by M C Beaton
She was relieved to find she was still fully dressed even to her shoes. The unaccustomed footwear irked her and she kicked her shoes off.
On the marble washstand were two cans of water and a bar of soap. She wondered uneasily what to do with the slops and after some internal debate, tugged open the window. It led out onto a small ledge behind a high parapet topped with obelisks which perhaps explained why the room had remained hidden.
She climbed out gingerly, feeling the bite of frost on her bare feet, and heaved the contents of the chamber pot over the parapet. From far, far below came an anguished howl and Alice scampered hastily back to the safety of the room and shut the window quickly behind her.
She quickly undressed and washed as much of herself as she could, shivering because the water was cold. A fresh stack of logs had been piled up beside the fireplace, and so she lit a fire and, when it was blazing, she ate her breakfast and then began to leaf through the thick plates of the fashion magazines.
But the gowns seemed so rich, so jeweled with their clasps of topaz, gold and amethyst. Surely it took all the jewels in the world to furnish a wardrobe with gowns such as these! Alice longed for a looking glass so that she could experiment with her hair. It was very long, too long, but it had a natural wave. But then all the ladies in the fashion plates had either curls or bunches of ringlets.
Alice nonetheless diligently read every item in the magazine, including an intriguing advertisement for Pear’s Celebrated Soap—
The Ladies will find it a most agreeable appendage to the Toilette, and in using they will be convinced that it will render the arms inimitably white, equal, if not superior, to the most celebrated cosmetic. One trial is sufficient to evince its agreeable and salutory effects. Sold in pots at 3 s.
Soon the shadows began to lengthen as the long winter’s night settled down over the countryside. Alice opened the window a little to air the room. A cold breeze moved the bed curtains. It carried that metallic smell of threatening snow.
Alice lit the candles and settled down to wait. Then she noticed that her rags were gone. She wondered idly what the Duke had done with them. He had not put them on the fire because there had been no trace of them among the ashes.
All at once, with a fast beating heart, she heard the chink of glass and china and all at once he was there again, smiling down at her and placing a laden tray on the table.
He had reverted to the dress of his period, having obviously unearthed some of his old wardrobe. He looked very grand in a blue silk coat with a long white quilted waistcoat edged in silver galloon. He wore his powdered wig and his handsome face was painted and patched and jewels seemed to blaze all over him.
Alice unconsciously sank into a deep curtsy and he answered with a flourish of his lace handkerchief and a deep bow.
“My Lady Alice,” he teased. “You see what respect the clothes of my youth engender? Now we shall dine and I shall tell you my plan. Hot food, my child. And cakes to delight your young heart. A fine goose, is it not? I simply walked into the kitchen and took it. Your friend the Cook threw her apron over her head and quivered like a blancmange.
“But she durst not cry ‘Ghost!’ or she will lose her employ. I am not in the least sorry for her. She is a coarse devil of a woman but, ’fore George, she cooks like an angel. Oh, use your fingers. You will send the whole plateful on the floor with your amateurish proddings and pokings.”
Alice ate a hearty meal, finishing with several cakes and strawberry tartlets. She again drank a great deal too much strong wine, and between that and the heat from the fire and the magnetic presence of the Duke, she felt as if she were living in some highly colored dream from which she must soon awake and find herself lying on the scullery floor.
“Now,” said the ghost, pouring her a bumper of brandy, “A toast. Spirits to the spirit!”
Alice took a sip and choked. He suddenly leaned across the table and took the glass from her.
“Too much for you, my child. I forgot. You are but a babe. See, I have brought lemonade which is what I meant to pour you in the first place. Now—to business!”
Alice sighed a little. She did not want to be reminded that there was a future outside this cozy room.
“French!” he said, producing a small pile of volumes. “You are to become French.”
“But I be English,” protested Alice.
“Yes. Yes. But how am I to eradicate that country burr of yours in such a short time? Much easier to learn another language. And, after all, it is a good background for you. There are still many titled French émigrés in London selling their jewels to supply them with an income. You, my Alice, shall become Alice, Comtesse de la Valle-Chenevix. Alice is an English name, but there are many French families who once considered it chic to give their offspring English or Irish names. So Comtesse, let us begin.”
“I’ll never do it, that I won’t,” sniveled Alice.
“Stop that this instant!” snapped the ghost. “Here is a handkerchief. It is to be used for wiping your nose when you whimper and do not let me catch you wiping your nose on your sleeve again. Faugh!”
“Oh, leave me alone!” wailed Alice, red with shame. “I’ll never be a lady.”
“Then get back to the kitchens where you belong, you spineless baggage,” he said heartlessly. “This is what comes of bestowing my distinguished time and attention on a sniveling…”
“Stop!” cried Alice, covering her ears. “I’ll do it!”
“That’s better,” he said looking at her coldly and Alice looked back and suddenly knew she would do anything just so long as he smiled at her again.
She diligently struggled over the primers and because she had slept late, managed to stay up most of the night.
As the days flew past and the north wind piled snow in great drifts up around the Hall, Alice and her ghost worked night after night on her French lessons.
The Duke was amazed at the girl’s quick progress. Provided he could get her to speak in English with a French accent, she would soon be ready. He coached her in how to walk, how to carry a shawl, how to flirt with a fan, how to make conversation and when to listen. She was taught the value of jewels and laces and how to wear colors best suited to her dark hair and increasingly white skin.
All at once it was Christmas and the Duke arrived as soon as dark fell with the news that there was to be a great masked ball held in the Hall that very evening.
“And we shall both go,” he said sternly, looking down at Alice. “First I must arrange your hair. Pah! I feel like a man-milliner. What days of rest are due to me after I rid myself of you!”
He turned away to heat the curling tongs and therefore did not notice the tearful hurt on Alice’s face.
At last he declared himself ready and ordered her to undress to her petticoat until he arranged her toilette, and Alice did so meekly and with a queer little pang at her heart as she knew he would treat her as impersonally as any lady’s maid.
“We shall not be announced,” he went on, plying the curling tongs and filling the small room with the smell of hot hair. “We shall simply slide through the walls and mingle with the guests. Being a ghost has many advantages.”
“You won’t go off and leave me,” pleaded Alice. “I mean you won’t go off with one of them pretty ladies?”
“Don’t cling,” snapped the ghost, pushing her head roughly forwards and applying the curling tongs to the hair at the back. “Now Agnes clung enough for a squadron of women.”
At long last, he pronounced himself satisfied, tipped her face up and gave her a light, playful slap on the cheek.
“Do not look so frenzied, my child,” he mocked. “Odd’s Fish! What’s to be so exercised over? A mere ball! And I shall not leave your side. There! I have made you smile at last. Your gown is on the bed. Wait for me. I must change.”
With trembling fingers, Alice slipped on the dress. It was of pale blue gossamer silk worn over a white satin slip. It had a short train at the back and opened up
in the front where it was tied with small bows of white satin ribbon. It had long sleeves of pale blue gossamer net, caught down on the outside of the arm with small pearl brooches. The tops of the sleeves and the bosom of the dress were bound with silver edging and trimmed with Valenciennes lace.
The bottom of the skirt and train were edged with silver and trimmed with the same lace as on the bosom. There was a scarf of pale buff silk ornamented at the end with white silk tassels to go with it. There were also pearl earrings, shoes in pale buff satin and yellow kid gloves.
How Alice longed for a looking glass. She felt very grand and splendid, but she had thought that before and her ghost had not seemed in the slightest impressed.
All at once he was at her side and the pair surveyed each other curiously. Privately Alice thought he had never looked more handsome with his short locks cut in a Brutus crop and his splendid black evening coat and knee breeches. Diamond buckles blazed on his shoes and the lace at his throat and wrists was as fine as cobwebs.
He carried a heavy iron box under one arm which he placed on the table and then stood farther away from her to get a better look at her.
Her once thin face had become heart shaped and her eyes, he noticed were almost violet. The dusky clusters of ringlets accentuated her very white skin which had an almost alabaster pallor from Alice having been confined so long in the room. Her bosom was quite magnificent, decided the Duke, putting up his quizzing glass to have a closer look. Alice flushed under his scrutiny and drew the scarf a little more closely about her shoulders.
“You surprise me,” was all he would say, but the warmth in his voice made Alice suddenly feel deliriously happy.
He turned from her and opened the strong box and Alice moved closer to him to see what the box contained.
Poor Agnes’s jewels blazed up with all the colors of Aladdin’s cave.
“Just where she had left them,” said the Duke, looking down at them with satisfaction. “Under the outer courtyard wall at the northeast corner. There is thine dowry, child. It pleases thee?”
“It frightens me,” whispered Alice.
“Then it is time you became accustomed to your possessions; I trust we will not have to sell them all.”
He looked at her, his blond head tilted to one side. Then he scrabbled in the box and came up with a pearl and diamond necklace which he clasped about her neck.
“Perfect,” he said, studying the effect. “Now I have taught you the dances I know. Let us hope they have not changed too much. You will need to dance with other partners, of course, but we will pretend to be a devoted married couple just for this evening.”
That somehow was all that was needed to fuel Alice’s already blazing happiness.
“Come!” he said, holding out his hand. “It is time to go.”
Timidly Alice put her hand on his arm. He led her straight toward the paneled wall.
“I can’t go that way,” giggled Alice. “I’m not a ghost!”
“If I can take plates of food through walls,” he said severely, “then I can most certainly take you.”
To Alice, all things were possible that evening and she trustingly allowed him to lead her.
She seemed to melt through the walls as if they were water and then found herself floating gently downward through the building.
“Now,” he said, coming to a stop in a small anteroom. On the other side of the door, Alice could hear the strains of a waltz.
He drew a black velvet mask from his pocket and handed her a blue silk one. When they were masked, he took her firmly by the hand. He opened the door.
Lights from hundreds of candles blazed down on them and on the jewels and silks and satins of the guests.
Alice, Comtesse de la Valle-Chenevix had arrived in society.
Chapter 3
It was as well the ghostly Duke did not immediately lead his partner into the dance. For Alice had begun to shake with fear. Her eyes darted from one liveried servant to the other, fearing recognition.
The Duke felt her hand trembling in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We are masked, you know,” he said, reading her thoughts. “And were we not, no one would recognize my lady as Alice, the scullery maid. You are a beautiful woman. Come! Look at me and smile. Where are those stars that were in your eyes a bare moment ago?”
He gazed down into her wide eyes, his own warm and reassuring, and Alice felt all her elation and courage flooding back.
“Ah, we have a country dance. That we can do,” he said, leading her forward. Unreality took over. Nothing was alive to her but the pressure of this dead man’s hand in her own.
The Duke found that he was the one who was nervous as the opening chord struck up. But Alice danced lightly, performing her steps with grace. He was proud of her. Really proud. Through the slits of his mask, he took in the admiring glances cast in Alice’s direction. Tomorrow, he would take her to London. And soon he would be free to… To do what?
As the dance ended, Alice’s hand was quickly claimed for the next by a masked young man. After that, she seemed to move from partner to partner. He contented himself by propping up a pillar and watching her and listening to the easy chatter of her assumed French accent which covered her still frequent mistakes in grammar.
The ballroom at the Hall was much as he remembered it, although all the masked faces, with the exception of the present Duke and Duchess, were strange. He felt suddenly homesick for the old days. He had had little freedom since Agnes’s death since he had only survived her by one month. It would have been delightful to have married again, someone young and charming.
He became aware that he had been joined by Alice. “The next dance is a waltz and I do not know how to perform it,” she whispered.
“We shall watch,” he answered, “and mayhap we shall learn.”
After a few moments, he bent his head close to hers and murmured, “It is easy. We shall perform. This new dance pleases me. How it would have shocked my contemporaries.”
He swept her into his arms and moved off with her across the floor while lights and colors and music swirled into one heady confection in Alice’s bedazzled brain. All she knew was that he had his hand around her waist and now nothing could touch her, nothing could reach her.
When the waltz finished, she stared up at him with eyes like drowned violets. He looked down at her, his own eyes hooded and enigmatic.
“It is time to go, child,” he said. “The unmasking is about to begin.”
“I say,” said Lord Harold Webb, a tall handsome buck to his weedy friend, Harry Russell, “tell me I’m seeing things. That demned pretty little French chit and that tall fellow with the yaller hair just walked through the wall behind those cursed palms.”
“You’re seeing things,” said Harry cheerfully. “Foxed again!”
Back in the hidden room, Alice pirouetted round and round to the sound of the music in her head, watched by the Duke, who was unloading the supper which he had stolen from the ball.
“You are ready to fly the coop and test your wings,” commented the Duke.
“When must I leave?” asked Alice, suddenly sad.
“Tomorrow.”
“So soon?”
“The sooner the better,” he said. “You must set up an establishment and find a respectable lady to live with you.”
“Why can’t you live with me?” Alice burst out.
“It would not answer,” he said angrily, uncorking a bottle of champagne with a brisk pop. “Whoever heard of anyone ever living with a ghost?”
“Whoever heard of a ghost?” said Alice gloomily. “I mean not the kind with chains and sheets, but a living ghost.”
“No one, fortunately,” he said amiably. “Perhaps I shall stay quietly here and write my memoirs. Come! Eat your supper. You will not wish to cling to me after you have a few handsome beaux in your train. I am the only person you have to take care of you at the moment, but you will soon forget me.”
“Never!” said Alice, her e
yes bright with tears.
“What a passionate child it is! Reserve your fervor for your husband. ’Fore George, you are become emotional! It is hunger, nothing more.”
“Don’t you have any feelings,” said Alice with a watery smile.
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “I did not leave anything at all behind me in the grave, it seems. I have come to the conclusion that I am a mistake of Time. For me, no angels sing or devils torment Voices do not reach me from above or below. Eat your food, do! I went into the family church last night to pray. I felt afraid all of a sudden of the supernatural which is odd, considering I am supernatural myself. Well, no great light shone on my road to Damascus.