Elizabeth dressed herself in the gown William had prepared, but the sizing was all wrong. He overestimated her waist size and underestimated the space required for her breasts, which left her choking and slipping over the long trail. At least the gentle bronze was a flattering color against her pale complexion. She was also given an elegant gold and white mask that curved around her eyes in the shape of a flattened W. The mask covered up to her forehead, spiking behind into long, feather talons that folded against her pinned hair like a wing. From her gently curled hair down to her jewel covered chest, arms, wrists and leggings, Elizabeth felt like a completely different person. She twirled in front of the mirror, unable to recognize herself.
Her sense of wonder heightened after stepping into the ballroom to the Barricks. It was exactly how Elizabeth had imagined an evening with the noble families would unfold. Even the air felt stuffed with self-importance and expensive wine. Everyone paraded around in large eccentric masks, vaguely concealing their identity. All of the women had their hair curled and styled beneath large brimmed hats with matching necklaces, bracelets, and high heeled shoes all trimmed with expensive silk and silk cufflinks. As they walked, their large puffed dresses trailed behind them in rivers. The men were just as glamourous with top hats ornamented in copper frames and decorative charms. Elizabeth’s neck craned back as she walked beneath the massive chandelier that rotated in a slow, steady rotation, its slim curved frame gently rocking the strings of pearls and diamonds dangling below it, making the room sparkle.
In the corner, a band of musicians played, bouncing along with trumpets, saxophones, and a piano. The room buzzed and twirled in its magic. Meeting the nobles as William Wicker’s daughter and not a servant was hard to swallow; most of the families perked up their eyebrows unsure how to address her. Elizabeth felt just as awkward. She bowed like a servant. Walked like a servant. The only differences between her and the waitresses handing out finger food were their outfits.
“Miss Elizabeth, will you be okay if I step aside to speak with Sir Grove privately?” She had glued herself to William’s arm since walking across the threshold, so she was reluctant to let him leave her behind. She nodded her head anyway, now alone and fully aware how alienated she looked from the rest of the crowd.
To avoid the horrors of small talk, Elizabeth pressed herself to the walls where she could gaze outside at the freckle of the city’s lights. The golden city was a busy place, even this late into the night as the gentle roar of the overheard air balloons circled the skies. If she strained her eyes, she could see the tip of her old academy way off into the distance behind the walls separating the rich from everything else. Linking to her reminiscence, the touch of a familiar clammy hand grabbed her elbow.
“Someone needs to tell that doctor he can’t put a saddle on a pig and call it a mare.” She spun at Arthur’s voice.
Her heart raced and she defensively crossed her arms. Nothing tore her down faster than Arthur’s belittling stare and he had been tearing her down for years. Even dressed in such wealth did nothing for Elizabeth’s self-esteem and with one look, she felt she was back in her old sweaty uniform. It was foolish to think wearing the Wicker crest would deter Arthur. But it was different. She wasn’t a servant, not anymore. In all her years of running around corners to flee him, she finally didn’t have to bite her tongue.
“Same old bark, I guess it’s true what they say about old dogs and new tricks,” she countered with raised eyebrows, mimicking his condescending tone. “I’m afraid the only one smelling of bacon is you, Beaumont.” She reached out and patted his round stomach. Arthur’s golden suit did very little to slim his heavy frame. Not even the black pillow of frilly lace tucked under his chin could hide the chin rolls.
The veins in his neck jumped and for a split second Elizabeth couldn’t believe what she’d said. She tensed, expecting his fist to come flying but instead of striking her, Arthur turned his head away in a strained, forced laugh.
“Common, tasteless girls like you don’t last long in a lions’ den. The fact you think you’ve escaped me tells me much about your lack of intelligence. You believe you’re going to live a life of ease with that doctor. How pathetic.” He ran his finger along the strap of her dress and followed the narrow bridge of her collarbone. “This world is mine. I am everything here. And there will be a day where I can finally shatter you into a thousand, tiny, broken little pieces. Not even the doctor can put that egg back together.”
“Your fascination with me is the only thing that’s pathetic.” She snapped back. His eyes glistened with what she could only presume was sadistic joy, noting how his mere touch still made her body recoil.
“You never were a smart little piglet, now were you?”
“Smart enough to escape you.”
“But you haven’t, that’s my point. If you want to survive this world, then you better pucker those lips up. As an apology, you will be present, for my amusement, at the Beaumont mansion during the Red Moon Festival. I’m sure you know the house I’m referring to, you used to clean the toilets after all.” He dug into his pocket to reveal a crisp, white envelope folded over with a red wax stamp sealing it close. Elizabeth eyed the invitation as though he had pulled out a knife. He couldn’t be serious. Was he really inviting her to the Beaumont estate? He must think she’s as dumb as a potted plant to agree to that.
Elizabeth laughed, bewildered. “I would rather have my teeth pulled.”
Over his shoulder, Arthur clicked his fingers, signalling to someone from across the hall. Darting through the crowds, a maid approached with a glass of wine. The moment she stepped out from between the guests, Elizabeth’s world shattered. Sara. Sara’s hand shook as she passed over the wine, her face carefully turned away as though trying to hide her fading black eye.
Elizabeth’s look of horror must’ve pleased him, as Arthur took the glass and smashed it across Sara’s face. Blood splattered across the white tiles as Sara did everything in her power not to scream. The surrounding nobles glanced away, their social protocols keeping them quiet. Elizabeth’s body locked up. Specs of red splattered Elizabeth’s dress and cheek. The swell of blood coloring Sara’s face stunned her. Sara cowered away, protecting her face as Arthur dropped the remaining glass stem to the ground.
Elizabeth couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even blink. Her eyes swelled with angered tears, but her rage paralysed her. Arthur smirked. “So clumsy. Not to worry, the servant will clean it up.”
He looked at Sara, waiting for her to drop to her knees and sweep the remaining shards into her hands. Instead, Sara turned and ran back into the crowd. Elizabeth’s stomach lurched her forward with a heavy dry retch. She wanted to chase her friend. She wanted to puke. She wanted to push Arthur out the window and slash that smile off his smug, rotten sadistic face. She wanted to cry, scream, and use her bare hands to hurt him. Instead, she simply stood there. Stunned.
“I’m sure we have an understanding.” Arthur could see the hesitancy in her eyes. He winked and turned to leave. “Try and wear something not so embarrassing.”
Her understanding of the world came into focus. Men like Arthur Beaumont did not vanish. His cruelty had no limits, and even if it meant costing her life, she was going to stop him. Her mind clouded. Common sense hazed behind it. As Arthur turned away, Elizabeth picked up a shard of glass. She clutched the piece in her palm, adrenaline deadening her fingers that didn’t feel the edges cut her.
She reared her arm upwards, her vision spy glassed onto the exposed flab on Arthur’s turned neck when a hand grabbed her. Immediately, she tried to wretch her arm free and turned to a servant in a black fitted tuxedo. He glared harshly down at her and her body shrunk beneath his shadow. Even through her silk gloves, she could feel the crisp heat of his grip.
“Unhand me!” Elizabeth pulled away. He didn’t shift despite her yanking, his expression unaltered until Lady Claudia approached.
“Miss Wicker? What’s going on?”
Elizabeth twisted around, her humiliation overshadowed by rage. Lady Claudia’s mask only covered a quarter of her face. The frame covered her left eye as the rest of the ornament curled upwards in mimic of a royal crown. Her face was perfection, from her apple green eyes, gentle blonde hair, and natural pouted lips down to her cream-colored skin.
Even scowling, she was beautiful. “Get out of our sight.” She ordered and immediately the butler released Elizabeth’s wrist. Before she could speak again, Elizabeth ran. Arthur was long gone, lost in the tightly packed suits. Elizabeth shoved her way toward the exit. She felt breathless. Her chest tightened, pain scratching at each sharp breath.
“Elizabeth?” A pair of arms grabbed her and pulled her into his chest. She almost collapsed out of exhaustion as William gently, and carefully, took her out from the crowd. “What happened? You’ve got blood on you! Are you hurt?”
Elizabeth shook her head, her thoughts spinning emotions too raw for her to grab. “Sara!” One of the maids, Arthur cut her face badly! Please, help her. Help her.”
“Where did she go?”
Elizabeth pointed vaguely toward the way Sara had bolted. “That way.”
William looked up, before nodding. “I’ll look after her. I’ll call the car around to take you home. I’ll make sure your friend is okay.” Elizabeth shook her head, unable to move. William forced her into a stand. “Go, this isn’t a discussion.”
He ran out toward the front and waved his car around. The driver stepped out, opening the door as Elizabeth disappeared into the backseat. She watched William race back into the mansion, rolling up his sleeves though preparing for surgery. She wanted to stay, she wanted to make sure Sara was fine, but the car pulled out of the driveway too quickly.
Right then, watching the mansion shrink through the back window, Elizabeth promised to never be so helpless. Not ever again.