Masque (The Two Monarchies Sequence) Page 9

  Casually, I asked him: “What do you know of Charles Black, Melchior?”

  His brows flew up. “Carrots, you never cease to surprise me. I know less of Charles Black than I find myself comfortable with, as a matter of fact. The name came up in regards to Black Velvet, but I shouldn’t be surprised if the IA knows a little about it, too. Where did you hear it?”

  I told him about my afternoon with Lord Pecus as I tacked Delysia’s bodice together. I had made a saucy little girdle that would eventually hang on her hips, and I knew Delysia would be very pleased with it.

  As I pinned it to the rest of the bodice and stood back to observe the effect, Melchior said gloomily: “This is all a bit of a mess, you know.”

  “Raoul?”

  He nodded sombrely, looking unseeingly at the scraps of red muslin; and for a moment I saw the lines in his face, the age in his eyes.

  “I should have seen it. I’ve known him for more years than I care to state, Carrots; and I still didn’t see it.”

  “You always think there should have been something that warned you,” I said softly, ceasing in my ministrations of the dressmaker’s dummy to briefly smile at him. I myself had grown up with Raoul, and I had never seen it. “There isn’t. Spies are trained to make friends, they learn to live with their lies.”

  “I wish it hadn’t been him.”

  I sat down on the seat beside him and leaned my head against his shoulder. “Who would you rather, Melchior? I vote for Lady Farnsworth.”

  Melchior gave an involuntary spurt of laughter. “I always thought there was something under that wig of hers. It couldn’t be such a monstrosity without reason. Who’s her contact of choice?”

  “Lord Morsten!” I said, with aplomb. “No doubt his mismatching clothes are a code.”

  “With her mismatching jewellery the counter-sign? Ah, Carrots, you do me good!”

  I arched my eyebrows at him. “Missing Annabel again?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything so unfashionable,” Melchior said. “But between me and you, Carrots, yes.”

  “Only another few months,” I said comfortingly. “Then you’ll be home again to the mad babble of four children and Annabel wanting to know how it is that you’ve forgotten to have your hair cut again.”

  “It’s all noise and no substance,” Melchior said, with a far-away and entirely private smile in his eyes. “She likes to cut it herself; says no one else does it the same. Ah, Carrots, I miss her!”

  “If it’s any comfort, she’s missing you too,” I offered dryly. “Hold this, will you, Melchior? Perhaps a little less peacefully, but missing you just the same.”

  “I must say that I find the situation here in Glause less than peaceful, but I hesitate to contradict a lady.”

  “Melchior, I love your children dearly, despite their inevitable tendency to reduce my favourite gowns to ribbons, but I cannot agree that a day with them is more peaceful than the goriest of murders.”

  Melchior grinned proudly. “They are a lively lot, aren’t they?”

  “Chips off the old block,” I informed him frankly. “Commlink with them all tonight and watch them throw the supper jam-and-bread around the room for a little while. It’ll do wonders for your homesickness.”

  Melchior stood bolt upright. “Speaking of which, I’m late for a linkup with the Lacunan Emperor. I think the Triumvirate may be getting nervous: these blasted Ambassadorial Balls have a tendency to stir up more antagonism than they soothe. For pity’s sake, Carrots, you’ve sewn me into this thing!”

  “Hold still, you’re tangled in the basting threads!” I freed his fingers from the bodice inset he had been absently toying with, and straightened it out. “No, don’t tread all over Delysia’s skirt! Clod!”

  Melchior, laughing, took himself off. I was left to my chocolate cake, or at least, what was left of it after Melchior’s forays. The silence found me pondering on my own dress for Lord Pecus’ party, and whether or not I could bring myself actually to wear that scintillating new gold lip-rouge.

  I was not left long to myself: a little after Melchior left, Vadim found me, bringing with her the knowledge that Lord Topher was waiting below to speak with me.

  “If I must, I must,” I sighed. No doubt, I thought gloomily, he was coming to claim the first two dances at the Earl of Horn’s midweek soiree. I found myself hoping fervently that he didn’t yet know about Lord Pecus’ ball, three nights after, since I would then in all probability have to dance the first set with him there also. At least there would not be a great deal of dancing at the soiree: the earl didn’t care to give too many opportunities for young men to dance with his daughter. An idea flashed through my head, swift and bright, and I stopped still in the doorway. The earl! Of course!

  Vadim, holding the door open for me, said: “M’lady? Shall I send him away?”

  “No, no,” I said, and jerked myself into motion again. “Vadim, this Charles Black- did he make horns as well?”

  Vadim nodded. “Only two. They were special ones, only for royal use. They’re worth a lot now.”

  “Is this common knowledge, would you say?”

  “Oh no, m’lady. Most people wouldn’t know; but me and Keenan, we lived in the same boarding house as his grandson when we were little. The old duffer used to show us one of the horns whenever he’d had too much to drink. Someone stole it, in the end.”

  I went down the stairs in something of a daze. Could it be that easy? The landlord’s description of a chubby man fiddling with his toupee suddenly shifted and fit into its proper perspective: the earl was bald, and wigs had not been in fashion for some fifty years. It must have itched dreadfully. It struck me that the Earl of Horn had been either very confident, or very stupid. It would be interesting to discover which it was.

  Chapter Six

  I arrived at the Earl of Horn’s soiree in high, sparkling spirits that not even the sight of Lord Topher’s eager young face, waiting to assist me down from the carriage, could dampen. The evening was sure to afford some opportunity of slipping away for a little judicious prying, and I had been creditably informed by Delysia that Lord Pecus was gracing the soiree with his presence. In fact, there was little else required to make the evening perfect. Lord Pecus’ presence made me a great deal more certain that I was right about the Earl of Horn, and the knowledge gave me a glow which caused even the usually uneffusive Lord Quorn say in measured tones: “You are looking quite delightful tonight, Lady Farrah.”

  “It’s not because a certain someone will be there, is it, Isabella?” enquired Delysia archly.

  I disappointed her by laughing without even the suspicion of a blush.

  “Yes: Father!” I tucked my hand into his arm and smiled mischievously at him. “We’re going to dance every dance together, aren’t we?”

  Father looked vaguely worried, so I kissed his cheek comfortingly.

  “Don’t worry, Father; I shan’t make you dance.”

  “I daresay you’ll be too busy dancing with Lord Topher,” Delysia said innocently, arranging her chiffon shawl more becomingly across her shoulders.

  Melchior gave a spurt of laughter, and said: “Oh, so that’s who you were talking about. Do you really think so?”

  “He’s very keen on her,” Delysia said dignifiedly, resenting any implication that her matchmaking instincts could be at fault.

  “And on the beautiful little blonde who was staring adoringly up at him while they danced,” I said dryly, depressing pretensions. “Not to mention any female of a marriageable age that he meets with. It’s a trying age.”

  “Isabella, I wish you wouldn’t talk as though you were a dowager! Anyone hearing you would fancy you to be-”

  “A confirmed old maid!” I interrupted cheerfully. “Which is precisely what I am, I thank you, Delysia!”

  Still, it was hard to feel old with that delightful sense of mischief running in my veins. To my disappointment I did not see Lord Pecus immediately: my attention was taken up with Lord Top
her and his two dances, and what was not taken up with him was given over to ensuring we left the dancefloor at exactly the right moment and place to collide with the adoring young blonde in a manner sufficiently coincidental. I left them exclaiming the usual How charming! and What a surprise to see you! and looked around me for the Earl of Horn’s daughter. She and I had a slight acquaintance, and while I hesitated to presume upon it with ulterior motives, second thoughts reminded me of Raoul, and hardened my heart. Sadly, I was not given a chance to try out this determination of spirit. Upon catching sight of the young Lady Louisa, I saw with some indignation that the tall gentleman bending over her in what I can only describe as a flirtatious manner, was Lord Pecus.

  I stiffened in outrage. Well, really! The little minx was gazing up at him through her eyelashes in the most expert manner it had ever been my privilege to witness, with the immediate effect of banishing any feelings of compunction that I had entertained. It did not look as though Lord Pecus shared any such revulsion of feeling: the lips of his mask had curved in a smile, and as I watched, he led her into the dance.

  I discounted the dark suspicion that he had monopolized Lady Louisa on purpose to prevent me speaking to her as the improbability that it was, and made a slight alteration to my plans.

  The Earl of Horn, watching his dancing daughter with a frown, was shortly startled to find himself the subject of a smiling greeting in my best Ambassadorial manner. He blinked in momentary confusion, and then said pleasantly: “My dear Lady Farrah! How do you do?”

  “Tolerably well, my lord. The Countess does not grace us with her presence tonight; I trust she is not unwell?”

  I caught a brief flash of something like amusement in the shrewd grey eyes.

  “My wife is ah, indisposed,” he said, with a barely perceptible pause. So the rumours were true, were they? Delysia had told me that the Countess of Horn was fond of her Syrup of Poppies. Actually, what Delysia had said, bluntly, was, “The twinkle in her eyes is the light of fairyland, my dear,” and it struck me that it might be expedient to wrangle a conversation with the lady. The only question was how to do it with sufficient craft that I was not dangerously noticeable. The earl was not a stupid man by any means, and while I did not think so much of his guile as to imagine the gimlet eye with which he watched over his daughter to be false, I did suspect him of greater depths.

  “Lady Louisa dances very well,” I commented, following his gaze. “How firmly Lord Pecus holds her! It must give you pleasure to see her dancing so well.”

  “Very pretty,” agreed the Earl, but gloomily. The dance was a waltz, with no particular order or form but to avoid colliding with the other couples and stepping on the toes of your own partner. A certain amount of confusion was added by the practise of what was currently the height of Glausian fashion- cutting in. It had not yet reached Civet, for which I was profoundly thankful, but in Glause it had become quite the thing to begin a waltz with one man, and finish it with another via a string of different partners. I found it distressingly akin to a hat show, and had learned to dread the moment when a politely smiling face appeared over my partner’s shoulder, and a tap on the arm caused the dance to cease momentarily.

  Tonight, however, it was a novel custom that I was prepared to put up with and even, to the best of my ability, exploit.

  “You don’t dance tonight, my lord?”

  Just as I had hoped it would, the idea ticked over in the earl’s mind. With one eye on his daughter, who was simpering up at Lord Pecus, and a tone finely balanced between gallantry and haste, he offered a prompt arm.

  “If you will dance with me, Lady Farrah, then certainly.”

  Lady Louisa was not at all happy to see her father determinedly waltzing his way toward her. The rosebud mouth pursed in annoyance and the little jaw set mulishly as we circled closer, whether because she knew what her father was about or because she did not approve of the earl’s very robust style of waltz, I couldn’t say. I found myself thankful that my legs were so much longer than the earl’s, since what he lacked in height he more than made up for in sheer, bustling speed.

  Politeness dictated that I had at least a few verses of the waltz before the earl cut in on Lord Pecus (or so I hoped) and, determined to make the best use of them that I could, I asked pleasantly: “What do you think of this military merger, my lord? Have we impressed you with Civet’s finest?”

  If he really was Charles Black, the earl was at least clever enough not to pretend to an exuberant approval that would have been at odds with his native air of shrewdness.

  He considered the question for a thoughtful moment, and then said: “I find myself undecided, Lady Farrah. I like to fancy that the enemies of Glause know she can defend herself without help. But this is no subject for a ballroom, or for conversation with a beautiful woman. Let me ask you how you like Glause, instead.”

  Very nicely done, I thought approvingly.

  “Quite well, my lord,” I said easily, allowing myself to be swept into closer proximity to Lady Louisa and Lord Pecus. “It rains a little more than I’m used to, but then, the hills are so beautifully green. I must admit that I would have liked to have seen some of the more famous waterworks, but as is usually the case, we have been rained upon each time we set out.”

  “Then you must ask my daughter to show you our own humble exhibition,” said the earl, sounding mildly pleased. “She will be delighted. I fancy our waterfalls are fit to rival anything you’ll find in the capital, Lady Isabella: I had them specially commissioned when I married the countess.”

  “The woman’s touch?”

  The Earl of Horn had married rather late in life, and his house had already been established some years before he did so. The ballroom still had that unmistakeable air of spare, unpretentious manliness to it, despite the profusion of flowers.

  The earl chuckled. “A rather unsuccessful attempt, I’m afraid. The countess doesn’t care for waterfalls, she complains that they irritate her nerves. Fortunately, Louisa is less nervous.”

  I threw a glance at Lady Louisa. No, she was not at all nervous. At present she was pouting up at Lord Pecus with what no doubt the male sensibilities considered to be charming playfulness, but that merely gave me a strong desire to spank her. Much to my amusement, the pout became distinctly more pronounced when the earl, with great aplomb, swept us into position to perform the requisite shoulder-tap that signified his desire to cut in. She was forced to concede with a good grace, however, since Lord Pecus, far from showing any aspirations of whisking her away, released her immediately.

  A moment later I was being firmly whirled halfway across the dancefloor by Lord Pecus, who was rather more imposing this close to. Despite my previous dance with him, I was not used to having to stretch so much in order to lay one hand on a gentleman’s shoulder, nor to tilting my head back at such an angle: most men were conveniently eye to eye with me. I found my eyes on a level instead with Lord Pecus’ chest, which was so broad as to obscure my view of the room, albeit in the most aesthetic way imaginable.

  We had circled the room once before Lord Pecus said abruptly: “Well?”

  I looked up at him with wide-eyed artlessness. “My lord?”

  “Lady Isabella, I find myself dancing in an overcrowded and very noisy ballroom when I would much rather be at home with my feet up. I am not in the mood for trifling.”

  “Anyone who saw you dancing with Lady Louisa wouldn’t have thought so,” I pointed out sweetly, and observed as the porcelain lips of Lord Pecus’ mask set in a straight line.

  “How did you find out about the earl?”

  I briefly considered treating him to the wide-eyed look again, but decided against it.

  Instead, provocatively, I said: “I asked the right person, my lord.”

  “Then I repeat: well?”

  “I believe Lord Topher would like to cut in, my lord.”

  “I dare say he would,” Lord Pecus said indifferently, sweeping me across the room once again. I saw Lor
d Topher’s face briefly: it had flushed red with the righteous anger of youth, and his jaw was militantly set.

  “Lady Farrah, are you or are you not going to answer my question?”

  I considered this, and said thoughtfully: “I don’t remember a specific question, my lord. As I recall, you have barked ‘Well?’ at me twice, and asked how I found out about the earl- a question I believe I have already answered.”

  I got the distinct impression that Lord Pecus was grinding his teeth, and said soothingly: “What’s amiss, my lord? What has happened to vex you?”

  “I spent the day scouring the streets on foot for a man who was already d-,” began Lord Pecus unthinkingly, and added with exasperation: “There is nothing vexing me! Lady Farrah, tell me, if you please, what you have discovered in your talk with the earl.”

  “Not a great deal,” I said, relenting. After all, I had told myself I wouldn’t tease him so much next time we met. “He changed the subject with great elegance when I asked him what he thought of the military merger, but I gather he is not fond of the idea. He thinks Glause should be able to defend itself, and he’s clever enough not to be too enthusiastic either way.”

  I allowed this information to sink in over a few turns, and then added helpfully: “You know, you should soak your feet in a basin of warm water with a few sprigs of mint and a spineflower, it takes away the ache beautifully.”

  Lord Pecus gave a snort of laughter. “Obliged to you, my lady. I apologise: my weary feet have frayed my temper.”

  “Oh, shall we sit down?”

  “No, I’d only have to dance with Lady Louisa again,” said Lord Pecus gloomily. “I’ve never met a girl who talks as much with so little to say.”

  “Then I take it that your interview with Lady Louisa was as successful as mine with the earl?”

  “Even less so.” Lord Pecus must have seen the amusement in my eyes, because he explained, with a fastidious grimace: “She giggles.”