"Hallo, all. Pardon the mess," he said in a faint, tired voice.
"What is all this?" Elizabeth lifted her skirts and picked her way into the room.
"Mo-" He swallowed with difficulty. "Mother sent it. Her way of saying good-bye, I think."
"These are your things?"
"Every one of them. All of it. Clothes I outgrew that weren't passed on to others, letters, even some of the prizes I won at school. Here it is. My whole life. She's sent the lot of it away for good." He spoke unevenly and his eyes were red. He'd been crying, I was sure.
"Dear God," I said. The cruelty of it went right to my heart. "How could she do such a thing?"
"Actually, this was my old nurse's doing. She's working for Cousin Clarinda now, but Mother sent for her and told her to pack everything of mine up, then either burn it or give it away. Nanny couldn't bear to do either, so she sent it over to me with a note of explanation. I suppose I should be glad not to have lost it all. I hadn't even thought of the stuff for ages-I might not have even missed it-but to have it all back again in this way... something of a shock, that."
"Oh, poor Oliver," said Elizabeth. She gamely-and carefully-made the hazardous trek across the floor and knelt down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder. Elizabeth knew all about the speculations Oliver and I had made to each other at The Red Swan by now and so had an understanding of the depth of the pain he was going through.
"Yes, poor me. She's a wretched mother, but the only one I've got. It's-it's so damnable to think she hates me this much."
"She hates herself, that's why she acts as she does. Like a wounded animal lashing out."
"And wounding others in turn. Well, this is it, I should think. She's got nothing else to fling at me after this, not unless she changes her mind about the inheritance money. I wouldn't put it past her."
"But you went by the solicitors, didn't you?" she asked.
"All they would tell me was that she'd not sent for them. She could, though, at any time."
"It's very difficult to alter a will," I said. "Especially one that's been in effect for so long without contest. It's also rather public, and we know she'd be extremely reluctant to carry things that far. Too much like a scandal, y'know. Besides, I can always go back, if necessary, and-"
Elizabeth shot me a warning look.
"And-well, she just won't do anything. We'll get our money every quarter, as usual. We've no need to worry."
"I suppose not." He sighed. "You know, if it hadn't been for the note Nanny put in, I'd have thought Mother had sent it today on purpose just to spoil the party for me."
"I hope she hasn't. Has she?"
"I don't think so, but I am terribly unsettled."
"What you need is your tea." Elizabeth stood and put her hand out to help him up. He accomplished this with considerable groaning, for his legs had gone to sleep. With her to lean on, he limped out of the room's chaos and into the hall.
"I'll have the new maid sort things out for you," she said, holding his arm as she led him into the parlor. "That is, if you don't mind?"
"Not a bit of it. Odd thing is, that it was rather fun seeing my old stuff again. That little wood horse was my favorite toy once upon a time. I played and played with it until the paint was worn off, but by then I was learning to ride real ones, so it was all right."
Elizabeth rang the bell for tea and encouraged him to talk about himself. Being as vulnerable as any to another's interest in the subject, he readily complied, not knowing that it was her way of cheering him. By the time they'd finished their light meal, talk had turned to the upcoming party.
"I shall have to begin dressing soon if we are to be fashionably late," she said, with a glance at the mantel clock.
"I must say that I'm looking forward to helping escort a pirate queen once again," I put in. "You're in for a treat, Oliver. She was quite the spitfire when she was 'Scarlet Bess, Scourge of the Island.' "
"I think the whole gathering at the Bolyn house is in for a treat," he said. "Think we'll frighten anyone as her 'Cutthroat Captains of the Coast'?"
"We shall certainly try."
The problem of what to costume ourselves in had been much debated until Elizabeth suggested a re-creation of our favorite childhood game. Oliver had enthusiastically fallen in with it, asserting that the three of us together would make a wonderful and memorable entrance to the Masque. Elizabeth, having since become fast friends with our future hostess, promptly took herself off to Charlotte Bolyn's highly recommended dressmaker, while Oliver and I sought help from his tailor. Colors had been agreed upon, fabrics and laces chosen, and a hasty construction was begun. I'd asked
Jericho if he wanted to join us, reenacting his role as the "Ebon Shark of Tortuga," but he'd begged to be excused from the honor. No doubt his much valued dignity would have suffered in some way.
"Are you sure you don't wish to come?" I asked him one last time as he helped me to dress. "Other people are bringing their servants. We could yet improvise something for you. I heard that Lady Musgrave was going as an Arab princess and was bringing her maid as her-uh-maid, done up in gold ropes, feathers, and a long silk scarf."
"Thank you, no, sir. I should prefer a quiet evening to organize the new staff. There are also the scattered contents of Mr. Oliver's consulting room to put in order. The new girl is in something of a state about the task and will need help sorting everything. No, sir, I am really quite sure. Now hold still that I may apply your eye patch..."
Obediently I held still.
"Now the mask..." He tied it firmly in place, concealing me from forehead to nose.
"How do I look?" I asked anxiously.
"Most formidable, sir."
'Trouble is I can't see a damned thing. This patch throws off the eyeholes on the mask."
"Do you wish the patch removed or the mask?"
"The patch. I've been anticipating this gathering too much to end up missing half of it by keeping one eye shut."
He worked for a moment to adjust things. Sans patch, with the mask properly in place, I was able to see excellently and said so. A pity I could not provide myself with the satisfaction of admiring the final results in the mirror, for it seemed a very superior costume. Though the tailor's idea of pirate clothing was probably lacking in accuracy, I did feel that I cut a fine figure in my bloodred coat, gold satin cloak, and sinister black velvet mask. Once the wide baldric had been secured over one shoulder and my cutlass sheathed, Jericho finished it off by presenting me with a hat matching the coat's color, lavishly trimmed with gold lace.
"Have a very good time, Mr. Jonathan. You won't forget to keep track of the hour?"
The Bolyn's Masque would likely not conclude itself until well into the next morning. "I shall be home before dawn, I do promise you. If nothing else, Elizabeth will see to it."
Assured, he finally gave me leave to go.
Oliver's estimation of our reception had been conservative. The three of us sweeping into the entry caused a happy stirring in the crowd that had already arrived, and we were even honored with applause. Though we were indeed resplendent in our black, red, and gold colors, Elizabeth was the best of the lot. She'd found some crimson powder from an unknown source and had used it for dressing her hair, making a fiery difference between herself and the other ladies who were present. Woven into her coiffure were a number of red and black ribbons long enough to trail down to her shoulders. Her gown-and I was thinking as her protective brother in this-was short enough to reveal her legs to a shocking extent, had they not been modestly encased in high boots. The rest of her costume was a wonder in gold lace and rustling red satin. Even her mask was trimmed with lace, the gold showing off well against the black velvet.
Oliver's costume was identical to mine, but the colors were reversed, giving him a gold coat and a red cloak, and he looked very fine in them. A few people recognized him, though; his long chin, left visible below the half-mask, was unmistakable. With his identity discovered, our own was a
lso given away, but only to those who had already met us and could guess that we would be with our cousin.
Charlotte Bolyn immediately came over to give welcome and proclaim her pleasure at the success of our apparel. She was very fetching herself as the Queen of Hearts, and dragged her brother Brinsley over, who was dressed as the Knave of Spades. Someone in the crowd called out that all the reds and blacks together were too much for his bewildered eyes, and Brinsley waved his sword at him in mock threat.
"He may have an idea in that," said Oliver. "Think we should break things up a bit?"
"Refreshments are over there," Brinsley laconically informed him, pointing to a large, well-supplied table.
"Heavens, man, are you a playing card or a reader of minds?"
Oliver excused himself, Brinsley asked Elizabeth if she would honor him with the next dance, and Charlotte had to see to the next group of guests coming in. This suited me, for I was well occupied with study of the mob, trying to guess who this one or that one was under the rainbow of disguises. I wandered from room to room and out into the garden, my eye running over each and every woman of a certain specific height and figure.
I was looking for Nora, of course.
My hope was that she might, just might be here at this, the party of the season. She had been most fond of the Bolyns, never failing to come to any of their gatherings. Brinsley had once been one of her courtiers. I had already asked the Bolyns, particularly Brinsley, if they had any idea of Nora's whereabouts, but got only the speculation that she'd gone to Italy, or so their friends the Warburtons had told them.
Several times during my search my dormant heart gave a sharp upward leap as I spied a woman who matched my memory of Nora. But each closer investigation proved me to be mistaken. As the evening passed, I became frustrated and morose with the constant failure. The worst part was going through the garden when I braved the twistings of its shrubbery maze, for it was here that we'd shared our first kisses. It was here that I had once and for all time fallen in love. Now this magical place with its paper lanterns shedding their fairy lights over other couples seemed a bleak and blasted vanity to my disappointed soul.
I doggedly found the center of the thing, which was a large courtyard decorated by marble statues set 'round a large marble fountain. Its water had been drained from the supply pipes, lest the winter weather freeze and crack them. Without the splashing from the fountain, this was now a strangely desolate spot. No one was here at the moment, probably because of the wind. Outside the shelter of the maze's living walls, it was very bad, a feature that would certainly drive any sightseers to more temperate areas. The cold air was tolerable, but not when combined with so fresh a breeze. The ends of my light satin cloak snapped like flags, and a gust threatened to send my hat flying. I gladly quit the place and hurried back to the house.
The noise, costumes, and lights dazzled me, but there was really no quiet retreat to hide in. Not that I wanted to conceal myself, but I did long for a few moments of solitude. None were to be had, though. A group of the younger men, friends from my previous visit, recognized and hailed me. It proved to be something of a blessing since they took my mind off my inner sorrows for a time.
As ever, the talk was on politics, and I was closely questioned about the war. There was dismay amongst them about General Burgoyne's unfortunate surrender at Saratoga. The first dispatches of the disaster had arrived that week, and though the news was supposed to remain secret, it had escaped, causing no end of speculation on how England might recover her honor from such a setback.
"Mind you, the Frenchies will start pouring themselves across the sea after this," said a short Harlequin. "Once they're in we'll be set for a real war right here and now. We won't have to go to America to fight, just hop across the Channel."
"They wouldn't dare," opined another, taller Harlequin.
"They would, sir. We gave them a thrashing the last time about Canada and they want revenge. You mark me."
This reminded me of all the things Father had said on my last night at home. It had been only a couple of weeks since I'd seen him-at least how I reckoned the time in light of my singular hibernation-but I missed him terribly just then and had to leave or make a fool of myself.
"But you're a fool already, Johnny Boy," I muttered. To be at so fabulous a celebration and in such a dark mood was ridiculous. I was here for distraction from my woes, to sample and enjoy the myriad delights whirling and laughing about me, not to impersonate a waker at a funeral.
As if to help draw me out of the depths, some sprightly music started up nearby, drowning out the nearby conversations. I followed the sounds to the great ballroom, where all the dancers had gathered to indulge themselves in festive exercise. The combinations of partners were astonishing and amusing as I spied a lion dancing with Columbine and a Roman soldier bowing over the hand of an Indian maiden. One lady's costume, what there was of it, caught my eye for some goodly time, for the short skirt was so transparent one could see the supporting panniers, not to mention her very shapely legs and the flash of the silver garters holding up her stockings. Her silver mask covered too much of her face for me to readily identify her, but she was not Nora and that was all that really mattered in the end.
The only thing to distract me from her was a fellow in deep black stalking past holding a skull. His Hamlet might have been more striking had he not been drunk and trying to get the skull to share a sip from his glass. Still, he seemed to be having a fine time providing entertainment for others. He also reminded me that I had not yet bought any plays to send to Cousin Ann as I'd promised. Tomorrow I'd see about making an expedition to Paternoster Row and explore its book stalls. Surely some of them would still be open after dark.
Familiar laughter, slightly breathless, came to me over the music, and I saw Elizabeth dancing past, partnered by a big fellow in a Russian coat and tall fur hat. He grinned back at her from behind a vast false beard. For all that covering, he seemed familiar. Probably one of my old schoolmates. If so, then I'd better stay handy to make sure he behaved himself with her.
"Enjoying yourself, Coz?" asked Oliver, who suddenly bumped into me from pushing his way through the press at the edge of the dancing.
"I am. I can see that you are, too."
He had a wineglass in hand. Not his first, to judge by his flushed face and wandering eyes. "Indeed, indeed. Having a marvelous good time in spite of the old hag."
"What do you mean?"
He jerked his head back the way he'd come. "Mother's here, don't you know. Saw her in one of the rooms with some of her cronies, the lot of 'em passing sentence against every pretty girl who happened to walk through. She's not in costume, just has a mask on a stick to hide behind, like the others. Ask me and I tell you I think they need 'em. Nothing like a bit of papier-mache and paint to improve their sour old faces, the harpies. Hie! 'Scuse me, I'm sure."
"It doesn't seem to have soured you, though."
"Not a bit of it. I'm too drunk to care. In fact, I made a point to stagger right through the room so she could see that her cast-off son is alive, well, and having a devil of a good time."
"You think that was wise?"
" 'Course not, but then I'm too drunk for wisdom. Besides, all her friends saw me, too. Probably embarrassed her to no end, especially when I gave such a loud hail to Cousins Clarinda and Edmond."
"My God, they're here, too?"
"I just said so, din' I? Amazing, ain't it, that Clarinda got Edmond-the-stick out of the house for this. He was even in costume, a Harlequin, no less. Should say more, rather. There must be a dozen of 'em drifting around here tonight. Just shows he hasn't much imagination. Cheap, too. Looked as if it'd been made for someone else and he inherited it. Clarinda is very jaunty, though. Came as a Gypsy. You should see her. Very lively!"
No doubt, I thought, looking around but noticing no Gypsies, lively or otherwise, and feeling absurdly thankful about it. Though my one encounter with her was enchanting, I had no desire to try f
or a second, particularly in a strange house with her husband lurking about. He'd seemed the jealous type, or so I'd convinced myself from the single look I'd had of him across the dim hallway of Fonteyn House.
The dance ended and the couples bowed to one another. A different fellow came up to claim Elizabeth's attention, smaller than the Russian, but not lacking in verve.
"Hallo," I said, giving Oliver a nudge. "Is that Lord Harvey trying to partner Elizabeth for the next one?"
He gave a wobbly stare, "I think so. No one else has such spindles for legs that I know of."
"Did he ever take care of his creditors?"
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