by Tessa Candle
“Only one way to find out.” Rosamond returned to the platters of food, picked up a dish and began selecting meat and bread and a bit of puddling, making chatter with another two women who had arrived to fill their plates.
Eleanor hung back and watched her friend speaking and joking, just as though she had been born into the same class as the others. And they were none the wiser. The marchioness was a wonder to behold in action. She betrayed not a whit of the self-consciousness which plagued Eleanor. How could she so quickly fall into her role? Practice, Eleanor supposed. But there must also be some innate talent for dissembling, which might be off-putting in another, but in Rosamond it was utterly charming.
“Here.” Rosamond returned to Eleanor and held out her plate. “You can share some of mine. This pork is delicious.” She pinched up a piece and enfolded it within a strip of bread, swirling it in some gravy before popping it in her mouth.
“It smells very good.” Eleanor conceded. She had not intended to eat anything, but it was best to blend in. She took up a little of the pork and bread and ate it. Then she resigned herself to sipping the rum punch as inconspicuously as possible. It was delicious.
“There,” said Rosamond as she finished the last of the meal and found the table where the used plates were stacked. “And neither of us has turned to a pillar of anything. Indeed, I feel quite liberated.”
The din in the next room became more pronounced as the tables and chairs were moved about.
“Shall we go through?” suggested Eleanor, forgetting her new role as a working woman, who would never go through.
“Let’s go find good spots to watch the dancing.” Rosamond ignored Eleanor’s lack of acting ability, and pulled her along by the hand.
A pianoforte which had seen better days was lifted into place. The player seated himself and, pronouncing it to be in tune, began warming up, which signalled the eager dancers to take their places.
Rosamond shuffled Eleanor over to a corner with a few empty chairs where they seated themselves.
This made Eleanor feel less conspicuous, but she found she and Rosamond would not remain unnoticed for long, as men came to ask for dances. Eleanor declined, but Rosamond, recognizing one as a footman from the neighbouring Blackwood estate, consented to a dance, and with a mischievous wink at Eleanor, was swept up into the line.
It was amusing that the man did not know he was dancing with a marchioness, and Eleanor stared in fascination at how plausibly Rosamond stepped, turned, clapped and went down the line, looking just as though she was part of this world.
Her thoughts were broken by a voice in her ear. “Well, I should never have expected to see you here. I am glad to see you have lost all that horrid powder and have permitted your hair to show its natural colour.”
A jolt of alarm went through her as she turned to see the white-toothed workman, dressed much more genteelly, looking cleaner. Still, he somehow blended in with the other party-goers and seemed completely at his ease.
She must be the only fish out of water here. Standing as close as he was, he made her quite aware of just how good he smelled.
Eleanor felt set upon the wrong foot as she tried to devise a smart retort. “I suppose I should not be surprised at your showing up.” She paused to think of something scathing to say, then thought the better of it. He might be a very dangerous character, and she was in a precarious spot at the moment. He might not know precisely who she was, but he probably was aware that she was not what she was currently pretending to be.
“Why would I not? Here you sit looking so very grave at all the dancers that they might become self-conscious, then feel inferior, then who knows but that they might go home and hang themselves? Someone has to lighten your mood before your dark looks cast a pall of gloom over the whole assembly. I am always at the ready to avert such tragedies.”
He sounded like a lord, but that did not mean she was at all safe. Yet his insolence made her wish to take a little skin off of him. “And you think being accosted by you will cheer me? Singular expectation.”
He walked around to stand before her and extended his hand. “I meant to ask you for a dance.”
This shocked her into stunned silence for a few moments. It also made her heart beat faster, which was most irritating. She intended to make a tart reply, but his face, as he stood there, inviting her to stand up with him seemed strangely open. It did not hold the mocking smile that she had seen before. It was really quite sweet. “I am not much of a dancer, in any case, but I do not know how one performs these country dances.”
“Oh that does not signify! Skip a bit and clap your hands when the others do.” He made a jaunty pantomime of the dance. “And when you get to the top of the line, take my hands and go down to the end. You will pick it up in a trice.”
As much as holding his hands might be nice—where had that foolish thought come from?—she did not relish the idea of making a cake of herself by stumbling about among the dancers.
She must have given him a sour look, though it was not her intention. His own face changed, and the teasing smile returned. “Do not trouble your thoughts about making a spectacle. No one will be looking at you when she is on the floor.” He tossed his head in the direction of Rosamond.
He had a point. Rosamond did indeed look lovely, graceful, joyous and entirely within her element. Then another face in the crowd caught Eleanor’s eye, and her heart sunk. It was Auchdun. He did not appear to be the least bit merry and was marching about like a tyrant looking for all the world like he meant to put an end to the festivities.
“There, there.” The man misinterpreted her facial expression. “No need to be jealous. I asked you after all, and not her.”
Such arrogance. However, at least he appeared, in his clumsy way, to be flirting with her, and not trying to menace her or find out what she knew about the cave incident. Maybe he was innocent in the matter after all. But whatever the case, Eleanor did not wish to stay and chat. Auchdun was here, and she had to leave.
Eleanor did not reply, but trained her attention on Rosamond, hoping to catch her eye. She was finishing her dance and slipping away to go felicitate the circulating bride and groom. Good. Surely we will leave after that. Rosamond would not wish to make anyone ill at ease with her presence, now that she had had her fun. So Eleanor would be rid of the man, and of Auchdun. Then she could return to Fenimore and finally have a word with Frobisher.
Just at that moment, Auchdun’s irritated gaze swept her way. She stood up and drew closer to the man, to be out of the lord’s line of view. But as she peeked around his muscular form, she saw that Auchdun still looked in her direction. She had to get away from that part if the room. “I believe there is a place left at the end of the line. Let us go see how many hems I can tread upon and ankles I can break.”
“Capital.” He led her to the floor as she engaged in the contortions of spying on Auchdun from the corner of her eye, while striving to keep her face turned from him. “I shall keep a tally.”
The dance was not as bad as she thought, but she could never enjoy it while trying to keep watch over Auchdun’s movements. He was speaking angrily with a man in a rumpled looking suit, perhaps the master of the festivities. Then this man shook his head and stormed off, only to return with another man, who seemed to be trying to placate Auchdun. Probably the innkeeper. Good. Give the prat what he wants and send him on his way.
“Do you intend upon chatting with your smitten dance partner, or shall you continue to cast coquettish looks at that lord who so eloquently proposed to you this morning?”
She stole a glance at the man and saw that his look was pure satire, but a sort of challenge gleamed in his eye. What a perplexing person he was. What sort of gauntlet did he mean to cast down?
She did not have time for him and returned to watching Auchdun, saying in a bored tone, “Is it the custom to talk while jigging about like this? I am afraid I do not have the breath for it.”
Auchdun was now gesturing at th
e pianoforte angrily. The man he spoke to gazed downward and looked quite sad. This continued for some time, and Eleanor imagined what a catechism the poor innkeeper was being treated to.
They were gradually moving their way up the line and would soon be at the top. Eleanor cursed herself for using the dance as a hiding place. It was almost the worst possible mode of concealment. Why had she not just slipped away and left for the refreshment room? Eleanor examined her motives and realized with dismay that she had wanted to stay close to the man. What was wrong with her? Was she thinking of him as her protector?
She spared a look at her dance partner. His white teeth gleamed in the candle light as he grinned and returned her gaze, though his icy blue eyes remained inscrutable. A spark ran through her line of symmetry. He unsettled her. She ought not to trust this man, but for some reason she did.
All this came as a mortifying realization, but her more immediate problems gave her an excuse to put it out of her mind. The revolving line was moving her ever closer to the place where Auchdun and the innkeeper were holding conference.
“Hmmm,” said her partner as they made a little a-la-main-droit. “I cannot see how that idiot has held your attention all this time. But if you should like to exchange partners, I shall take no offense. You two are practically engaged, after all.”
Afraid to say anything as they drew nearer to Auchdun, she satisfied herself with giving the man a pox-upon-you-and-all-your-descendants look, and then peeked at Auchdun and trained her ear to pick out his conversation with the innkeeper.
“I am very sorry, my lord. It pains me so—you cannot imagine how deeply it grieves me to disoblige your lordship in the least thing, but the wedding fête has been ordered by the Marquess Fenimore, himself.” He shrugged helplessly. “And his lordship arranged it ever so long before your lordship arrived here.”
Auchdun straightened and puffed out his chest, as though the mention of the marquess was only a further affront. “It is the Marquess Fenimore’s fault that I am lowered to staying in a mere inn—well, him and that Duke of Bartholmer. Both of them just throw off old acquaintances without a thought. They have most inhospitable manners. I may not be a duke or what have you, but I am a peer of the realm.” He said this loudly and looked around the room, as though daring anyone to contradict it, but no one was paying much attention, except Eleanor and the innkeeper.
“And I am not accustomed to such shoddy treatment. This infernal racket of debauchery has already disrupted my scriptural devotions, and that is on your head, if you have a jot of Christian sensibility. But now it threatens to impinge upon my hours of rest, and I must demand that—” He stopped abruptly as Eleanor reached the top of the line, and he caught sight of her.
She tried to keep her face turned down, and wished to rush back down the line, but there were still four more passes and plenty of clapping to do before she could escape by that means.
“Lady Eleanor?”
She tried not to flinch. Maybe if she did not respond, he would think he was mistaken and continue upon his tirade. She reminded herself to clap instead of using her hands to pummel the highly amused face of her dance partner.
“Lady Eleanor of Grendleridge?” The man was an absolute horror with his styles of address.
She kept her face turned away and did not look at either of the men she was now wishing to the devil, but the amusement of her dance partner was as palpable as heat radiating from a fireplace. He took her hands and they finally skipped down the line, away from Lord Auchdun.
When she reached the end, she broke form and slipped away from the dance without looking back, putting as many people between herself and Auchdun as she could. She skirted the wall and made her way out of the dancing room, back through to the refreshments area, then onward into the entrance chamber.
Should she find her way to the carriage without Rosamond? She did not relish walking out alone after dark. She should find somewhere out of the way to wait until Rosamond was done, or until Auchdun cleared out. Eleanor hurried—almost ran—through the entrance hall and into a back work area. A small shadowy staircase caught her eye and, hearing footsteps in the entrance chamber at her back, she rushed down it into the shadows.
When she tried the door at the bottom, it was locked. Some luck she was having this day. Eleanor reached up and felt around the top of the lintel, hoping a key might be stowed there. Her hand found nothing.
She could hear the steps approaching on the floor above her and tried to breathe as quietly as possible, which was agonizing when her heart pounded so. She turned to watch and see if her persecutor would enter the upper room. At least she was obscured in darkness. A man’s form loomed at the top of the staircase and moved past.
Then he came back and only paused for a moment before descending the stairs. All the hairs stood up on Eleanor’s arms. This was a bad place to be caught alone. She braced herself.
The shadow figure moved hastily and was beside her in a moment. Eleanor was relieved to hear that it was not Auchdun, as she had dreaded, when he stage whispered, “Ah good. You are here. I have the keys.”
He pushed her aside to access the door, not violently, but neither was he especially gentle, and fumbled around until he got the key into the lock. When he pushed the door open he murmured, “Ha! Not even locked after all. Just sticks a bit. Well come on. Get in before someone else comes.” It was the voice of the man with the glimmering white smile.
She did as he bid, without thinking. As she slipped inside and he closed the door quickly behind them, Eleanor was plunged suddenly into darkness. She should be terrified, and yet, in the absence of light, a strange calm came over her—a comingling of her senses made the darkness a blanket of silence. The air was still as she strained to hear something from the man. She was alone and unchaperoned in a closed, dark cellar, with a man whose name she did not even know.
Yet instead of being frightening, it felt almost magical to be so near him, and to be so quiet, alone and deprived of vision. This counterpane cast over the senses was comforting, liberating, like a masquerade where all was permissible so long as one’s identity was set aside. However she remained very aware of his scent—fresh air, citrus and cardamom. It made her wish to draw nearer to him, which surprised her. It should bother her more to be alone with him in such a place.
She knew she should say something, but as she parted her lips, he suddenly spoke. “So what did you find out?”
Eleanor was puzzled. What could he possibly mean?
While she was contemplating what sort of answer to give, another woman’s voice replied, “What, not so much as a hello darling how are you?”
Eleanor was startled and mortified that she was now audience to a secret meeting. She suppressed the groan that rose up from somewhere deep. And what sort of secret meeting it must be! Of course that was why he was here. This was not something she wished to witness, even under the cover of darkness. But how could she possibly escape now without revealing her presence?
The possibilities before her seemed equally distasteful. She quietly took a step back away from the other voice, as panic washed over her.
He must have mistaken Eleanor for this woman when he saw her in the gloom of the staircase. Yet if it were a tryst, surely they could find a better place than this, and surely he would not begin the encounter with such a strange question.
The man replied in a bored tone, “Right then. Hello darling how are you? Now what did you discover?”
The woman’s voice was sullen but bore a practiced sensuality that made it flirtatious as she huffed, “Oh, very well, if you want to be all business. I found out that she’s keeping the child somewhere in London.”
He snorted in disdain. “That is not very helpful, is it, Lucy? I mean of all the places she could be keeping the child, London was the most likely. I do not need you to discover such obvious information.”
“Well it is what I found out, so I told you. Red Martha keeps tight lips on a tight ship, as you probably know.
It’s worth my life to just be talking to you. So where’s my money?”
The man grunted in disgust and Eleanor could hear the sound of a packet being passed. She cursed her bad luck. As horrid as listening to them fornicate in a cellar would have been, it would only be humiliating. This could be dangerous. Whatever they were doing must be illegal, or at least immoral and she really did not want to be caught spying on the transaction.
She could no longer deny that he was somehow involved with whatever was happening down at the pirate’s cave, too. He was that sort of man, it seemed, and she had been a fool to trust him as far as she had done. She fervently wished that she knew nothing about any of it. Yet here she stood right smack in the middle of things. How could she possibly get out of this mess?
“This feels rather light.”
“I agreed to pay you when you gave me the location of the child. Did you honestly think I would hand over that sort of money for ‘she is somewhere in England.’ That is about as much as you told me by saying she is in London.”
“This is not fair dealing.”
His voice was stern. “Oh, Miss Delight, I agree, wholeheartedly. It certainly is not. I have handed over good money for no information at all. I am an utter fool to do it. But now you have enough pay to convince your employer that you came out here to entertain some gentleman, plus a little for yourself, besides. If you want the rest, I want the precise location of the girl.”
“How am I supposed to find that out? Red Martha kills people that know too much. Do you want my blood on your head?”
“Not especially. So don’t get killed. Just get what I need to know. If you cannot find it out, you might as well say so now and stop wasting my time.”
The woman muttered something under her breath and shuffled towards the door.
Eleanor hoped she was standing far enough out of the way that they would not collide as she passed. She shuffled backward in an unconscious impulse.
“Don’t you want to count it?” There was a strange tone in the man’s voice. Had he heard her movement?