Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Without waiting for a response, an unfamiliar male voice called, “Hackney’s here. Won’t be waiting long.”

  “Just a moment,” she called, her voice muffled as she dragged the costume over her head. She glanced around the room, looking for her dress. When she found it, she laughed again. The dress lay in an untidy pile, right where she’d dropped it. She would never have thought to look there. At home, one of the maids would always pick up after her, almost faster than she could drop things.

  Shaking her head, she pulled the dress on and tugged the laces as tight as she could, using her wrap to cover her clumsy work. She’d just have to change again anyway.

  “I’m ready,” she cried, bursting through the door at a run.

  “As if we care,” the other dancer said, shoving past Daphne into the dressing room.

  The rest of the dancers followed her, one shrugging. “Don’t mind her. Cynthia’s always like that,” the woman whispered, before pulling the door closed on all of them.

  Daphne’s mouth pulled into a half smile. At least they weren’t all nasty, she thought as she went to find her carriage and make her way back to Willem.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Daphne massaged her arches before slipping her feet into normal shoes, unable to keep the smile from her face even though her cheeks ached from it.

  “They love you. You should hear some of what they’re saying. Half the young lords are begging to meet you while the ladies color when they mention your grace.”

  In the dark carriage, Daphne blushed as she heard the echo of Monsieur Henre’s praise. It made the long nights and early mornings worth it.

  She smothered a yawn, her body protesting the week of hard work in the morning paired with long performances at night. Even her mother had commented that Daphne looked a bit worn the other day. Daphne tensed at the memory, but once again her mother’s focus on coming out remained dominant. She’d gotten off with a warning not to fall ill.

  Daphne leaned against the carriage wall as she tried to do her laces, her eyes slipping closed even though she struggled to stay awake.

  “My lady, we’re here,” Willem called down, his voice jerking her back to consciousness.

  Her fingers were tangled in the laces, and Daphne pulled hard enough to pinch as she tried to reach up and check her hair. She froze when a sharp sound echoed in her ears. One finger stung as if cut. A lace had snapped under her rough treatment.

  Still trying to wipe the sleep from her mind, she pulled the cloak around her, grateful most of the household would be out on visits of their own. If her luck held, no one would know about the snapped string until morning. She could always claim she’d broken it while getting undressed since she’d told the maid not to wait up for her.

  Willem opened the door and put his hand under her elbow without waiting for her to ask, supporting her first down the carriage step and then up to the house. As much as she knew she should pull away, Daphne couldn’t find the energy, barely managing to force one foot in front of the other.

  If anyone saw her now, they’d never imagine she could be the masked dancer all the ton seemed to be talking about. Even Grace had mentioned the phenomenon, though Mother hushed her quickly.

  Daphne’s lips curled in a smile as she remembered her mother’s ringing tones, “No one of our standing has any business being in a place such as that. I’ll not hear it spoken of at my table.”

  If only her mother knew.

  “Ah, there you are, dear.”

  Daphne froze, her hand on the clasp of her cloak, as her mother’s voice echoed not from the past but from the front parlor.

  “Well, Daphne? Don’t just stand there,” Lady Scarborough said. “Give up your cloak, and come and chat with me. You’ve been so busy with your new friends, I’ve hardly had a moment to speak with you.”

  The butler took her cloak before Daphne could protest, sweeping away her protection. Luckily, her mother had already turned back into the parlor.

  Glancing at her side, Daphne checked to see if her torn lace showed. Some of her tension drained when she could not see it, only to return when she considered what possibly could have made her mother cut her evening entertainment short just for this discussion.

  Her steps tentative, Daphne moved into the parlor, slipping into a chair and curling her legs under her.

  “I do hope you sit like a young lady when you’re at your friend’s house,” her mother said with a sharp tone. “You are much too old for such posture.”

  Daphne straightened abruptly, a blush staining her cheeks. She knew better than to sit so, but had been too worried to pay attention.

  Her mother’s sharply indrawn breath brought Daphne’s attention to the loose string, now dangling from her side. She gathered it up, trying to hide it from sight even though she knew it was too late.

  Tsking under her breath, Lady Scarborough shook her head. “And see what your childish posture has done?” she asked. “Though that more than anything makes what I have to tell you essential.”

  Daphne had relaxed just slightly when her mother credited the sitting position for the torn lace, but at the added words, she sat ever so much straighter, feeling tension bind her shoulders. She wanted to roll her shoulders and release the muscles as she’d been trained, but knew the dancer’s move would only enrage her mother.

  Lady Scarborough smiled. “Now don’t look like a fox facing the pack of hounds. You should be delighted with my offer. I’m planning to take you on a shopping expedition on the morrow.”

  Daphne pasted a smile on her face but inwardly she cried out in protest. “In the morning, Mother?” she asked, forcing her voice into a semblance of joy.

  “As soon as we’re done with breakfast.”

  Before Daphne could relax at the partial reprieve, her mother shook one finger toward her daughter. “And no coming in after the rolls have cooled. I expect you to be up and ready by ten and no later.”

  Daphne smiled again, smothering a groan. Her mother rarely started breakfast before eleven and didn’t show any signs of surprise when Daphne came in at noon for the meal. She’d lose clear half of her practice time. A yawn stretched her face, breaking through her agitation with the reminder of her exhausted state. She’d lose her afternoon nap as well, the way her mother liked to consider all dress styles. No doubt Lady Scarborough expected her to beg off going to Penelope’s house tomorrow, but she could not disappoint Monsieur Henre.

  That thought brought forth her first honest smile. Disappointment might have been the worry when he’d been her teacher, but now he employed her services and could just as easily send her on her way, dreams crushed. He had no care for her mother’s desires, only that the theater beyond the stage remained packed.

  Daphne couldn’t help but be surprised at how her image of her dance instructor had changed now that she saw him as a businessman. He’d gone from beloved teacher to harsh taskmaster, leaving as little taste of his former self as she kept the look of a lady when she stepped onto his stage. She’d do anything to keep her place, and if that meant dancing when she could barely keep her eyes open, so be it.

  She yawned again, finding the effort to raise her hand too much.

  “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” her mother asked with an indulgent expression. “All these late nights begin to wear on a girl, even one as young as you. You don’t want to peak too soon, my dear.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Daphne managed, grateful she’d been forgiven for her inelegance without another lecture. Her eyes drooped shut and she tensed her neck to keep upright.

  Lady Scarborough tapped her on the knee. “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see you spending time with girls your own age and preparing for the same wondrous event. I know you’ve never liked our shopping expeditions,” she added, showing a surprising amount of perception, “but you can’t keep wearing the same old rags. Your father has enough to deal with without worrying about rumors started by your lack of fashion sense. They’ll
think we’re in the poor house. And don’t for one moment believe word wouldn’t race around faster than you could blink. Penelope’s a sweet girl and her mother’s a dear, but her sister is all that’s gone wrong with the young of our set.”

  Jerking her head up after a nod that threatened to turn into deep sleep, Daphne blinked at her mother as if echoing the statement.

  “Don’t you worry. Just stay by Penelope and keep clear of those others. I’m sure the good from all this greatly outweighs any chance that my daughter would be influenced by those uncouth gossipmongers. It means so much to see the light back in your eyes.”

  Daphne forced herself not to flinch as her mother came to stand by her chair, putting a soft hand under her chin. Guilt cut through any protest she might have made. She’d never considered the costs of her deception, the hopes she’d raised. “I won’t,” she stammered. “I won’t be influenced by them, I promise.” Not that she could be, having only gone the once. At least she could keep one promise. “And I’ll enjoy shopping with you, Mother,” she added, swearing to herself that she’d enjoy it even if the effort killed her. She couldn’t give up the dance, but at least she could do this one little thing for her mother.

  Lady Scarborough glanced at the mantle clock just as it started its short pattern of chimes. “Tsk. Would you look at the time? If you’re to come down in the morning without looking haggard, you’d best be up in your bed.” A smile softened her sharp tones. “Do go on now. We’ll have time enough to talk tomorrow.”

  Grateful to be excused, Daphne rose and pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “Until the morning then,” she said, turning toward the door.

  “Sleep well,” Lady Scarborough called after Daphne.

  The gentle words followed her up to her room where she fell onto her bed, lacking the energy to do more than loosen her stays. Just before dropping off, she thought how much easier it must have been for the dancer in her book. Having a loving family could only be a burden when she had to deceive them. Daphne wished more than anything for the chance to show her parents, to show Grace, how well she danced and how much it meant to her.

  A tear slipped down her cheek. Her family must never know. If ever they found out, they’d be crushed, their reputation destroyed. The guilt she felt now would be nothing compared to how she’d feel should her actions become known.

  Wet lashes pressed against her face as Daphne slipped into exhausted slumber filled with dreams of dancing her heart out only to lift her mask and stare directly into her mother’s horrified expression.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she muttered, thrashing against the binding sheets. “I only wanted to dance.”

  WHEN DAPHNE WOKE TO THE sunlight glaring across her face, she dragged herself up to start her morning routine. Only after she put on her practice dress, did she remember most of today would be lost.

  She rushed through her morning wash, determined to get in stretches and some basic routines before she had to dress for the outing. Willem never came to join her, probably having heard about her mother’s plans. The sound of her panting breath and patter of her shoes against the floor provided unhappy accompaniment and did little to mask the boom of the longcase clock in the main hallway.

  Tension raced through her when the clock sounded nine, but she refused to stop. Then she stumbled when the quarter struck.

  “Enough,” Daphne growled, throwing her arms into the air in a final pose. Her mother could send someone to check on her at any moment and discover her practice.

  Gathering up her dress, she tugged it over her head and pulled the lacing tight enough for propriety if not elegance. The bustle as she slipped past the servant corridor warned her to take care. With the mistress of the house awake and about, everyone was even more determined to be seen at work, increasing the chances of her crossing paths and making the journey up to her room a tense adventure.

  “Ah, there you are,” her mother said as Daphne slipped into her seat at the table, this time properly attired as a young lady of her station. “I almost sent the upstairs maid after you. We have a lot to accomplish today.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Daphne answered, buttering a steaming roll. She let the rest of the conversation pass over her head, focusing on fueling her body enough so she could manage this trip without embarrassing herself. Depending on how long they stayed, she’d have little chance for a nap before it was time to dance.

  “Daphne? Daphne? Are you done yet? I swear, child, I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said.” Lady Scarborough clucked with her tongue. “You need some sunlight to wake you up, my dear.”

  With a nod to the footman, she signaled for warm cloths to wash their fingers and wipe the crumbs from their mouths.

  Daphne dabbed at her face, hurriedly pushing back her chair as her mother swept away from the table. Somehow, she imagined she’d be trailing after for most of the day.

  Willem gave her a wink as he handed the two of them into her father’s carriage, the coat of arms polished until it gleamed in the morning light. Daphne reminded herself that this outing was half for the show. If she could love twirling her skirts for an audience each night, surely she could keep a good face while being displayed for her mother’s friends.

  The trip to a row of small, tasteful shops took no time at all. Daphne smiled as they passed the bookshop, remembering her last visit and how her life had changed. She had yet to return the book, unwilling to be parted.

  Lady Scarborough laid a hand on Daphne’s knee and squeezed gently. “See, you can enjoy this if you try. Just imagine all the beautiful dresses and how your friend Penelope will gape. After all, the impressions you make now will determine how you start next season.”

  Daphne nodded, feeling the pinch of tension at her temples. How could her deception hold? And what would her family do when it came to light? Her stomach churned in time with the clop of horse hooves against the street. No matter what, she’d have to give up her love. This time was an idyll and couldn’t last. She would be discovered and hadn’t the strength to abandon her family like the unnamed dancer in her book.

  Despair made her shoulders curl and her mouth pulled down at the sides, wiping out her attempt to keep a cheerful appearance.

  “Daphne! Sit up straight,” her mother commanded, rubbing chilly fingers against Daphne’s cheeks. “No frowns, not now, not ever. They’ll mar the beauty of your face faster than you can say ‘release the hounds.’”

  Struggling to obey, Daphne noticed the line between her mother’s eyebrows. She didn’t know whether to laugh or feel guilt at how she’d made her mother violate such an important rule. Pushing away the hands, she dragged a smile from the bottom of her heart and straightened her back.

  “There. Much better.” Lady Scarborough settled back on the seat across from Daphne, smoothing her own forehead with quick swipes of her fingers. “Nothing is so bad that a smile can’t solve, I’ve found.”

  Daphne raised her lips a little higher on her cheeks before turning to look out the window again, this time with her back pressed against the seat. A few moments later, the coach pulled to a stop in front of her mother’s dressmaker.

  Lady Scarborough flowed out of the coach and into the small shop like a waterfall, unstoppable and overwhelming. The dressmaker dropped the hem of the skirt she’d been working on and rushed toward Daphne’s mother, her face wreathed in smiles.

  “Oh, Madame. So good to see you here. Come for another ball gown?”

  Ignoring the whispered conversation as her mother leaned close and told the dressmaker exactly what they were looking for, Daphne wandered around the room, looking at the dresses hanging from special hooks. The styles seemed overblown to her and all required at least one other set of hands to put them on.

  “You have good bone structure,” the dressmaker said, appearing before her. “But you need more meat on your bones. Such a waif-look and people will think your parents starve you.”

  Lady Scarborough laughed, the sound more annoyed than anyt
hing. “She eats. She eats more than her sister. I can’t quite understand why my little girl looks the way she does.”

  Daphne hid a smile as the two women exchanged an exasperated glance. Practice and performances had replaced what little cushioning she’d had with taut muscle, emphasizing her natural tendency toward being lean.

  “Tsk, tsk. Well, we’ll do what we can. If she carries herself with poise, maybe others won’t notice how her cheeks seem sunken.”

  Turning away from the renewed discussion, Daphne saw the girl standing on a raised block, still waiting for her dress to be hemmed. A flicker of light made the girl look like Penelope.

  Daphne stepped closer, her heart pounding as she waited for the greeting.

  The girl offered a shy smile then looked away, but not before Daphne noticed her hair secured in a simple bun and the lack of rouge on her cheek. Of course. The dressmaker would never have abandoned a girl of Penelope’s standing even to greet Lady Scarborough.

  “How long do you think you’ll have to wait?” she asked the girl with a smile.

  The girl giggled, then forcibly restored a serious expression. “I don’t mind the wait,” she said, her tone firm.

  Daphne shook her head. “I’d be impatient to move and my legs would grow tired.”

  Dimples marked both of the girl’s rounded cheeks as her smile widened. “That’s why I have this job. So ladies like you don’t get impatient.” A blush added color where before the girl’s face had been pale as the girl realized her impertinence. “Your pardon,” she whispered, making an awkward curtsy.

  “You have it,” Daphne whispered back, knowing full well she couldn’t claim no offense. The girl wouldn’t believe her and would spend the rest of the time waiting for the dressmaker to fire her. Little did this girl know she spoke to someone who also worked at a profession, if not for the same reason.

  Daphne moved away, realizing she had no right to engage a shop girl in conversation. Her mother would be sure to offer a lecture in proper etiquette when they returned to the carriage.