The door into the candlelit basement kitchen stood open, and there didn’t seem to be anyone around. The sounds of merriment and music continued from the open windows above, but the kitchens were strangely silent. Strangely indeed, for with so many guests one would have expected to see servants hurrying about their tasks.
Slowly she went inside. The candlelight moved gently, casting shadows over the dressers and cupboards lining the walls, and the fire in the hearth shifted a little so that a shower of sparks swept slowly up the chimney, but all else remained quiet and deserted.
She crossed the stone-flagged floor to the far door, pushing it stealthily open and peering up the wooden staircase leading to the rear of the entrance hall. The noise of the ball was noticeably louder from here, and she could hear a woman giggling flirtatiously just the other side of the door at the top. The giggling continued for a moment, then a man said something and there was silence. Linnet waited, listening carefully, but there no longer seemed to be anyone there. Gathering her skirts, she went quickly up the steps. Her hand trembled as she pushed the door open just an inch or so.
The noise of the ball swept in through the crack, a mixture of voices and Mozart, for Herr Heller’s Ensemble was playing a minuet. Dazzling chandeliers lit the entrance hall, the walls of which were hung with pink brocade and garlands of white roses, and there was an elegant pink velvet sofa against the wall next to the door.
The scent of roses was strong, for baskets of them stood against the walls. Opening the door a little more, Linnet peeped cautiously out, afraid that at any moment she’d find herself confronted by someone. She inched out of her hiding place so that she could look along the hall, for her view was blocked by the main staircase, which ascended the wall directly above the doorway into the kitchens.
A rose-decked archway marked the way into the reception rooms, and there were other doors, all of them closed, and all of them hung with white roses and pink velvet curtains that were drawn back and tied with golden ropes and tassels. She could hear the ball beyond the archway, but there was no sign of anyone in the entrance hall itself, which was as oddly deserted as the kitchens.
Was it possible that fate was going to play so neatly into her hands that she’d not only gained entry without being detected, but would be able to creep up to the floor above, find Judith’s bedroom, steal one of the plumes, and then leave again without anyone being any the wiser? She had to seize the moment, for a golden opportunity such as this might not present itself again. At any minute some of the guests might emerge into the entrance hall, and she’d be seen, but as things were at this precise second… Without any more hesitation, she slipped along the hall, but as she came within six feet of the foot of the staircase, her heart almost stopped, for standing silently on guard, their arms akimbo, were two tall black footmen in golden livery. They were guarding the stairs until the upper floors were opened later on, and they gazed steadfastly ahead toward the front door, giving no sign of having detected her presence.
Dismayed, she drew back toward the kitchen door again, her plans suddenly in confusion. How could she possibly gain access to the bedrooms now? Panic overtook her, then, and she decided to abandon the whole plan, but as she reached the kitchen door and was about to step back into safety, she heard voices from the basement stairs. Two maids and a footman were coming up toward her! She cast her eyes desperately around, but a party of guests was emerging from the ball as well, spilling noisily into the entrance hall. Her glance fell upon the sofa, and she sat down quickly. She lounged back in what she hoped was a natural way, for all the world as if the hectic pace of the ball had exhausted her and she’d come to rest for a while.
The maids and footman came out of the kitchen doorway, not giving her more than a cursory glance, and the guests chattered and laughed further along the hall. They were all masked, but she recognized several of the gentlemen, either by their voices or by their shapes. Poky Withington was easily discernible, for he had a rasping voice that would have been impossible to disguise. He was intent upon the charms of a rather voluptuous Cyprian in a clinging white muslin gown that barely kept her full bosom in check, and he made no attempt to be subtle as he leered at her, trying to pull her into his arms. She was very much the tease, seeming to spurn him but all the time slyly encouraging his unpleasant advances. The disagreeable Algernon Halliday stood nearby, and with him, almost inevitably, was Lord Frederick Cavendish. The ladies, though such they most definitely were not, were all clad in revealing gowns, and were all evidently well versed in the art of coquetting. They didn’t flinch at the sort of advances that a real lady would have cut short in no mild manner, and they showed no modesty whatsoever in the way they stood or moved.
Appalled at such openly licentious conduct, Linnet glanced again at the kitchen door. Was it safe to go back down? But even as she wondered, the door opened again and another maid emerged. Were the kitchens suddenly filled to overflowing with servants?
There was a great deal of squealing suddenly as Poky Withington made a much more determined assault upon the nonexistent virtue of the demirep in clinging white. He strove to give her a passionate kiss, and she squealed playfully as she pretended to struggle, then she gathered her transparent skirts and hastened along the hall toward Linnet.
Alarmed, Linnet moved quickly from her place, just as Poky launched himself at his prey, sending her headlong on to the sofa. Linnet edged away from them, intending to risk the kitchen door, but again it opened, this time to allow a maid and a butler to emerge with trays of empty champagne glasses. Linnet’s dismay knew no bounds as the butler halted, took a key from his pocket, and locked the door behind him, replacing the key in his pocket. Then he walked past her toward the front door, balancing his tray in one hand as he locked the front door as well, placing its key in the same pocket. Linnet stared at him. She was trapped!
An elderly gentleman emerged somewhat unsteadily into the hall from the archway. A black velvet mask concealed most of his face, but his figure was elegant enough, and he had a remarkable thatch of thick gray hair that was swept back from his face. She knew him immediately, for only Sir Mortimer Critchley, the distinguished physician, had such a head of hair. Seeing him startled her more than anything else so far, for he was a pillar of society, a model of church-going rectitude, and yet here he was, swaying drunkenly at a Cyprian’s ball! She stared at him from behind her mask.
As she watched, he suddenly espied her. A lopsided smile broke on his lips, and he made his way unevenly toward her. She was rooted to the spot with horror, pressing back against the staircase as he leaned a hand on either side of her, his face only inches away.
“ ‘Pon me soul,” he declared thickly, the words running together because he was in drink, “how is it that I haven’t seen you before? Who are you, fair incognita? Mm?”
She glanced frantically from side to side, hoping to be rescued, but she soon realized that Nicholas’s words of warning had been only too true, and that as far as the gentlemen here were concerned, every woman was ready, willing, and able to pleasure them.
Sir Mortimer was too much in his cups to know or care that his advances weren’t welcomed. He grinned at her, his breath reeking of brandy. “A kiss, my sweet beauty.” He bent closer to raise her veil, but it was too much for her to endure, and with sudden revulsion she brought her knee up sharply, at the same time ducking beneath one of his arms and making good her escape toward the main part of the ball beyond the archway.
Behind her, Sir Mortimer doubled up with a grunt of pain, cursing roundly beneath his breath. It was a curse that would have shocked his church-going friends, she thought. Or would it? Maybe they were all here tonight as well!
She reached the archway, and then paused in astonishment to stare at the scene that greeted her. The room was noisy, colorful, and brilliant, and the conduct of the gathering was as open and demonstrative as that of the guests in the entrance hall behind her. There were roses everywhere, as at her own ball, and her gaze was drawn inexorably toward the center of the floor, where a poodle-crowned column of white ostrich plumes stretched up to the ceiling.
She heard a heavy step behind her, and turned to see Sir Mortimer approaching determinedly. With a gasp, she hurried into the press of people, swiftly vanishing from his sight. She edged around the floor, making for some tall windows which she hoped might offer her some access into the gardens, but when she reached them, she saw that they were well above ground level.
She glanced out at the night, where the rain was still falling heavily, then she turned to look at the seething gathering, where the minuet had given way to an enthusiastic country dance. She watched the dancers. There was little restraint, and certainly none of the polite, proper sort of flirting that would have gone on at a more decorous occasion, such as her own ball. Here, if a gentleman had an eye for his demi-mondaine partner, he made his interest quite plain, and if the demi-mondaine was receptive, then she made the fact equally as plain.
Linnet was in a quandary. What was she to do? No doubt Sir Mortimer would soon forget all about her, and she’d be able to go back into the entrance hall. But what could she do then? She couldn’t return the way she’d come, because the door was locked, and she couldn’t leave the front way for the same reason. She couldn’t even slip upstairs to steal one of Judith’s famous plumes, because of the black footmen guarding the staircase.
All her fine plans were suddenly a shambles. What a fool she’d been to embark on this in the first place, for now she was trapped. She should have paid heed to Nicholas’s warnings. Nicholas! Her breath caught as she suddenly remembered him, and she glanced around again at the sea of people. Was he here? She found herself hoping he wasn’t, for although she knew him to be a toad of the first order, and knew he’d long been Judith’s admirer, she didn’t like to think of him behaving with the same profligacy as most of the gentlemen present.
Sir Mortimer was approaching her again, and quickly she left her position, weaving away through the press of people. Her path took her toward a slightly quieter corner of the room, and suddenly she found herself looking at a sofa occupied by a woman in a simple but revealing gown made of cloth-of-silver. There were tall black plumes in her intricately dressed golden hair, and she wore a dainty silver mask, but her face was instantly recognizable; it was Judith.
The Cyprian looked magnificent, and the black plumes were surely her most spectacular ever. They were taller than usual, and sprinkled with brilliants that flashed and sparkled with even the tiniest movement, and they were the demirep’s only adornment, for she wore no jewelry. Her voluptuous figure was shown off to superb advantage by the gown’s simplicity, especially her curving bosom. A fan moved gently to and fro before her face, and she didn’t glance toward Linnet, for at that moment a rather elderly Russian gentleman, his formal evening clothes bright with orders and decorations from St. Petersburg, came up to the sofa, asking her if she would honor him with a dance. He was far from agreeable to look upon, having a stooped figure and a thin, down-turned mouth that told of a harsh disposition, but the Cyprian appeared to find him very much to her liking. She bestowed a gracious smile upon him, quickly giving him her hand, and the plumes in her hair glittered brilliantly as she rose to her feet to accompany him onto the crowded floor.
Linnet was so intent upon Judith that she didn’t notice the stout gentleman in plum-colored velvet sidling up next to her. Before she knew it, he’d seized her arm and whisked her boisterously onto the floor to join the country dance. He grinned eagerly at her as she strove to keep her veil down in place. “I have a taste for dark-haired wenches,” he shouted above the noise and the music, “and I intend to make you mine before the evening’s out, m’dear!”
Unutterable horror filled her, and she was relieved when the dance ended, but then the horror filled her again, for her unwanted admirer had no intention of relinquishing his hold upon her, and kept her where she was until the next dance, a ländler, commenced. Taking her almost in a bearhug, he swept her around the floor, murmuring in her ear that she was undoubtedly the tastiest little tidbit in the whole of London, and that he had every intention of sampling her charms to the full before very long. He importuned her to remove her mask so that he could see her face, but she declined, hoping that she’d soon find a way of escaping from his odious clutches. Oh, how she wished she’d never come to this disreputable and dangerous place.
* * *
Meanwhile, a carriage drove swiftly through the rain into the courtyard at Carlisle House, and a gentleman in formal evening clothes alighted, rapping urgently on the door with his cane. It was Nicholas, and he was in no mood to hear anything but the truth from whoever answered.
Sommers hastened to open the door, fearful that such rapping would damage the costly paintwork. He stepped back in astonishment as Nicholas brushed past him into the entrance hall. “L-Lord Fane? May I-I be of any assistance?”
“Is Miss Carlisle at home?”
“No, my lord, she left earlier for Lady Lydney’s rout.” The butler was then mindful of his instructions where this gentleman was concerned. “My lord, I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.”
Nicholas ignored the request. “Did you actually see her leave?”
Sommers was a little taken aback. “Why, no, my lord, for I was told that I would not be required this evening. But I know that the coachman left to attend to his duties, and I heard the carriage in the courtyard so I know that she left.”
“All you know is that the carriage left,” replied Nicholas tersely. “I happened to see the vehicle a short while ago, and it wasn’t driving toward Lady Lydney’s residence, indeed it was proceeding in a very dilatory manner in any direction but that. Now then, if Miss Carlisle had indeed gone to the rout, wouldn’t the carriage be expected to wait there for her, in order to bring her home afterward?”
Sommers was staring at him. “Yes, my lord, it would.”
“Is Miss Carlisle’s maid here?”
“No, my lord, she accompanied Miss Carlisle to the…” The butler’s voice died away unhappily for he, too was beginning to wonder if his mistress was at the rout. “She isn’t in the kitchen with the other servants, my lord,” he said.
“Then I suggest you go to Miss Carlisle’s room and see if she’s there.” Nicholas didn’t somehow think Linnet would take her maid with her on the hare-brained escapade he strongly feared she’d embarked upon tonight.
Without a word, the butler hurried up the staircase, and Nicholas waited impatiently for him to return. He glanced around the entrance hall, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the mantle-piece. He was dressed for Lady Lydney’s, in an indigo corded-silk coat, white pantaloons and stockings, and black shoes. If he hadn’t just happened to see Linnet’s carriage, he’d have been enjoying himself at the rout now, not scurrying around London because Miss Linnet Carlisle was possessed of a stubborn streak that verged on idiocy!
His thoughts broke off, for Sommers was returning, and with him was a rather wide-eyed, frightened Mary. The butler appeared to be both mortified that such deception had gone on under his watchful nose, and appalled that his mistress may have set out on a very hazardous course. He virtually dragged Mary before Nicholas. “Miss Carlisle’s maid, my lord. It seems you are right, Miss Carlisle has not gone to the rout, but has set out on quite another purpose.”
Nicholas drew a heavy breath, fixing the terrified Mary with a bright gaze. “Has your mistress gone to Portman Street tonight?”
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered.
“Tell me her exact plan.”
“When her carriage left with its blinds down, she went out through the mews in a hackney coach. She meant to enter Miss Jordan’s house from the garden if she could, to take a plume from the bedroom.”
Sommers looked faint.
Nicholas kept his gaze upon the maid. “What was she wearing? If I’m to stand any chance of rescuing her from this unbelievable folly, I need to know exactly what to look for.”
“She has a mask with a veil that covers the lower part of her face, a dark brown wig that’s very curly and quite long, and her gown is yellow.”
Nicholas saw the irony of it. Yellow? The very color that became her most. “How long ago did she leave?”
“About an hour, my lord.”
He didn’t say anything more, but snatched up his hat and gloves and strode from the house. He instructed his coachman to drive post haste to Portman Street mews, and then climbed into the carriage, slamming the door behind him.
The whip cracked, and the team’s hooves struck sparks from the wet cobbles. The wheels splashed through the puddles in the courtyard, and the lamps carved an arc of light through the rain-soaked darkness as the coachman maneuvered the vehicle out beneath the gateway.
* * *
At the ball, Linnet had at last succeeded in escaping from her persistent admirer. Under the pretext of being in dire need of a glass of champagne, she’d languished on a sofa and looked appealingly at him from behind her mask, and he’d hurried away to grant her her wish. The moment he’d disappeared, she left the sofa, mingling again in the crush. She fended off several other hopeful gentlemen by telling them she was already “spoken for,” and gradually managed to make her way toward the archway into the entrance hall. As she reached it, she realized with a start that the black footmen had left their places by the foot of the staircase; the way up to the bedrooms was suddenly clear. She glanced back at the ball, and saw that no one was as yet showing an interest in the bedrooms. On impulse, she decided to carry out her original plan, and remove one of Judith’s plumes after all. Surely she’d somehow manage to leave the house afterward? The doors couldn’t remain locked forever. Gathering her yellow skirts, she slipped swiftly up the staircase to the shadowy floor above, where very few candles indeed had been lit.
Behind her, a tall figure in cloth-of-silver emerged from the archway. The black plumes in Judith’s hair glittered, and her fan still moved gently to and fro, like the slow swishing of a cat’s tail. A cool smile touched her lips as she watched her quarry fleeing unknowingly up toward the bedrooms. Turning toward the kitchen door, she snapped her fingers, and the two footmen came to resume their positions at the foot of the staircase.
“Keep her up there until I’m quite ready to deal with her,” said the Cyprian softly, then she turned and went back into the ball.