She considered, when she was dressed and her hair confined within the somewhat oriental-looking turban which she had bought, that she looked very odd – and quite old. She had chosen a crimson gown, trimmed with gold, which matched the colour of the turban, although this would not of course be seen whilst she was swathed in a domino.
Lord Furzeby arrived punctually at the appointed hour, accompanied by his nephew. When she rose to greet them in her crimson gown and turban, both exclaimed at the gorgeousness of her appearance.
“I look a perfect fright!” she contradicted. “I have always been convinced I should not wear a turban and what I see in the mirror reinforces all my objections; it makes me looks horridly old.”
“It makes you look dreadfully imposing,” Lord Furzeby agreed, laughing. “I shall not dare to say anything which might annoy you for fear of receiving a sharp set-down.”
“Dear Mama,” Mr Harbury addressed her, taking her hand and kissing it.
“Are you not affronted that I should be taking her place tonight?”
“Not in the least. It’s my belief that it serves Mama right for making up a Banbury tale about a cold; she does not like London and the idea of going to a masked ball brought on a fit of the vapours; of course she does not like to own that: hence the taradiddle about a cold,” Mr Harbury explained with a singular absence of sympathy for his afflicted parent.
“Which is why no one will think it the least odd if you shrink from meeting new people and cling to me,” Lord Furzeby told her with satisfaction. “You have only to utter ‘Henry’ in a weak voice and people will melt away.”
“I see. Well, I daresay I shall not find it too onerous since my natural inclination is to shrink from confrontation. Is no one acquainted with Mrs Harbury?”
“Oh, some of the matrons will have known her in the past but no one is likely to remember her with any exactitude as she has not been to London since she married Papa,” Mr Harbury told her carelessly. “You need not be exercised in that regard. Would you mind if I were to introduce you to Miss Sullington?”
“As your mama? Oh, I do not think you could do that for she would be bound to notice the difference when she does meet your parent and then, you know, she will think you have pulled the wool over her eyes and feel quite miffed. No one likes to think they have been bamboozled.”
This advice seemed to cause Mr Harbury unexpected pleasure, no doubt connected to the prospect of one day finding himself in a position where he would be able to introduce his beloved to his mama.
“Have you your domino and your mask, Miss Minton?” Lord Furzeby asked, smiling benignly and endeavouring to steer the party towards the door.
“Yes, but, if I am to address you as Henry, I do not think it appropriate for you to call me ‘Miss Minton’.”
“No indeed. My sister’s name is Sarah; I hope I shall be able to remember. I believe it might be safer to address you as ‘my dear’ if you do not object. Shall I tie your mask for you?”
“Yes, please.” Cassie turned her back and felt him fumbling behind her turban to tie the ribbons.
The party was in full swing by the time the trio arrived. It was not long before Mr Harbury began to work himself up about the difficulty of locating Miss Sullington.
“You should have made sure you knew what colour her trimmings would be before you set out,” his uncle told him, amused. “But I daresay Rother will not be far from her. If you can find him, you will no doubt find her.”
“She will not wish to be near him,” Mr Harbury argued.
“No, but, unless she is to spend the evening running away, I daresay she will be cornered by him eventually – if, that is, he is still pursuing her although, after the other night at the Barnabys’, I think his interest has moved to the former governess. Forgive me, my dear, for speaking so frankly but I see no purpose in hiding from the inevitable.”
“No,” Cassie agreed. “But I am fairly sure that is Rother leading out a fair female now; her hair is not well hidden – and neither is his. I do not think it can be the governess as she has dark hair.”
As soon as he had this information, Mr Harbury left his uncle and Cassie, determined to keep an eye on the Duke’s partner and dart forward as soon as the dance was over to lay claim to her for the next.
“I thought you wished to discourage James from getting his hopes up in that direction,” Cassie said.
“I have given up,” Furzeby admitted. “It’s my belief that, since discouragement only made him the keener, encouragement might work in the opposite direction. Now, whom else do you recognise?”
“Is that your friend, Lord Marklye?” she asked, nodding towards a very tall man deep in conversation with a woman whose domino was trimmed with pink braid.
“Yes, I believe so and, if I am not mistaken, his companion is the former governess. She is well wrapped-up but she has a distinctive bearing and is taller than most women.”
“And Lord Marklye has already shown considerable interest in her, has he not?”
Knowing that the governess had been on the terrace with him when the shots had been fired at the Barnaby ball, she was fairly certain that he had already formed an attachment when they met him at the Hanover Square Rooms; Prue’s ambitions in that direction would always have been in vain. It was not lost on Cassie that both her former lover and the one chosen for her by her friend appeared to be in thrall to the former governess.
Sylvia, meanwhile, had indeed been identified by Lord Marklye.
“Will you dance with me?” he asked. “I believe we would be well advised to avoid walking on the terrace this evening.”
“You seem to have had no trouble recognising me,” she replied, giving him her hand.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“You have given yourself away by referring to our walking on the terrace. I have not been on any terraces other than with you, my lord. I own I wished to speak to you and was afraid that you might cut me after the misunderstanding with the diamonds. I am more sorry than I can say that you should have been the subject of such a shabby trick. I hope you will believe me when I say that I would never have done such a thing.”
“Your friend, Rother, appears to have dealt with the matter and I now have them safe in my possession. I must confess, however, that for a moment, when I opened the box, I did wonder if you had served me such a trick so an apology is due to you too.”
“What else might you have thought?” she asked rhetorically. “Did Rother think I had done such a mean thing?”
“I am not sure what he thought. He looked stunned but, whether that was on account of the nature of the substitutes or his suspicion as to the perpetrator, I do not know. He has, in any event, laid hold of the jewels and presumably knows the identity of the person who swapped them. I wonder, though, whence the substitutes came.”
“I can tell you that: they are mine, but it was not I who put them in the box.”
“Then the perpetrator of the trick must have been someone who had access to your belongings - probably a maid. Did you leave the diamonds in full view on your dressing table?”
“No, of course I did not. I suppose that it could have been a maid although Rother’s excessively discreet behaviour and his refusal to tell me who it was make me suspect someone more elevated. But I wonder why. She does not like me, she never has and, when she dismissed me, she clearly wished to do me harm. But, if she wanted to damage my reputation, I wonder why she did not hide some of her own jewels and accuse me of stealing them, particularly since Melissa let slip that she was putting it about that the reason for my dismissal was thieving. Why did she steal something of mine and substitute my childish treasures? What possible purpose can she have had for doing that?”
“It is no secret that she has been pursuing Rother shamelessly on behalf of her daughter and most people know that he doesn’t care a fig for the girl; he formed an attachment, I suspect, a long time ago to someone else. Is it possible she wished to cause you to lose
countenance in his eyes?”
“Why should she think he would know anything about it? I had already given them to him when he kissed me and she dismissed me. The substitutes were in the parcel then, although I did not know it at the time.”
Lord Marklye was silent for a moment while he absorbed what she had revealed; then he said, “He kissed you? Did she see it?”
“Yes. He did so on the street – not, I assure you, out of affection, but because he too wished me to lose countenance. She attempted to hit me with her whip – but hit him instead – and dismissed me on the spot.”
“Good God!” he exclaimed. “Struck him with a whip in mistake for you? Now I have a very good idea who was behind the shot at the Barnabys’, only this time it was a different suitor who took the blow. I suppose he thinks he has scotched any further attempts she might make now that she knows that he knows.”
“Yes, I think so and I think he is keeping his lips closed on account of Melissa. Even though he has quite given up the idea of offering for her, he retains, I believe, a fondness for her. He does not wish her reputation to be damaged.”
“How benevolent! But what of you and me? Are we to be shot at in order to preserve her mother’s anonymity?”
“Well, yes, I am afraid so. But I cannot wish her – Melissa – harm. She is not in the least like her mama, I do assure you.”
“Perhaps not. He has decided to steer well clear of such a mother-in-law; is he not concerned that some other man will find himself allied to such a family? And why, I wonder, did she steal the diamonds and pawn them? Are the Sullingtons at point non plus, do you suppose?”
“They have shown no signs of being so; before we came to London her ladyship warned me to be on the look-out for fortune hunters sniffing around Melissa.”
Lord Marklye laughed rather bitterly. “If the Sullingtons haven’t two brass farthings to rub together but have taken considerable pains to pretend that their daughter is in possession of a fortune, they would certainly be reluctant to encourage a fortune hunter. Such a person would discover their true position in no time, and no doubt announce it to the ton, while a well-breeched man such as Rother would possibly neither notice nor care.”
“No, I don’t suppose he would if his affections were engaged. Would you?”
“No. I have too much money of my own to be in the least interested in whether my bride has any, but I should not like to be deceived and nor do I wish to be married for my fortune. They would have been better advised to have been perfectly honest about the matter: she is a charming girl and will no doubt attract plenty of suitors whether she has a large dowry or not.”
“There is always Mr Harbury, but I do not suppose that he has much. If she is truly without a substantial portion, her parents will be even less likely to favour him.”
“Just so – and no doubt that is why they are so violently opposed to him. But, if their dishonesty is uncovered, no one will wish to be allied with her family.”
“Oh, I am persuaded Mr Harbury would fairly leap at the opportunity.”
“His uncle might be less eager to welcome that bloodline into his family. James has reached his majority and may marry whom he chooses but, although at present he is his uncle’s heir and will inevitably, unless Furzeby should marry again and produce a son, inherit the title, I daresay not all the wealth is entailed. He might find himself the poorer for allying himself to the Sullingtons.”
“What a tangle!” Sylvia exclaimed. “But, if the Sullingtons are truly in the suds, they will undoubtedly wish Melissa to marry as soon as possible – before the truth is discovered – certainly by the end of her first Season. Mr Harbury appears to be her keenest suitor now that Rother has withdrawn.”
“Yes, but although they may, by the end of the Season, be glad to send her off with him, at this stage they must still be hoping to find a man rich enough, not only to support a portionless wife, but also to release the parents from the hole into which they have presumably dug themselves.”
“You had better have a care that they do not light upon you – or have they already done so?”
He smiled. “I have not stood up with her once so that I think it will be difficult for them to lay hold of me.”
“Do you not wish to? She is a lovely girl and dances excessively well, having been taught by the finest masters.”
“She is charming but too young for me. I am not looking for a child-bride. Did you come with the Weys tonight?”
“Yes, but we came in separately because Rother is so exceedingly eager that no one should be able to identify me.”
“He is not so hard to recognise. Is he not intending to speak to you at all while you are here?”
“I should imagine not.”
“Why is he so exercised about the matter? Does he expect another attempt upon your life?”
“I suppose he must. He ordered me to stay amongst the crowd and not to go outside.”
“I see. Did he also order you not to speak to me?”
“No, of course he did not. He is not in a position to order me to do or not do anything.”
“No? He seems to take a great interest in your affairs; it was he who found the diamonds – indeed it was you who gave them to him in the first place, I understand.”
“I am staying with his sister,” Sylvia explained a little defensively before adding, belatedly, “We are cousins.”
“Yes, of course, I had momentarily forgotten that,” his lordship replied smoothly.
Chapter 34
Masked balls were, by their nature, fairly informal affairs. Since no one was supposed to recognise anyone else, it was not difficult for gentlemen to invite ladies to whom they had not been formally introduced to stand up with them. A good many domino-clad couples wandered outside to indulge in private conversations or engage in flirtations or more, believing that no one would be any the wiser.
Chaperones of débutantes generally frowned upon such events because it was so exceedingly hard to keep an eye on their charges. Thus it was with some surprise that Sylvia noticed Melissa dancing with a man who could only be Mr Harbury, so wreathed in smiles was the bottom half of each face. It was not long after this that her search for Lady Sullington was rewarded when she recognised the lady’s long nose, in no wise shortened by the presence of a mask.
She noted Lord Furzeby’s presence because, although he was accompanied by a woman – which she had not expected - he had come in with Mr Harbury, whose bouncing manner and swift trajectory towards a girl who could only be Melissa were impossible to miss. The woman hung upon Furzeby’s arm as though she was afraid of losing him and seemed, to Sylvia’s probing eye, to be excessively keen on protecting her identity. This had, not unnaturally, the effect of making Sylvia particularly eager to discover it. She was unsuccessful in this, the lady having hidden every vestige of her hair beneath an oriental-looking turban, occasionally glimpsed when her hood fell back.
As the evening wore on and nothing untoward occurred, Sylvia began to enjoy herself and to become a little less vigilant. The Duke had more or less forbidden her to go outside with any of her partners and, although of course she would not have heeded this injunction if she had felt a strong desire to step into the garden, such a prohibition in fact caused her not the least difficulty.
As it was customary for guests to unmask at midnight, several people left as the hour approached, no doubt wishing to avoid being recognised. As Lady Wey had confided as they travelled to the ball, it was by no means unknown for all sorts of ‘riff-raff’ to take advantage of the masks and join a party to which they had not been – and could never hope to be – invited.
It wanted but a quarter of an hour to the striking of the clock when Sylvia’s hand was grasped by a tall man, whom she took at first to be Lord Marklye because of his height.
“Come with me; I must speak with you in private,” he said in a low voice, leading her towards the doors on to the terrace.
“Oh, I have been most strictly forbidden
to go outside, as I told you before,” she replied lightly. “What can you have to say to me that must be said outside?”
“Something of a personal nature which I would very much rather no one else should hear. Come, it is nearly midnight; it will take only a moment and you will be quite safe.”
He did not look at her as he spoke, but leaned towards her, his lips brushing against her hood. “Do you not wish to hear what I have discovered about the diamonds?”
“Yes, of course I do, but I believe I should prefer it if you would tell me inside. There is so much noise that no one will overhear if you speak quietly.”
“I promise no one will shoot you on this occasion,” he said softly. “I am surprised that you should be so nervous. Who has ordered you to stay inside?”
It was these words, betraying immediately that the man holding her hand was not Lord Marklye – who knew perfectly well who had issued the order - that made her suddenly afraid.
“Who are you?” she asked.
This was greeted with a soft laugh. “You know that that cannot be revealed just yet but, if you come outside with me, you will discover who I am in advance of the unmasking. Come! I did not put you down as lacking in courage.”
“I will not come outside with you,” Sylvia exclaimed in a loud voice, “unless you tell me at once who you are.”
“Silly girl!” the man said, failing conspicuously to hit the light note at which he was aiming. It occurred to her suddenly that he was pretending to be the Duke, not Lord Marklye. Did he think her a fool? She would recognise Robert’s voice anywhere, no matter how much he disguised it. This man was not simply an admirer trying to persuade her to step outside, where he might perhaps attempt to make love to her, he was a man pretending to be someone she trusted in order to persuade her to go with him. That seemed to her to be an entirely different matter.
She turned away from him, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp, but he held fast, only sliding his grip up from her fingers to her wrist, which he could hold more securely.
Sylvia Or The Moral High Ground Page 29