by Archer, Kate
His first idea was to take a costume for himself and bring it home. But it was too bulky! He would be noticed carrying it!
No, he must get a costume off the cart and hide it somewhere. A place deep in a stand of bushes where he could retrieve it when needed.
He hurried across the street and grabbed a breastplate, cape, and headdress. He casually walked to the back garden as if he were only one of the hundred workers swarming the site.
He must only take this first step of finding a way into the ball. The next step would be revealed to him at the right time. He must trust that everything he needed would be provided.
*
Kitty’s entrance into Valhalla had been everything she imagined. No, that was not sufficient, it had been more than she could have imagined.
Lady Hathaway’s back garden had been transformed into an eerie place, suitable for the dead to be led into the company of Odin. The trees were hung with wisps of black gauze that were like so many phantoms waving their arms in the breeze. The pathway was lighted by candles in dark-waxed shades, giving the way forward a ghostly amber glow.
It might have been amusing to see footmen dressed as lady-Valkyries, had the costumes not been so menacing. A black cape covered their uniforms, black plumes rose from helmets of dark metal that descended over the nose with only slits for eyes. They appeared expressionless and it gave her a shiver.
One of those footmen silently led them onto a replica of a Viking ship, with an opening in the back to step in. The outside hull of the ship had long narrow brass poles running along the bottom on either side that were fitted into a metal track leading into the darkness. The boat’s tall and pointed bow seemed to reach yards ahead of them.
The footman-Valkyrie turned and pointed dramatically to the wooden benches that lined the middle of the boat. The party quickly seated themselves, hardly knowing what was to come next.
To Kitty’s delight, four Valkyrie-footmen boarded and pretended to row with the oars. The boat slid forward on the track, and Kitty assumed it was being pulled by ropes from the front. As she craned her neck, she saw they headed into some sort of dark tunnel. It appeared an arbor covered in heavy black cloth.
Kitty gripped her mother’s hand on one side and Frederick’s hand on the other.
Frederick squeezed back. Though he was forever teasing her, he would not tease when she felt the need for his hand.
She knew she was being ridiculous, but this trip into the darkness felt almost ominous. She found herself glad to be so surrounded by her family.
They sailed into the black abyss. The party fell silent. The only sound that reached their ears was the quiet shush of metal along a greased track each time they slid forward.
It seemed as if they would be in darkness forever, Kitty could see nothing but black ahead. She almost began to feel claustrophobic and squeezed Frederick’s hand harder.
Suddenly, the darkness gave way. A black blanket hung over the end of the tunnel had been flung off to reveal gay lights ahead.
“Well,” Lady Penderton said laughing, “Lady Hathaway has quite the imagination.”
“I have never experienced anything so marvelous,” Kitty said. “It was as if we really journeyed to Valhalla. I cannot imagine what awaits us inside.”
“Nor can I,” the baroness said, “though I expect we will have roasted boar at supper. Lady Hathaway always gets all the details right.”
“It will be a nice change from last year’s conger eel,” Frederick said, laughing.
They were helped off the boat and it began its backward journey into the tunnel to ferry more guests into Lady Hathaway’s house.
The corridor they were led down had been turned gold with painted shields in place of wallpaper. Lady Hathaway stood at the end of it, wearing a headdress even more elaborate than the footmen and clothed in a flowing gauze gown, belted and accented with bits of brass to give the illusion of armor.
She greeted Lady Penderton warmly, and Frederick too. She was delighted with Kitty, mostly because Kitty was so delighted with her garden Valhalla.
It was the ballroom, though, that took Kitty’s breath away. It had been transformed into Odin’s golden palace. The floor and the walls had been painted gold with flecks of the real article reflecting the candlelight. The ceiling, just as in Valhalla, was armored with gold breastplates. A boar’s head was mounted over the doors, and a large mural of Valkyries swooping down onto a battlefield to choose their men hung over the musicians. At the far end of the ballroom stood a statue of Odin, placed where he might view all of the recent arrivals to his Valhalla.
“There’s Jost,” Frederick said, making his way off.
“Miss Dell,” Lord Grayson said, suddenly beside her from she knew not where.
Kitty felt the usual flutter. In fact, even more so, as he had come upon her so suddenly.
He held out his hand for her card and she allowed him to put his name down. Kitty saw that he had taken supper. She felt a hesitation over it, but only for a moment. This night was to be too glorious to fret over whether Lord Grayson was Veritas or concern herself with wondering if she did not like him a bit too much for her own good. He looked smashing, as was his habit, the fit of his coat was perfection. She would dance and dine with him. Whatever the morrow might bring, she found she could not care less what had been said about her in the gentlemen’s clubs. She could not care less what would be said when it was noted that they dined together.
She really felt quite reckless. Perhaps it was crossing over to the afterlife and finding herself in this magnificent ballroom. Perhaps it was because she had decided not to involve herself so much in the mystery of Veritas.
For all her carefree feelings, she could not help but notice that Lord Grayson seemed more serious than his usual self. Perhaps he ruminated over his encounter with Sir John at Mrs. Herschel’s salon. He ought not to, this evening was not meant for ruminations.
After politely inquiring after her and Lady Penderton’s health, he had moved off and crossed the ballroom to his friend Lord Dalton. Kitty’s mother said, “Lord Grayson looks well, does he not?”
Kitty smiled. “He always looks well, mama. It is the one thing we can always count on him for.”
“Oh, I think you can count on him for a bit more than that.”
Before Kitty could question her mother’s meaning, or scold her because she very well knew her meaning, a stern-looking older gentleman stepped forward. He was a rather frightening visage and looked as if he were on the edge of a fury. He was accompanied by Miss Danworth.
“Lord Childress,” Lady Penderton said, her voice strangely devoid of its usual friendliness.
The lord bowed.
“This is my daughter, Miss Dell,” the baroness said to him.
Lord Childress looked at Kitty in what felt like a critical manner. She had already gleaned hints that he was not the most pleasant person in the world. She thought she could see now how he’d earned the reputation.
She curtsied and it seemed as if he barely acknowledged it.
“I suppose I might leave my daughter in your care?” he said to the baroness. It did not exactly sound like a question and he did not wait for an answer. “I have another engagement and will return later.”
“Of course,” Lady Penderton said, though she could not entirely keep out a note of surprise.
“I imagine I’ll have to fight my way through that ridiculous display I just came in on,” he said. With that, he turned on his heel and strode off.
There was an awkward silence in his wake.
Finally, Miss Danworth broke it. “I apologize for my father, Lady Penderton, and you are not to fret over it. Nobody need look after me, I am quite accustomed to looking after myself.”
Lady Penderton smiled kindly at Miss Danworth. “No doubt you are, but nonetheless you are to come to me for anything you need. One never knows when one may rip a hem or have a pin disappear from one’s hair.”
“Very kind,” Miss Danworth said.
&n
bsp; Kitty, herself, hardly knew what to say. Her own father would never have acted so. The man had talked of his daughter as if she were a grocer’s box and he only looked for a counter to put her on.
Lady Penderton’s attention was turned to an acquaintance and Miss Danworth leaned close to Kitty and said quietly, “Now that you have encountered my dreaded father, not even the Palaskar collection shall be enough to tempt you to my house.”
“Not at all!” Kitty said. Though, really, Miss Danworth might be right. She would not relish encountering Lord Childress in his own house if he could barely be civil at a ball.
“But perhaps you might visit me at my house?” Kitty said. “I have not yet seen you there. I cannot claim to have anything as interesting as the Palaskar collection, but our cook does make a divine savarin if that would tempt you.”
“You are very kind, Miss Dell,” Miss Danworth said. “Though my father does not allow me many calls. Particularly he would not approve it if there is a single gentleman in the house who does not come into at least an earldom.”
Kitty almost recoiled. What was said was in a different tone, almost as if the cool demeanor that had been so recently dropped had been put back on again. And what was actually said! Lord Childress would not think Frederick elevated enough? Lord Childress was only a viscount, after all, not so very high over a baron.
She supposed the lord had grand plans for his daughter. Kitty was grateful her own father did not dictate to her in such a manner.
“And here comes Lord Dalton,” Miss Danworth said, in an even cooler tone. “He will thrill us both with his amusing personality and jolly wit.”
Though Kitty did not know Lord Dalton so very well, she certainly understood that comment to be mocking of his general seriousness.
“Miss Danworth. Miss Dell,” Lord Dalton said, in the tone lacking all jollity that Kitty had been accustomed to. “May I?”
Miss Danworth handed over her card and said, “I was just telling Miss Dell how amusing you can be. Your lightheartedness is striking.”
“My lightheartedness is only equal to your own,” Lord Dalton said, seeming not at all offended by the slight.
“Perhaps I am only not lighthearted in your presence,” Miss Danworth said.
“Perhaps I jest all the day long, until I encounter you. Though neither circumstance seems likely.”
Kitty hardly knew where to look. Perhaps she was not sophisticated enough, but she failed to understand the way they spoke to one another. Were they joking? Were they not?
As it happened, there was little time to debate the matter. Lady Hathaway’s Viking ship was bringing guests in with alacrity and Kitty’s card began to fill.
*
Sir John had lingered out of doors, watching the carriages arrive one after another. His stolen costume was safely hidden in the bushes in the back of Lady Hathaway’s garden.
He had originally thought he must capture Miss Dell either going in or out of the ball. But how would that be possible? He needed to encounter her alone, not surrounded by her family.
This was further confirmed when he saw her arrive. He might have tried such a gambit had Miss Dell only been escorted by her mother. But the brother was there, too. He did not think he’d find success attempting to subdue the brother.
Further, if anybody was to see him make off with Miss Dell, the alarm would be raised. He would need time to get out of the city. He had mapped out an obscure route that would take longer, but would avoid having anybody on his heels. The coachman of the last carriage lining the road was already under the weather, thanks to his kind offer of ale laced with laudanum. All he need do was catch Miss Dell alone, pretend to have a pistol, and tie her up in the coach. He would drive the vehicle himself. God had given him the steps and all he need do was follow them.
He had the note in his pocket and felt confident he could count on Miss Dell’s determination to uncover Veritas.
*
Giles had arrived to Lady Hathaway’s house shockingly early. Though it had never happened before, this night he’d been the very first to come to the doors. Or sail to the doors on a Viking ship, as the case may be. To say that Lady Hathaway was surprised to see him so soon was an understatement. The butler had gone to fetch her as she was not even yet lined up to receive her guests. Then she had peered at him as if to be certain her eyes did not deceive her.
He’d made some mumbled excuse of having to make a stop first and then that person not being at home and hurried into the ballroom.
It had been a strange feeling, being in there alone. Every other ballroom he’d ever come into was well to being filled. He’d felt foolish, standing there under the gaze of a footman who hardly knew what to do with him.
It had been necessary, though. Far too many times, he’d approached Miss Dell, only to find her supper already claimed. It could not be so this evening. He had much to tell her and it could not wait. He was certain she was in danger, and she must be convinced of it.
He’d thought of going straight to Lord Penderton with the information, until he considered how bizarre it would all sound. It was likely Lord Penderton knew Sir John, and just as likely he admired the fellow. After all, they were both of that intellectual ilk and probably had a lot to talk about. He, himself, did not know Penderton well. The gentleman was so rarely out on the town.
He had set his course and he would stay the course. He had secured Miss Dell’s supper and now he moved through the motions of attempting to entertain other females as he danced with one after another.
As he did so, he began to wonder if it would really be necessary to retreat to the countryside to cure himself of his flirtations. It was beginning to seem as if he had been wholly cured already. He had not the least desire to compose a compliment and no amount of frothy gowns or gentle shining curls seemed to inspire it in him.
His eyes no longer drifted in search of beauty, except in the direction of Miss Dell. It was as if she were a magnet pulling him toward her. Just like a magnet, he would have to pull hard in the opposite direction to come loose.
Would he ever, though? No matter how hard he pulled, would he ever be free of her? Shakespeare would tell him a resounding no—he described love as an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.
Wherever their lives took them, he was certain to see her over the seasons. My God, would he be forced to see her escorted as a married lady? Must he smile when it was mentioned that she’d borne another’s child?
He knew very well that he was not good enough for Miss Dell. But then, who was?
Burke, perhaps. Though, if Burke had been interested, Giles would have noticed it by now. He was friendly with Miss Dell, he’d known her for quite some time on account of Burke’s friendship with Miss Darlington and Lord Mendbridge. For all Burke’s defense of Miss Dell, and the dressing down of himself, Giles did not think it would be Burke.
Who then? And was that lucky fellow really any better than himself? Especially if he were to improve? Was he not doing that already? Who knew how much he might improve if he set his mind to it?
Giles stopped his thoughts running in that direction. It was becoming a habit and it was self-indulgent. Only a child laments the sun ought to be out at midnight. He could not allow himself to be so nonsensical.
Why was she kindly smiling at Jost this moment? It could not be Jost—the man could not gather up two words together in front of a lady.
He would put his foot down at Jost.
Giles forced himself to keep his attention on the matter at hand. Miss Dell must be protected from Sir John. She must gain an understanding of what he really was. She must come to understand who he really was. What happened after that would be none of his affair.
The next dance would be with Miss Dell. This current dance, with Miss he-could-not-remember-her-name, would end. Lady Hathaway would send round champagne as she always did at this point in the festivities, and then he would escort Miss Dell. He would have all the time he needed to
be certain she understood the danger.
*
Kitty had been gay all evening, she had not once allowed her thoughts to settle on anything serious. Not so long ago, she would have chided herself for being too lighthearted. Or, if not chided, had a vague sense of failing to attend to important matters.
It was rather a relief to throw off the responsibility. The more she tried it, the more she liked it. She did not suppose she would ever give up her studies, or her reaching for answers, or her delight in considering another’s hypothesis. However, she had come to develop her own hypothesis—a varied life was a well-lived life.
She was not to be so full of conceit as to think that the world’s problems and mysteries could not be grappled with without her constant gaze. There must always be made time for dancing and laughter. She further suspected that these diversions gave her mind time to work quietly, without her conscious interference. Allowing time away from her studies might just help her studies.
Whether that theory was right, she would discover eventually. For now, she would only look forward to the next dance. And then supper. She knew that perhaps she should not look quite so forward to encountering Lord Grayson, but she did all the same.
She had been handed a glass of champagne and that had made her mood even lighter than what it had been.
Miss Danworth stood next to her and Kitty said, “I do not know if it is all the bubbles, but I find champagne does lift my spirits.”
Miss Danworth had smiled but had not answered. Kitty began to conceive a different idea of Miss Danworth. She was cool, mostly. Though occasionally the coolness warmed. Her father was frightening and seemed to have a plan for her future that he would dictate. Her mother was long-dead. Her companion, Mrs. Jellops, seemed kind, though perhaps an ineffectual sort of creature.
Miss Danworth could not live in a very happy home. Perhaps she wore her coolness like the armor of the Valkyries.
Before she could think of a way to put Miss Danworth at her ease and coax back the warmness, a footman hurried toward her. “Miss Dell?”
Kitty nodded and wondered if her mother wished her to come to the card room.