A Devilish Slumber

by Shereen Vedam

  “You were right.” Phillip brought up his speculation that someone else could have been there that fateful night.

  At that, Ben’s gaze returned to him with avid interest.

  “So, you, an amateur,” Phillip said with a tolerant smile, “taught a seasoned officer a valuable lesson. Things are not always what they seem.”

  “Do you still intend to seduce Lady Roselyn?”

  Phillip threw back his head and laughed. “But of course, lad. Considering her stubbornness and tendency to hide the truth, how else am I to convince her to speak to me? Besides, thoughts of seducing the lady are what soothe me to sleep each night.” He did not add, and have for years. It was depressing enough that he knew it to be true.

  “That is a terrible plan, sir.”

  “We shall see.” He pulled out the Lockhart invitation. “This is my entry to the masque tonight. In keeping a close watch over her at the ball, I can also ensure that only I occupy her thoughts the entire evening. By night’s end, the lady will be my willing partner to all I propose.”

  “You are confident of this?” There was a disapproving bite to Ben’s tone.

  “Tell me, Ben, was your father a country vicar? Is that where you picked up your high morals? You now reside in London, and in this city, if a woman is discreet, she may partake in the game of love. Even someone as highborn as Lady Roselyn Ravenstock.”

  “I doubt she would see the matter in such a light.”

  Phillip’s thoughts fled to the kiss they had shared, and a slow anticipatory smile crossed his lips. Ben’s principles be damned, he was looking forward to kissing Rose again, and more. If the lady’s ardent reaction to his advances were any indication, she, too, would enjoy his further explorations of her boundaries. “Take my word on this, lad. She will not regret the experience. I do, however, have a job for you.”

  “What? To scatter petals on your sheets. Ply her with warm brandy?”

  “I can take care of such matters. She has refused my escort. Therefore, you must follow her to the Lockharts. As well, while the ball is under way, stay close out front, in case I need your services.”

  Despite Ben’s lack of enthusiasm, Phillip obtained his assent. “What did you make of White’s?” he asked, changing the subject. “Besides my friends’ disagreeable conversation.”

  “It was an honor to be invited, sir. I hope you did not take my hasty departure for ingratitude. You are a kind gentleman.”

  “I am glad I have some redeeming qualities.”

  Ben looked as serious as ever. He smiled as rarely as Rose did. “I found White’s fascinating. I can well see what attracts bucks to the gaming tables. Watching card games played with such frenzy makes one want to join in.” His tone was animated.

  Phillip sat back and listened to Ben’s impressions of the establishment. The lad’s fresh viewpoint was entertaining. He determined, however, that Ben would not succumb to the gambling fever as so many young bucks did.

  Well pleased with their renewed friendship, Phillip bid the lad good day as they exited the tavern, his thoughts already straying to Rose. He walked to where a cab was parked, when a hushed conversation from within an alley caught his attention. He paused, hidden by the wall and peeked in. Three sailors were seated on the floor, a bottle being shared between them.

  “I swear I saw his face change,” a skinny fellow said, and took a gulp before passing the bottle to the man on his right.

  “Was he possessed?” his taller companion asked, his tone rising in pitch with his fear. “I hear of how a spirit inhabiting a body can make a man’s head spin like a top.”

  “Blimey!” the third man said, his eyes wide.

  “No, not spinning, just changing. One moment he had a long narrow nose and was clean-shaven, the next he had a full beard and a pudgy nose.” His voice dropped even lower. “That may be what happened on the Lady Tourville.”

  “What happened?” the tall one said.

  A man staggering down the pavement, stumbled into Phillip. “Here, guv, watch where you be standing. It be impolite to spy on people.”

  Phillip pushed him away and the man carried on down the pavement grumbling. When he checked back in the alley, the three men were running in the opposite direction, looking over their shoulders toward him.

  With a sigh, Phillip continued toward the hansom cab, but his mind was spinning. Surely that story was too far-fetched to be real. It must have been their bottle talking. Then he wondered what had happened onboard the Lady Tourville. He would send a note of inquiry to that vessel’s captain asking if anything unusual had occurred onboard. But he could not shake the conversation, for it explained Phillip seeing a woman identical to Rose on the night Mrs. Beaumont died. Someone enough like her to make him doubt Rose’s innocence.

  He gave instructions to the driver to take him to a costumer and climbed into the cab. Was he so desperate to clear Rose of this crime that he was grasping at straws? Ben was a sensible fellow. Next time he met him, he would discuss the possibility with the lad. If naught else, he would shine some clarity in Phillip’s muddied thinking. Apparently, love could royally mess up a fellow’s thoughts.

  ROSE RUSHED BACK to Mrs. Weatheringham’s house to dress for the masque. The day was fast escaping her, and, after collecting her costume, she needed to get home early enough to fashion a sturdy strap for the Cimaruta before her escorts arrived to whisk her off to the ball.

  She breathed a sigh of relief to hear her gown was already laid out upstairs. She hoped it would be a far cry from the obnoxious concoction Daniel had put together for her meeting with Phillip. Her unconventional bodyguard had deliberately chosen the most disreputable set of clothes he could lay his hands on. She cringed at what fastidious Phillip had thought of her malodorous and hole-ridden affair.

  On entering the upstairs bedroom, she exclaimed in joy at her first sight of the intricately designed golden ornament that would encircle her neck. And the gown was breathtaking.

  After a thorough wash to rid herself of the vile stench left by the horrid clothes Daniel had procured for her, she slipped on the silk gown. The soft material fell in waves of glory. Rose could not stop stroking the dress and exclaiming over the beautiful embroidery at the hems. Miss Wood hurriedly dressed Rose’s hair, pinning it so the wig of cropped straight black hair would lie flat. Next, her face was painted in elaborate shadows and dark colors before a simple slender mask was wrapped over the top half. Finally they affixed the neck ornament, being careful not to smudge the face paint.

  Rose stood back to study the full exotic effect. Altogether, her Cleopatra costume was enchanting. She smiled in delight. Phillip would approve.

  Thanking her friends, Rose hastened home. While the heavy traffic to and from the tavern had been frustratingly slow, her journey home was a complete disaster. An upturned carriage on the London Bridge had her stewing in her seat for over two hours.

  By the time the carriage began to move, she was hot under her wig, her mask had become itchy, and she was ready to abandon the entire ball idea. It was twilight by the time she reached her townhouse. She had barely set foot inside, however, before Hannah informed her that her guests were there and impatiently waiting for her to join them so they could depart for the ball.

  Rose told her to have them wait a little longer while she refreshed herself. She had to retrieve that amulet!

  She had only climbed three steps when the drawing room door burst open. Mrs. Rochester rushed out, along with Miss Warwick, both exclaiming about the hour’s lateness.

  “I am sorry, but I must get one more item from my chamber. I promise, I shall be right along.”

  She raced up the stairs to her room with Hannah hot on her heels. Rummaging in her dresser she unearthed the necklace. “Hannah, please help me put this on.”

  As hard as the two of them tried, they could not
get it under the wide neck ornament.

  “Lady Roselyn,” Miss Warwick called, her marching footsteps loud on the corridor outside.

  Rose panicked. The woman could be here any moment.

  “Milady,” Hannah whispered, as if she had somehow guessed that this necklace was not only important but a secret. “Perhaps you can carry it in your reticule?”

  “Brilliant thinking, Hannah, but in my rush, I left that in the carriage. Go and fetch it. Quickly.”

  “But your carriage left, milady. You are to travel in the two ladies’ vehicle. Perhaps we can find another bag to use.”

  The door slammed open and Rose spun around. The Cimaruta was still in Hannah’s hand, but the clever girl hid it behind her back.

  “What is keeping you, Lady Roselyn?” Miss Warwick asked, striding into the room as Mrs. Rochester stood in the doorway watching them.

  “We were just looking for a reticule,” Rose said.

  “You would look silly carrying anything with that costume.” Miss Warwick held out her hand. “Whatever you need, I can bring. My reticule matches my attire.”

  Rose went utterly still. Given a choice between handing the Cimaruta to Miss Warwick or allowing Hannah to keep possession of it, Rose’s path became clear. “You are correct, Miss Warwick. Nothing I have would be suitable to go with this wonderful gown. Hannah, tidy up before you leave.” She leaned in and whispered in the girl’s ear. “Keep it safe for me, please.”

  On the drive in Miss Warwick’s carriage, Rose sat silent, clenching and unclenching her fingers as she worried about leaving the Cimaruta behind. Now she had no choice but to rely on Phillip and Daniel to keep her safe.

  Her companions sat across from Rose. The younger was a lovely shepherdess in white and yellow, while the elder, in the guise of a fairy, retained an air of mystery in an embroidered dark green silk gown. The two women carried delicate peacock-feathered masks and appeared supremely sophisticated. Suddenly, Rose’s hand-made Cleopatra costume seemed less than adequate.

  One or the other of her companions was bathed in jasmine perfume. The sweet scent was so overpowering in the confinement of the carriage, it was hard to tell which lady wore it. Rose leaned closer to the open window and took in a deep breath of the refreshing cool air.

  Outside, crowded town houses gave way to stately manor homes spaced wider apart. These larger houses had vast intricately landscaped gardens and winding drives that led to elaborate front doors. By the time they arrived at the Lockhart residence, it was pitch black but for the many bright lanterns guiding grooms down the long drive. A pair of perfectly matched footmen in house colors ran to assist them from the carriage. Inside, the butler handed their cloaks to his subordinates, and led them up a set of curved stairs.

  The gilded chambers took Rose’s breath away. The ornate moldings and engraved panels on high ceilings took her back to a time years ago. Portraits crowded the brightly wallpapered walls. This was the life she had given up after her sister died.

  They arrived at a ballroom lit with several hundred candles. Dual columns supported an intricately carved fireplace mantel. Velvet-lined chairs and settees were positioned beside large urns of plants and flowers, all pushed to the edges to make room for dancing.

  The sheer number of guests who strolled from room to room attested to the event’s success. From a far corner in the main ballroom, an orchestra played the lilting tunes for a country-dance as people formed groups of four on the polished floor.

  Royal personages from centuries past danced with milkmaids and chimney sweeps. The Bard was present, and many of his fictional characters chatted to Greek gods and goddesses. For one magical night, different classes mingled in one harmonious group without repercussions.

  “Ladies,” Mrs. Rochester said, “does not the music make your toes curl in anticipation of dancing?”

  Rose nodded, for the festive mood brought back memories long buried. Eve had loved to dance. Her enthusiasm used to spill over onto Rose, whose shyness might have otherwise relegated her to wallflower status.

  Miss Warwick introduced Rose to Mrs. Lockhart and her two daughters. With that formality completed, Rose followed her two companions about the ballroom.

  “This is so exciting,” Miss Warwick said. “It is my very first masque. Mama would not have permitted me to come if not for Lavinia’s persuasive arguments.”

  “My pleasure,” her friend said.

  “Do you see Sir Phillip? Oh, how vexing that he would not tell us his costume.”

  Rose searched for Marcus Anthony but was no more successful at spotting him. There were certainly many ancient Roman officers present, but none with Phillip’s tall figure, bright sandy hair, and strong build.

  “I have a marvelous idea,” Mrs. Rochester said.

  “What?” Miss Warwick asked.

  “Let us spread the word that Lady Roselyn is here.”

  “No!” Rose said. “I do not care for that idea.” The last thing she wanted was to be the center of attention.

  “I see no merit in that plan either,” Miss Warwick said.

  “Do you not see its brilliance, my dears? We will set the on-dit for the party. Everyone will talk for the entire Season about how Miss Warwick and Mrs. Rochester reintroduced Lady Roselyn Ravenstock to society in the midst of the Lockhart masque. If we refrain from mentioning what costume she wears, Lady Roselyn will still have the anonymity she craves, while speculation will run rampant. Then, at evening’s end, Mrs. Lockhart, with us beside her, shall unveil you and present you to all her guests.”

  The more Rose heard of this “plan,” the less she cared for it.

  Miss Warwick, however, thawed. “We would be with Mrs. Lockhart at the unveiling?”

  “Of course. After all, we are the ones who will make her party a success. I am sure even Sir Phillip would be impressed that we took such great care of a lady he seems so partial toward.”

  “I am sorry to put a damper on your enjoyment,” Rose said, “but I prefer to delight in the evening without fireworks.”

  Her two companions gazed at each other and then at her. She saw a predatory light in their eyes that boded ill.

  “Why not think on it?” Mrs. Rochester said. “Let us move closer to the dancing and discuss this later.”

  Rose breathed a sigh of relief that the disagreeable subject was dropped and followed them.

  A gentleman in a green coat that sprouted diaphanous folded wings stepped forward. With a jovial smile, he introduced himself as Puck from Midsummer Night’s Dream and begged for a dance. Rose curtsied in acceptance.

  The tunes of La Boulanger began as he led her forward. It took her a few moments to remember all the steps, but soon she was enjoying the music. Despite his mischievous disguise, her partner was all that was polite. Once the music ended, he led her back to the onlookers’ edge.

  She did not spot Mrs. Rochester or Miss Warwick. They, too, must have been spirited away onto the dance floor. Another gentleman begged a dance. After years of solitude, Rose enjoyed both the dancing and conversation. After her third turn about the floor, she refused the next request, more concerned with finding her companions. She circulated, the waxy scent of candles and various perfumes hindering her breathing.

  A man grasped her elbow and whispered a lewd suggestion in her ear. She pulled free and briskly walked away. In the guise of stepping out of her way, a paunchy Nero stroked her side. Then King Richard pinched her bottom.

  Desperate to find Mrs. Rochester or Miss Warwick, Rose groaned at bumping into her fourth Anthony.

  “I am sorry,” she said and retreated.

  “I am not.” He bowed, his metallic breastplate gleaming as he fluttered a handkerchief.

  Rose gasped. “Phillip!”

  “None other.” He pointed to his mask. “Is my costume so dismal that y
ou could identify me so easily?”

  “Not at all, sir. I would know you anywhere.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment, Rose.” His smile was slow and sensual and caused a flutter to grow in her midriff.

  Remembering his intention to seduce her, she took a step back and faced the room. Had coming here been a mistake?

  “Why are your two companions not with you?”

  “They are likely dancing.”

  “Dancing, yes, but not on the floor.” He indicated a crowd gathered across the room.

  Miss Warwick was surrounded by a group of animated ladies and gentlemen. Then a squeal of laughter erupted and everyone dispersed. One impudent young miss snatched the mask off another and Rose guessed what game they played.

  “Phillip, would you be angry if I said I wished to leave?”

  “I would consider taking you home a wise move, Rose. But why the sudden change?”

  “Miss Warwick and Mrs. Rochester plan to stir curiosity about my presence and then have a final unveiling.”

  “That does not please you?” Phillip asked.

  “No! Obviously, my protests fell on deaf ears.”

  “If the unveiling is to be later, would you care to dance first? The next tune is a German waltz. It is all the rage.”

  She had read about this new waltz and practiced it in her breakfast parlor, alone. The audacious dance was banned at Almack’s. Her traitorous body shivered in anticipation and being sensible failed to win out. “I shall need permission.”

  In answer, he took her hand and led her until they halted in front of Mrs. Lockhart. He bowed and presented Rose and requested permission to lead her into the dance.

  The lady studied Rose.

  Rose’s cheeks grew hot under that probing glance. It shamed her that she was as bad as Phillip. Oh, but she had dreamed of dancing again with him for three years.

  Mrs. Lockhart, with a genial smile, nodded her assent.

  Phillip led her onto the dance floor.

  Rose made one attempt at gaining sanity. “Phillip, I have never danced this tune with anyone.”