mean to cry, but sometimes you simply couldn’t help it. She’d been feeling so happy too, discussing the preparations for the masquerade ball with Lavinia. Why did Daniel have to go and ruin it? The tears trickled down her cheeks unheeded.
‘That man who hit you –’ she said haltingly, between sobs.
‘Oh, you needn’t worry about him,’ said her brother dismissively. ‘I daresay he’s of the opinion that the score’s been settled. He’s had his pound of flesh. No, it’s the others that I need to worry about.’
‘The others?’ Priscilla wondered whether it was her imagination, or did her heart really miss a beat? ‘The others?’ she mumbled again, though this time she was quite certain she did not wish to hear the answer.
‘Yes. The one’s who aren’t gentlemen. I’m afraid I’ve fallen in with rather a rough crowd. They don’t play by the rules. I’m not sure they’d stop at only punching a fellow.’
‘Oh, Daniel,’ She leaned forward and clutched at his sleeve. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know, old thing,’ he answered, disentangling himself gently from her clasp. ‘But I’m certain I’ll think of something; I always do.’
In those few moments his voice and manner had altered. To a casual observer, the fear that had gripped the young man seemed to have disappeared. Priscilla knew, however, that this was merely an illusion. The desperation was still present; it just lay hidden a little way beneath the surface, to be resurrected when Daniel left the house. As if transfixed, she watched with an awful fascination as her brother passed from his state of terror to one of optimism. It was awful to witness because it wasn’t real. It was the same mood that took hold of him when he gambled, the one that encouraged him to take risks, that convinced him his luck would change.
‘I say, have you any brandy?’ he enquired.
His tone was light. They might have spent a pleasant evening having dinner together rather than looking over their shoulders with increasing dread.
‘I think there’s half a bottle,’ said Priscilla dully.
She had forgotten about her intention to bathe his face and dress his wounds. Instead, she walked with heavy steps across the room to a mahogany sideboard. With an unsteady hand she selected a decanter and rather clumsily poured out a generous measure of brandy. When she returned, she noticed that her hand was shaking. She adjusted her pace to walk more slowly for fear of spilling the liquid on the rug.
‘I was just reading about this jewel thief,’ Daniel said.
His head was buried in the newspaper she’d purchased on her way home. She hadn’t given it so much as a glance, and yet here was her brother, creasing the pages in that careless way of his.
‘He’s rather a daring fellow, don’t you think?’ he was saying. ‘He’s put quite a dampener on the debutante balls. Still, it’ll give the chaperones something else to talk about.’
In one swift movement, she had snatched the newspaper from him. Daniel looked up surprised, and not a little hurt. Instinctively he made a grab for the paper; it was as if they were children again, squabbling in the nursery. In the ensuing scuffle, something fell out of the young man’s breast pocket, though he was too distracted to notice.
‘I say, I was reading that.’
Priscilla permitted him to take the newspaper from her, her attention drawn instead to the stray bit of paper that lay on the floor. She bent swiftly and picked it up. It was a scrap of paper. She looked at it and her eyes widened. She stole a furtive glance at her brother. He appeared quite ignorant of what had happened, absorbed in the task of smoothing out the pages of the newspaper which had become crumpled in the struggle.
She crushed the slip of paper in her fingers and wondered why she could not be more like her brother. Why couldn’t she adopt a guise in front of him, as he did to her, and pretend that everything would be all right?
‘It’s not really in my line, of course,’ her brother was saying ‘but it does rather give a man ideas.’
‘Daniel!’
‘Darling, it was a joke, that’s all. I don’t think I’d make a very good thief, do you? Now, what’s this I hear about the Belvederes hosting a masquerade ball? I suppose you’ve been invited, what with you being such a great friend of Lady Lavinia’s?’
Priscilla did not answer. It was as if she had been struck dumb. She was staring at him, the glass still in her hand.
‘I daresay you need a partner,’ Daniel continued. ‘Well, I’m just the fellow. After all, no one will recognise me in a mask and I think it’s high time I had a bit of fun, don’t you? I say, do be careful, darling, you’re spilling my brandy!’
‘Darling,’ said Lavinia, looking at her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table and patting her face vigorously with a Pixie Lamkin powder puff of pink lamb’s wool, ‘you know I’m not one to gossip.’
‘Indeed?’ said Rose. She was perched rather uncomfortably on the end of Lavinia’s bed at Kingsley House regarding her ankles, which she stretched out in front of her and thought looked rather swollen. Sighing, she turned her attention to her friend, watching with a degree of fascination as Lavinia set about making up her lovely face in the style of Marie Antoinette.
‘Yes,’ said Lavinia firmly, dabbing at her forehead with the puff. ‘Because I simply know there can’t be anything in it. Why, he hardly knows the woman and, anyway, she’s heaps older than him.’
‘Don’t you think you’ve quite enough powder on your face?’ asked Rose. ‘You’re rather beginning to resemble a ghost, or is that the general idea?’
‘No, of course not! They wore a great deal of powder in those days, you know. I am just trying to replicate the look as best I can. I do so want to look the part. Now, what was I saying? ... Ah, yes, I was talking about Hallam, wasn’t I?’
‘Were you?’ said Rose, her mind still half on her ankles. ‘ You didn’t mention any names as such.’
‘I was talking about Hallam and Iris Franklin and saying that there simply can’t be anything in it.’
‘Anything in what? Really, Lavinia, I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about?’
‘Oh Rose, do keep up, there’s a dear. Really, you must not be so tiresome,’ exclaimed Lavinia in an exasperated tone. ‘I’m talking about Hallam following Iris around the garden like a lost puppy, of course. One minute he was discussing the ball with Priscilla and me in the most delightful way, and the next he had quite abandoned us to walk in the garden with Iris.’
‘Perhaps he had become a trifle bored of the subject,’ suggested Rose, who rather felt that way herself about the ball. ‘You know, darling, you’ve talked of little else for months.’
‘That isn’t it at all. And, anyway, if he were really bored, he’d hardly have chosen Iris Franklin for company
, would he? The woman’s as dull as ditch water. She doesn’t say a word, just sits there looking miserable. Still, I suppose you can hardly blame her. I daresay it isn’t very pleasant to have everyone talking about your husband’s affair. But, anyway, I was speaking of Hallam. He wasn’t a bit bored about the ball. In fact, if you must know, he made a particular point of asking me about the arrangements.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. He telephoned and asked if he might call. I thought he meant one evening, because of course he works in that dreadful little office of his. But, as it happens, he came for afternoon tea, which was just as well as poor Priscilla and I were having the most awful job trying to include Iris in our conversation. I do think, don’t you,’ said Lavinia, with sudden earnestness, ‘that if one accepts an invitation to tea, the very least one can do is to contribute to the general discussion. It’s awfully difficult when a guest doesn’t play ball and jolly tiring for the others.’
‘I wasn’t aware that you and Iris Franklin were particular friends. Mrs Franklin is the Smithingham heiress, isn’t she?’
‘Oh, we’re not, mere acquaintances, that’s all really,’ Lavinia said rather dismissively. ‘In fact, I was in two minds whether to invite the Franklins to the ball. But they’re old money, you know; by that I mean Iris’ family is, the Smithinghams, not the Franklins, so one feels almost duty bound to invite them, what with her father having been in the House of Lords. Still, now I come to think of it, it is rather odd.’ She paused a moment, as if waiting for Rose to make some appropriate comment.
‘What is odd?’ Rose supplied obligingly, though in truth she was only vaguely listening to the conversation.
‘Well, I didn’t invite Iris to tea, exactly. It would be far more accurate to say she invited herself. I thought it strange at the time as I’d rather got the impression that she didn’t think much of me.’
‘And yet she asked if she could visit and when she came, she hardly uttered a word?’
‘Yes. Isn’t that odd? She rang up one morning last week quite out of the blue and said she had some business in town and would I mind awfully if she called on me as she had something particular to ask me about the ball. Well, I could hardly refuse, could I? But why she should want to know whether we intended to open the windows and allow our guests to wander out into the garden, I’m sure I don’t know.’
‘That does sound rather strange,’ agreed Rose. ‘That she made a point of visiting you to ask that, I mean. I wonder why she didn’t just telephone you to enquire?’
‘Goodness knows. The whole afternoon was all rather strange, if you ask me, what with Iris Franklin’s interest in the garden and Hallam’s in the food. He wanted to know whether we intended having a sit-down supper or just a buffet. I suppose he wanted to know whether he should dine beforehand.’ Lavinia put down the powder puff. ‘Now where,’ she said, ‘should I put my beauty patch?’ She turned around on her stool. ‘Apparently, it mattered frightfully in Georgian times where you put it because it sent out a particular message. If you placed it at the corner of your eye, like this,’ she held a satin spot up to her face, ‘you were passionate, and if you put it at the corner of your mouth, you wanted to be kissed.’ She giggled ‘I’m almost tempted to do that.’ She turned back to look at her reflection in the mirror. ‘But I think it will probably look best if I place it here, in the middle of my cheek. It’ll look more striking. I think I’ll put it here, on my right cheek. ’
‘And what message will you be giving out if you do?’ inquired Rose, interested in spite of herself.
‘That I am gallant in the way of being daring, which I think describes me very well, don’t you?’
Rose grinned. ‘I’ll certainly think you’re daring if you wear that monstrosity on your head.’
She pointed to a very elaborate ivory-coloured wig that had caught her eye, balanced rather precariously on a wooden wig stand in the corner of the room. It favoured the pompadour style and was, at a conservative estimate, roughly two feet in height. Made up of tight curls and ringlets, the wig was elaborately decorated with ribbons, artificial flowers and even what appeared to be pieces of waxed fruit. Intrigued, Rose stepped forward to examine it more closely. Somewhat to her horror, it seemed to be comprised predominantly of horse hair, supported by a complicated structure made out of wire.
‘Oh, do you like my wig?’ Lavinia asked, beaming. ‘I had it made specially for the ball. It’s modelled on one worn by Georgiana, the Duchess of Devonshire. ’
‘I think it’s quite ridiculous,’ Rose said good-humouredly. ‘But you’ll certainly make quite an impression, if that’s what you’re after, but I can’t for the life of me see how you can possibly dance wearing it. It looks awfully heavy, to say nothing of cumbersome; won’t it topple over?’
‘I’ve given Eliza very strict instructions to secure it tightly to my head,’ Lavinia said, making a face. ‘Besides, Priscilla will –’
She stopped abruptly in mid-sentence. Rose looked up at her curiously, noting the flush of crimson that had leapt to her friend’s cheeks. However, before she could ask Lavinia what she had been about to say, the girl was once again alluding to Hallam’s visit.
‘The dear boy was awfully fascinated by The Retreat. You’d have thought he’d never seen the room before. He’d remembered it, of course, from previous visits, but he thought it led off the dining room, not the small drawing room. I suppose he’d forgotten and the door to it really is very hard to find because it is so well hidden. You simply wouldn’t know it was there. He wanted to know whether we intended to use the room for the buffet.’
‘You promised Cedric that you wouldn’t, if you remember? He’s rather concerned about his artefacts.’
‘Yes, and I told Hallam precisely that,’ Lavinia answered, a trifle crossly. ‘Really, Rose, I said we wouldn’t use it and I meant it. Now, tell me, have you managed to persuade Ceddie to wear a tricorn? I really think you ought to try, you know, and you’ve only got a day to do so. It would be just the thing to set off that mask of his. I suppose his wearing a satin cloak is quite out of the question?’
It was only later that Rose wished she had paid more heed to Lavinia’s idle chatter. Had she known what was to befall, she might well have done. But on that particular evening, the night before the ball, her thoughts were only on whether, in her condition, she would have sufficient energy and determination to last the night.
Chapter Eight
As the month progressed, the weather for the masquerade ball was looking far from favourable. The first two weeks of May had experienced rain on a daily basis, made worse by the occasional thunderstorm. To the consternation of many, not least Lavinia, the inclement conditions looked set to continue at least to the end of the month. It seemed almost fated, therefore, that the guests would be required to come to the ball heavily swathed and cloaked to keep out the rain, and that adjustments would need to be made to their costumes and wigs to take account of the elements. Certainly it was unlikely the guests would be able to wander out on to the terrace to take the night air. Instead they would be confined to the stuffy ballroom and the supper rooms, or else be obliged to converge awkwardly on the stairs and in the hall and clutter the sitting-out and chaperones’ rooms and cloakrooms.
The invitations had already been sent out on embossed cards and costumes had been purchased or commissioned, but just as it seemed inevitable that, in Lavinia’s words, ‘the ball will be quite ruined and if I had my own way it will be abandoned completely’, there had been an abrupt and rather startling change in the weather. To the relief of all, the middle of May and onwards saw an end to the incessant drizzle and the days became deliciously fine and balmy.
On the day of the ball itself, the weather was decidedly warm. The servants went about their business hot and flushed, with more than one bemoaning the heat. For months there had been arduous preparation, with two full weeks spent in nothing but cleaning the house from top to bottom until all the surfaces shone. Floors had been
swept and mopped, and the furniture and marble rigorously dusted. Mirrors and windows had been washed and polished so that the glass gleamed and shone in the early morning sun. Yet still there seemed much to be done. The great Turkish rug in the grand reception room on the first floor was rolled up and removed in order to facilitate the dancing, for it was this room that was to double as the ballroom.
The head gardener and his apprentice had travelled up from Sedgwick Court the evening before, accompanied by a vast quantity of specially chosen blooms and foliage with which to decorate Kingsley House. They stood with gaping mouths as they watched the nimble fingers of the florists transform their offerings to create magnificent and elaborate floral arrangements which were placed in the alcoves in the entrance hall and on the landings. Even the great staircase was not overlooked. Great trails of ivy were interwoven between the banisters and decorated with large bloomed, pale pink peonies, interspersed with vivid blue cornflowers, tall spikes of larkspur and cream-coloured tulips. Garlands of white roses were festooned between the windows and over the fireplaces. Hired chairs were scattered in little clusters about the rooms and tables borrowed from some of the more prestigious hotels were placed in main supper room and covered with crisp white linen tablecloths. In the centre of each table was placed at least one gleaming silver candlestick.
In the whole history of the house, never had the steps down to the basement courtyard been so well trodden in one day as they were on the occasion of the ball. The tradesmen who had unburdened their carts in the street outside were forced to jostle with the delivery boys for space as they negotiated the steps laden with their various wares. To Mrs Farrier, the Belvederes’ housekeeper, the kitchen and scullery appeared to be overrun by the caterers, who issued instructions concerning the sumptuous dishes and delicacies which were to be prepared under their strict supervision. They were also responsible for overseeing the arrangements for the rooms; in particular the positioning of the additional lighting that had been acquired for the occasion.
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 7