Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  Whoever it was under that chilling mask, his very touch had made her skin crawl, and now she was chasing him into the shadows of Rosehill? What was she even planning to do if she caught up with him? But if she didn’t follow him, how would she get answers to the questions racing through her mind? Like who he was, how he knew her, and what exactly he claimed to have warned her against.

  Isla slipped off her heels, and carrying them in one hand, she tiptoed across the hall, and into the dark, narrow corridor leading to the servants' quarters.

  The corridor was unlit. No one would be back here, Ethan had forbidden the guests to wander, and besides, it looked about as uninviting as a place could be. Cold, dark, eerie...and she was creeping along it, in search of a masked stranger who’d just cornered her in a cloakroom. What was wrong with her?

  Isla felt as though she was watching herself in a play. That the real Isla was sitting safely in the audience, yelling at this version of herself to turn around, go back, give up before it was too late, but still, she crept forward, her toes curling against the cold floor.

  The corridor was lined with doors, and the jester could be behind any one of them. But was he lying in wait? Or hiding? Isla’s heart hammered at the thought either way, but it seemed like an important distinction. After all, if he’d wanted to hurt her, he could have done it back in the cloakroom, but he hadn’t. So what did he want? Had he intended for her to follow him? Was his plan to lure her back here all along? Or was he hiding, afraid of what she might uncover if she caught up with him...like his true identity?

  Isla closed her hand around one of the door handles and shoved hard. The door rattled in its frame, but it was locked. From the outside, or the inside? Isla pressed her ear to the door, listening for sounds of movement within. Nothing. She took a step backwards and cocked her head at the next door along. She’d try them all if she had to. She wanted answers.

  Then she heard it. Harsh whispers in the dark.

  “I cannae do this anymore, it’s too much.”

  The accent was instantly familiar, and a jolt of recognition surged through Isla.

  “You want to end it?” A second male spoke.

  The voices were coming from the kitchen. A dull yellow light glowed at the end of the corridor, suggesting that the door was open, but the speakers were hidden by a bend in the corridor. Isla flattened her back to the wall and crept closer.

  “No! That wasnae what I meant. We have to tell him.”

  “But what about everything you said? All the reasons we shouldn’t?...”

  “Fuck it. Fuck them. I was wrong.” The original speaker sounded desperate now, and Isla knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who it was. Her pulse raced and her mouth went dry.

  “You’re afraid.”

  Isla jumped, thinking the second speaker was talking to her, but she was still hidden, out of sight of the two men and their whispered conversation.

  “Yes, I’m terrified, okay? I’m sick of sneaking around. Besides, don’t you think he knows already?”

  “No...but I think she does.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I amnae sure of anything, anymore, but how could she not, when we know about them?”

  Isla swallowed hard. There was no doubt in her mind that they were talking about her and Ethan, and there was little doubt either, who they were. Isla peered around the corner, gripping the stone wall with her fingertips.

  The blue figure in the kitchen doorway shifted, revealing the other speaker. He wore a dazzling white tuxedo, his dark hair was slicked back, and a black devil mask covered his eyes, but Isla knew at once who he was, and that she’d been right. Her stomach flipped.

  Ryder pushed the blue eye mask up onto his head, where it sat against his short, blonde hair.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “If it’s what you want. You know I will.” Ryder braced his hands either side of the doorjamb, and leant forward, until his face was hovering above the other guy’s, their noses almost touching. Isla leant her forehead against the cool stone wall and watched Ryder pressed his lips to the devil’s, and Connor tilted his head and kissed him back.

  *

  Ryder and Connor? Connor and Ryder? Their names swirled together in Isla’s head as she tiptoed back along the corridor, bypassing every room she’d promised herself she’d search for the mysterious jester. Unless...had she already found him? Her heart thundered against her ribs as she considered the possibility that either Connor or Ryder could be him.

  All it would take was the swapping of a mask, the untying of a cape, and they’d easily have had time to do that whilst she’d dithered in the hall...but the conversation she’d overheard had sounded like the end of something longer, as though they’d been arguing in the kitchen long before she’d arrived. But she couldn’t be sure of that, or anything. She’d gone in search of answers and only found more questions.

  In the hall, Isla slipped her shoes back onto her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the bannister. She craned her neck up at the shadowy staircase, feeling the hidden gaze of the hundreds of portraits staring down at her. The grandfather clock chimed ten.

  What should she do? Isla thought about finding Ethan, and telling him what she’d seen, but what had she discovered exactly? That his brother was gay? She suspected that given how close he and Connor were, Ethan must already know that. So what, then? That Connor and Ryder were close? In a relationship? All she’d witnessed was a kiss. For all Isla knew, that could have been their first one.

  Besides, it wasn’t the image of Ryder’s mouth crashing against Connor’s that was bothering her. It was the intensity of their conversation, and the fact she’d chased the jester down a dead-end, but found the two of them instead. But the figure beneath the cape was too lean to be Ryder, surely? And there was no way Connor could have hidden his accent so well...was there?

  “Isla?” Connor stepped out of the shadows. Alone. He seemed to sense her reticence and lifted his devil mask. “It’s me, Connor. Il Diavolo.” He grinned. “I’m so glad that you came. You look fantastic.”

  Isla gave a weak smile. “Thanks.”

  Connor’s brow creased. “Is something wrong?”

  Isla listened carefully to the inflection of his words. His accent was so distinctive, how could he possibly have disguised it?

  “Not at all.” Isla glanced over her shoulder, at the staircase. “Have you seen your brother?”

  Connor shook his head. “No, but Ryder has. He’s fine, Isla. Not happy with me, but then what else is new?”

  “I was thinking about going to talk to him…” Isla trailed off.

  Connor re-tied his mask in place. “Well, that seems like an excellent idea. But first, let’s get you a drink.”

  *

  The ballroom was hot, and bright after the cold, dark hallway, and Isla felt instantly on display as heads turned to watch her and Connor cross the room. Clearly, they were all wondering who she was, and why she was arm-in-arm with the host. Isla was wondering the same thing herself.

  “Where are we going?”

  Connor swept two champagne glasses from a passing tray and handed one to her. “I want to introduce you to someone.”

  Isla gulped at the champagne greedily, bubbles popping at her nose. Should she confess? Tell him what she’d heard...and seen? She glanced sideways at Connor and the devil glanced back.

  “My parents,” he said.

  “What?” Isla sputtered, choking on her champagne. “Where?”

  Connor patted her lightly between her bare shoulder blades. Isla jumped, recalling the feel of leathery fingers, gripping her chin, but there was no sense of wrongness when Connor touched her. It was the light, casual, touch of a concerned acquaintance, nothing more. But how could she be sure?

  “Connor, I can’t-” Isla came to a standstill in the centre of the room, and Connor turned to face her. The string quartet had upped the tempo of the music, and people were beginning to dance. Couples swirled around her in a blur of coloured
fabric, feathers and jewels, spinning away again, making her dizzy. Isla took a deep breath, aware of several pairs of eyes on her.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll love you-” Connor smiled devilishly.

  “It’s not that. It’s…” Isla struggled for how to explain the chaos in her mind, as she tried to make sense of who she could trust and who she couldn’t in this stifling, glittering, wonderland where nothing and no-one was quite what they seemed.

  A Pierrette in a black gown twirled by in the arms of a highwayman, laughing from behind her shiny, white mask, as a painted black tear rolled from one eye.

  “Excuse me, I need some air.” Isla pushed past Connor, making a beeline for the terrace doors, murmuring apologies as she fought her way through the crowded ballroom.

  She caught a glimpse of the moonlit terrace through the translucent black curtains and felt a waft of the cool breeze as she neared the doors. Almost there.

  She ducked through the layers of diaphanous fabric covering the doorway and crashed headlong into something - or rather someone - solid, on the other side.

  “Ooft.” Isla looked up into yet another masked face. But this one, she recognised instantly.

  She shouldn’t have. Not with his hair tied back in a black ribbon, and the hard line of his jaw smooth. Above his black bow-tie, Isla noticed a slash of red across his Adam’s apple where he’d cut himself shaving. His mask was a deep burnished silver, curving around the sides of his face and partially covering his nose. An intricate pattern of swirls had been etched into the metal, like a parody of the scars beneath it. She caught a flicker of dark eyes through the gaps in the silver.

  “You’re here,” she said, not quite believing it, even as she did.

  Ethan’s lips parted in surprise. “Isla?”

  The gauze curtains fell into place around them, trapping Isla and Ethan between worlds. The hot, undulating ballroom at her back, and the still, dark night at his.

  “But...how are you here?” Isla murmured, not yet trusting her senses.

  Ethan cocked his head. “I live here, remember?”

  “But you said-”

  “I changed my mind,” Ethan said.

  “But...why?”

  “Ryder-”

  Isla pulled back, to look up at him. “You changed your mind because of Ryder?”

  Ethan’s mouth tugged up at one corner. “You didnae let me finish. Ryder came to tell me that you were here. He said you looked beautiful and were standing alone in a ballroom full of people you didnae ken, drinking champagne, and that if I didnae get my arse down here, I was a bigger idiot than he’d realised.”

  “He didn’t say that. I don’t believe you.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Believe me or no...it’s true.” He pulled her closer. One hand gripped his cane, the other circled her waist, his thumb stroking over the lace bodice of her dress. “What about you? Why did you come?” he asked, suddenly serious.

  “Connor invited me.”

  Ethan’s smooth brow furrowed above his mask. “You came because my brother asked you to?”

  “I came because your brother told me that you wanted me here,” Isla corrected.

  “Isla, I’m sorry.” Ethan clenched and unclenched his jaw. “I do. It’s the rest of it I dinnae want. I’ve spent years hiding from the world, from my past, and now it’s all in there, waiting for me.” He brushed one hand over the black voile that swathed their bodies. Livid bruises covered his knuckles.

  Isla placed her palm against the breast pocket of Ethan’s tuxedo. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I do.” Ethan folded his cane and held out his arm to her.

  Isla rested her hand in the crook of his elbow and lifted the veil of curtain. “Ready?”

  “No.” Ethan’s honesty made Isla’s heartache. “Just dinnae leave me, okay?”

  “I won’t,” Isla promised.

  The dancing was in full swing, with half the guests now on their feet, crowding the centre of the ballroom. On the plus side, it meant that few people noticed Isla and Ethan when they stepped in from the terrace. Isla steered Ethan to the edge of the room. She caught the eye of a passing waiter and took two champagne flutes from the tray he was carrying, handing one to Ethan.

  He brought it to his nose. “I dinnae drink champagne.”

  Isla awkwardly placed it back on the tray with an apologetic smile at the waiter.

  “Can I get you something else, sir?” he asked.

  “Whisky. Neat.”

  The waiter nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Getting into the party spirit, I see,” Isla teased, but when she looked up at Ethan, she wished she hadn’t. His jaw was rigid, the tension in him palpable.

  “Ethan,” she murmured, squeezing his elbow. “Do you want to just leave? No one’s seen us, we can go back outside-”

  “No,” Ethan’s voice was low and unwavering.

  The waiter was back with Ethan’s drink. To Isla’s surprise, Ethan reached into the pocket of his tux jacket and slid a folded tip into the young waiter’s hand. “Keep them coming.”

  “Aye, sir. Thank ye.” The young lad scampered off.

  “Very smooth,” Isla commented. “I could almost believe you’ve done that before.”

  “I wasnae always a hermit.”

  No, he’d once been a property magnate, and the life and soul of the party, apparently. Isla shook the thought away. “So you’re going to drink your way through this?”

  “Well, I amnae doing it stone-cold sober.” Ethan swilled the scotch around his glass. “Though if it’s my brother’s choice, I’m willing to bet this willnae be as good as the stuff we had last night.”

  Isla’s face heated at the memory.

  “Ethan, brother, you made it!” Connor was moving through the crowd towards them, his mask pushed back onto the top of his head, the devil staring up at the ceiling.

  He gave Isla a curious glance when he reached them, no doubt wondering why she’d run away from him earlier, but quickly turned his attention to Ethan, slapping him on the shoulder.

  “It’s so good to see you here.”

  “Alright Connor, I came downstairs, that’s all, dinnae overdo it.”

  But they all knew it was much more than that.

  “Aye, well it makes a change to see you in something other than scruffs, anyway. He scrubs up well, doesn’t he?” Connor winked at Isla, and she felt her cheeks growing warm again.

  “He does,” she agreed. It was the understatement of the year, but she didn’t think Ethan would appreciate her waxing lyrical about how good he looked when he already looked like he was wishing he’d installed a secret trapdoor beneath this very spot.

  “Connor!” A woman holding an emerald green mask up to her face dropped it and waved frantically across the room.

  Connor groaned slightly but gave a half-hearted wave back.

  The woman was already striding over, her dark curls bouncing on the top of her head. She looked about Isla’s age, but it was hard to tell from the haughty, put-upon expression she wore. She sighed wearily when she reached them and grasped at Connor’s arm.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you don’t have your mask on, I’d never have found you otherwise!”

  “What a shame that would have been,” Connor said gravely.

  The woman cackled as though he’d just made a hilarious joke, and Connor slid his mask back into place, but not before Isla caught his pained wince.

  “Ethan, Isla, this is Louisa. Lou works in the planning department, so we’ve been seeing rather a lot of each other lately.” He didn’t exactly sound happy about it.

  “Like that we are!” Louisa crossed two of her fingers over each other, and Connor choked on his champagne.

  “Well... not quite.”

  Louisa patted him between his shoulder blades.

  “Ye alright there, brother?” Ethan drawled.

  “Lou,” Connor said when he’d recovered. “This is my brother Ethan, and Isla Belmont.” He gesture
d.

  “Brother?” Louisa’s eyes went wide. “The one who-”

  “I only have one brother,” Connor said sharply.

  “Oh. Yes. Of course.” Louisa raised her mask to her face, but Isla could see her wide eyes and slack jaw, as she gaped from behind it. First at Ethan, then at her.

  Isla shifted fractionally closer to Ethan, as though she could shield him from Louisa’s stares. It wasn’t just her though, was it? Isla could feel several pairs of eyes on them. Her gaze flickered nervously around the room.

  “Are you having a nice time?”

  Isla turned her attention back to Louisa. Was it her imagination, or was she talking louder now?

  “We only just arrived,” Isla lied, flashing her the most polite smile she could manage.

  “Oh of course!” Louisa exclaimed, and Isla caught the flicker of a frown pass over Ethan’s face. It definitely wasn’t her imagination. Louisa was almost shouting now, and elongating each word. “It’s so brave of you to come at all, considering. I can’t even begin to imagine.” She placed her free hand on Ethan’s arm and he jerked back, sloshing whisky onto the jacket of his tux.

  “Shit.”

  Louisa withdrew her hand swiftly.

  Isla slammed her champagne flute onto the table beside her and snatched a handful of napkins. “Here.” She pressed them into Ethan’s hands.

  Connor shot her an apologetic glance. “Yes, well. Lou-” He took her by the elbow. “Let me introduce you to someone. I’m surprised you haven’t met before…” His voice was swallowed up by chatter as he steered Louisa away.

  “What the hell was that?” Isla stared after Connor as he led Louisa swiftly towards the terrace.

  “The first of many,” Ethan muttered, reaching for his glass, but finding it empty. He swore softly. “Do I look like someone who’s just spilled his drink all down himself?”

  “Honestly?” Isla bit her lip, and Ethan cocked his head, waiting. “Yes.”

  Ethan made an irritated noise in the back of his throat.

  “Here, let me try.” Isla blotted at the jacket of Ethan’s suit with a napkin, grateful to turn her back on the rest of the room. “What did you mean by the first of many?”