The Count had no recollection of the incident with the pestle. Lucy had cleaned away the blood and tooth fragments in the scullery, as well as the button-like droplets which ran down the hallway and to the base of the stair. When this was deduced to be the blood’s point of origin, it was assumed the Count had tripped. The guests and their hosts re-enacted this happening the next morning, and they were very excited to be doing so, all except the Count, who stood back from the others, purple and ghastly. The Baron knelt to touch the blunt edge of a stone step, perhaps the very same one the Count had collided with, and a collective shiver ran through the assembled. The Count attempted to speak but his words were unintelligible. He repeated them, but only the Countess could understand, and she translated:
“He wonders where his teeth went.”
The Duke leaned forward. “Likely you ate them, my good man!”
The Count winced at the thought, then winced from the wincing.
“I suppose you’ll find out soon enough!” said the Duke.
The Duchess, who was suffering from a headache, said, “He’s not gone deaf, dear. Please keep your voice down.”
They moved to the breakfast table, where it was decided a medical presence was necessary. The Count agreed but would not consider seeing any doctor other than his court physician. The Baron said he would have a letter sent at once to fetch the man; but no, the Count preferred to recuperate in the comfort of his own estate. This point was argued but the Count was immovable, and now a pall settled over the table, for the premature departure of he and the Countess signaled the collapse of the group. And what of the Duke and Duchess? Yes, it would seem that they, too, were formulating plans to leave; already they were speaking of future meetings, and the unfortunateness of the Count’s taking a fall—the pity of it all. The Baron looked on, aggrieved, and a glint of desperation flashed in his eye. He pleaded with the others to stay, speaking of grand dinners and as yet untapped kegs of the finest wines; but none could be persuaded, and now all was silent save for the clattering of cutlery.
Something had gone wrong the night before, something which wouldn’t be mended. Who could say whether this was a shared sense of loathsome shame stemming from the ballroom happenings, or some lingering hostility which had taken hold of the group permanently—Lucy wasn’t sure the performance of the evening prior was not ongoing. But whatever the reason, the joy vanished from the guests, and also the Baron, and most acutely, the Baroness, who, upon recognizing that the happy times had once more ended, left the table without saying goodbye to her old friends, disappearing into her private chambers and locking herself in.