“Madam, please!” A second man joined the first, his face a picture of outraged indignation. He grabbed my arm and hustled me to the door. “Ladies are not allowed in the shop!”
“I don’t see why not,” I started to argue, but it was in vain. The door was closed rather firmly in my face.
I stood in thought, watching the shop. I could see the dim figures of the clerks move to the rear, and decided to partake of the opportunity. Casually I leaned against the glass, ignoring a display of men’s intimate apparel, shading my eyes as I peered into the shop.
I am not a skittish creature, but the sudden blast of a raucous motorcar horn being blown in close proximity had me jumping. Unfortunately, I collided with a person as I did so, but was righted before I could fall. I turned to thank my benefactor, only to find myself face to face with Griffin.
I blushed. He scowled. We both looked at the motorcar, which was proceeding down the street making a horrible racket.
“Do you need assistance?” Griffin asked coldly.
“Thank you, no,” I said with dignity, gesturing toward the shop. “I’m perfectly fine.”
He glanced at the items displayed in the shop window and back at me. “Doing a little shopping?”
I colored deeper at the inference. “No, of course not. I was looking for a man.”
“Just one?”
“Yes, just the one.” I told myself to stop wanting to kiss him, and gathered up my things. “A man with a gold tooth, as a matter of fact. He has been following me for days now.”
I left him with an expression of incredulity on his face, but my satisfaction was short-lived. Depression settled over me as I walked back to meet Emma. Helena’s tale must be true if Griffin were at the Cook’s office next to the gentleman’s outfitter, no doubt obtaining his tickets for a journey abroad. I had no question in my mind as to the outcome of Robert’s visit. Griffin obviously did not believe him.
Emma and I parted shortly thereafter, my spirits dampened and low when I returned home. Robert was in the library, staring moodily into the fire when I entered the room. He held my hands gently in his and looked at me with sad blue eyes. “Cassandra, I have failed you.”
“What happened?” I asked resignedly.
“He refused to see me. I tried, but he refused.”
“Blast the man.” I sat down and pounded the armchair. “Why does he have to be so stubborn? This could all be cleared up if only he weren’t so…so…so like a man!”
Robert sat opposite of me and tugged at his mustache. “Forgive me, but does it occur to you that…well…that you are also being the least bit stubborn?”
“Me, stubborn?” I was astounded by his suggestion, and was heatedly preparing to dispute it when I reconsidered. “Perhaps, if I am truthful, I could be more a very small bit more understanding in this situation. After all, Griffin did hear me telling you I loved him, and coming on the heels of the marvelous way he…er…well, that’s not something I need to bore you with. I suppose if I were in his shoes I might feel the tiniest bit hurt.”
Robert smiled. “I feel certain he would see you if you were to ask. Would you like me to fetch you writing paper? I would be happy to deliver a note for you.”
I considered the cold reception I had received on the street. “No, I don’t believe that he would come if I asked him to. I am going to have to make him listen some other way.”
His face lit up. “Perhaps Miss St. John—?”
“Yes,” I said, an idea dawning on me. “If we could pay a call on Helena…oh, but her sister-in-law would never allow me in the house.” I chewed my bottom lip in thought. “Perhaps if we could arrange to call when Lord and Lady Sherringham were not home, but when Griffin and Helena were home—”
He jumped up. “I would be happy to deliver the note for you.”
“Sit down, Robert,” I said glumly, remembering Helena’s conversation. “There is no way I can get a note to Helena. Both Griffin and the earl have forbidden contact with me. I will just have to try and see him some other way.”
We puzzled over a number of possibilities without success. Depressed, I gave up and went to prepare for the ball.
Chapter Sixteen
Later, as I was dressing, I told Annie about my plan for her to have a cottage on my father’s estate while she had her confinement. When she came back to work, as she professed she wanted to, the servants would know nothing of what happened.
“Are you sure you want to leave the child with your sister? I’m sure we could work out a way for you to keep the baby with you, although it would mean leaving Mabel’s house.”
“That’s alright, miss. My sister said one more mouth wouldn’t make that much difference, and I can visit whenever I like.”
I thought the arrangement sounded sad, but Annie was happy, and I had confidence in her family. “What about Mr. Jones, Annie? Have you told him?”
“I’ve written to him, but he won’t reply,” she responded grimly.
I decided—for the present—not to push her further, but I was determined to see her happily settled. Mulling over a way to achieve this goal, I sat before the dressing table and braided my hair in preparation for donning a black wig purchased from the dressmaker. Certain that red hair was out of place on Scheherazade, I planned to wear the wig and the veils as my disguise, the thought of moving about in company completely unknown strangely thrilling.
Annie worked at twining faux pearls through the wig while I played with my braid and tried to work up enough nerve to bring out the item I had purchased earlier. I took a deep breath, opened a drawer, and nervously removed a small black object. Annie looked at me curiously, watching in the mirror. Consulting the (somewhat scandalous) Arabian Nights I borrowed from Joshua’s library, I carefully outlined my eyes with the kohl stick.
“Oh, miss!” Annie gasped. “You look ever so foreign!”
I looked at my heavily ringed eyes. “I don’t know about foreign—I certainly look as if I have been up a chimney.”
“It’s a lovely touch, miss, do leave it,” she said as I made a move to wipe it off. “No one would recognize you with the black wig and the dark eyes.”
Anonymity had its charms, so I left the kohl and finished dressing. I stood in front of the mirror, swathed from head to foot in floating veils, the embroidered jewels sparkling, and the long dark tresses of my wig reaching to my waist. I felt exotic and mysterious behind the veils, and relished the thought that no one would know who I was.
The walk downstairs to the library was a sensuous experience, the lightweight gauze swinging against my bare legs (Scheherazade did not wear stockings). I couldn’t help but think of Griffin’s kisses and touches as the material rippled around me, caressing my skin. Robert grinned as I came into the library, and let out a low, long whistle. Mabel fussed about the sheerness of the material, and almost had a fit when she saw my two inches of bare midriff. By the time Uncle Henry called at the front door Joshua had to physically restrain her from hustling me upstairs and into a sturdier ensemble.
Although his eyebrows went up an inch at my appearance, Henry had nothing but compliments for me as I donned my sapphire velvet coat. “You look charming, my dear, charming.”
“Thank you. Are you not going to wear a costume?”
He pulled out an order from his inner pocket, and pinned it on his chest. “I shall go as a diplomat.”
“And what a very good costume that is,” I replied, smiling.
As I entered their carriage, my heart sank as I beheld the figure of Wellington, better known as Freddy.
“Mind my ruff, dear,” Caroline said as I took my place next to her. She had worked wonders in the short time, and was dressed in an Elizabethan costume complete with a large, white ruff, and pearls down to her knees. “I’m supposed to be one of Henry’s ancestors, since ours were not as prominent as his.”
“Cousin, you are the epitome of beauty. I love you as a redhead, but as a brunette, you will break the heart of every man at
the ball. Please promise me the first dance.”
“If you like. Aunt Caroline, you look lovely, regardless of whose ancestor you are supposed to be. How on earth did you get the costume made so quickly? It has much more detail than my own, and I had to spend a fortune to have it made in time.”
Uncle Henry coughed delicately. “It seems your aunt was planning to go to the ball all along, my dear. She thought it best to spring it on me suddenly, knowing my resistance to such social events.”
“I ordered my costume from Messrs. Nathan,” Freddy offered, referring to a popular theatrical supplier. “Do you like it? I think I make a particularly dashing Wellington.”
“You are, as always, very handsome, Freddy.”
We chatted about Mabel and Joshua on the way, and were soon at the St. Alban’s townhouse. For a brief moment as we walked up the curved drive to the doors, I remembered a week past when I was on the outside of such a ball, trying to chain myself to a fence. “It’s amazing what an impact one man can have in just a few days,” I murmured to myself.
The house was brilliantly lit, the lights gleaming off of sparkling chandeliers and glittering jewels. Great vases of flowers filled the rooms with their heady perfumes, while distant strains of music promised dancing in the ballroom. A babble of conversation rose and fell as guests sauntered down the great marble staircase into the reception rooms below.
Aunt Caroline and I shed our coats and inspected our costumes in the ladies’ withdrawing room while maids in black dresses ran to and fro, assisting guests, adjusting costumes, and bringing restorative cups of tea. The costumes themselves were almost overwhelming. Real jewels—not faux ones like I wore—clung to almost every surface, billowing waves of satins and silks accompanied each movement as women primped before several large mirrors. There were allegorical and historical figures ranging from queens to milkmaids, as well as fantastic creations which had their inspiration in the fertile imagination of their wearers.
Aunt Caroline and I, each on one of Uncle Henry’s arms, walked slowly down the curved marble staircase with Freddy following behind. The crush of people was tremendous as we made our way down the reception line, but once we were finally released into the ballroom, I stood back and watched the parade of Society before me.
Freddy led me onto the floor for the first dance, his eyes as merry and concerned as ever, but it was another pair of eyes that consumed my thoughts. “You’ve been avoiding me, my sweet cousin.”
“Not intentionally. I’ve just been busy.”
“With more of those suffragette activities? My dear, if you must go to them, at least allow me to accompany you. I wish only to protect you and keep you from harm.”
“I appreciate that, Freddy, but as you can see, I am perfectly well. I know you feel the demonstrations are fraught with peril, but I can assure you that even those such as the march to Parliament presented no real danger to me. So if you are about to offer for me again, please consider this a refusal.”
His eyes glittered with a bright, strange emotion that left me feeling uneasy. “You scoff at me. You make light of my worries.”
“No, I’m just assured of my own ability to keep myself safe.”
“I can only hope nothing befalls you to shake that confidence, Cassandra.” His eyes were hooded as he watched me, his gaze sending a small shiver skittering down my back. “Promise me that should you ever need me, should you ever find yourself in danger, you will seek my help.”
I murmured a polite acceptance, and spent the rest of the dance chatting inanely about nothing. Freddy returned me to Caroline’s side, and moved off. I searched the crowd again for Helena, watching everyone from over the top of my veils. Despite the disappointment that Griffin would not be in attendance, I very much looked forward to seeing Helena’s reaction to my daring ensemble.
One of the ladies, also dressed as Queen Elizabeth, proceeded past me, followed by eight Yeoman of the Guard, all of who were handsomely clad in scarlet and gold tunics with white ruffs, and matching scarlet tights. As the group made its way to an improvised throne, the Yeoman disbanded. One of them, a tall man with light brown hair, came my way.
“Might I request the honor of a dance?” he asked.
I glanced over at my aunt who was holding court with her bevy of friends, and made a quick scan around the room, but saw no one who would fit Helena’s description.
“I would be delighted,” I told him, and accepted his hand.
“Lieutenant Angus Bell,” he said, bowing as he led me onto the floor. “May I say, ma’am, how charming I find your costume?”
The dance was almost as pleasant as the lieutenant himself. He talked about his life in the army, asking me for another dance.
“Thank you, but I feel the need to keep an eye on my aunt.”
He glanced at Caroline, clearly amused, but was polite enough to refrain from asking why. “Perhaps later in the evening.”
I murmured something vague, and he went on his way. I spent the next hour alternately dancing and watching for Helena. It quickly became apparent to me why I had never sought invitations to such functions, for I had little in common with Society, and less tolerance for their airs and mindless chatter.
“Honestly, aunt,” I told Caroline in a moment of privacy. “The men all talk about their hunting lodges, horses, or military careers. The women have even less of interest to discuss, and seem to focus on who was seen with whom, what they wore, what they were worth, and who their parents were.”
“I’m sorry you’re not enjoying yourself,” she answered, nodding to a passing acquaintance.
I felt guilty at complaining since I had foisted myself on them. “Ignore me. I’m being out of sorts and petulant about nothing.”
In an attempt to find diversion, I danced with a German princeling dressed as some character from a Wagnerian opera (I never did determine which one), who tried his best to impress me with tales of his bravery and courage. He found me a dull partner and returned me as soon as possible to my aunt. He bowed, clicked his heels, and kissed my hand, followed by the same niceties to Aunt Caroline’s. As he stepped back, he bumped into an Arab sheikh who was approaching.
The Arab salaamed before me and asked in a thick accent for the next dance. Bored, I agreed, and watched idly as he strode off. My attention was caught by the way he walked. I took a few steps away from the wall so I could watch him better.
I knew that back. I knew those hips. I knew that deliciously curved behind. Intimately. There was no doubt about it, it was Griffin, disguised as a sheikh. “It can’t be!”
“What can’t be, my dear?”
Caroline moved over to me, calmly fanning herself as she smiled at people strolling past us.
“That man. The Arab. Did you see him?”
She looked where I indicated. “Not really. Why do you ask?”
“I think it’s Griffin. Mr. St. John. But why would he make an appearance here?”
“Why shouldn’t he?”
“He told his sister he wasn’t coming. And what’s more important…” I hesitated a minute, glancing at my aunt.
She smiled.
“You know, don’t you?” I asked her.
“There’s not much that escapes me, Henry always says.”
I sighed and leaned against the wall. “Griffin and I had an argument over a silly misunderstanding. He was very cold the last time we met, which is why I’m so surprised he should be here now, asking me to dance. Unless…oh, aunt, do you think he didn’t recognize me? Prince Heinrich didn’t leave me off particularly close to you, did he?”
“Not particularly, no. But I am acquainted with Mr. St. John, and surely he would recognize me.”
“But not me,” I said thoughtfully. “Not in this wig, and with my face hidden behind the veil. He must not have known who I was.”
“If you say so, my dear. But what does that matter? If he asked you to dance, he will soon learn the truth.”
“You’re right.” I chewed on my l
ip as I considered the matter. “As soon as I speak he’ll know me. What I need is an accent.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?” Caroline asked.
“Not at all. He had one, he most definitely had an Arab accent when he asked me to dance. Therefore, it’s only right I should have one. It’s just that I only know one other language.”
“I never did understand why your mother taught you Russian,” Aunt Caroline mused.
“She hoped that someday Mabel and I would meet her relatives. Regardless, that will do just fine. Please don’t be offended, but I’m going to move away from you now, just in case Griffin suspects something.”
Her lips curved into a gentle smile as I distanced myself from her, surprising a variety of people whom I did not know as I casually chatted my way down the room.
As the music started for the next dance, Griffin came back to claim me, escorting me out to the dance floor. I was outraged that he would profess to have strong feelings for me, and yet be inviting a strange lady to dance. Just what were his intentions toward a mysterious dark-haired Russian clad only in a scanty, although highly attractive, Arabic costume?
I stared up through my eyelashes at his face as the music started, amazed at what change a huge, fierce mustache and dark coloring had done to his appearance. He wore a blue and white burnoose, a white blouse, and full, dark blue silk trousers tucked into long black boots. A scimitar was strapped to his waist by a length of red satin, and he had put some sort of stain on his hands and face to turn them a walnut color. Although his disguise could not fool me, I was glad for the anonymity of my veil and wig.
“You are Scheherazade?” he asked in a deep voice with a heavy accent.
I smiled to myself over the accent.
“You guessed that well. Yes, I am Scheherazade,” I agreed in a close approximation of my cousin Katya’s version of English.
His eyes narrowed. “A Scheherazade that is a long way from…Russia?”
“Yes. St. Petersburg. And you, you are a sheikh? Where is your harem?”
Suffragette in the City Page 18
