"Wait." He held her back, and his touch, electrically intense, sent her spinning back to him.
"What? What do you want?"
"To prove that you are equal to the best that Newport has to offer. You've accused me of being a dilettante, a hypocrite. All right! Then give me a chance to redeem my words. There is to be a servants' ball tomorrow night at The Ledge. Will you let me take you to it?"
The invitation staggered her. She hedged her answer. "A servants' ball? Like those we have on Boxing Day? Eh ... I've never heard of one in America. And, eh-h, it isn't Christmas."
"This is the Newport version," he said with a grim smile. "Will you go?"
"I ... I don't know. I've heard nothing about it—"
"Nor will you. It's a very exclusive, very secret affair. In fact, I want you to tell absolutely no one about this. There would be much hard feeling if you did."
A young woman's voice, clear, musical, edged with impatience, rang out somewhere on the other side of the hedges. "Edward! Oh Ed-ward! We give up. Come out, wherever you are."
Hillyard ignored it. "Will you go, Tess?" He held her by her wrist. The movement of his jaw, his short breath, his furrowed brow—all belied his earlier, offhand manner.
"Ed-ward! Where are you?"
"They'll find you here with me," she whispered, aghast.
"Not in a million years. Yes or no Tess?"
Her eyes dropped from his. "Yes, then."
"Excellent."
"But when—"
"I'll be in touch."
****
And he was, the next day. A small package, addressed in a careless hand, came for Tess. The housekeeper delivered it personally.
"How are you getting on with Miss Cornelia, Tess?" asked Mrs. Bracken in a casual way.
If Mrs. Bracken didn't know, then Cornelia Winward hadn't told her. "Very well indeed, Mrs. Bracken. Splendidly."
"Marie leaves the day after next, does she not? If Miss Cornelia feels, as apparently you do, that the term of probation was a success, you will be moving into the bedroom next to hers and will begin to take your meals in my room with the other senior servants."
"Thank you, ma'am. I shall look forward to it."
"And how are the family coming along?" the housekeeper asked in a voice bristling with efficiency.
It seemed incredibly nervy of her to ask, and Tess gave her a long, cool stare before answering in a soft voice, "As well as can be expected, ma'am. These are hard times."
"Yes. Well, I'm sure it's all for the best."
"Mrs. Bracken, about tonight—" Tess said, unsure how to begin.
"So you've already heard about the holiday?" interrupted Mrs. Bracken, annoyed. "Gossip simply tears through this house! Yes, you have the evening off. Miss Cornelia will not return to Beau Rêve tonight. As for the ball, I'm against the whole idea, from start to finish. It makes a mockery of our profession in an age that can ill afford it."
"Do you think so, ma'am? I think it will lift our spirits no end, especially coming as it does at the end of a hectic season ..."
The housekeeper fixed Tess with a withering look. "What an odd opinion!" And she left Tess thinking exactly the same thing about her.
Back in her room Tess held the hastily wrapped package in her lap as if it were a chest containing the crown jewels. On the front was a five-word address: Tess Moran, Beau-Rêve, Newport. No miss, no mademoiselle, of course; no return name. Slowly, lovingly, Tess untied the string as if it were gold braid, unwrapped the plain brown paper as if it were handpainted. The letter was inside the box, under an exquisite silver mask. Marveling, Tess put the mask aside and opened the heavy linen sheet.
"Tess—A hansom cab will pick you up at the corner of Bellevue and Ruggles at nine o'clock. Don't be late. Wear the ordinary day-dress of a lady's maid, and by all means put on the mask. I'll meet you at the entrance, and then we shall have some fun. Yours, etc. Edward Hillyard."
Puzzled but intrigued, Tess held the mask over her face and peered at herself in a small, bone-handled mirror. The mask covered two-thirds of her face. Never before had Tess gone to a servants' ball in masquerade. In England the balls were simple, jolly affairs: on the day after Christmas, Boxing Day, masters and servants changed places for the day, dancing together. Probably that was too straightforward for Newport.
A sound in the hall had Tess slamming the mask into a drawer, then sweeping the wrapping and the letter off the far side of her bed. Maggie entered as Tess swung round on her.
"Tessie, something is amiss in the laundry room," Maggie wailed, oblivious to her sister's embarrassment.
"Seriously amiss? Or just the normal amount?" asked Tess with a distracted smile.
"That's just it—I can't tell," Maggie answered, her eyes wide with apprehension. "There was a new girl poking about in the laundry rooms today. Bridget was taking her everywhere, showing her everything—machines, tubs, racks. Why would she do that if the girl wasn't coming to work here?"
"Which would be grand news for you, miss: less work," Tess answered, knowing full well where her sister's fearful logic was taking her.
"Less work, indeed! She's bound to be replacing me, and then I'll have all the time in the world."
"Don't talk nonsense, Mag. We would have heard."
"Well, it's not as though anyone else has ever been given warning," retorted Maggie, and she threw herself face down on the bed.
Tess sat alongside her sister and rubbed small circles into her lower back. "Mag, this is the merest anthill, and here you go making a mountain out of it. Couldn't the girl have been a friend of Bridget's from another house?"
"No," Maggie answered in a blanket-muffled voice, "or Bridget would've sworn me not to tell. No one's allowed. You know that," she added wearily.
"True enough—but on the other hand, Mrs. Bracken just spoke to me not half an hour ago and told me she was quite satisfied with your work."
If the remark were less than half true, was that a mortal sin?
Maggie rolled over onto her side. "Is that really true?"
"Would I lie?" Definitely a mortal sin.
Maggie rolled the rest of the way onto her back and sighed. "'I feel better, then."
"Good."
"Oh! Have you been given the night off? Some of the chambermaids have, and the groom, and some of the footmen and the under-cook and the scullery maid. It's very odd. The house will be quiet tonight. Well? Have you?"
Obviously Maggie hadn't heard about the ball.
"Ehh ... the truth is, I'm still working on the lace appliqué. Another half-truth; another sin.
"Can't it wait? I have only one underskirt to iron. It shouldn't take me more than three or four hours, and then I'm sure I'll be let go for the night."
"No ... no. Miss Cornelia specifically asked for the gown to be finished as soon as possible." Each lie spawned another.
"Can you work on it here?"
"No. The light is better in her dressing room." That was at least technically true. "I'm sorry, Mag," she said when she saw the look of disappointment on her sister's face. But she had to go to this ball. No matter what, she had to go. It was as simple as that.
Tess changed the subject. "Come now; time for Fellows Syrup and cod liver oil."
"I'd nearly forgotten why I was here," Maggie admitted, but she looked at her sister strangely as she took her medicine with less then her usual grace.
Chapter 9
For this Tess lied: so that for two or three hours she might have an opportunity—no guarantee, just a chance—to be waltzed around a floor in the arms of a man with whom she could not possibly have a future. So far she had not even allowed herself the luxury of pronouncing his name, and yet this was the man who was quickly becoming her obsession.
"Edward." She whispered the name, shocked by the intimacy of it. "Edward, please …."
What it was she was pleading for, she had no idea. In an age when girls were very, very innocent or very, very knowledgeable, Tess was a curious mix
ture of both. On the one hand, Tess had never shared a romantic moment of any kind with anyone in her entire young life. On the other hand, she did understand the mechanics and the consequences of sex: the stableboy who had fondled her at twelve had also, at about the same time, impregnated one of the housemaids at the Meller estate. Although the girl was sent away, she returned, utterly destitute, at the end of her term and threw herself at the mercy of Lady Meller.
The baby was born on the estate but its mother died. Young Tess, who had been sent to the midwife during the delivery with extra towels, had managed to be in the room at the moment when the two souls were delivered, one (as Midwife McCrenna later decreed) to "eternal perdition." The mother had died just before her baby was born, and in the panicky moments when the baby was being eased the rest of the way into the world, no one bothered with the young, wide-eyed girl who was hanging back in the shadows. The last, heartrending screams of the mother and the bloodied result of her labor had frightened Tess into a state of permanent virtue.
Almost permanent. In the last two weeks the memory of that traumatic childbirth had not so much dimmed as it had ceased to exist for Tess. Her mind would not go near the event; it skipped past it, much as a child, whistling resolutely, hurries past a graveyard with eyes averted
Besides, Tess was eighteen now. Her body had a will of its own, and kneeling on rice every night seemed to be doing little to tame it. Tess understood, more or less, about a man's love for a woman, but now she had a handsome face to picture, a voice to recall, a touch to re-live. This was new, and she let herself be drawn into the fantasy of it.
In a trance she pushed a chair against the door, then returned to the dresser drawer, took out the silver mask, and tied it around her face. In a trance she stared at herself in the mirror, lost herself in her deep green eyes, fell in love with herself as she hoped Edward Hillyard might. She became caught up utterly in the dream that was Edward, whispering his name, begging for more, more ....
"Tess! Mother of Mary, what is going on here?" cried Bridget from the other side of the door. "Open up!" She began rattling the doorknob back and forth without success.
Tess was up like a shot, tearing off the mask, removing the chair. She lived in a blessed fishbowl!
"I ... needed the chair to kill a spider," she explained as Bridget marched through.
"And a very big spider it must have been," Bridget said with her usual sarcasm.
"The chair was to stand on, Bridget. Were you looking for me or for Maggie?"
"You, silly. Maggie's in the laundry, finishing some smoothing. Has she told you a kind of holiday has been declared tonight?"
"She did say some had the evening off."
"And now more of us as well. We're going a-promenading in Freebody Park, even Maggie." Bridget lowered her voice. "Something is up. Mrs. Bracken acted queerly when she saw me a bit ago—but nobody can figure out what it is. We thought you might know, being a lady's maid and all." She waited expectantly.
"Miss Cornelia hasn't told me anything, Bridget." When Bridget looked skeptical, Tess added, "Some sort of entertainment is planned, I suppose."
Bridget's look turned frigid. "You don't say. Well—we're all leaving in an hour," she said curtly and left.
Was Tess the only one from Beau Rêve invited to this stupid ball?
She made sure she was well away from the servants' quarters when the round-up for the promenade took place. Before long the house was quiet, and Tess left the safety of Miss Cornelia's dressing room to get ready for what she could not help feeling was a meeting with destiny. Hadn't Cornelia said "Anything can happen at a ball"?
From nowhere visions of Edward Hillyard sprang up before her. All she had to do was stroke the silver mask and he was there for her, with his thick, shining hair and his intense blue eyes. He was easily the most handsome man she'd ever seen, and tonight—well, tonight.
No one was left to notice her as she slipped out of the house and hurried to the corner of Bellevue and Ruggles. There was indeed a cab, facing south. Tess had only the vaguest idea where The Ledge was—she hadn't wanted to give herself away by inquiring—and was prepared to be humiliated by the driver, but he only said, "You the one's goin' to the Ledge shindig?"—and motioned for her to climb in.
Her mask was in her bag; she had no idea when to put it on. She was on such unfamiliar ground. Why the secrecy? Why the impromptu holiday, if the servants hadn't been invited? Tess didn't even know how much the carriage had cost Hillyard. She'd only traveled by trolley—five cents—and reports that a hired carriage cost two dollars or more simply staggered her. Newport! So rich, so jaded, so desperate to do things differently. How unlike the country houses of England. How unlike Wrexham, where the tradition itself was part of the joy. As long as Tess lived, she would never understand American society.
Her musings were interrupted by the clatter of a coach pulling out alongside her cab to pass it. The coachman wore the livery of Mrs. Hamilton Fish, one of the reigning queens of Newport Society. lt was dark and Tess could not tell how many were inside, but she was amazed to see an ordinary scullery maid in her kitchen-cap lean out the window. Obviously some servants were being given royal transportation.
Before long the hansom was pulling into the driveway of The Ledge. An assortment of coaches and carriages preceded them in the drive. Impressed by the kindness extended by some employers to their servants, Tess watched as a motley crowd of valets, chambermaids, cooks, butlers, and grooms descended self-consciously onto the drive, laughing and poking one another.
I wish Maggie had been invited, Tess thought with dismay, scanning the faces for someone she knew. But it was too dark. She was the last to alight. Her cab left, Tess tied on her mask, and then she was at the door, lifting the knocker timidly. The door was opened, and Tess blinked. It was not a footman on the other side of the door but a gentleman's valet, with a feather duster in one hand and a kitchen pail in the other.
With utmost solemnity he bowed and said, "Good evening, madame," and showed Tess inside. Behind the bizarre costume the face looked familiar. A croquet lawn flashed through Tess's brain as she stepped into the hall before him, uncertain what to do.
He was eyeing her in a way no footman would ever dare. "Who shall I say is calling?" he intoned. "No—drat—whom shall I .... No, I was right in the first place: Who shall I say is calling, madame? Or does madame prefer to be known simply as Madame X?" he added, with a little wave of his feather duster toward her mask. His look was roguishly intrigued.
He was not wearing a mask, and neither was anyone else among the servants flitting back and forth behind him.
Confused and gripped by a sense of dread, Tess answered, "I'm not Madame X. My name is Tess Moran." She began to cast around for Edward Hillyard, but by now it had occurred to her that everybody was in servants' dress. The valet—obviously not a valet at all—was stroking his chin with his feather duster, looking thoughtful. Then he snapped back into the pompous attitude of a footman and said, "If Madame Moran will wait here un moment"—and walked over to a heavyset chambermaid who was polishing the floor behind him with broad sweeps of an oversized mop.
Tess felt as though she'd dropped down a rabbit hole into Wonderland. There was something grotesque about everyone's behavior—children run amok in a nursery.
She heard the valet in a loud stage whisper ask the chambermaid, "Have I invited a Miss Tess Moran?"
In a voice full of lemon peels the chambermaid said, "Tess Moran? My dear, I'm sure you'd have remembered. Shall we look her over?"
In the meantime another man dressed in bizarre livery—his blue and gold breeches clashed comically with his maroon waistcoat, and he wore his wig backward—came up to Tess and offered to take her cape.
"Your cape, your cape, I really must have your cape," he insisted, dancing around her like a monkey.
Tess whirled to face him, baffled and frightened. He'd taken other coats, so he must be acting the role of cloakroom attendant. But when he began to r
each for the ribbons of her mask, Tess backed away and her cape slipped to the floor. These people are either drunk or quite mad, she thought wildly. Where is Edward?
The valet put down his pail and came back to Tess with his cohort the chambermaid. Together they stared with blatant curiosity until Tess felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Other servant-imposters passing gaily through the hall, wondering what new sport was afoot, began to gather around.
"I quite give up," the valet said, and tossed the feather duster over his shoulder. "Have you an invitation?" he asked bluntly.
"I ... no. I was asked by Mr. Edward Hillyard—"
"Eddy!" squealed a servant whose dress approximated that of a children's nurse. "However did he dare!"
"Mr. Hillyard has declined to join us tonight," the valet calmly explained to Tess.
"That Hillyard is a damned villain," muttered a chauffeur near her. "Never saw such an outrageous scene as this afternoon in the Casino."
"I've heard he left immediately afterward for Saratoga," a woman's voice said.
"And a bloody good thing, too, before he got run out of Newport on a rail—damned misanthrope."
"You're too hard on him, darling. It's only women he has no use for."
"Why is she wearing a mask, do you think?"
"Ashamed to be seen with him, I suppose."
Everything. Tess heard every word. Like a trapped animal whose senses are on full alert, Tess saw and heard everything, despite the fact that her mind was reeling from a sense of its own stupidity. Vain, blind creature! Now, can you see?
"En tout cas," her host the valet was saying, "I'm sure we'd all be charmed to have you join our festivities." He offered her his elbow. "Will it amuse you to leave on your mask? I'll not reveal your name, and we shall let the company guess who your people are."
By The Sea, Book One: Tess Page 8