‘Cedric, you mustn’t creep up on me like that,’ his wife said laughing. ‘You made me jump. But you’re quite right about Count Fernand,’ she agreed, referring to an erstwhile friend of Lavinia’s who’d had a particular penchant for a flamboyant style of dressing. ‘He would have been quite at home here. I wonder –
‘Good lord!’ exclaimed Cedric.
Rose followed her husband’s gaze. Lavinia had just that moment glided into view. The girl was indeed a spectacular sight, certainly sufficient to cause one or two of the guests to gasp. It was almost as if she were an apparition of Marie Antoinette herself, so exquisite and regal was her gown of blue and grey damask silk. The bodice, as Lavinia had so vividly described, was embroidered with pearls and little glass beads. Like the sleeves of her dress, which were trimmed with a generous amount of gold lace, the bodice was decorated with an assortment of delicate bows and ruffles. A matching damask silk cloak was fastened to the back of the gown and trailed the ground much in the manner of a wedding veil.
The most striking aspect of the costume, however, was not the gown itself as such, but rather the dramatic effect of the hooped pannier petticoat worn underneath, which caused the skirt of the dress to be extended several feet at the sides, giving it the appearance of being very wide. Almost as impressive was Lavinia’s magnificent wig which, Rose noted with some amusement, still included the preserved fruit that had caused so much bother. Beneath her mask the girl’s face was powdered a deathly white, which was further accentuated by the vivid crimson of her painted lips.
‘I rather think I look like Cinderella at the ball, don’t you?’ Lavinia remarked, as she joined them. ‘I should have worn glass slippers instead of these satin ones.’ She raised the skirt of her dress to reveal a dainty pair of dove grey satin slippers decorated with silver buckles.
‘They’d be frightfully uncomfortable to wear, I’d have thought,’ observed her brother. ‘Glass, I mean. And besides, to play the part properly you’d need to leave one of your slippers on a step, which would cause no end of trouble. You’d have all the guests tripping over it and falling down the stairs. Ah,’ he added, spotting a number of men dressed in ornate Georgian frock coats with gold braiding and buttons and silk satin breeches, their hair powdered and tied back with black velvet ribbons. ‘These must be your Prince Charmings, come to whisk you away to the ball.’
Lavinia blew her brother and Rose an elaborate kiss and allowed herself to be escorted upstairs by one or two of her many admirers, her wide skirts hindering the progress of a couple of the guests who were descending the staircase.
‘Ah, Franklin, is that you?’ enquired Cedric of a man dressed in vivid blue, whom he happened to overhear addressing a remark to his partner, a woman dressed in the same bright shade of china blue. ‘I say, what remarkable outfits. You rather put my own to shame.’
‘Good evening, your lordship; your ladyship,’ said Raymond, coming over. ‘I don’t believe you have met my wife, Mrs Franklin, Lady Belvedere? This really is quite a remarkable ball; I was just saying so to Iris.’
‘Though dashed awkward to recognise anyone with these damned masks on,’ said Cedric, patting his own beaked affair as he spoke. ‘If I hadn’t heard you speak just now, I shouldn’t have known it was you.’
‘How do you do, Mrs Franklin?’ said Rose, eyeing the woman before her with considerable interest. So this was Iris Franklin, was it? The poor woman who was an heiress and custodian of the Smithingham Collection and whose husband, according to Lavinia, was having rather a public love affair with his secretary, much to the delight of the more lurid scandal sheets.
‘What a wonderful mask,’ Rose said kindly. ‘I don’t believe I’ve seen another quite like it.’
‘Thank you,’ muttered the woman, her voice barely above a whisper so that Rose was obliged to incline her head slightly, in order to catch her words. ‘It is made from real Florentine paper.’
‘Is it really? I do like the fan; it is quite delightful.’
The conversation between the two women ended as abruptly as it had begun. Rose had the distinct impression that Iris Franklin did not wish to be there in the hall standing next to her husband and parleying with her hostess. Certainly she looked about her in rather an awkward and nervous fashion.
‘While you’re here, Franklin, I must show you some of my antiquities,’ Cedric was saying to the woman’s husband. ‘There are one or two statuettes from the Ancient World that I think you’d appreciate. In fact, I’d be very interested to know what you think of them.’
‘I should be delighted, my lord,’ said Raymond, with obvious enthusiasm.
‘Good, I’ll come and find you about two o’clock, if I may? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find the Duchess of Lair. I promised to take her down to supper.’
Rose followed her husband as he negotiated his way up the grand staircase to the next floor. It was not an easy feat as many couples were coming down the stairs to partake of the buffet, and one or two of the guests had stopped rather inconsiderately to hold conversations, thereby temporarily obstructing the progress of the other guests.
At last they reached the landing of the second floor, gloriously wide, as befitted the grand staircase, and which ran the full width of the dwelling. When the house had originally been built, in accordance with the customs of the day, the principal bedrooms had been on this level overlooking the street. However, when the house had been divided into four, the same reprobate Belvedere who’d had a propensity for gambling had taken the opportunity to redesign the layout of the house to facilitate his penchant for lavish entertaining. To this effect, the principal bedrooms had been relegated to the third floor permitting the majority of the second floor to be given over to form the grand reception room which could double as a ballroom when the occasion arose. Other than this room there were a handful of much smaller ones which, when called upon, proved adequate cloakrooms, chaperones’ and sitting-out rooms.
It was to one of these sitting-out rooms that Cedric and Rose made their way. They found the old and rather doddery duchess sitting among a group of chaperones, just finishing a rubber of bridge.
‘Ah, Cedric, dear boy, is that you? Do speak up, dear. When one gets to my grand old age it’s so hard to hear what others are saying. Everyone seems to mumble these days and of course, it’s not helped by having a band playing in the other room; though I admit they’re awfully good. My foot’s been tapping all evening.’
It was a couple of minutes before Cedric had managed to extract the Duchess of Lair from her game with the mention of supper.
‘Good heavens, is it half past eleven already? I suppose it is. Yes, do take me down to eat. Won’t you join us, Lady Belvedere? Really, you should sit down, you know, my dear. In fact no one will think it amiss if you have a lie down, not in your condition, you know. No? You don’t want any supper yet? I shouldn’t dance too much if I were you; it’ll be very fatiguing.’
Cedric led the still talking Duchess of Lair down the stairs to the dining room where precedency insisted that the host should take into supper the lady of the highest rank ahead of all the other quests. Some of the more alert guests followed his example, taking their partners quickly in to the sit-down supper behind him, eager to be among the first round of guests to dine. The less observant or hungry waited patiently at the door, waiting to be admitted once the tables had been vacated by the earlier diners and the tables laid with fresh tablecloths and clean cutlery by the servants and catering staff.
Rose made her way to the ballroom, walking past the various dancing couples. She thought they made a wonderful spectacle in their masks and fancy costumes, swirling about the room with apparently little regard or interest in those not dancing.
Feeling rather matronly, despite her young age, Rose joined a group of chaperones who were seated in a cluster near one of the French windows, which was partially open to permit the cool night breeze to enter. The chaperones, who were mostly middle-aged women with a scattering of
men, alternated between gossiping among themselves and commenting on the dance band, whom they considered, without exception, to be first rate. Some chose to dance, either joining the younger people on the dance floor, or opting to dance instead on the wide landing above the staircase, which lent itself very well for this purpose.
Rose discovered, much to her annoyance, that while her mind was inclined to dance, her body was reluctant to oblige, for invariably she became weary after only a few minutes no matter how slow the waltz. Instead, she contented herself in watching Lavinia glide about the room in the arms of a succession of partners. Eventually she caught Lavinia’s eye and the girl hurried over.
‘I’m simply gasping for a glass of champagne,’ Lavinia informed her, linking her arm in hers, as they made their way downstairs to the small drawing room. ‘I’m not in the least bit hungry, are you?’
In the end, however, Lavinia managed to devour a mousse of chicken and two lobster patties, and was just contemplating eating some rose cake when she gave a startled cry.
‘There’s someone behind the screen! I saw it move!’
Rose, who was in the act of eating a sandwich, followed her friend’s gaze. The leather folding screen had been fully extended and placed in front of the concealed door which led to Cedric’s room of artefacts and antiquities. She thought she saw it shudder slightly, as if someone were standing behind it and had leaned against it for a moment. She glanced quickly around the room. The other diners appeared either deep in conversation, or too engrossed in enjoying the refreshments to notice that anything was amiss.
‘I wonder who it is?’ Lavinia was saying. ‘I shall jolly well find out.’ With that, she advanced towards the screen, a wicked gleam in her eye beneath the black lace mask.
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Rose said quickly, clutching at her arm. ‘Isn’t it obvious that whoever is standing behind that screen doesn’t wish to be observed?’
‘Of course it is! I daresay it’s some sort of lovers’ meeting they want to keep from the chaperones.’
‘Well, then –’
‘Well, I’m not a chaperone,’ answered Lavinia truthfully, giggling and removing her arm from Rose’s grasp.
The girl disappeared behind the screen. In spite of what Rose had said, the detective in her won and she moved forward a few steps in order that she might overhear the heated exchange that followed.
‘Oh … I’m afraid I must ask you to leave,’ said a man’s voice. ‘By that I mean, it would be awfully good of you if you did. You see I’m waiting for –’
‘Hallam!’
‘Good heavens, Lavinia! Is that really you beneath that wig and make-up? I’d never have recognised you. I say, do be careful, you’ll have the screen down with that skirt of yours. Don’t you find it rather cumbersome, it being so wide? I bet you find you keep knocking into things.’
‘Look here, Hallam, what are you doing lurking here? Why are you hiding behind this screen?’
‘I wasn’t hiding as such –’
‘Yes, you were.’
‘Ssh! Don’t talk so loudly; someone will hear you.’
‘Why shouldn’t they? I say, you haven’t arranged to meet a girl here, have you?’
‘A girl … oh, yes, I have. So do be a dear and clear off.’
‘Can’t I meet her?’
‘No.’
‘I think you’re being awfully beastly.’
‘Lavinia –’
‘All right, I’m going. But first you must promise me you’ll give me a dance later on.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Hallam said hurriedly.
‘Because I shall want to hear all about her, you know.’
Rose heard a movement behind the screen which suggested Lavinia was about to take her leave.
‘Is her chaperone quite dreadful?’
‘Whose?’ Hallam sounded a trifle exasperated.
‘This girl of yours, of course.’
‘Frightful.’
Apparently satisfied with the answers supplied, Lavinia emerged from behind the screen and immediately went to help herself to another glass of champagne.
‘I suppose you heard all that?’ she enquired of Rose. ‘Do you suppose Hallam was telling the truth?’
Rose was very much of the opinion that Hallam was not, but she thought it best to keep this view to herself. Instead she said: ‘I don’t see why he should lie about a thing like that. What other reason could he have for hiding behind the screen?’
‘I’m awfully tempted to wait here so that I can see this girl of his.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ Rose said, this time more firmly. She took her friend by the arm and steered her out of the small drawing room into the hall. As Lavinia tried to object, Rose added: ‘Besides, what with everybody wearing masks and costumes, you would never recognise the girl, even if you did stay and see her.’
‘I might recognise her voice,’ Lavinia said a trifle sullenly, but she made no further protest and allowed herself to be led across the hall.
The staircase was particularly busy as guests made their way to and from the supper rooms. Rose heard a couple of the guests coming down the stairs mutter under their breaths as they were knocked and jostled by Lavinia’s absurd skirt, to which the girl herself appeared quite oblivious. Halfway up the staircase they passed a man coming down the stairs wearing a felt tricorn hat decorated with a large ostrich feather. As he drew level with them, Rose thought she heard him mutter: ‘Very fair pickings indeed.’ Though he had spoken faintly, something about the man’s manner suggested he was addressing someone rather than merely talking to himself. Somewhat intrigued by his words if nothing else, Rose looked about her trying to ascertain to whom he was speaking. As far as she could tell, no one but herself was paying him the least bit of notice.
Chapter Ten
Hallam, still situated behind the screen in the small drawing room, sighed impatiently and withdrew his pocket watch. He consulted it and frowned. He’d been standing behind the ridiculous panel for almost a full hour. How much longer, he wondered, would he be required to fulfil the role of sentry? He glared at the concealed door behind him. Had there been a keyhole, he might have been half inclined to listen at it, though it would hardly have been gentlemanly conduct. As there was no such thing, he was rescued from temptation. All he could hear, if he strained his ears, was the faint murmur of voices; he certainly could not make out what was being said.
It was quite bad enough feeling slightly foolish standing there, dressed in a mask and cloak, but after Lavinia’s intervention he now felt decidedly conspicuous and on edge. Indeed, he hardly dared breathe lest his breaths be overheard and his presence revealed. As it was, every time there was a lull in the conversations in the small drawing room, he feared discovery.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wishing that he had had the foresight to provide himself with a stool on which to perch. It was jolly difficult to keep absolutely still when your legs were aching from having stood in one position for so long. ‘It can’t be very much longer,’ he muttered at length, thinking that he might quite easily also have equipped himself with a glass of champagne. Certainly his mouth was beginning to feel quite parched, made worse by the sound of soft tinkling glass in the room beyond. He remembered then the delicious morsels that had been laid out on the table; the devilled eggs, tongue, sandwiches and meringues.
His ears detected a faint noise barely distinguishable from the general chatter and the clamour of glasses and crockery associated with the buffet. Indeed, had he not been listening particularly carefully, he might not have heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps approaching the screen. He stiffened. They were dainty footsteps, he thought, and the person to whom they belonged appeared hesitant, as if they had not quite made up their mind to advance and peer behind the screen.
Hallam braced himself. Try as he might he could not think of any plausible reason he might give to explain why he was hiding in such a peculiar and furtive manner. Th
e moment of discovery was upon him and still he was conscious that his mind was annoyingly and most stubbornly blank. Just as he was thinking this, a woman appeared from in front of the screen. She took a step forward and then stopped and stared at him, as if she could not quite believe her eyes.
‘Lavinia!’ he cried. The next moment and he had given vent to the fear and apprehension that still lingered, a note of anger and annoyance tinging his voice. ‘What the devil are you doing here? I told you to clear off.’
Even as he spoke the words, he knew that he was being unreasonable. More than that, he was being rude and objectionable. Why shouldn’t Lavinia check to see whether he was still hiding behind the screen in such a peculiar fashion? It was the Belvederes’ house, after all. She would have been quite within her rights to request that he cease to play his strange game and behave like any other guest.
Much to his surprise, Lavinia gave no indignant retort. Instead she appeared transfixed by some odd apparition. It was only then that it dawned on him that it was not at him she was looking, but at something behind him, the presence of which he had been at pains to keep hidden. Even as he swung around in one last desperate act, it occurred to him that all his efforts had been in vain. With an awful fascination he watched as the concealed door began to open rather creepily, as if of its own accord.
It took the girl’s sharp intake of breath to bring him to his senses. It was the matter of a second to hurl himself against the door, thus preventing it from opening any wider. A second more, and it was firmly closed. He wondered if he was the only one to hear the startled exclamation from behind the door. He threw a glance at Lavinia, who was standing very still, apparently rooted to the spot.
‘Lavinia.’
This time he spoke more gently, his skin hot and flushed beneath his papier-mâché mask. She did not answer and he took a step towards her, his hand outstretched in a futile gesture.
Murder at the Masquerade Ball Page 9