He slipped through the dance, lacing in and out of every kind of wealth, the hems of their coats touching and sparkling with gold.
He passed the band and nodded to Laud, who gestured to the conductor. Immediately the music changed, becoming grand and stately. Mark looked around for a new partner for the next dance.
‘Mr Mark, a charming party.’
A severely-corseted woman of middle years, her greying blonde hair aggressively scraped back into an elegant pleat, took his hand. A simple eye-mask was perched upon her nose, but it covered little of her expression of polite determination. It was customary for the gentleman to ask the lady to dance, but her tone made it clear that failing to offer would cause great offence, and may not be an option.
‘My pleasure,’ Mark said, bowing to cover the discomfort caused by her fierce grip. ‘Would you care to dance, Miss…?’
‘I see you are quite a flatterer,’ she said with a mechanical smile. ‘I am no miss. My name is Matron Angelina.’
Mark’s mind buzzed. This was one of his star guests. Composing himself, he stood in a line with the other men, facing his partner, and then slowly stepped forward to walk round her to the beat.
‘You honour me,’ Mark said, trying, and failing, to sound casual. ‘I hear your orphanages –’
‘Future Workforce Centres,’ the matron corrected.
‘– are the most successful in the city,’ Mark continued.
For once, the flattery was very close to the truth.
‘Fine words from the prodigy of the Astrologers’ Guild,’ Angelina replied, stretching out her right hand to form a star of four dancers with the next couple. ‘You really should visit. I’m sure my daughter would be delighted to meet you –’
‘I believe they are talking business, carissimo.’
‘On such a night as this? Impossible!’
The voices of the couple they had joined cut across them. Mark looked up at Signor Sozinho, who had an impish grin on his face. His wife laughed.
‘Perhaps the matron has more than work on her mind tonight?’ she suggested, with a sly wink.
Mark winced. He had spent hours at his last gathering being talked at by this couple. It wasn’t that he begrudged them their happiness, but they did seem determined that everyone should be aware of it. He blanked his mind as they launched into their favourite topic – Lily’s Almshouse. As Matron Angelina’s face assumed an expression of glacial politeness, he looked around the dance. That reminded him: if Lily was going to come, wouldn’t she have turned up by now?
The star broke apart in a whirl of skirts. With a swift bow, Mark changed partners and the matron was swept away, still at the mercy of Signor Sozinho’s unrelenting enthusiasm. Mark turned to his new partner – and stopped dead.
The Reaper stood before him.
Mark stepped back, colliding with another line, the dancers scattering around him. Suddenly he was no longer the successful young businessman, the shining prodigy. Now he was just a thirteen-year-old boy faced with the same hollow, black eyes and blank face of his memories, memories he had tried to push away.
The figure stepped forward. Something was wrong. It seemed shorter than Mark remembered.
It pulled off its mask.
‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Mark?’ Lily said.
Chapter Fourteen
THE SECRET
Lily decided that Mark hadn’t changed at all.
He was taller, of course. His dirty blond hair was combed and clean, and his rich clothes were more suited to this opulent party than the ragged cast-offs he had been wearing the last time she had seen him, before his rise. After Laud had pointed him out to her, she wasn’t sure whether this confident, elegant figure would even recognize her, despite the letters they had exchanged.
But, as soon as he caught her gaze, he was instantly the frightened boy she had taught to read, his mouth slack from surprise.
‘Shall we go somewhere else?’ she said, looking around her at the dancers, who had stopped in mid-spin. ‘I think your guests are staring.’
For a minute, Mark seemed dazed. Then, as if nothing had happened, he straightened, bowed and offered her his arm, just as she had seen the other gentlemen do.
‘Come and see the gardens,’ he said, and then added with an ironic grin, ‘Would the lady care to take my arm?’
‘Thanks, but I can walk myself, you know,’ Lily replied, playfully pushing his arm away.
She strode off towards the gardens, planning to walk fast, but her heavy black dress and fashionable dark hooded cloak, some of Signora Sozinho’s hand-me-downs, prevented her from moving freely. She heard Mark hurrying to catch up with her and slowed down, trying to relax. This was supposed to be a break, a chance to see an old friend, but it was getting harder and harder to push her daily life from her mind. She found herself looking at objects and wondering how many debtors they would feed if traded.
‘Come on!’ Mark huffed as he drew level. ‘Just a joke. Remember jokes?’
Lily shook herself and made an effort to smile.
‘Sorry, Mark. I don’t hear a lot of laughter nowadays.’
Mark fiddled awkwardly with the lace on his shirt cuffs.
‘Yeah, I got that impression from your letters,’ he said, adding hastily, ‘I meant to write back more often, honestly, but with all the meetings… and the lunches… all the endless parties…’
‘Sounds like a hard life,’ Lily murmured, with the lightest hint of sarcasm.
Looking a bit sheepish, Mark stopped talking, and Lily couldn’t help but smile.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, with a streak of mischief, ‘tell me, since you obviously have plenty of experience of these events, will I get thrown out if I try hiding some of those canapés for later?’
Mark’s face assumed a look of mock outrage.
‘That would be deeply insulting to the host,’ he said.
Lily raised an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you the host?’
‘Exactly. It’s insulting to think that you’d have to hide them. I’ll get you some from the food tents.’
Lily smiled openly this time. ‘Don’t you have other guests to look after?’ she asked.
Mark shrugged dismissively. ‘None of them are interested in me. Most of them only came to be seen. Snutworth will let me know if anyone important wants to talk.’
‘Snutworth…’ Lily mused. She remembered Laud talking about Mark’s manservant once. The word he had used then was ‘slippery’.
‘But who cares about that?’ Mark broke across her thoughts with a laugh. ‘It’s so good to see you!’ Impulsively, he grabbed her hand. ‘Forget about the gardens, you can see them later. Fancy going back to the dance?’
Lily shook her head decisively.
‘I’ll get it all wrong,’ she protested, but Mark did not let go, and his grin widened.
‘That’s the point. This is revenge for you being better than me at everything when we first met.’
Lily pulled her hand back, but not sharply, and considered for a moment. Then she smiled. She could never resist a challenge.
The evening wore on, the summer sun sank below the horizon and still the party continued. Despite knowing that she was needed back at the Almshouse, that she had left Benedicta without any help, Lily couldn’t quite bring herself to make her excuses. Partly it was the pleasure of seeing Mark again – so successful and confident. It was good to have a friend completely separate from her new work. But also, she had to admit, being entirely free of responsibility for one evening had a charm all of its own.
Eventually, Lily found herself sitting next to Mark at one of the long tables set up in the central marquee, with a plate of meats and salads that looked almost decadent before her. Mark was eating ravenously.
‘You know,’ he said between mouthfuls, ‘it was a really irritating party until you came. I should have invited you before, but your letters were always so full of this “great project” of yours, I didn’t think it would be your thi
ng.’
‘It isn’t really,’ Lily said thoughtfully, ‘but I’m glad I came. I’ve missed you.’
‘Yes, well…’ Mark floundered. He looked down at the table, where she had placed Theo’s old mask and goggles, the ones she had been wearing when she arrived. He reached out and took them, gazing down at the blank face. ‘Was that supposed to be a joke?’ he said quietly.
Lily shook her head.
‘No… I’m sorry, Mark. I’d meant to take the mask off before I saw you, but the gatekeeper wouldn’t let me in without one and that was all I had. Sorry if it brought back memories.’
Lily saw a tiny shudder pass across Mark’s face.
‘No more memories than usual. It’s stupid. I know the doctor never meant me any harm, but… it reminds me of my dad. What he did.’ Mark paused, then brightened, pushing his plate to one side. ‘Let’s not talk about that. Look, you’ve got to tell me more about this place of yours.’ He grinned. ‘I thought I might get involved, you know, as a patron. Snutworth isn’t keen, but it sounds like a brilliant idea to me…’
‘You think so?’ Lily thought back to the ragged queues that stretched around the Almshouse night and day and leaned forward intently. ‘You really think what we’re doing is the right thing?’
‘Fantastic!’ Mark said, waving his hands excitedly. ‘I mean, it’s a perfect gap in the market. It’s like selling happiness, satisfaction and smugness all in one package. Even the best emotional distillers can’t produce anything like it.’ He put his elbows on the table. ‘Honestly, Signor and Signora Sozinho can’t get enough of it.’
‘They are good people,’ Lily replied slowly, disappointed that Mark did not seem to understand, but still determined to encourage his interest. ‘They know it’s about more than the effect on them. I wish other patrons could see it the same way, would come down and look at the good work we do.’ Lily sighed in frustration. ‘Even those we helped barely understood what we were doing at first. We had to convince them that there was nothing shameful about taking alms. Some of them would rather have starved to death than admit their troubles.’
Mark opened his mouth, about to speak, but the voice that Lily heard was not his. It was a deeper, more mature voice and it spoke with easy authority.
‘Even debtors have their pride, Miss Lilith.’
Lily turned sharply. Across the table from her, where previously there had been only a row of empty seats, sat a distinguished-looking older man. He had placed his mask, the sun going into eclipse, on the table and was looking at her with appraising eyes. Despite his casual posture, there was something in the lines around his mouth that suggested this was a man used to respect and Lily self-consciously shrank backwards.
Mark hastily rose and gave a bow.
‘Lord Ruthven, I didn’t mean to ignore you…’
Lord Ruthven shook his head and smiled, although Lily received little warmth from that smile.
‘Not at all, Mr Mark. I did not wish to let formality intrude on your discussion with Miss Lilith. It was certainly most enlightening.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that you would be interested, My Lord,’ Lily said cautiously.
Lord Ruthven held his chin thoughtfully. ‘On the contrary, as head of the receivers, one of the more tiresome duties of the Lord Chief Justice, I have read several reports about your venture. One of my sergeants in particular is especially… forthright in his opinions.’
Lord Ruthven gestured with his other hand to the corner of the marquee. As Lily looked over, she could see the familiar deep-blue coats of a group of receivers. She immediately spotted the disdainful face of Sergeant Pauldron and bit her lip.
‘The sergeant has made no secret of his dislike for the Almshouse,’ Lily admitted, well aware that every time he visited to check up on them, his scowl seemed to grow deeper.
Lord Ruthven nodded thoughtfully. ‘Pauldron is a lad of pure thoughts, Miss Lilith,’ he explained, adding with a note of amusement, ‘Though I suppose hearing a man of twice your age described as a “lad” is odd to you.’
Lily shifted uncomfortably. The pleasure of seeing Mark again had made her let down her guard and Lord Ruthven had taken advantage of this. For all his courtesy, she was certain that he was mocking her.
‘Sometimes I think age has nothing to do with how many summers you have seen,’ she said defensively.
Lord Ruthven leaned back. ‘Do not misunderstand me, Miss Lilith,’ he said condescendingly. ‘I have the greatest respect for those who achieve while young.’ He gave a little nod to Mark, who seemed very pleased. ‘But,’ he continued, ‘you are correct. There are some who seem to keep the innocence of the very young – the absolute devotion to simple ideals. You will never find a man of purer loyalty to Agora, to his duty, than Sergeant Pauldron.’
Lily looked back at the Lord Chief Justice. There was something odd in his tone. Not quite threatening, but this was definitely a warning of some kind.
‘Do you agree with the sergeant’s view, My Lord?’ she asked. ‘Do you think that charity is a dangerous idea?’
Lord Ruthven considered the question. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and meaningful.
‘I believe very strongly in stability, Miss Lilith. In maintaining the way of life that has led to Agora’s golden age. I think it is… unwise, and even dangerous, to disrupt such a delicate balance.’
Before Lily had a chance to reply, he turned to Mark, who suddenly seemed very interested in the remains on his plate.
‘What do you think about it, Mr Mark? Would you become a patron of Miss Lilith’s Almshouse? Would you consider it a good investment?’
Mark looked up, his eyes flicking from Lord Ruthven to Lily and back again. She could tell that he was trying to avoid answering the question. She supposed that Mark could not risk upsetting this powerful man, although it stung her that he would not think for himself. He had seemed very enthusiastic about the Almshouse a short while ago.
‘I thought I… that is… I think it’s always a good idea to invest in many different businesses…’ Mark mumbled, not meeting Lily’s eyes.
Lily frowned, unable to hide her disappointment, while Lord Ruthven smiled indulgently.
‘Indeed, Mr Mark, indeed. I was particularly pleased to see that you chose to join us in the latest Pescator deal…’
‘Pescator?’ Lily was startled. She had heard that name before, and recently.
Mark nodded. ‘A group of fish merchants who wanted some backing to improve the efficiency of the fishing in the Piscean slums.’ Mark gave a half-smile and inclined his head towards Lord Ruthven. ‘You remember, My Lord, that I used to live there? Snutworth called me sentimental, but I wanted to help the local merchants, for a steady supply, of course…’
‘Help?’ Lily said icily. Now she remembered where she had heard that name. Among the hollow-eyed men who crowded into the Almshouse, it was as bad as a curse. ‘Mark, those merchants have put half of the poorest fishermen out of business with their practices. I don’t think you should join them.’
‘I’m afraid it is rather late for such advice, Miss Lilith,’ Lord Ruthven said. ‘Mr Mark joined their planning committee two months ago.’
Mark nodded. ‘A good deal too. I helped them streamline their plans. They weren’t sure how to get the best deal out of all the local fishermen, and I suggested some kind of quality control to make sure everyone only brought in their best catch.’ Mark smiled confidentially. ‘Sorry, I mean, that’s what the stars told me would bring them great fortune.’ He leaned forward, whispering so that only Lily could hear. ‘To be honest, I didn’t understand it completely, but Snutworth said that sort of thing usually worked very well, and he’s never let me down so far…’ Mark trailed off. ‘Are you all right, Lily?’
But Lily was not all right. She suddenly felt cold and clammy. Two months ago. That was when they had all arrived. All those ex-fishermen, forced out of their homes by landlords, telling tales of their catches left rotting on the wharves. Fish
that no merchant would buy, thanks to the Pescator consortium’s ‘quality control’. The most important quality being that they had to be willing to trade for a cripplingly low return.
The heat of the evening seemed to have increased. The marquee was too stuffy, the food on her plate too greasy. Her mind in a whirl, Lily got up from the table so suddenly that her chair fell over and, barging through the crowds of the great and nearly great, left.
She walked quickly, dimly aware that Mark was following close behind her, apologizing. She still could not quite believe what he had said, but her horror drove her to the far edge of the gardens, where she stopped by a large marble fountain.
A few moments later Mark reached her, obviously anxious. She would not look at his face, staring at her reflection in the rippling water instead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him put her mask and goggles, forgotten in the rush, down on the edge of the fountain, then reach into his waistcoat pocket and pull out a familiar kind of glass phial.
‘Sorry, I suppose the party must have been too much. I forgot – I’m used to it. Here,’ he said, pulling out the stopper and pushing the phial into her hands, ‘have a little bottled calm. Call it in exchange for missing half the party.’
Lily pulled her hands away with a jolt. Surprised, Mark lost his grip on the tiny phial and dropped it into the fountain, its blue contents mingling with the water.
‘Lily!’ Mark said, annoyed. ‘That was top-quality calm! Last of the batch too. I had to trade a whole gilt chair for it…’
The Midnight Charter Page 16