by Garth Nix
“I must go,” snapped Harnett to Lady Badgery. “Your servant, ma’am!”
He was down the steps in only two paces, but at the street he paused and called back.
“Keep Lady Truthful safe! I will detach men to guard the house!”
Chapter Fourteen
A Gift and a Letter
It took the news that Stephen was rescued, in addition to all of Lady Badgery’s persuasive powers and the authority of being in loco parentis to make sure Truthful did not immediately don her disguise and issue forth to Seymour Street to see exactly what was happening. Fortunately she did not have to wait very long before one of Harnett’s men arrived bearing a message from the Major that both relieved and infuriated Truthful.
“Stephen appears to be entirely unscathed,” she said to Lady Badgery, who was lying on her bed, well-supported by a vast pile of silken pillows. “Harnett says he is in high grig and is now assisting in the search for the would-be abductor that escaped in the hope he will lead them to Lady Plathenden and the Emerald!”
“I am relieved he is unhurt,” said Lady Badgery. “And of course he would want to take part in bringing the criminals to justice.”
“While I must wait here,” complained Truthful. “And go to a tiresome ball tonight, even though it is my Emerald!”
“You did not think the prospect of so grand a ball as Lady Mournbeck’s tiresome a scant few days ago,” said Lady Badgery. “I recollect you said to me you had never in your life attended so grand an affair and you were most excited!”
“Well, I own that I was then,” said Truthful. She frowned. “But I hadn’t seen Lady Plathenden with my Emerald, or been tied up in a barrel with . . . it all makes such things as balls seem less . . . less consequential.”
“They can be of great consequence,” said Lady Badgery. “It was at just such a ball that your father first set eyes upon your mother, and indeed, I first clasped hands with my poor departed Badgery. You might well chance upon your own future husband at the ball this evening, Truthful.”
“I very much doubt that,” said Truthful, blushing and avoiding her great-aunt’s rather too-searching gaze. “I think . . . I think I may never marry. I shall look after Father, and remain in the country.”
“Humph,” said Lady Badgery. Truthful was unsure what this sound actually meant, though it did seem the old lady was either expressing doubt or amusement at Truthful’s rather high-blown pronouncement. Or perhaps something of both. “You can read to me now, and then I shall sleep until supper.”
As Parkins helped her dress that evening Truthful did recapture a little of her previous excitement about the prospect of going to her first grand London ball. The ivory silk ball gown with its delicate gold tracery was the most beautiful dress she had ever worn, and was perfectly complemented by a Norwich shawl of the highest quality; new and vastly elegant elbow-length gloves; and a fan of peacock-pattern silk between ivory sticks. As became a young lady who had not yet been presented but was in the process of coming out, her only jewellery was a very plain necklace of slim gold beads, and her hair was dressed with an elegant simplicity, Truthful being amazed at how Parkins could make it so fashionable despite the cut that had made it possible for her to look the gentleman.
When Parkins adjudged her completely ready Truthful went down to join Lady Badgery, who was opening a missive that had just been delivered. The dowager, resplendent in a dress of yesteryear that combined panels of purple and green silk over a voluminous petticoat possibly supported by some sort of underwiring, brandished the letter at Truthful triumphantly, almost upsetting the enormous feathered turban that was pinned to her head.
“Cecilie has come through,” she said.
“Cecilie?” asked Truthful.
“Lady Mournbeck,” said her great-aunt. “I had asked her to send a card for her ball to your Major Harnett, and though she initially declined, it seems that upon investigation she is familiar with the major’s aunt, Mrs Gough, who was a Tavilland before her marriage and so is a cousin of some sort to Mournbeck himself. So she has done as I asked, and he will be there.”
“He is not my Major Harnett,” said Truthful mulishly. “And I do not know why you should wish to have him invited. Besides, surely he is too busy finding the Emerald, or at least he should be.”
“I liked the young man,” said Lady Badgery roguishly. “I want to see how he behaves among company.”
Truthful did not answer, her feelings about the ball once more confused. She had managed to regain some of her previous simple excitement, the feeling of looking forward to an unalloyed pleasure. Now it was complicated again, not least because she was not sure how she felt. She both wanted to see Harnett again and never see him again. For the moment, the “never seeing again” feeling was stronger. She grimaced, holding back a tear as she remembered his admission that he didn’t want to marry anyone and his most reluctant offer of marriage, that he only made due to social convention. He didn’t care for her, so she must make sure she did not entertain any feelings for him.
These lowering thoughts were interrupted by Dworkin’s cough. The butler approached Truthful with a small package wrapped in bright paper and a blue ribbon on his silver tray.
“A present for Lady Truthful,” he announced.
“For me?” asked Truthful, surprised. She reached out for it, only to be surprised as the Dowager Countess suddenly grabbed her elbow.
“Who is it from, Dworkin?” asked Lady Badgery. “Have our temporary guardians seen it?”
“It was brought by Sergeant Ruggins,” said Dworkin calmly. “It is from Major Harnett and I believe is of some importance in the protection of Lady Truthful.”
“I don’t want it,” snapped Truthful.
“Don’t be silly, my dear,” said Lady Badgery. “At least see what it is before you refuse it. It may be in the nature of an official present rather than a personal one, and judging from what happened to your cousin Stephen, we had best be prepared for the worst.”
“Very well,” sighed Truthful. She took the package and unwrapped it, revealing a folded note and a very old box covered in faded pearly shagreen. Truthful set the box aside on the arm of her chair, and read the note.
Dear Lady Truthful,
I regret that due to the continuing investigation into the whereabouts of Lady Plathenden and the Newington Emerald I am unable to call upon you in person, as I would wish, in order to impart to you an important matter and further a discussion I believe to be of paramount importance. I must also warn you that we have not yet ascertained the full extent of Lady Plathenden’s scheming, beyond the fact that she has a considerable criminal force in her employ. It is believed that she may still attempt to take your person captive by force or trickery in order to wrest control of the Emerald, so I have taken the liberty of increasing the guard under Sergeant Ruggins. In addition, I am sending you a charmed bracelet that I request you wear for your own protection until such time as Lady Plathenden is arrested and the Emerald is recovered. Please excuse my penmanship, written in haste upon the road.
Yours etc
“He couldn’t even be bothered to sign it,” said Truthful, handing the note to Lady Badgery and picking up the box. Her fingers tingled as she lifted the hook and opened it to reveal a slim and remarkably plain bracelet made of many gold and silver wires twisted together. Truthful slid it over her wrist. It felt a little loose at first, but when she turned it around, she saw that it would not easily come off. Lady Badgery lowered the note and said, “Show me, Truthful!”
Truthful held out her arm. Lady Badgery took her wrist and turned it so she could examine the bracelet from every angle, being careful not to touch it herself. After several minutes, she gently lowered Truthful’s arm and sat back.
“That is an ancient and very powerful charm,” she pronounced. “A spell-breaker of the first order. You must be careful not to touch others with it, lest it dissolve any sorcery upon their person. I wonder if your Major Harnett . . . or Ned Leye .
. . borrowed it from the Museum . . . it certainly belongs there, if not the Tower.”
“I suppose I had better wear it, but I trust it will not be needed,” said Truthful. She sighed and added, “I hope that Lady Plathenden is soon arrested and I can go home!”
“I was not aware you disliked staying with an old lady so much,” sniffed Lady Badgery.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Truthful. She clasped her great-aunt’s hand. “It is just that . . . life at home is . . . easier, I suppose. And I want to show Father the Emerald and make him better.”
“We all wish your father better,” said Lady Badgery. “However, may I point out that an easier life is not necessarily to be preferred? In any case, it is almost ten o’clock and so we must go. Put your worries behind you now, Truthful, and attempt to enjoy Lady Mournbeck’s ball. Or at least successfully pretend to do so.”
“I will try, Great-aunt,” said Truthful. She forced a smile, maintaining it for several seconds before it slipped away.
“Grimacing won’t help,” said Lady Badgery as she stood up and shook out her voluminous skirts of gold sateen.
“That was my smile,” said Truthful indignantly.
“Was it?” asked Lady Badgery. “Perhaps avoid another one if that is the case. Perhaps you should try to merely look amused. Parkins! Parkins!”
Parkins popped her head around the door and looked enquiringly at her mistress.
“Parkins! My sword cane.”
Parkins disappeared again. Truthful looked at her great-aunt.
“A sword cane? Surely that can’t be something you can take—”
“It is simply a walking stick for an old and tired woman,” said Lady Badgery. “That happens to have a sword in it. But no one will ever know unless it proves necessary to unsheathe it, in which case, it will not matter.”
“I see,” said Truthful.
“I have a wand in my sleeve as well,” said Lady Badgery brightly. “One cannot depend upon Sergeant Ruggins and his type to keep you safe, Truthful. They mean well, but they are only men.”
“Yes,” said Truthful doubtfully. “Perhaps I should fetch a pistol for myself?”
“Don’t be silly!” barked Lady Badgery. “A ball is no place for a pistol. Besides, where would you put it? Let us get on. Dworkin! Dworkin! Has the carriage been brought around?”
The carriage had been brought around to the front. It was very large and rather old-fashioned, and seemed even more so with four liveried footmen hanging off the back, three of them Sergeant Ruggin’s men and the fourth Lady Badgery’s rather put-out regular servant. Ruggins himself had assumed the role of the driver, and two more of his men stood by with lit flambeaux, to act the part of running footmen who would illuminate the way to Cavendish Square and Lord and Lady Mournbeck’s extremely large, palatial and ugly house.
Truthful and Lady Badgery were handed into the carriage by Dworkin, with what seemed like most of the indoor servants lurking about in the front part of the house, all pretending to carry out tasks with heavy implements that could be turned into makeshift weapons, so they could come to Truthful’s rescue should there be another attempt to kidnap her.
There was no such attempt, nor did one seem likely given the number of guards around and on the carriage. Truthful, who had in truth been a little apprehensive, soon forgot she was in any danger and pulled the curtains aside so she could see the outside world.
The significance of Lady Mournbeck’s ball could be seen within half a mile of Cavendish Square. Lady Badgery’s carriage soon joined a long procession of coaches and sedan chairs waiting their turn to disgorge their passengers on the threshold of 16 Cavendish Square, pausing no doubt to admire the twin rows, each of a dozen trees that Lady Mournbeck had arranged along the front of the house in azure tubs. The trees had trunks and branches of silver and leaves of gold, and appeared to be of shining metal but were in fact only cunningly painted, much to the chagrin of the few urchins who had managed to snatch some leaves, despite the vast number of watchmen deployed to manage the traffic and quell any possible disturbance that might disrupt the ball.
Given the great press of guests, Lady Badgery and Truthful were not greeted by Lord and Lady Mournbeck until almost eleven o’clock. This all went as expected, Truthful grateful that Lady Mournbeck did not single her out or pause in her greeting of guests to say something embarrassing about inviting Major Harnett.
But Truthful’s relief was short-lived. As they entered the vast but already very crowded ballroom Lady Badgery disengaged herself from Truthful’s arm.
“I am to see some old friends in the library,” she said. “We may play whist. You go and entertain yourself with the young folk, Truthful. Dance if you like, but not the waltz. Not yet.”
“Yes, Great-aunt,” said Truthful dutifully, but her heart sank as she looked out at the throng. A country dance was nearing its conclusion, with what seemed liked hundreds of participants dancing to the music of the large and accomplished orchestra; every gilded chair against the walls seemed to be occupied, and every circle of beautifully-dressed ladies and exquisitely turned-out gentlemen looked to her to be turned inward with the express purpose of keeping her from easily joining them.
But she stood for barely a moment before there was a sudden movement among those circles. Young men turned to look at her, neatly framed just past the doorway, the light from the candles in the great chandelier above making her hair bright as a flame and her green eyes sparkle as if they were indeed emeralds.
In what seemed like only a second later, Truthful found herself surrounded by gentleman asking her to make up a set with them for the next quadrille; offering to fetch her a glass of lemonade, or champagne or orgeat; wondering if she might like to sit down, or stand up for a country dance; and surely a waltz could be permitted with her presentation only a few weeks away?
None of the gentlemen were Major Harnett. Truthful accepted several invitations to dance from those she had met before, and took particular care to be pleasant to Mr Trellingsworth, who went away happily once his name was inscribed upon her dance card for the fourth quadrille. But she declined the offer of drinks and chairs, and chose instead to make her way towards that corner of the ballroom which was primarily occupied by other young ladies, taking their respite between dances, and being modestly seen not to seek the company of the men.
Truthful was almost there when she was intercepted by a dark-haired, serious-looking young woman of no great beauty but some obvious, indefinable charm and a very businesslike manner. This young lady stood in front of her, forcing Truthful to stop, leaned in close and spoke quietly but forcefully.
“Lady Truthful? I am Miss Gough, Miss Eliza Gough. I should like to speak you privately on a matter that concerns my fiancé.”
“Your fiancé?” asked Truthful, bewildered. She had never met Miss Gough, though her name did sound familiar.
“Yes,” said Miss Gough decidedly. “My fiancé, Major Harnett.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lady Mournbeck’s Ball
“I see,” said Truthful lightly, though she felt as if she had suddenly been struck somewhere just below her heart with a savage blow. It was only surprise she told herself, as she took a calming breath and tried not to show any agitation. It was very difficult to believe that Harnett had not only made her an offer when he claimed to not want to marry anyone, but he was also already betrothed! Yet here was this serious young lady telling her so . . . but it was of no consequence, Truthful told herself firmly. She only felt upset because she had not thought Harnett so contemptible. That was all.
“We can talk outside on the garden terrace,” said Miss Gough, taking Truthful’s arm and leading her away. Truthful went with her, her mind in a turmoil.
No-one else was on the terrace, though the evening was pleasant, and Lady Mournbeck had been thoughtful enough to have several Japanese lanterns hung to create a charming nook to recoup from the hurly-burly of the ballroom. Miss Gough steered Truthful to a bench, and th
ey both sat down. Truthful flicked her fan open and began to fan her face, but shut it again when she realised she was revealing something of her inner agitation.
“This is difficult,” said Miss Gough, indicating that it was not only Truthful who suffered some agitation. “Where to begin?”
She took a very deep breath, held her hands together and looked Truthful squarely in the eye.
“I want to ask you to . . . to discourage Major Harnett,” she said, with a gulp. “And most particularly discourage his mother. I mean discourage any pretension that you might look upon his suit with favour.”
“I don’t understand,” said Truthful. “You say Major Harnett is your fiancé?”
“We have had an informal understanding for some two years,” said Miss Gough. “But my mother does not wish me to marry Major Harnett, who is my cousin, and my Aunt Sylvia, that is his mother — she is most desirous that he should marry an heiress. That is why I am asking you to let him go. You are rich, and a beauty, surely you could choose anyone and . . . and I will die if he marries you!”
Truthful reached out and took Miss Gough’s trembling hands in her own.
“I have no interest in marrying Major Harnett,” she said firmly. “You need not be concerned about me.”
“But you asked Lady Mournbeck to invite him tonight,” said Miss Gough. “Mother and Aunt Sylvia were cock-a-hoop about it.”
Truthful shook her head. “That was none of my doing. It was my great-aunt. I’m not perfectly sure why. She can be a little . . . eccentric at times.”
“I couldn’t believe you wanted him invited so particularly,” said Miss Gough. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes with it. “Or even how he might have come to your notice! But Aunt Sylvie insisted it was so. It is so very difficult when she is against us, and my own mother too, and the book is taking so long . . . we can’t get married until it is published and a great success, which I’m sure it will be. Then Aunt Sylvia said you were setting your cap at him . . . and you are so beautiful, and everyone knows rich enough to buy an Abbey . . .”