Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Daphne stared into the shadow, trying to see whom her sister could have met with, but she could only make out a darker spot that might have been anything. She waited until Willem pulled away, taking them back home, before turning to her sister.

  “Who were you visiting?” she asked, watching her sister closely for a reaction.

  Grace blushed and looked at her hand as it pulled on the carriage strap. “I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.” She turned to face Daphne, her expression suddenly intense. “You won’t give me away will you? You can’t. Say you won’t, Daphne.”

  Surprised at her sister’s agitation, Daphne put a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Of course I wouldn’t. I’m curious, but I’d never give you away.”

  Grace settled back into her seat, a long sigh of relief coming from her. “It feels so much better now that you know. I’ve been bottling this inside for so long.”

  Daphne shrugged. “I don’t really know anything,” she said.

  “You know enough to be my help. I need you to keep me company often enough so Mother doesn’t suspect a thing.”

  Wondering just what Mother shouldn’t suspect, Daphne eyed her sister. What double life could Grace be living? Had she made friends with a young lady of disrepute? Was she helping the alley children? Whatever it might be, her sister was staying tight lipped about it.

  “So show me what you got,” Grace said, reaching for the packages.

  Daphne snatched the book out of the way and pushed the hair ribbons toward her sister.

  “I’m more interested in what you’re hiding,” Grace said, laughing. She lunged across the carriage, rocking it back and forth but returning victorious.

  “Give it back.” Daphne didn’t care that her voice was low and intense. “I kept your secret. Give me back mine.”

  “Now Daphne. I wouldn’t tell on you,” Grace murmured, shaking her head. “But if it’s so important to you, here it is.”

  Chastened, Daphne took the book, smoothing her fingers over its cover. “It’s a book about dancing,” she said. “The life of a dancer.” She tensed, waiting for her sister’s reaction.

  Grace just shook her head. “Our parents will not be pleased. They want you to give up on this dream of dancing. It’s not seemly.”

  Daphne frowned, staring at the book in her hands. “You’ve always known what you’re supposed to do, to be. That’s dancing for me. I’ve never had anything before. Just taking away my teacher doesn’t make it go away. Dance is in my heart and soul.”

  Her sister looked a little taken aback by the declaration but then her face softened. “I won’t tell them about the book. Just be careful. Sometimes following your heart can hurt the ones you love, and sometimes it can tear you apart.”

  Grace looked so wounded that Daphne wanted to give her a hug, but her sister turned away, staring out the carriage window, her back rigid and uninviting.

  Daphne gathered up the packages, tucking the spilled ribbons back inside, trying to ignore the hurt she felt at being shut out.

  They didn’t speak until the carriage rolled to a halt before the house and then only a hurried, “Give me one of the packages and put that book down your bodice,” from Grace.

  Once they entered the house, they were called to the parlor where Grace endured a light scold from Lady Scarborough for the long shopping trip, kept short only because their mother seemed to expect Daphne to faint away from the strain. As it was, Daphne had to be told several times to sit up straight because she hunched her shoulders in an attempt to mask the book tucked into her dress.

  Grace drew out the ribbons as if she’d been the one to choose the colors, displaying each one for their mother’s approval. Again, Mother looked to Daphne to see if she showed the least bit of interest, and Daphne tried her best, but really couldn’t wait until she had a private moment to delve between the covers of her book.

  Finally, she smothered a yawn, using her mother’s concern as an excuse when the discussion of dresses seemed to take forever.

  “Oh my dear, you must be quite tired, and here we are keeping you up and about. Why don’t you run along to the nursery? I’ll have cook send up something to tease your appetite in a bit.” Her mother brushed aside the ribbons and helped Daphne to her feet as if she’d become a frail invalid.

  Trying to appear docile, Daphne allowed the assistance, unaware of the risk until her mother’s arm brushed against the hidden book.

  Her mother stopped ushering Daphne toward the door and held her daughter at arm’s length, staring down at her bosom. Daphne’s breath caught in her throat as she waited for her mother to demand to see the book.

  “You are growing up, aren’t you?” her mother said instead. “That gown is a might bit tight on you. Only hussies wear their clothing that way. You have much more to offer than a nightwalker.” She tsked while she turned Daphne one direction and then the other. “We’ll have to arrange a fitting. You’ll be making your coming out soon enough and you’ll be present at several balls before then as we handle your sister’s wedding, out or not. It just won’t do having you bursting from your clothing.”

  She pinched Daphne’s cheek gently. “You are becoming a young lady right in front of our eyes. You’ve been so busy with…” She waved a vague hand, unwilling even to say the word. “Well, you’ve been so busy that we’ve neglected you. That’s all going to change from this moment on.”

  Daphne stifled a moan, staring down at her hands as if she expected them to burst into flame.

  Her mother laughed. “Don’t you worry about that right now. Go rest. Such a long trip must have been exhausting. Grace should have been more careful on your first outing.”

  Daphne shrugged, knowing she was as much to blame, but unwilling to reveal the cause.

  “I hope she stopped at least to take you to afternoon tea? You must have been famished.”

  Nodding, Daphne mumbled something that could have sounded like agreement as she slipped out from under her mother’s arm, heading for the stairs.

  “Rest up, dear. We have so much to do for you,” her mother called, the dreaded words following to the second floor.

  Daphne fled along the hallway until she reached the nursery, burst through the door, and collapsed onto her bed, knees against her chest and arms wrapped about them.

  “But I don’t want more dresses. I don’t want to come out,” she cried here where no one could hear her and chastise. Daphne saw her future stretched out before her, the lovely Grace’s bland sister who everyone invited out of pity. After a season or two, her mother would find some appropriate gentleman and tie her to him, never to know the freedom her heart craved.

  SHE WOKE SOME TIME LATER, a tray with congealed soup and cold bread next to her bed. A blanket lay over her, and when she wiggled her toes, she found her shoes had been pulled off, just as if she were still only a child.

  Memory returned in a flash and Daphne’s hands pressed against her front, the panic only draining when she felt an edge. She pulled the book out, caressing its warm cover. Somehow, she already felt a strong bond with the woman in this book, truth or not.

  Climbing out of bed, Daphne absentmindedly grabbed the bread and chewed on it while she lit a candle, unable to read in the evening light. She took the candle to her desk then brought the book over as well, wrapping her blanket around her to keep warm.

  The room grew dark, the cold seeped in around her windows and the candle flickered in an errant breeze, but nothing could distract Daphne from the words on the page. The rough hand and raw language further supported this as a biographical effort, but the story pulled Daphne in as she followed the heroine through a troubled childhood in the home of a wealthy merchant.

  When Daphne read the scene where the heroine ran away from her home, chancing starvation and other disasters to achieve her dream, she paused and stared at the wax dripping from her candle, barely aware it had almost burnt down to the brass candlestick supporting it.

  She felt an overwhelming useless
ness. Did she have it in her to follow her dream that far? Could she abandon her sister, her parents? Could she give up the only life she’d known?

  Pulling another candle from the desk drawer, she lit it on the stub of the first. Her empty stomach rumbled, but she ignored it in favor of finding out what happened next in this dancer’s life and soon enough felt the minor discomfort of her hunger nothing in comparison to what this woman suffered.

  Enthralled, Daphne went through two more candles before exhaustion drew her back to her bed. She tucked the book beneath her pillow and curled under the covers, still wearing her walking dress.

  Even as she slept, her dreams stayed trapped in the story, only she stood on the stage in a silence so complete she could hear the tinder strike as the stage lights were lit. Her lips curled into a gentle smile as she moved to the silent song in her heart.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Daphne faced the next morning with a greater sense of purpose than she’d felt since watching her father turn Monsieur Henre away. For the first time since that day, the thought pulled a smile across her face.

  She leapt up, stripped to just her muslin underdress, and reveled in the freedom of movement. Without a second thought, her body moved gracefully through the first steps. Daphne thought she’d remembered everything and even kept her form, but couldn’t be sure without the mirrors her father had installed in the small ballroom for her.

  Light streamed in her windows, showing it to be early in the morning. The servants would be awake, but her mother and father tended to sleep a bit later. Daphne splashed her face in the water bowl, dried it quickly, and pulled on a simple shift. She didn’t want to waste any time.

  On the way to the door, she hesitated before going back for her book. Somehow, it seemed right to keep the book with her until she made her dreams into reality. She’d never have conceived of the idea without reading the dancer’s life. She had a much easier path in comparison. Though her father would probably disown her if he ever found out, she could be careful. At least she already knew a dance troupe where the manager wanted her. Thanks to the dismissal notice she’d stolen, she even had the address of his theater.

  Daphne slipped through the empty halls, stopping to twirl in her delight. The servants’ stair took her closer to the ballroom, though it carried some risk of discovery. She could always say she’d come looking for early breakfast snacks what with missing dinner the night before.

  The excuse almost became true as she passed the entrance to the kitchen. Fresh baked rolls sent their delicious smells winding out to the corridor, and Daphne could hear breakfast meat sizzling. She hesitated, her grumbling stomach declaring its choice.

  Her arm slipped just then, and the book jabbed into her side, feeling almost like a cramp from hunger. Daphne remembered what the dancer, who never said her name, had suffered. She’d gone days without food, until the hunger stopped even calling on her. Daphne could suffer an extra hour or two in favor of completing her practice before her parents woke up.

  Steeling herself, she marched past the kitchen and right into Willem.

  “Now, you should be watching where you’re walking, my lady,” he said, his eyes twinkling with the humor that never seemed far from his face.

  Daphne put a hand over her heart, feeling it flutter against her fingers. “You startled me,” she accused.

  He smiled, reaching out as if to touch her face before his hand dropped away. “I’m thinking it’s the other way round. What are you doing down in these passages?”

  She blushed, staring up into his handsome face and wondering if he’d still do whatever she asked of him. He had only a few years on her, but those years had made him wiser. And yet, she’d never make this work without someone’s help.

  “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, not even Grace.”

  His happy expression fell away for a heartbeat before he smiled. “So you have a sweetheart as well,” he whispered, his fingers twisting against the leather of his belt. It wasn’t a question, but Daphne couldn’t bear the thought so spoke out anyway.

  “Of course not. Why would I? And if I did, I’d no more bring him through the back door than I would bring in a dog.” She stamped her foot at him, angry that he could think so little of her.

  He swept into a low bow that hid his face for a moment. “Then if not some lucky fellow, what brings you down here past the kitchen?”

  “Dance.” Even as she whispered the word, she expected it to sound frivolous, but it didn’t. The single syllable held within it her hopes, her dreams, and her determination to make it happen.

  Stepping aside, he put a hand to his forehead in salute. “I knew the master’s command wouldn’t keep you from it. I should have guessed where you were headed myself.” He grinned at her and waited for her to pass him as if watching a parade.

  Daphne startled something odd in his eyes as she moved past, but she dismissed it, her thoughts turned forward to her practice.

  The room seemed empty somehow with only her in it, but Daphne concentrated on doing the stretch patterns Monsieur Henre had taught her before going through the easiest step of her last routine. She felt untutored, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

  She stopped, staring into the mirror as if it would find the answer to her problems. Instead, she only saw her sweat-slicked face and the doubt in her own eyes. Could she do this? Had her tutor meant what he said? Did she have the strength of the dancer in her book?

  No confidence flickered in her eyes. Her mouth turned down and she looked away, unwilling to face the disappointment and failure there. Without dance, she had nothing. It and it alone made her special, unique. Otherwise, she was just another girl with noble blood, pretty, but not beautiful, destined to marry a frivolous, uncaring dandy.

  Water gathered in her eyes, self-pity overwhelming her. “It has to work.” Her voice held all the determination and command she could muster. That other life wasn’t right for her.

  “You’d do better with a beat to follow.”

  Daphne jerked toward the door, her heart beating furiously, sure her father had discovered her.

  Willem slipped the rest of the way through the entrance and bowed to her, a smile on his face. “Your old master used the pianoforte. I’m no talented musician like he was, but I thought I’d offer my services.”

  Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Daphne sent Willem a dubious look, unsure whether to chastise him for watching her or take him up on the offer. “And how will you help?” she asked, a touch of arrogance in her tone. “Plunking one key would do little but make my head ache.”

  He shook his head back and forth, reproving her for her condescension. “I have but a servant’s instrument, but a bit of a talent for it.” He drew out a simple wooden flute, the like of which she’d seen old men whittling in the fields of their country home.

  “You think you can keep a tune with that?” she asked, stepping closer as curiosity pulled her.

  Willem grinned, raising the flute to his lips. “I’ve been told I play many a pretty tune, but you’ll have to judge for yourself.”

  She nodded, giving him permission then sending a nervous glance to the door.

  Willem had closed it behind him. The music wouldn’t attract attention she couldn’t afford.

  The first note hung on the air, its solemn, almost mournful sound picking up on her emotion. Then he sent a trill of quick, high notes after, twisting around the first until she heard recovery, whether just wishful thinking or Willem’s intent, she couldn’t tell.

  He played and played, pausing only to draw in deep breaths between tunes. At first, Daphne only listened, drawn by the sometimes sorry, sometimes joyful music. Then she started to feel the pattern lying under them and her foot began to move.

  She closed her eyes, listening with her senses, allowing the music to draw her in and capture again that place where dance held all of her. The first step came almost as a surprise, but she moved swiftly to the next and the next, completing her basic
forms with none of the hesitation that had caused her earlier doubt.

  Soon, eyes open though only partially aware, Daphne danced across the hall, her body and soul tied into the movements. Deep in her heart, she felt the confidence and satisfaction sprout and grow until it spread throughout her.

  Silence surprised her when it fell, leaving only the sounds of her indrawn breath and the scrape of her slippers against the hardwood floor. Daphne finished the motion, allowing her body to collapse against the floor, arms stretched forward and legs curled within the protection of her skirts.

  She lay there until her heartbeat settled and her breathing eased.

  “Lady Daphne?” Willem’s soft voice barely broke the silence.

  Daphne rolled to her feet, graceful even with exhaustion threatening to make her limbs tremble. “Thank you for that, Willem. You play beautifully.” She smiled up at him and surprised a flush coloring his cheeks.

  He touched his forehead, hiding his features. “At your service, Lady Daphne,” he murmured. “Whenever you need me.”

  Deep inside the house, the longcase clock struck the hour of eleven, much later than she could have imagined. “Oh,” she said, worry coloring her tone. “We’ve been here three hours.”

  A smile pulled up one side of Willem’s face. “I told the upstairs maid you didn’t want to be disturbed. No one will come looking for you for some time yet.”

  “But Father…”

  “Has eaten and gone, I imagine. You’ve not been about much in these past days. Your absence won’t be noted.”

  Daphne turned to the chair where she’d placed her proper shoes, unsure whether to be grateful or upset. Did she have so little a place in this household that she could vanish and none would question? And if she still wanted to carry out her plan, she’d have to continue as if devastated so no one would have expectations of her.

  “My duties are light in the morning hours, Lady Daphne.”

  She turned to look at Willem, shocked. “I didn’t think. Should you have taken my father to the House of Lords? Have I made you neglect your duties?” Suddenly, she imagined their house without Willem and hated the picture. She’d taken him for granted but always knew he’d be there when she needed an ally.