CHAPTER 9

A JOLLY SUPPER

LUCY WANTED TO PLAY the piano in the drawing room during the supper buffet after the tableaux, but James told her no.

“He says I am too heavy-handed,” she complained. “That I may play for guests only when I have refined my touch.”

Miss Annabelle Day took her place on the piano bench instead. The vivid makeup of a pirate had been wiped from her face, though she still wore the white shirt with a low front that displayed considerable bosom. Previously hidden by a ragged black wig, her auburn hair was pulled into a high knot that emphasized the scoop of her neckline.

She shuffled the sheets of music and made a selection, smiling up at Mr. Corker, who set a glass of champagne next to her. He was still in full pirate garb, except for the sword, which he’d jammed into the coal scuttle by the fire. James had stayed in costume too. His face makeup, like Mr. Corker’s, was streaked and sweaty.

Annabelle’s fingers moved gently across the keys for a few bars and then she began to sing, softly. A hush fell as we listened for a while, before chatter began again.

Hector wore his ragged Tiny Tim jacket and breeches, reluctant to put aside his moment of triumph. Lucy kept her hair tucked under a cap to look like brave Jim Hawkins for an hour longer. She held two cakes, urging Hector to choose one. They now were colleagues of a sort, who had shared an afternoon apart from me. I tried not to itch in my new Christmas dress.

“It is unnerving, James, to look at you,” came old Lady Greyson’s unhappy voice. “I do wish you’d wash your face and put your proper clothes back on.”

“I’m showing my Christmas spirit, Mother. All in fun, you know. The servants are having a splendid time, seeing us behave a bit foolishly.”

“Foolish does not become you,” she grumbled. “Nor does it suit the drawing room, to be invaded by a platoon of pirates.”

“How is your toothache, Mother?” said James.

“Dr. Musselman put in a drop of chloroform earlier, but I’m afraid it has quite worn off.”

“I will see if he can supply another dose. Perhaps you’d like to retire to the comfort of your own room? Evelyn can take you up and get you settled. But mind you don’t keep her long. Tonight is for your lady’s maid to enjoy as well.”

Lady Greyson sighed loudly. James caught me watching and winked.

“Here’s Aggie to keep you company while I find Evelyn.”

I would have far preferred to be sent on the Evelyn-seeking errand, but never could have said so. I assisted Lady Greyson into a chair and waited for her to get comfortable, dreading the moment when I must speak. What to say, what to say? Where was Grannie Jane in my time of need? Across the room, conversing with a pirate, whose back was to me. Mr. Corker or Mr. Sivam? I couldn’t tell which because the costumes were all the same. Not James, I hoped, as he should be bringing Evelyn to rescue me.

“Do you like the music?” I said.

“Fortunately, I am hard of hearing,” said Lady Greyson, “and am not compelled to listen.” She closed her eyes and tipped her face upward, as if an invisible thread joined the end of her nose to a point among the plaster roses on the ceiling. I thought she might have fallen instantly asleep, but then, “The ballroom has much better acoustics for listening to music,” she said. “I danced there on my wedding night and on many a night after.”

“Oh!” I was startled by the sweetness of her recollection. “Did James’s father like to dance?”

“He was the best partner I ever knew,” she said. “Any woman he danced with became the belle of the ball.” Her eyes were still closed and this time I think she floated away.

Evelyn arrived to escort Lady Greyson, just as my grandmother appeared beside me.

“I should very much like to see whether the pirates might perform an encore while wielding their cutlasses,” said Grannie Jane, in a low voice. “But James tells me that for decency’s sake, I must retire with my hostess.” She followed Lady Greyson toward East House.

And there I was, free to roam the party!

Mr. Mooney, like the other actors, was still in his Long John Silver garb, but now had two legs and two boots instead of the peg he’d had strapped on during the Treasure Island tableau. He had replaced Mr. Corker next to Annabelle on the piano bench, and whispered into her ear. She began at once to play a different tune, one that he played with her, commanding more attention from the room—especially when the pianists finished with a finger-flying flourish. Lots of jolly applause after that.

“Mrs. Sivam,” said Mr. Mooney. “Would you care to sing? I remember that you had a voice like an—”

“Do not say an angel,” said Mrs. Sivam, laughing. “Four years have passed since I sang for an audience. I’m an old married woman now. Only my husband hears me sing.” She slipped from the room before the invitation could come again.

Mr. Mooney and Miss Day commenced another song, a little noisier this time. Marjorie’s worried look and James’s lifted eyebrow told me that it was not the sort of song usually heard in the drawing room of Owl Park. James leaned in to say something and Miss Day’s next offering was a gentle nocturne by Chopin. My dance teacher at home had arranged this very music to accompany a performance of girls swaying like trees. Marjorie looked much relieved as she circulated, servant for the evening, with fresh champagne and plates of mushroom caps stuffed with crab meat. I ate four.

Mrs. Sivam was back, holding her husband’s cherished wooden box above her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “I want to thank you for your patience with the ruckus early this morning. You deserve to know the reason behind it.”

“Kitty!”

“My husband may be a bit miffed,” she said, with a sly smile at Mr. Sivam, “but I’d like to give you all a glimpse of our remarkable treasure.”

Mr. Sivam reached for her arm, but she laughed as if they were playing a chasing game and twirled away. He pulled back his hand as if scalded and put it into the pocket of his jacket. She was teasing him, but it seemed to take some effort for his smile to appear.

Kitty opened the box and took out a small bag made of pale green silk. She passed the box to the nearest person, Mr. Mooney, so that her own hands might be free. We all drew closer, as if the bag held a powerful magnet rather than a gemstone.

“I would ask you again,” said Lakshay Sivam, “not to—”

Kitty rolled the Echo Emerald out of its nest and held it above her head, green and glinting, the size of a peach stone. She turned it this way and that, catching light from every lamp and candle in the room. I was not the only one to gasp at the shining glory of a single stone.

“You’ve had your fun, Kitty,” said Mr. Sivam, quietly. “Time to put it safely away.” He held out his hand, waiting for her to drop the emerald on his palm.

“How can such a beautiful thing carry a curse?” said Kitty, still holding it high. A murmur rustled through the room, like a breeze that promised rain. I saw Marjorie look imploringly at James.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sivam,” said James, “for a glimpse of your astonishing jewel. Now, please, I beg you…” He was using a jolly voice, but he meant to aid Mr. Sivam’s wishes. “I beg you to withdraw temptation from our sight and lock up the Echo Emerald for the safety of us all.”

The company laughed nervously, while Kitty obediently replaced the gem into the silk bag, pulled tight the drawstring and gave it to her husband. Mr. Sivam closed the box lid and bowed to the assembled company before taking his treasure upstairs. More champagne was poured, and Miss Day began to play a soothing song on the piano. James invited Marjorie to dance, and Mr. Mooney offered his hand to Kitty Sivam.

The day had started before the sun came up and now it was very late on Christmas Eve. Hector and I must have climbed all those stairs to the nursery, but how? I tried not to think greedily about my stocking from Father Christmas or the packages that might be waiting, or about the heaps of taffy and truffles to be eaten. Indeed, I had no time to think of anything, for I was asleep before I’d closed my eyes.