Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  Yours,

  Grace

  Daphne read the letter through twice before she could comprehend the words. “Who is it?” she asked in stunned disbelief.

  Her father raised his head and slammed both fists against the table. “I don’t know, but when I find out, I’ll pound him into the mud.” He took his linen napkin and twisted it in a violent gesture so unlike him that Daphne only stared.

  “Anyone who would agree to such a plan is a scoundrel,” Lady Scarborough said, rubbing her husband’s back. “He deserves to be run through.”

  Lord Scarborough shrugged off her touch, staring at Daphne with a concentration that made his youngest daughter nervous. “I have only one daughter,” he ground out. “One daughter who will complete the agreement with the Pendleton family.”

  Daphne wanted to break eye contact, to look away, to deny his words, but did none of them. Where had her sister gone? Would she ever see Grace again?

  Her mother clapped, a gentle smile replacing the frown that had threatened to score Lady Scarborough’s face. “I knew you’d think of a solution, my love. All is not lost.”

  “But what about Grace?” Daphne burst out, unable to accept the loss of her sister this way.

  Lady Scarborough shook her head. “Daphne, my dear, it’s not that simple. I’m sure she started as an innocent, but even if this rapscallion swept her off her feet, any decent girl knows elopement is not respectable. She’s no longer one of us. You must put her from your mind.”

  Daphne pushed back from the table, her appetite as congealed as the cold porridge on her plate. “I’ll be in my room,” she choked out, keeping to a walk by supreme effort as she left.

  It wasn’t until she reached half way up the stairs that she absorbed the rest of her father’s pronouncement. Daphne sank to the step, her fist crammed in her mouth. “Oh no,” she muttered, rocking back and forth in shock. “What will I do now?”

  “My lady? Are you okay?”

  Daphne raised stricken eyes to see Willem leaning over her. Was Grace’s love one of the servants? she wondered as she looked at the only man ever to declare he loved her. Had Grace given up everything to follow her heart?

  She shook her head mutely, caught up in the loss of dreams she hadn’t really known she’d held. She’d always thought she’d marry sometime in the distant future and only to a man who filled her heart. Now, she’d be promised to someone she’d never met and who hadn’t wanted her at all.

  A tear slid down her cheek, but she brushed it away, not wanting to concern Willem any more. She pushed to her feet and turned to face the stair again. “I’m fine,” she told him, struggling to keep her voice firm.

  Willem put a hand under her arm, supporting her, and leaned in close. “They didn’t find out, did they?” he whispered.

  Daphne shook her head again, unwilling to explain what had transpired. Surely her father would pass out a story anyway, one that would preserve their name and her mother’s standing. Suddenly, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She couldn’t face another heartbeat holding together under the hawk-like eyes of the staff.

  She shook off his hold and repeated to her new audience, “I’m going to my room.”

  Willem accepted the implied rebuke and stood tall, one step below her. “And will you be needing the carriage tonight?” he asked, his tone as formal as hers had been strong.

  The thought of dancing, of performing under the stares of the audience all the while knowing her sister was out there somewhere, lost and abandoned by her family, seemed too much to bear. She closed her eyes, feeling this a crowning moment in her wish to become a professional dancer. With a sigh, she nodded again. “Yes. I’ll need the carriage.”

  He gave her a long stare, as if wanting to ask for confirmation one more time, then turned and made his way back down the stairs without a word.

  Relieved, Daphne finished the climb to her room and sat on her bed, staring at the other mattress that Grace had once used back when they shared what had been the schoolroom. “Why did you do this?” she murmured to her missing sister. “Couldn’t you have asked them? Surely he isn’t so low they would refuse to meet him?”

  Memory of her sister’s strange behavior that day they went shopping rose up. Had they been trysting on that day, right under Daphne’s nose? If she’d only spared a moment for Grace, perhaps she’d know better, but she’d been too caught up in her own secrets.

  The thought gave her pause as she considered who else had been there that day. Did Willem know anything about this?

  She half rose, thinking to march back downstairs and quiz him, when a quiet knock sounded at her door. “Come,” she said, sinking down on the realization all she’d gain would be Willem’s dismissal. If her father had any suspicion, he’d toss the coachman out onto the street.

  A maid entered with a tray, setting it up before Daphne. “Cook says you needed to eat, my lady,” was all she said before slipping back out as quietly as she’d come.

  “Wake me at six,” Daphne called after her, wanting nothing more to go wrong on this horrible day.

  Though she didn’t feel like eating, Daphne knew she’d need her strength to dance, especially after what she’d learned. Each bite tasted like sawdust as she forced it down, “her last dance,” echoing in Daphne’s mind. She’d known her time would end, but never so quickly.

  Determined, Daphne vowed to keep on with it as long as she could manage, storing up memories to hold her in the years to come. A yawn surprised her, making Daphne aware of just how much energy she’d used with the morning’s revelations. Tears seeped from her eyes as she thought of her lost sister and she curled up in her blanket, hugging her pillow to her for comfort.

  Though not intended, she soon drifted off to sleep, a sleep filled with memories not of dancing, but of the moment when she first heard a description of the man who would claim her. She’d thought then that they might suit, and at least in her dreams, they did.

  A smile curved her lips when she curled into her husband’s lap to read, sharing her thoughts as she once had with Grace. The dream turned darker at the thought of her sister, images gleaned from the dancer’s diary mixing with her sister’s elopement to show Grace shivering in icy rain with no home to call her own.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Daphne woke to the sound of a knock at her door. She dragged herself out of bed, unsure whether the nap had helped or worsened her exhaustion. Her heart pounded faster than it should have. The restless sleep left a bad taste in her mouth.

  She pointed to the dress she wanted to wear and freshened up at her water bowl.

  “But my lady, this is so plain,” the maid said, reminding Daphne why she usually dressed herself.

  “I’m not feeling much like dressing up,” Daphne muttered, toweling the cold water from her face and neck.

  Pulling out the dress Daphne wanted, the maid tutted under her breath. “I don’t suppose you do have much to celebrate what with Lady Grace done run off,” she said.

  Daphne froze, the toes of her front foot just touching the ground where she’d been walking back to the maid. “What do you know of it?” she asked as she continued forward.

  The maid smiled shyly, glancing over her shoulder before returning to the task of pulling wrinkles from the dress Daphne selected. “The master is putting about that she’s sick with something, but we know that’s not true, don’t we, my lady? Word is she’s gone with a minister.”

  Daphne knew she should discourage this behavior. The maid had no business gossiping about her betters, but finding the energy seemed beyond Daphne. “You really shouldn’t be talking about this,” she said, her tone weak.

  The maid rushed over and put a hand on Daphne’s arm. “Oh, my lady, you know I won’t be saying anything outside the family. We have to protect the family reputation no matter what might be going on.”

  Smiling faintly, Daphne accepted the reassurance even as she thought on how Willem struggled to keep her secrets from the rest of the staff. No mat
ter what her father said, the real story would get out soon enough, a caution she’d do well to remember.

  Her chest tightened as she recalled what else had come about because of her sister’s elopement. She knew well enough that the Pendletons would have to be appeased and a new agreement made long before the ton started passing whispers of what truly happened to Grace.

  “My lady, I can’t very well put you into this dress with your arms so stiff.”

  Daphne forced herself to relax under the maid’s soft chiding, her vow to make the most of what time she had left coming back to her. She had to make this sacrifice if her family was to keep its standing in society. If she balked, their financial ruin would be exposed on the heels of this scandal.

  For a moment, she considered the possibility of retiring permanently to one of their smaller country estates. Even though it would still mean giving up dance, she’d be free of a husband, for who would want her, penniless and disgraced? But she realized it meant a lifetime with her mother moaning about what they’d lost. Could a husband, even one she did not love, be so much worse?

  She considered what manner of men the dancer in her book met. It could be worse, much worse.

  “Not so tight,” Daphne said, pulled out of her thoughts by the maid jerking on her laces. She swallowed the last of her complaint, that she had to get out of the dress on her own, choosing to pull away instead. “That’s enough. Can you go tell Willem I’ll be down shortly?”

  The maid gave her an odd look then shrugged, pausing only long enough to grab the breakfast tray before heading out of the room without a word.

  As soon as the door shut behind the maid, Daphne pulled out her bag and checked that her mask hadn’t fallen out. She tucked in another worn dress “borrowed” from the servant pile. Her mother would never accept that she wore such a ragged bit of clothing, but it made her blend into the crowd around the sides and back of the theater so she didn’t stand out as she slipped to the stage door.

  Checking her appearance in the mirror, she frowned at the fancy hairdo the maid had created. One more thing to redo in the carriage, but she’d manage whatever she had to. Tonight, she’d dance for everything she’d lost today.

  Daphne grabbed the bag and headed downstairs, her look and posture having little in common with her breakfast elegance. However, the scene remained the same as she came down the last flight to find her mother in the drawing room doorway.

  “Nothing changes for you, does it?” Lady Scarborough asked. “Whatever happens, you still go out to visit your friends.”

  Her mother’s bitter tone surprised Daphne after the callous dismissal of Grace earlier. Daphne leaned over the banister to really look at her mother, noticing a redness in Lady Scarborough’s eyes that she’d never seen before. In the time when Daphne had slept off some of her grief, her mother had apparently been crying, a luxury she’d never indulged in that Daphne knew of.

  Hesitating, Daphne considered just not going. If she was late or didn’t show, Monsieur Henre would declare her gone forever. Tension bit into the back of her neck, and she realized even if she’d have only one more night, she could not give up so quickly. But how could she explain the urgency to her mother? Lies bound Daphne in place, unable to comfort her mother or excuse her apparent quick recovery.

  “Let her go.”

  They both turned to face Lord Scarborough as he came from his study. He sounded so tired, his earlier anger drained to nothing.

  “Grace has gone to the country…ill.” He gave each of them a long tight look before continuing. “There’s no need for our little flower to cloister herself. Grace wouldn’t have wanted that, and we must show a presence now more than ever. It’s a good thing you started work on getting Daphne an audience earlier than the next spring. When Grace dies—”

  Daphne stumbled down the last few steps to grab her father’s sleeve. “Grace is dying?” she asked, begging him with her eyes to deny his words as images from her nightmares rose to cover her sight.

  His expression hardened into the texture of granite as his anger returned. “She is dead to us already; her illness is fatal, or will be once you’re safely married.” He bit down on each word with barely controlled violence. Lord Scarborough took her wrists in a tight clasp and pulled her hands away from him. “You’re not to tell anyone, do you understand? Not your best confidant or the members of the ton whose attention you court. No one is to know of your sister’s illness until I’ve managed to make things right.”

  Daphne turned to her mother, hoping for what she couldn’t tell, but Lady Scarborough stepped back into the drawing room, closing the doors behind her with a quiet click.

  Her father took hold of her shoulders and shook Daphne hard enough to break through the numbness that surrounded her. “Do you understand?” he barked into her face. “Appearances mean everything.”

  She smothered a humorless smile. No one would know or care the source of her grief. With her face hidden behind a mask, she could pour her emotions out to the ton and their servants alike with none the wiser and no fault touching her family name. As long as no one found her out.

  “I understand,” she murmured, waiting only for his hands to release her before she spun away and moved toward the waiting carriage with an unladylike burst of speed.

  THE CLIP-CLOP OF HORSE HOOVES and the gentle sway of the carriage slowly melted the ice that had built up around her heart. She hadn’t understood until the moment her father had rewritten history just what it meant to be the only daughter. Suddenly, why her dutiful sister would break free in this way made a horrible amount of sense.

  You never have to work for anything.

  Father will let you get away with mischief because he knows you’ll have little else as a second daughter.

  If I marry well, at least I’ll make sure you have a worthwhile dowry.

  Her sister’s words echoed from the past, biting deep into Daphne’s heart. She had pursued her own dreams, chancing everything, selfishly unaware of the burden Grace bore. And now? she asked herself mockingly. Would she give it all up to protect the family? She hadn’t so far.

  A low moan issued from her mouth at the thought, her heart twisting in agony. Could she become what Grace had been? Or had Grace done anything more than pretend, just as Daphne pretended when she hid behind a mask?

  Daphne raised her hand to tap on the wall behind Willem, unsure whether to tell him to turn around and let her dancing fall into the past. She’d lost the position of indulged second daughter. If she were caught now, the impact would be much greater and her family could lose everything.

  “Are you all right?” Willem called down.

  She let her hand fall back to her side, searching for what to tell him. Was she all right?

  “Is he really a minister?” The question popped out without a conscious decision on her part, even though she’d determined earlier that questioning Willem would be unwise.

  “I know only what you do, or even less,” he said, clucking the horses to speed them up a bit.

  Daphne slapped her hand against the wall where he leaned. “Stop this carriage. Stop this carriage now.” Her demand sounded overly loud in the small space, but she felt the horses slow. When they stopped, the only sound came from the wind and occasional creaks of the carriage or harness as the horses shifted.

  Willem jumped down from his seat and walked around to the door, leaning in the window so he could face her. “Didn’t you speak of the risks if you should arrive late again? We haven’t much time to spare.”

  Daphne shook her head, for once dismissing all concern about her dance. “I need to know she’s all right,” she said, her voice low and tense. “Don’t lie to me. I know you helped her; I know because you took me shopping on that day and dropped her off without a word. You’d done it before, possibly many times, and surely many after.”

  She scooted up to the door and brushed trembling fingers against his cheek. “I can keep your secrets as you keep mine. I just have to know.�
��

  His obstinate look slowly faded under the pressure of her stare, and Willem sighed. “I can’t tell you much. I never met the man myself, but Lady Grace spoke of him a time or two.”

  Daphne leaned forward eagerly. “What did she say then?” she prompted, unwilling to waste a moment. “Is he really a man of God?”

  Willem nodded, a half smile pulling his lips up on one side as he gave in. “She met him doing her works with the children. At first, she’d just talk about the children, but then it became more Simon this and Simon that. It seemed so natural, my lady, I’m not even sure they realized when it began to change. She does love him, of that I’m sure. And he must love her back.”

  “It’ll be little enough to sustain her,” snapped Daphne, remembering again the struggle depicted in her book.

  Willem pulled back from the window, a frown on his face. “Oh, it’s that you be wanting,” he said, his uncultured accent thicker than usual. “And here I thought you’d be different than the rest.”

  A blush stained her cheek at the disdain in his tone but she didn’t withdraw the question. “It’s not so much to ask. I need to know if my sister will be left to scrounge on the street or well cared for.”

  “Set your mind to rest, my lady. He’s not what her father be offering, but he has the right color blood for the likes of her despite his works among the poor. He’s noble he is, a fourth son she said. The one destined for priesthood. Wouldn’t want her eloping with the likes of me, now would we?”

  Daphne stretched out a hand in apology, but he pulled back before she could touch his arm.

  He swept a deep bow and leapt back onto his seat, calling down through the wall, “We’d best get you on your way. Wouldn’t want you late for your visit among the lower classes.”

  Daphne frowned, angered by his attitude. Still, she couldn’t help the relief she felt in knowing her sister would not be sitting on a street corner, a beggar’s cup in her hand. Was it wrong to want a little pleasure and security for her delicate sister, she who had never done anything but the best she could?