by CeeCee James
“She’s smiling because you’re painted up like Bingo the Clown,” touted Cook from over her shoulder.
Marguerite waved her off. “Don’t be jealous just because you have to stay behind the scenes and don’t need to get dressed up.”
“Jealous?” Cook raised her eyebrows and smirked. “Is that what you’re calling it now?” She touched her sparkly headband. “Besides, I’m always a little gussied up.”
Marguerite rolled her eyes before giving me a quick once over. “Tick-tock. No time to waste. Find me when you’re dressed.”
I rose to my feet and headed upstairs, past the last minute decoration and frantic decorators who rushed about.
Once in my room, I put on my newly tailored black dress and admired how silky smooth it was against my skin. I found myself trailing my fingertips over the lovely sheen. Lucy and Mary showed up, and we worked on each other’s hair and managed to do presentable updos. I’d been practicing how to walk in heels all week. Even now, I wasn’t incredibly graceful but felt confident enough I’d be capable of holding a tray of beverages.
Together, we made our way downstairs, which was considerably calmer. Soft music played from the stringed orchestra in the ballroom. The entire manor felt rich with opulence.
We found Marguerite standing by my favorite head decorator, a tiny little slip of a woman with huge black-framed glasses and equally black hair. Despite the decorator’s size, she ferociously ordered the hoards of men to set up decorations, clapping her hands for emphasis and got along with Miss Janice famously.
Marguerite’s eyes skated over us, and she smiled. “You girls are lovely.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“A masquerade party,” Marguerite sighed, glancing about. “There hasn’t been one here in years.”
“It is indeed exquisite,” the decorator agreed.
“Well, to the butler’s pantry, ladies.” Marguerite clapped her hands.
We followed her to the pantry, which slowly began to fill as the other girls appeared. I was so proud of all of us. We all looked glamorous in our evening attire.
Marguerite rang a glass with a little knife to get our attention. “Now then. The moment we’ve been waiting for has arrived. Chin up, do us proud. Miss Janice will stay in her room for another hour. But she would be pleased to see how well you all cleaned up.”
With that, she directed us to the gorgeous silver trays filled with the most beautiful, fragile flutes of bubbly liquid. Carefully, we carried them into the ballroom to wait for the guests.
And there, the magic began.
Soon, the master ballroom swirled in ridiculous splendor. Everyone wore masks. The women pirouetted in gowns. The men bowed in tuxes.
The masks were an array of everything from traditional black, jesters, to cats. Phantoms of the Opera danced with painted birds from the 17th century. Sugar skulls, harlequins, red masks and white masks. All surrounded in glamour and luxury and mystique. It felt extremely odd, even chilling not to see faces. Only glittering dark eyes from behind sequins, feathers, and paint.
I sidled through the crowd with my tray. Most ignored me, fascinated with the fantasy of flirting with the unknown.
One woman in the multitude stood out. She wore a dress of the palest lavender with miniature forget-me-knots sprinkled about its silky surface like cake confetti. She smiled boldly, the rest of her face hidden behind a white glittery mask, her hair piled in delicate curls on top of her head and festooned with soft fluffy white feathers. Heavy diamond earrings dangled from her ears, and her bare decollate highlighted an emerald necklace. The weight of it seemed to catch her breath as her chest hitched in a tight corset.
White gloves shielded her hands and thin stilettos adorned her feet, like so many others in the ballroom. She danced with someone in a red-and-black joker mask, and her hair glowed under the many chandeliers like it was dipped in living gold.
I stood by the ice sculpture—two beautiful swans with entwined necks—and my heart sang at all the beauty. A woman in a green gown floated by and accepted one of my glasses of champagne. Her eyelashes were so heavy she looked like a sleepy camel. She surreptitiously glanced around the room over the rim of the flute before gliding off in the direction of a man wearing a wolf mask.
“Quite the event tonight,” said a man at my elbow. I turned to see a large man in a black mask smiling at me. I held out my tray, which he waved off.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
I recognized the voice now. Reverend Bay.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked, feeling slightly on guard. Our last meeting had not gone well.
It must have been on his mind as well. “No, no. I’m totally fine. I actually came over to speak with you. I wanted to apologize for how terribly rude I was the other day. You ladies caught me off guard.”
My cheeks heated. Looking back, I could see how he felt bombarded. “We probably should have called first.”
“It’s all right. Although I will admit being confronted like that was a little surprising.”
I nodded.
“The night that Andy died was a horrible night. But you mentioned I’d lost a rosary? I can assure you I did not. A dinner night with friends is not someplace I bring rosaries.” He chuckled like the entire idea was preposterous. However, I didn’t know enough rosary etiquette to know if he was just trying to put me off. “I can see why you thought that, especially since I arrived at the dinner so flustered.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“I had car trouble, believe it or not, and then had trouble opening the manor’s gate. I was quite late for dinner when I finally arrived. Oddly, no one noticed. Apparently, the grandfather clock was not keeping the correct time. Which was good for me because they were moving on to the cigar room at ten o’clock promptly. I would have missed the entire meal!” His cheeks puffed in a good-natured smile.
I nodded and smiled in response while I processed what he said. He could be trying to shirk any suspicion, what with being caught losing money in a bad investment. But he also had some of those details correct. Not only had the clock been slow, there’d been a clump of rocks in the gate.
There was no time for me to ask more questions because, with that last firm nod of his head, he meandered off, dipping back into the crowd where dramatic peacock feathers battled with ruby-bedazzled masks.
I spotted the joker again, the one who’d been dancing earlier with the woman in the gorgeous lavender dress. He had a flute in his hand and stepped to the side of the room, obviously sweating from the dance. He took a sip and then pushed his mask up to wipe his face.
My jaw dropped. It was Clint.
Chapter Twenty-One
I wasn’t the only one who noticed Clint. A moment later, the woman in the lavender dress approached him again. She said something, and it did not seem to go well. He made a slashing hand movement with his chin jutting forward. They stood there, staring at each other before she spun on her heel and disappeared through the double doors.
After hesitating for a moment, I darted after her. Just as I passed into the hallway, I saw her disappear into the restroom lounge area.
I followed after her, thinking I’d figure out what to say when I got there.
The woman stood before the mirror, dabbing tears from under her eyes to keep her mascara from smearing. Soft muzak played in the background.
“Whew! It’s hot in there.” I said as an excuse to break the ice. I placed the tray on the counter.
“That’s true.” The woman sniffed. She held her shoulders closed off like she didn’t trust anyone and had a wall built a mile high. Her hands moved like hummingbirds as she quickly readjusted the feathers in her hair.
I turned the faucet on to wash my hands, and our eyes met in the mirror. She gave me a watery-eyed smile. Slowly, she took her mask off. Her nose was red, and two blotches bloomed on her cheeks.
Madeline.
This was a delicate moment. Sometimes asking a person if t
hey were okay would only make the situation worse. In fact, a certain type of personality would completely clam up and run away. I had to tread lightly.
I dried my hands. Then I leaned into the mirror to check my lipstick. Casually, I glanced over at the woman. “Men can be such toads, can’t they?”
My words had the effect I wanted. She laughed, showing perfectly white teeth. “Sometimes, yes.”
“So, who do we need to go pile on?”
She smiled now, looking even more genuine. “I appreciate it. Honestly, I don’t know why I keep letting this sort of thing happen to me.”
I grabbed a few tissues from the jeweled box on the counter and handed them over. “Want to talk about it?”
She accepted the tissue and dabbed it under her eyes. Then she pulled out a lipstick and unscrewed the wand. “It’s okay, I can handle him. I just needed to take a breather.” She swiped it across her lips and lightly smeared them together. “It’s been a hard season, that’s all. I lost my dream job, and then this guy turned out to be a loser.” She sighed.
“Oh, no! You aren’t working at the tea house anymore?”
She glanced at me, surprised. Recognition sparked in her eyes. “That’s right. You’re Mrs. Fitzwater’s friend. No, I’m still there.” Then she smiled brightly at me, now looking as strong as steel. “Well, I better get going. I’ll see you out there, then.”
I counted a few seconds off after she left. I didn’t want to appear to be chasing her. I checked my hair and the seam of my zipper until I finally lost patience and followed after her.
She’d disappeared. Panic flickered through me that maybe I’d run her out of the party. Would that get back to Mrs. Fitzwater? I stared desperately out into the sea of dancing figures. Trains and capes and spinning shadows made dizzy circles on the floor, while the walls and faces glittered from the generous sparkles of thousands of ice crystal pendants.
I found Reverend Bay. He danced with the sleepy-eyed woman, delicately holding her hand like she was made of glass. They smiled at each other, gliding before me until the beautiful strings of the orchestra caused them to whirl away.
Then I spotted her, the gorgeous lavender dress flickering under the overhead chandelier lights. She was back to dancing with the man in the joker mask. After his body language earlier, it made me concerned. Madeline’s track record seemed to suggest she was walked on a lot by men. I knew Mrs. Fitzwater worried about her, as well. I didn’t know how many times it would take until she realized she was worth better and exercised that backbone. I hoped it would be sooner than later.
Still, I was relieved I hadn’t chased her away. I carried my empty tray back to the butler’s pantry, where I met Mary getting a refill as well.
“How’s it going?” she asked with a peppy smile. I had to admire how she always had energy.
“Good.” Then I laughed. “Had a nice heart-to-heart with Madeline over boyfriends in the bathroom.”
“The number one female bonding place. Have any juicy stories to share with her?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t had a boyfriend in over two years. My last one was a nice guy, but a little needy. Honestly, the only reason I ever went out with him because a friend set me up, and I didn’t want to let her down.”
“Well, you’re doing better than me. The only real commitment I’ve had is owning a pet turtle.”
“Really? Where is he now?” I asked.
“My brother has him.”
We laughed and headed back to the party that felt it would never end.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Things moved at a slower speed the next day. I honestly thought it was a miracle we were moving at all since the party didn’t end until four in the morning.
I’m not sure when everyone else woke up, but when I cracked my eyes, I could tell by the way the sun hit the wall that I’d slept in. I jumped up and checked the time and almost fainted when I saw it was nearly ten o’clock. I threw my clothes on and fixed my hair before running down the stairs, At the landing, I finished the rest of the steps with an air of decorum in case I was caught by Marguerite. She did not approve of “running about like wild ponies,” as she called it. Oh, and I patted the giant chess knight statue for good luck that Marguerite didn’t give me one of her ‘looks.’ Or worse.
Fortunately, none of that happened. Marguerite merely asked if I slept well, and then she handed me the tray to bring to Miss Janice. I made sure to add a flower and carried it up. She was in the bath and asked me to leave it on her bedside table. I did so, and made her bed, and then returned to the kitchen.
Mary was there by the time I arrived. Her hair was as fluffy as ever, the ponytail she used straining to keep it all contained and gave new meaning to the saying “wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.” I considered teasing her just for a second before I caught a glimpse of my own skeletal face and lank hair reflected in a pane of glass and decided I better just keep my mouth shut.
“Hey, you,” she said as I grabbed a towel and started drying the dishes.
“Good morning.”
“It’s not morning, lovies,” Cook interjected. “Morning was when the guests left.”
“I saw you were talking with Reverend Bay,” Mary said. “Did you learn anything new?”
I shook my head. “But I think we need to have another meeting with Mrs. Fitzwater. Maybe invite her for high tea.”
Marguerite stared at me from where she’d been writing a list at the table. Her forehead puckered in horror. “Never say that. Especially in reference to her!”
I blinked, confused and maybe slightly afraid.
“High tea is what the workers at factories take. We take afternoon tea. Also known as low tea.” She pursed her lips as if that were enough of an explanation.
Cook scoffed as she slapped a ball of dough on the board. “Look at the poor girl. Absolutely gobsmacked. You can’t leave her with that, Mar. She doesn’t understand.” She turned to me as she held a floury hand chest high. “High tea is taken at a table that’s about here. You know, for workers who have to eat standing up or take quick breaks. Afternoon tea—” here her hand dropped to coffee table height—“happens at low tables where one can sit and eat it proper-like. You get it?”
I nodded. Who knew inviting someone could get me into so much etiquette trouble?
Marguerite seemed to take pity on me. “Go out to the herb garden and grab some mint. Miss Janice will want her headache tonic soon, I reckon.”
That was my absolute favorite chore, and I didn’t need to be asked twice. I stepped out into the warm sunshine, threw my head back and my arms wide and breathed in deep. Come on vitamin D! I could practically feel my skin eagerly soak it up.
“What are you doing? Playing Wonder Girl?”
I looked down, and there was Sophia, staring up at me. “What are you doing here, and who’s Wonder Girl?”
“She’s the hero of the tiny world, and that’s how she stands before she leaps into the sky.” Here Sophia gave a little jump. “And she zooms around and helps people.”
“Sounds like a nice person. I’m just enjoying the sun. Now you didn’t answer what you’re doing here?”
“Stephen said I was old enough to come get the baked goods.” I forgot that every week Cook made extras for the gardener’s little family. “So I’m here to get some bread from Cook. I hope she has some gingerbread men.” She grinned, sticking that pink tongue through her tooth gap. “I love her gingerbread men.”
“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t think she made gingerbread men. Will gingerbread doctors do? Or very smart ginger women attorneys?”
She giggled. “You’re so goofy, Laura Lee.”
I couldn’t deny that. In fact, I’d been called much worse.
“Have you ever played this?” Sophia asked. She held out a piece of string looped around her fingers.
“Cat’s cradle?” I asked.
She grinned. “Yep! How far can we get?”
“Let me see. I
seem to remember this.” I sat down on the step, and she joined me. Carefully, I pinched the two x’s the strings made and brought the string over to my hands. She giggled in excitement, her body wiggling closer, and then she looped the strings using her pinkies and took the string from me.
We played for a few minutes, and then I decided to bring up the night that she’d picked up the rosary. I carefully treaded into dangerous territory.
“How did your brother handle me coming over the other day?” I started.
“You mean when you tattled on me?” She was so matter-of-fact, it made me laugh. I squelched it as best as I could.
“Sorry about that. But I do worry about you. Those construction guys wouldn’t see a wee thing like you.”
“Wee?” She made a face.
“You’re like a spy. Practically invisible.”
She lifted a bony shoulder, slightly mollified after the terrible insult of wee.
“Sometimes it pays to be invisible,” I said, shrugging. “You see cool things. Like the night you picked up the necklace. Remember that?”
She nodded, a naughty look crossing her face at sneaking out so late.
I continued, “You know, I meant to ask you. Was the guy you saw old? Or young?”
“Oh. Old,” she said emphatically. We were stuck at that point on the cat’s cradle and lost the pattern. She balled up the string and shoved it in her pocket.
Something about her response didn’t reassure me. I questioned further. “Old like your brother? Or like Miss Janice?”
That made her pause for a second, and she picked a purple clover near our feet. Plucking a few petals, she sucked on their tips.
“Taste like honey, right?” I smiled.
She grinned. I hoped the tooth fairy really rewarded her because that smile was precious. “He was old like Stephen. Like your age,” she clarified, making me feel about two days from being a dusty mummy.
“Got it. You sure? How about as old as Cook?”
Sophia shook her head, making those pigtails swing. “No, I already said. Your age.” She giggled then, knowing she gave me a poke, and making me roll my eyes.