“I’ll end it by jumping over some barrels,” offered Linnet, sensing a new way to look spectacular in Nicolas’s watching eyes. “And after I land I’ll stagger and make it look like I was hurt.”
“Well, not too exaggerated a stagger—and be sure not to fall,” cautioned Georgiana. “For that would bring Brett on the run and we might be found out.” She was mentally certain that no cleverness of costume was going to fool Brett at close quarters. “Are you sure you can jump over barrels!' ’ she asked uneasily.
"Oh, yes. I’ve done it often! Jumped over four barrels, I have!”
“Three will be quite enough,” sighed Georgiana.
The seamstress was confused but—sworn to secrecy—she warmed to the idea and made up two matching ruffled costumes and two matching ruffled dust caps and white silk face masks to which were affixed long fat braids, which Georgiana and a willing Linnet fashioned from the yellow wool knitting yam. The bodice of each was of checked gingham, the left side green and white checks, the right side red and white, and the huge full puffed sleeves were the same colors in reverse with enormous yellow-and-white-checked gingham ruffles that spilled from the elbows.
Georgiana had wanted a big ruff to conceal the neck but Linnet had protested, “I can’t skate in one of them great wheel things— ’twould get in my way!” They had compromised on a flowing white linen collar to which the ends of the silk face mask would be attached by a few stitches after the costume was on, so the mask could not fly up during one of Linnet's flying leaps and reveal her features.
The wide gingham skirts were of alternate yellow and red and green checks and the whole thing was elaborately patched in bright swatches of flowered calico. The costumes were deliberately made loose and flowing so that Linnet’s heavier figure could be concealed by a confusion of bright patches and gingham ruffles and calico puff's. The enormous sleeves completely enveloped Linnet’s heavier arms and the plain white billowing petticoats were conveniently made out of old sheets. The heavy red and white striped stockings had been duly borrowed from cook’s mystified daughter, whom Georgiana had delighted with a gift of a new red flannel petticoat that even Linnet envied. The stockings were so thick and of so uneven a texture that Georgiana decided the difference in their legs would pass even Brett’s and Nicolas’s sharp eyes unnoticed.
Shoes had been a problem—Linnet’s feet were two sizes larger than Georgiana’s. This was solved by creating a kind of mock boot of black felt to be worn over the shoes—the two pairs were exactly the same size, only Georgiana’s were destined to be stuffed with yarn to make them fit.
“These skirts are shocking short,” protested the seamstress, biting off the thread as she finished and holding up the almost mid-calf-length skirt before her.
“So a bit more stocking will show,” said Georgiana coolly. “Linnet has to have her skirts short enough so there’s no chance of her catching her skates and falling.”
The seamstress looked doubtful, obviously thinking a bit more decorum on the ice would be in order, but Linnet giggled. She’d be glad to show the full length of her stockings—and more besides—out there on the ice with Nicolas watching. And indeed she might, with the great leaps she’d be taking.
The same makeshift technique used to cover their variance in shoe sizes was applied to gloves to cover their variance in hand sizes—for Linnet’s were considerably larger than Georgiana’s. This was solved by covering round bulky mittens with black felt and adding long black gauntlets, which completely concealed any forearm that might be shown when the sleeve ruffles blew back.
When both girls were dressed in their bright costumes, complete to red-and-white-striped stockings and the white silk masks that covered their faces, leaving only long slits for the eyes and with round patches of pink silk appliqued to simulate rosy cheeks, they stood side by side before Georgiana’s dressing mirror and the seamstress burst out laughing.
“As alike as two peas in a pod!” she declared proudly, turning her head to one side and standing back to look at them. “Ye could pass for twins now, for all that the mistress is slimmer!”
Turning about, Georgiana studied her reflection critically—and decreed that in the time that remained, brilliants should be sewn at strategic places on both costumes.
She wanted to sparkle out there on the ice!
BOOK VI
Masquerade on Ice
A little west of loving, a little east of sin,
A little south of innocence—oh, where do I begin?
Somewhere across a plain of doubt, high on a cliff of pride
This foolish troubled woman's heart must find a place to hide!
Windgate on the Hudson,
Winter 1673
Chapter 29
Georgians had originally wanted to wait until the Hudson itself was frozen over (as Linnet had assured her would soon be the case if the cold weather held) but Brett had been adamant. She had announced to the world the night of the ten Haers’ ball that they would be giving their own masquerade ball with the first snowfall—and so it would be done.
So the invitations had gone out, and Georgiana had had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Brett why she had wanted to wait—so Erica Hulft would be stuck in New Orange and unable to make the journey upriver.
If he guessed her reason, he gave no sign. His expression was stern.
The invitations went out a week before the ball and Georgiana kept hoping for a sudden freeze, something that would confine the guests to neighbors who could make the journey conveniently, but although the pond was hard-frozen now, the river remained flowing.
Georgiana looked out at the river, that beautiful damnable stream that flowed two ways—as her mother’s heart had done. And perhaps—although she did not want to face it—her own. No, she told herself sharply, she loved Brett, despite this temporary estrangement, but she could not—she would not share him with Erica Hulft.
Erica arrived a day early. Georgiana could hardly believe it when Govert’s sloop—it was easily remarked for its hull was painted red—sailed up to the landing and made fast. She and Brett were at breakfast when vaguely in the distance they heard the sloop hailed. She ran to the drawing room windows and looked out, wondering who it could be—surely not guests for the ball; they would not come until tomorrow.
She caught her breath as she recognized the sloop.
Brett had risen from the table and now he joined her at the window.
“Govert Steendam’s sloop,” he said in an expressionless voice. “And apparently”—he watched as a woman in an apricot velvet cloak lavished with red fox furs that matched her brilliant fox-brush hair alighted alone—“it carries only Erica.”
Georgiana stared indignantly at the sloop, at the elegant figure just now alighting from it. “How does that woman have the effrontery to come here alone—-again?” she muttered under her breath.
Brett gave her a sharp look. “You will be civil to her,” he said. “Steendam and I may become partners in a mill near Rensselaerwyck, remember.”
Goaded by his recent coldness, by the unexpected appearance of her rival, by the splendor of Erica’s garb while she herself was running about in her slate blue housedress, supervising fevered last-minute preparations, Georgiana turned on her husband.
“A mill?” Her voice rang out scornfully. “And a partnership with Govert Steendam.... It all seems very important to you, doesn’t it?” When he was silent she continued to glower at him. “Oh, don’t you see?” she burst out at last. “It is all part of her contriving! Erica’s using you, maneuvering you! She wants this partnership with Steendam to come about because then she will have the whip hand. She will have you just where she wants you then. You will jump when she snaps her fingers, for you will know that if you do not, she will whisper into Steendam’s ear on her pillow that you and she were lovers, and he will withdraw his aid, and by then you will be in too deep to recover and he will ruin you! Erica will ruin you!”
“You misunderstand Erica,�
�� Brett said coldly. “And since you know nothing of Steendam or the way things are here, I will tell you about it. Govert Steendam came here from Leyden twenty years ago with all his savings. He was in love with Annekje Maarten, a Leyden beauty of great fortune and he worked desperately to amass enough money so that her father would accept him as a suitor for his daughter. His friends have told me that Govert would have walked barefoot through the snow from New York to Albany, could he have brought Annekje here. But Maarten threw away Govert’s frantic letters begging him to wait; he gave Annekje to a man old enough to be her grandfather. She wrote to Govert, broken-hearted, and told him of her betrothal. Like a madman, Govert dropped all that he was doing, took ship and sailed for Holland. He arrived in Leyden three days after the wedding and, I’m told, did not have a sober day for six months. Then one day quite by chance he ran across Annekje in the main street of Leyden and they both stopped dead and stared at each other. Her face had gone white and she looked about to faint and he helped her into a tavern. There, in tears, she pleaded with Govert, she told him that she had been forced into this marriage, but that if Govert would but go back to America and wait for her, she would yet be his for her elderly husband was in his dotage and very ill and could not live much longer.”
“Why did she allow herself to be forced into a marriage with an old man she did not love?” burst out Georgiana indignantly. “Why did she not run away?”
“Undoubtedly you would have done so,” said Brett. “But it seems that Annekje had not your courage. And remember, when the wedding took place, she still believed Govert to be far away across the sea, too far to aid her. Annekje chose to wait, hoping death would resolve her situation. Govert, moved by Annekje’s pleading, agreed to wait, accepted the situation, again embarked for America and plunged with renewed vigor into his business. It flourished. The years dragged by, while he lived on occasional letters from Annekje. And then one day he received word from a friend in Holland that Annekje, his Annekje, had died in childbirth. Her elderly husband, not in his dotage after all, it seems, had survived her. Govert turned gray in the face when he read the letter and turned his face to the wall. His housekeeper—we have the story from her for she read his mail and observed his actions—thought he would die of grief, for he spoke to no one and ate almost nothing for two long months. At the end of that time, he got up and went about his business, as gray and cold as ever.”
“And then Erica came along,” breathed Georgiana.
“Yes, then Erica came his way—and someone who once saw Annekje in Leyden told the housekeeper that Erica bears a striking resemblance to Govert’s lost Annekje.”
Georgiana cast a look down the slope at Erica, who was in animated conversation with the sloop’s schipper on the pier. “If so,” she said rudely, “I’ve little doubt that the father of her child was not the old man in his dotage she claimed him to be but some more virile lover—I’ll wager Annekje fooled Govert Steendam with this tale! If she was anything like Erica, she probably wanted to keep them both!”
Brett gave her a reproving look. “Steendam turned to Erica as to Annekje reborn,” he said shortly. “She is the lodestar of his life just now. If you would have the heart to deprive him of her, at least I have not! So since Erica is shortly to become his wife, I would hope that you could manage to be civil to her. Why indeed can you not become friends? Govert Steendam is perhaps the most powerful man in New Orange right now and we may yet be in sore need of powerful friends in this Dutch colony!”
Friends! She and Erica Hulft—friends! It was not to be imagined. “Ah, but there’s another reason besides business for us to become ‘friends,’ isn’t there?” she cried bitterly, venting her anger at the suggestion on Brett. “A more potent one? Why don’t you admit it?”
The answer was like a bucket of ice water thrown in her face. “I do admit it,” he said coldly. “Erica and I go back a long way. She once wanted—yes, expected although I gave her no grounds to expect it—to become my wife. She has made many mistakes, but it would take a large one indeed to make me turn my back on her.”
Georgiana felt as if her head would burst. She turned away from him, plunging toward the doorway. “You may greet your former mistress alone!” she flung over her shoulder. “I shall be too busy to receive her!”
But of course Erica was not to be ignored. Later in the day as she busied herself with checking out the guest rooms with Linnet, she looked out the window and saw Brett strolling with Erica across the lawns. Erica said something that made him laugh. She could see him throw his head back. And then Erica tossed her fox-brush head prettily and bridled and took his arm and leaned upon it.
Georgiana could hear her own teeth grinding. So angry she felt physically sick, she whirled away from the window and clutched a chairback, held on to it as if to anchor herself in the room. Every feminine instinct she had urged her to go down and take a broomstick to Erica. Every grain of common sense told her to hold her fire, to say nothing, to wait. Sooner or later Erica would make a mistake and she would pounce upon it. And if she did not—there was always the ice dancing exhibition to prod Erica into making a false move. Reasoning thus with her own wild nature, Georgiana clung to the chair until she felt calmer.
She even managed to be gracious to Erica at supper, although it cost her a deal.
She had taken the time to dress properly before greeting her guest. The pale lemon damask of her gown was complemented by wide gold velvet ribands caught cunningly at the elbows of her big full sleeves, from which spilled the dainty white lawn ruffles of her chemise. Her wide skirts were most carefully tucked up to display her gold satin petticoat. Having arranged her burnished gold hair in a most becoming fashion, she had looked with satisfaction in the mirror and gone down to meet Erica.
Erica and Brett were waiting for her in the wide front hall. They were deep in conversation, laughing into each other’s eyes when Georgiana caught sight of them below her. She almost missed the top step.
Erica looked stunning. The sleek copper satin of her gown outlined a lissome figure and was cut even lower than Georgiana’s, which displayed a snowy expanse of bosom. Glittering copper lace spilled from Erica’s big slashed sleeves, which were richly lined with black velvet set cleverly here and there with brilliants that flashed as she moved. Her satin skirts were gathered up into enormous panniers to display a velvet petticoat, black as night, and there were copper lace rosettes on her black velvet slippers.
Looking at this vision, Georgiana felt suddenly like a pretty provincial lass brought to court for the first time and watching in baffled wonderment as an elegant courtesan swept by. It was no wonder, she realized, that Brett had been attracted to Erica and... still was.
Erica looked up and saw her watching.
“Why, Georgiana,” she cried in a warm light voice, sounding somehow surprised to see her—and this Georgiana’s own house. “How lovely you look!” And came forward to greet her with both hands extended in a charming gesture, even as she turned to say something over her shoulder to Brett.
Georgiana felt she was interrupting their conversation, which continued to swirl about her as they drifted into the long dining room. She felt left out of it, and her turquoise eyes were snapping as she coolly warned her guest that with all the great preparations underfoot, cook had balked at preparing more than suppawn and hutspot and cold meats for tonight’s supper.
“I don’t mind,” laughed Erica. “Brett and I have supped often enough on Indian meal porridge and hutspot when cook flew into one of her tempers over something the servants had done!” Brett frowned at her and she looked momentarily distressed, her long lashes fluttering against her creamy cheeks, but when her gaze flew to Georgiana—her host and hostess were seated appropriately at the long board and Erica was seated, appropriately, between them—her silky and slightly malevolent expression told Georgiana that the slip had been deliberate. It was Erica’s way of telling the new bride how much time she and Brett had spent in this house together when s
he had been mistress here. Georgiana managed to keep her fork steady and hoped the resentment she felt did not show on her face.
Conversation lagged while Brett expertly carved a haunch of venison. When he had finished, he smiled at Georgiana. An impersonal smile, she told herself hotly. She might have been a guest!
“Erica is an excellent skater. You should ask her to teach you,” he suggested.
“Thank you, I have already learned,” said Georgiana distantly.
Brett managed to conceal his astonishment, for he had imagined that Linnet must have had to drag her across the glassy surface of the pond, holding her up. “Indeed?” he murmured. “I am glad to hear it.”
“I am amazed to hear it,” said Erica. “Coming from Bermuda, where there is no ice.”
“I have been skating but a short time,” Georgiana told her frostily, “but—I have natural aptitude.”
Erica’s skeptical amber eyes mirrored her disbelief. “Perhaps we could do a few turns about the ice tomorrow?” she suggested. “Before your guests start arriving?”
“I am sorry, I will be much too busy.”
“Perhaps even tonight?” Erica’s smile was malicious. “The sky is so clear. When the moon comes up, it will be like day.”
“I am afraid I must decline,” said Georgiana in what she hoped was a bored voice. “I have had an exhausting day.” She decided to take the offensive. “I believe I have not asked you.” She gazed at her guest with a fixed expression. “Why did not your husband accompany you?”
“Oh, you mean Govert? We aren’t married yet.” Erica laughed and put up a hand as if to brush away cobwebs. It was a light, delicate gesture and flashed her rings to advantage. "Govert keeps importuning me but—I keep putting off the day.” Her face turned to Brett and her gaze rested on him softly. “Do you think I should marry Govert?” she asked wistfully.
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