Murder at the Masquerade Ball

by Margaret Addison

  Though their progress was inevitably tottering and slow, it was patently obvious that it was merely a matter of minutes before they discovered the presence of the girl and the man on the terrace. With this in mind, Lavinia turned to address the masked stranger, a question on her lips. However, she was never to utter it. For only then did she realise that she was quite alone. Her companion had vanished; where he had been standing were merely shadows. Lavinia stared stupidly, unable to believe her eyes, wondering whether, after all, the masked stranger had been nothing but a figment of her vivid imagination, conjured up to produce the promise of a fairy tale. It was then that something caught her eye, an object lying discarded on the ground. Almost without thinking, she stooped and picked it up. She recognised it instantly as one of the soft leather gloves her companion had been wearing. Holding it tightly in her hand, she stared at it dumbfounded. The next minute, she held it to her breast.

  ‘It’s a pity there were so many of them,’ Commander Wrenfield said.

  He had taken off his mask to reveal his heavy jaw and thickset features. To Cedric’s eye he looked strained and deadly serious.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ll be able to provide me with some of the names of the people who came into this room, my lord?’ he continued in the same heavy, sombre voice. ‘You’d have had as good a view as anyone.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ admitted Cedric, feeling as if he was being judged and found wanting. ‘It all happened too fast and of course everyone was in costume. The masks make it jolly difficult to recognise anyone.’

  ‘The best we can do then is to try to remember some of the costumes we saw,’ said the commander.

  ‘A lot of the costumes looked alike to me,’ reflected Cedric, ‘and most of the women had powdered faces and were wearing wigs. Jolly similar they looked too, though some of the wigs were decorated with flowers and bows. My sister’s is decorated in such a way, but,’ he added hastily, ‘she didn’t come into the room, Commander. I would have recognised her costume.’

  ‘Well, that’s something. One to be struck off our list, at least. Lady Lavinia Sedgwick.’

  Beneath his mask, Cedric raised his eyebrows; it was difficult to know whether the commander was being serious. The great man continued.

  ‘Ghastly things, those wigs,’ he said. ‘Made of horsehair, I shouldn’t wonder. I say, Atherton, are you still here? You should have been in the garden by now apprehending our thief.’

  ‘I’m just going, sir,’ said Hallam apologetically. Rather foolishly, he had been in something of a daze. Making for the door, he stopped abruptly and turned back. ‘I say, I’ve just remembered something. It may be nothing, of course, but there was rather a peculiar fellow. By that I mean his costume struck me as being rather odd. He was wearing a mask that covered all his face. I remember wondering how the poor fellow managed to eat or drink anything. It would have been dashed awkward, I can tell you, and what sort of chap comes to a ball if he doesn’t intend to eat or drink anything all evening?’

  ‘Ah,’ cried the man with the foreign accent. There was a note of excitement in his voice, which was distorted somewhat by the mask he was still wearing. ‘I remember this man, very strange, yes. His mask, it is like the one I have seen worn by the mime artists. And his clothes, they are very odd too, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Hallam enthusiastically. ‘What sort of fellow wears a gold cravat and red waistcoat with a dinner jacket? Now I come to think of it, his cloak was quite the thing as well. It was rather a billowing affair. In fact, just the sort of thing under which a chap might hide some stolen papers. I he –’

  Hallam caught the maddened look in the commander’s eye and tore out of the room.

  ‘Well, that might be the fellow we’re looking for,’ murmured the commander, more to himself than to anyone else. ‘As for the rest of them, well the men were mostly wearing evening dress, and one or two of them a tricorn hat.’ It was then that he seemed to register Raymond Franklin’s presence for the first time.

  ‘Aren’t you the fellow who came in to lend a hand?’ the commander asked, somewhat brusquely. ‘It was good of you to be sure, but I must ask you, sir, to turn out your pockets. It’s merely routine, of course, but –’

  ‘Now, look here, Commander,’ began Cedric testily, ‘Franklin happens to be a friend of mine and I –’

  ‘It’s all right, my lord,’ said Raymond, putting a hand on Cedric’s arm. ‘I have no objection to being searched. The commander is only doing his job and I have nothing to hide.’

  ‘That’s very good of you, sir,’ said Commander Wrenfield, undertaking a brief, but thorough, search of Raymond’s attire. ‘Quite a striking shade of blue your costume is, if you don’t mind my saying. I just wish those other fellows had followed your example and weren’t all wearing black.’ In the act of walking back towards his companion, he hesitated suddenly as a thought struck him. ‘Now I come to think of it, there was a woman wearing the same colour of gown as yourself. I don’t suppose she’s anything to do with you?’

  ‘Iris!’ exclaimed Raymond, looking about him in something of a wild fashion. ‘Where’s my wife? She was here a minute ago.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Still holding the leather glove, Lavinia made her way back into the ballroom where the music and dancing awaited her. Before it had beckoned to her from the open windows, now it seemed unduly loud and frivolous. Had the masked man been there to hold her in his arms, Lavinia would have danced quite happily till dawn. Deprived of her desired partner, she was now reluctant to join in the festivities. Instead she had an overwhelming desire to find him. For the leather glove, soft beneath her fingers, had gained an almost mystical significance. If nothing else, it was reminiscent of Cinderella’s glass slipper. In that story the prince had scoured the land to find his princess. Her task, in comparison, was less daunting. She had merely to make a search of the house to find her masked stranger.

  With these thoughts uppermost in her mind, a smile formed on Lavinia’s lips. With a giddy lightness of spirit, she glided around the ballroom until she was quite satisfied that the man with the gold cravat was not present. Negotiating the dancing couples, she skirted the room and made her way towards the door and out onto the wide landing that lay beyond. Just as she reached the top of the grand staircase and was debating whether to go down to scour the lower rooms, or make a mild detour to search the chaperones’ and sitting-out rooms, she was hailed by a cry.

  It was Hallam, who was coming up the stairs. A cursory glance revealed the young man to be flustered. He was moving hurriedly, taking several stairs at a time. This fact did not bother Lavinia unduly, for she imagined he was in pursuit of the girl he had arranged to meet behind the leather screen and who had evidently failed to keep the appointment. In Lavinia’s present mood, it was of little concern to her. She did not wish to become embroiled or entangled in anyone else’s romantic endeavours; she was too absorbed in her own. Certainly she did not intend to stand and parley when her time and efforts could be better spent. For it had occurred to her, rather belatedly, that even now the masked man might be climbing into a cab. She pushed past the guests rather rudely, pretending that she had neither seen nor heard Hallam in the crowd who still flocked about the staircase.

  It came as something of a surprise, then, when Hallam’s opening remark alluded to the very masked man whom she herself were seeking.

  ‘I say, Lavinia,’ he called to her over the heads of numerous guests, ‘you haven’t seen a fellow with a mask that covers his whole face, have you? A sort of ivory colour. It’s rather plain. He’s wearing a gold cravat and a scarlet waistcoat.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Lavinia, a trifle guardedly. She hesitated and then joined him on the stairs, surreptitiously keeping the leather glove from view by placing it behind her open fan. She stationed herself on the step above Hallam and looked down at him. Her natural curiosity soon overcame her caution and she said rather recklessly:

  ‘What has he done?’

&
nbsp; ‘Done?’ Hallam gave her a sharp look, the expression quite lost by his wearing a mask. ‘Why should he have done anything?’

  Lavinia did not answer. Hallam pondered for a moment, debating with himself how much he might reasonably be permitted to disclose. Taking Lavinia by the hand, he led her to a relatively secluded corner of the landing and said in a low voice:

  ‘I’m afraid he’s taken something that isn’t his.’

  ‘Are you saying he’s a thief?’

  ‘Well … yes, I suppose you might call him that.’

  Lavinia gave an excited gasp. ‘The jewel thief!’ she cried, much too loudly for Hallam’s peace of mind.

  ‘Ssh!’ he said sternly, shaking her by the shoulders. ‘Do you want everyone to hear?’

  If he had had any thought of telling her the truth, his lips were now resolutely sealed. He would not say it was a case of treason, that the theft he spoke of was of far more importance than the disappearance of a pearl necklace. His heart sank and he stared rather despondently at her, all too aware that Lavinia’s face beneath its mask was dangerously animated.

  ‘Well, have you seen the fellow?’ He spoke more gruffly than he had intended, compounding the matter by adding rather patronisingly: ‘This is not a game, you know?’

  Lavinia, immediately offended by his tone, took umbrage.

  ‘No,’ she said mendaciously and rather coldly.

  Hallam regarded her curiously, but decided not to pursue the matter. Instead, he said, more to himself than to her:

  ‘The fellow must be in the garden.’

  ‘I suppose he might be,’ Lavinia said evasively, though she had the grace to blush. For she had already made an extensive search of the garden and knew, if nothing else, that the masked stranger was not there.

  Inwardly, her heart was fluttering. She desperately needed to go and find somewhere where she might be quite alone, a place where she might sit and think, because, really, there was a great deal to think about. If Hallam spoke the truth, and she had no reason to doubt him, then the man she had encountered on the terrace was not Prince Charming, but a common thief. No, not a common thief, she corrected herself quickly, an audacious jewel thief. Really, that sounded much better; a mixture of Roblin Hood and Dick Turpin rolled into one. Admittedly, he wasn’t of the bold and courageous Scarlet Pimpernel type, but he had rather resembled a highwayman in the manner of his dress, and, really, gentlemen robbers were quite dashing in their way.

  It was, therefore, with something of mixed feelings that she watched as Hallam turned towards the ballroom. The young man’s intention was obvious. He meant to make for the French windows, go out on to the terrace, and descend the steps to the garden below. It was a fool’s errand, for she was confident that she had searched every inch of the garden before returning to the house. She gave a sudden start. The gardener’s shed! She had overlooked the gardener’s shed! Though she scolded herself severely, she could hardly blame herself for having done so. Lying as it did off the path at the very end of the garden, the building was partially obscured both by the shadows cast by the back wall and a large bush which grew in front of it, effectively hiding the entrance.

  She thought it was quite possible that the jewel thief was even now hiding inside the shed. No doubt he was waiting for an opportunity to make good his escape. She bit her bottom lip, filled with an uncharacteristic moment of indecision. What should she do? She could not let Hallam find him; of that she was tolerably certain. She considered running after the young man, begging him to forgo his search. She might quite reasonably say that she had spotted the masked man leaving Kingsley House by way of the front door. That would see Hallam tearing back into the house and, while he was interrogating the servants on the door, or running from one end of the pavement to the other, she could go out into the garden and warn the thief.

  She had almost decided on this course of action when the matter was taken firmly out of her hands by the arrival of a man clad in a brilliant blue frock coat and breeches who appeared before her, effectively barring her way.

  ‘Lady Lavinia?’ he enquired tentatively. ‘Is that you?’

  She did not answer immediately, an overwhelming feeling of frustration momentarily depriving her of speech.

  ‘Raymond Franklin, your ladyship. I believe you are a great friend of my wife’s.’

  This was such an exaggeration of the truth that the girl almost laughed. To stifle the temptation to do so, she placed her goose feather fan in front of her face and proceeded to fan herself with both concentration and vigour, careful as she did so not to reveal the existence of the leather glove.

  Raymond, apparently unaware in his agitated state that his words had caused amusement, carried on.

  ‘Have you seen my wife, your ladyship?’ he said. ‘Do you know if she happened to pass this way?’

  ‘Iris?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Raymond, trying hard to keep the impatience from his voice. It occurred to him then that Lady Lavinia may not have recognised his wife in her disguise. ‘Mrs Franklin’s costume is the same colour as my own,’ he supplied helpfully, if a little formally.

  ‘No,’ said Lavinia.

  She was not in a particularly helpful frame of mind, For one thing, she was eager to pursue her own search and, for another, she was mindful of the scandalous articles that had been written about Raymond Franklin in the newspapers. These, she supposed, were responsible for Iris having been particularly quiet and withdrawn when she had visited Kingsley House. How very wretched the woman had looked.

  Lavinia stared up at Raymond with barely concealed hostility, but also a little curiosity. This then was the man over whom Iris had broken her heart over. Iris, an heiress of immense fortune but very little character, who might reasonably have married any man of her choosing, had selected Raymond Franklin for a husband; a man considerably below her in class and position. Mingled with these thoughts came a vague recollection that she had indeed seen a woman dressed in the same shade of blue as the man who stood before her. As she recalled, the woman had been standing by the French windows in the ballroom looking out, as if she had been searching for something amongst the darkened shadows.

  It was then that Lavinia was struck by a sudden and most awful thought. For she had just remembered Hallam’s earlier visit to Kingsley House and the young man’s attentiveness towards her guest. Was it possible that the woman Hallam had arranged to meet behind the folding screen was not a girl, hiding from the inquisitive eyes of her chaperone, but rather Iris, concealing an intrigue from her husband? Lavinia opened her eyes very wide and gasped. All at once she saw Iris in a very different, more vibrant light. Her idle speculation had added a certain interest and colour to the woman that had not been present before. Iris Franklin was no longer the helpless and rather pathetic specimen that had presented herself for afternoon tea. Instead she now had about her a veneer of fascination. Lavinia smiled mischievously to herself. Let Raymond Franklin have a bit of his own medicine. It would jolly well serve him right; she certainly had no intention of spoiling Iris’ fun.

  Fast on the heels of this notion came the thought that she must act quickly. For was it not quite possible that Hallam had arranged to meet Iris in the garden? Really, she reflected, it was far more plausible that he had organised some clandestine meeting than that the tale he had spun her of being in pursuit of a jewel thief was true. How she had been quite so gullible as to have believed such a far-fetched story, she did not know. But whatever else preoccupied her mind, she was quite determined to prevent Raymond Franklin from discovering Hallam and Iris together.

  ‘I believe I saw Mrs Franklin making for the sitting-out room,’ she said, flashing Raymond a smile that was as false as it was dazzling.

  ‘The sitting-out room?’

  Was it her imagination, or did she detect a degree of scepticism in Raymond Franklin’s voice? She wondered if, after her apparent indifference, she had spoken too animatedly. Certainly he had seemed to have a little difficulty in bel
ieving what she was saying, and in that moment of indecision, it seemed to her, disaster struck. She was indicating, with the aid of her fan, the exact location of the sitting-out room and debating even whether to accompany Raymond there herself, when who should appear, but Hallam, looking slightly dishevelled.

  ‘It’s no good. I shall need a torch,’ he said, reaching them slightly breathless, as if he had been running.

  ‘A torch?’ inquired Lavinia, rather stupidly.

  ‘I can’t see a thing,’ said Hallam. ‘The terrace is all right, because its lit by the light from the ballroom. It’s the bottom of the garden that’s the issue. I almost fell down those steps that go down to the gate. Jolly dangerous they are too.’

  ‘Have you seen my wife?’ demanded Raymond.

  ‘Iris?’ said Hallam, sounding mildly surprised. ‘No, of course not. Why should I have seen her in the garden?’

  ‘You are a particular friend of my wife’s, I think?’ said Raymond.

  ‘I have only very recently had the pleasure of making Mrs Franklin’s acquaintance,’ replied Hallam, a little tetchily.

  ‘You have not seen my wife?

  ‘I have just said that I have not.’

  There followed a brief but awkward silence, broken abruptly by Hallam.

  ‘Come man, you know full well I’m in pursuit of a thief,’ he said, sounding exasperated. He lowered his voice and added in an angry whisper: ‘You were there in The Retreat. You know what has happened. There’s not a moment to lose.’