Beneath the Mask

by Margaret McGaffey Fisk

  “It’s one of Mother’s friends,” Aubrey whispered. “Maybe she’ll share her box.”

  The gentleman they’d spoken to earlier appeared out of the small door again, this time leading servers with snacks and drinks. He passed them at the same time as the older couple who had called to Aubrey. The man gave them a disapproving stare, frowning when Aubrey took two champagne flutes and handed one to Jasper with a flourish.

  The woman pinched Aubrey’s cheek hard enough to leave a lingering red spot. “Now Aubrey, your mother will be so delighted to know you came to this. It’s rare that young men come out to cultural events.” She paused to fan herself, a flush coloring her cheekbones. “Though you’re probably just here to see the masked dancer. She’s a phenomenon that’s for sure. A powerful dancer, wouldn’t you say, Charles?”

  Jasper turned to her husband, expecting him to grunt a reply as most men did at these types of events. Instead, the man gave him a wink.

  “She’s certainly got something to her. Why this is the only event with my wife that’s ever stirred me, if you get my meaning.”

  His wife slapped Charles in the chest with her fan, frowning at him.

  “Oh just go drink some wine, dear. Let the men have men talk,” Charles said, waving her off. “Don’t mind her. Women just don’t want to understand a man’s needs.”

  Aubrey shared a glance with Jasper, surprise mingled with distaste. They didn’t want to hear that much about the randy old goat’s needs either.

  “I tell you that girl can dance. You’d think she didn’t even know we watched from how much feeling she puts into the performance. It’s like she bares her soul. Not that I’d have much trouble watching her in any case. She’s a beauty. Nicely formed and graceful. A few years back I’d have sought her out myself, but now I leave such things to young bucks like the two of you.”

  Jasper smiled in response, the description almost making him regret their lack of an entrance, though he didn’t know how reliable a judge this Charles could be.

  Dorothea returned, sweeping through the crowd like a sailing ship on its maiden voyage, fully expecting their consideration. She stopped next to them, taking a deep sip from the glass in her hand, the flush on her cheeks having become permanent since she’d left them.

  “A bit of a lush, my wife,” Charles whispered confidingly.

  “Am not a lush,” Dorothea pronounced in an overly loud voice. “You don’t think so, do you, dear?” she asked Aubrey, leaning in his direction.

  He smiled an expression that almost resembled a grimace. “Of course not, my lady. It’s just a bit hot in here.”

  She patted him on the chest, though Jasper guessed she’d been reaching for Aubrey’s shoulder. “I always thought you were a nice boy,” she said. “You and your friend will have to join us for the second half. I won’t hear any objection.”

  Aubrey bowed his thanks but shook his head at the same time. “I’m afraid we came too late to gain entrance. That gentleman,”—he waved at the man—“said we could not enter.”

  “Oh pish. You’ll be sitting in my box. I paid for it and I can put whomever I like there,” she declared, directing a slightly clouded glare toward the gatekeeper.

  Charles nodded. “It’s true, you know,” he said, taking his wife’s arm. “Just follow me and we’ll get you settled. We have lots of space and no one is going to mind if you slip in at intermission.”

  She claimed Aubrey’s arm as well and grandly led the way, only stumbling once on the staircase. Jasper followed them, already bored but seeing no good method to extricate Aubrey from the older woman’s clutches. He smothered a sigh and settled into one of the forward seats, leaning out over the balcony to see who else came to this cultural event.

  He saw a surprising number of young men, younger even than he was, taking up booths and boxes without any sign of female frippery. The lights began to dim and Jasper settled in, his curiosity about this dancer growing.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jasper propped his chin on top of crossed arms, staring blindly down at the moving figures on the stage below. Music, no different than what he’d heard in concerts since he’d been old enough to leave the nursery, swelled up from the orchestra. He could see how the dancers’ movements in some way paralleled its sounds, but none of it affected him. He yawned, wishing for a mug of even bad ale and an easy way out of this torment.

  Behind him, Aubrey’s new closest friend whispered non-stop, creating an undercurrent of noise as she conversed at Aubrey, who occasionally grunted a response. Jasper felt his lip curl up into a smile. At least his dear friend had received a proper comeuppance for dragging him here.

  Another yawn stretched his cheeks and Jasper amended the thought. No torture would be enough to repay Aubrey for this insult. This offered no distraction at all from the chaos his life had become.

  The hall went black. Jasper tried to raise his eyelids only to discover they were already open as a pale, purple glow started in the center of the room. The music changed from the multi-voiced orchestra to a single flute, the sharp, clear notes haunting.

  “This is the dancer,” their hostess hissed from the back, her overly loud voice attracting the irritation of those in nearby boxes.

  Jasper tensed at the confirmation even though he’d already guessed. His nerves seemed to come awake as he stared at the glow, expecting it to explode into action.

  Instead, a deeper-voiced instrument joined the flute, creating a mournful counterpoint. The lit area remained the same, no angel dropping from above nor demon rising from below.

  Without being aware that he’d moved, Jasper found himself pressed against the side of the balcony straining for his first glimpse of this mysterious woman who drew even jaded young men into her web.

  The dancer, when she entered the stage, looked lost against its expanse and much younger than he’d expected. Her unbound hair fell around her shoulders in a cascade of locks that moved with her until they seemed alive. She walked to the brighter spot, each step a study in grace and passion. He could almost feel her sorrow, see it in the slight hitch of her breath, the inward curve of her shoulders.

  Jasper forgot to breathe until his lungs begged for air, wanting nothing more than to comfort this woman, living her pain as if his own. Her movements changed, dragging him with her through sorrow into acceptance, into joy and through frantic desperation until he could feel the pounding of her heart next to his, the sweat slicking her flesh. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his life, even knowing his desire held little rationality. He felt closer to her, that he knew her better, than any woman before, though he’d never seen her face.

  The music grew louder and stronger, instruments having joined to swell the sound as he’d lost all awareness, trapped in the net of her beauty. She moved faster and faster, in a race with the music, a race against time, against fear, against whatever held her bound, whatever drove her to the sorrow.

  Jasper found his own heart beating faster, his fingers clenched on the railing, fitfully tensing and relaxing in time with a deep bass drum. He couldn’t turn away, didn’t want to miss a moment of this vision.

  He could feel her moving with him, their touch primal. He didn’t know if his eyes were open or closed as he felt her pressed against his throbbing groin, his hand curled around her hip, her nipples hard stones against his chest, the connection visceral.

  The lights came up before Jasper could make a fool of himself. He jolted back to reality, aware of a pain he had no way to relieve, a pain deeper than simple lust.

  “Guess you didn’t choose to leave after all, eh Jasper?” Aubrey clapped a hand on Jasper’s shoulder, surprising him.

  Keeping his body facing out over the balcony, Jasper found a smile, hoping the flush heating his face didn’t show in the dim lighting. “I didn’t feel right abandoning you to the tender mercies of…culture,” he said in an attempt at a languid voice.

  Aubrey leaned in close and whispered, “I’d trust your word
s if the heat from your face didn’t warm the room.” Pulling back, he added, “So what do you think of the dancer?”

  “She’s really something, eh, boys,” Charles said as his wife ushered him out. “We’ve got some function or another to go to now. Take your time and come down when you’re ready.”

  Jasper watched the two leave, not interested in moving away from the place where he’d experienced a revelation. He’d found the one woman for him and he didn’t even know her name.

  “Come on, my friend. She’s not coming back on stage tonight and we have some pubs to explore, remember?” Aubrey nudged Jasper hard enough to rock him in his seat.

  Rising, Jasper discretely adjusted his clothing to a more comfortable fit before heading for the staircase. Somehow, the search for a perfect mug of ale held little interest for him now.

  THE CROWD FILLING THE STREET made a marked contrast to the barren space they’d arrived in. Aubrey craned his neck, trying to find his carriage, but Jasper only leaned against the wall, reliving the moment of oneness with the dancer. He grimaced, wishing he knew something to call her besides a generic title. Though arrogance itself, he knew if she only could meet him, she’d feel the same.

  He glanced around at the other patrons, startled to see a familiar lust on practically every male face, regardless of age. Narrowing his eyes, he denied what he saw. His feelings were more than simple desire. He wanted this woman for more than a short tryst.

  Jasper shied away from any deeper meaning, knowing he didn’t have it in him to love, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be some dancer who showed off her attributes for all to see. No, he had just the perfect offer for this one. A nice house on the edge of London, fine clothes, some jewelry. Surely she’d find his suggestion more appealing than working here no matter how much attention the audience paid.

  “I think I see him. Over there,” Aubrey shouted, pitching his voice to be heard above the crowd.

  Jasper shook his head, trying to focus, but he couldn’t shake the sudden determination that took hold of him. “You go on ahead. I have to do something.”

  Aubrey’s exclamation echoing in his ears, Jasper shoved through the crowd back to the doors, pushing them open and slipping through. The entryway stood empty, the former occupants all out on the street, except for the gentleman who had first barred their way.

  Jasper schooled his features into the calm arrogance that had served him well since becoming a man. With a purposeful stride, he crossed the space to where the gentleman strung chains through the door handles.

  “Excuse me, my good man,” Jasper said, mentally declaring the earlier confrontation gone. “I wish to speak with the dancer. The masked one.”

  “Doesn’t everyone,” the man said without turning. “The answer is no.”

  “How much will it take?”

  “Look, mister, Monsieur Henre runs a clean house. His dancers are dancers. Nothing less. Nothing more.”

  Jasper saw recognition cloud the man’s expression as he turned around, and rushed to make amends. “No, I meant what do I owe you for my friend’s and my own entrance tonight.” Jasper pretended that meaning all along as he pulled out some money. “We had no intention of skipping the fee, only a bit of a scheduling issue.”

  The man frowned and his face tensed in suspicion. “The box was paid for,” he said. “Is that all?”

  With a sigh, Jasper went to put the money away. “I really would like to meet her though. Is there a fee for an audience? I just want to tell her how much I loved her performance.”

  “You and every male with eyes. I know what you’re offering and the answer is no.” He moved away, heading for the same entrance he’d escaped through before.

  Jasper strode after him, jamming his foot in the door before it could close. “I must talk to her,” he said, annoyed to hear the desperation in his tone. “What do I have to do?”

  The man pressed against Jasper’s foot with the door hard enough to hurt. “Nothing. There’s nothing you can do to meet her. She’s not available and never will be.”

  Slamming his hand against the door, Jasper frowned. “Then Monsieur Henre. I want to talk to him.”

  “Oh, Monsieur Henre,” the man said, a twisted smile crossing his face. “Of course.” He opened the door wider and Jasper brought his foot back to take a proper step forward.

  The door slammed shut, barely missing his fingers.

  “Not.” Jasper heard through the closed door. “Go away with the rest.”

  Jasper slammed a fist into the door then pulled back to curl his fingers against his chest, sucking in a breath as the pain reached him. “I’ll find her somehow,” he muttered, turning away. He’d retreat now, but he had not given up.

  By the time he went back outside, most of the crowd had left. He glanced around and saw Aubrey’s carriage still waiting patiently despite his delay. With a laugh, he crossed the distance between them. “It’s good to know I can count on my friends at least,” he said, tugging on the door.

  “Oh, I wasn’t waiting for you out of kindness.” Aubrey laughed. “I had to know if you managed the impossible feat and actually met her.”

  Jasper sat down and stared out the window as the driver clucked to his horses. “I will,” he whispered under his breath.

  As they pulled past the building, he caught sight of a woman leaving from a side door and walking toward them. His chest tightened in anticipation even as his hand slammed into the wall behind the driver. “Stop!” he shouted, already reaching for the door handle. Then he froze, his fingers clenched around the metal bar.

  Slumping back onto the bench, he released his breath on a sigh. “It wasn’t her,” he said, waving at Aubrey to tell the driver to continue on. His disappointment melted away though when he realized he knew the secret. He knew where the dancers stayed when not on stage. Someone back there would help him. They had to. Maybe not tonight, but soon. He could be patient for a short while.

  “YOU WERE MARVELOUS,” MONSIEUR HENRE told Daphne, pulling her away from the other dancers who were preparing to leave. “I’ve never seen such emotion from you.”

  Daphne managed a faint smile, exhaustion dragging at her limbs now that the energy had drained.

  “The crowds were entranced. They’ve completely forgotten your earlier failure. The comments I heard tonight…just wonderful.”

  The front room man brushed between the two of them, his perpetually sour expression unchanged by Monsieur Henre’s delight. “So wonderful I had to fight off another man. Nobility thinks they have the right to all of us.”

  Daphne reached for the wall, suddenly feeling faint as she wondered if her father had found and recognized her. Would he be waiting for her when she got home? Or even when she stepped out of the performers’ door? She raised a trembling hand to her forehead, her fingers scraping against the edge of her mask.

  “A man?” Monsieur Henre asked, his tone sharp.

  “Yes, a young man probably out to choose his next lover. They see our women as playthings and too many a young girl’s head is turned by it.” He looked at Daphne as he spoke, but she only smiled, relieved to hear the intruder could not be her father.

  “You handled him?”

  “Of course. Don’t I always?”

  Their conversation continued, but she couldn’t find the energy to follow it. Instead, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, trying not to feel the fist of pain that had taken up residence in her chest and which clenched whenever she thought of her sister.

  “Are you all right?”

  Daphne started at the touch on her shoulder, looking up into Monsieur Henre’s face. At that moment, the other dancers flocked out of the changing room, and she groaned, knowing they’d see only what Cynthia had implied and not the truth.

  Monsieur Henre frowned at her, shaking his head. “Come to my office. We need to talk.”

  She could hear the women laughing and gossiping behind her as she reluctantly followed her teacher and now master.
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  He waited beside the door and closed it firmly as soon as she entered the room. “What is wrong, Daphne? It’s more than just improving, isn’t it?”

  Daphne moved to the visitor’s chair and slumped into it. What could she tell him? She’d promised her father not to speak the truth to anyone and knew he wouldn’t consider her former dance instructor an exception to that promise.

  Monsieur Henre leaned against the front of the desk and tilted her face up with one finger under her chin. “Such powerful emotion leads to quick rises and even quicker falls. Don’t let it eat you up from the inside.”

  She slumped, pulling away from his finger to bury her face in her hands. Fighting back tears, she struggled with the need to lie and finally gave in to protect her family name. “It’s my sister, Grace,” she managed. “She’s sick. Father sent her to the country.”

  He pushed up from the desk with a laugh, circling around to take his own seat. “You had me worried there. It’ll pass. Illness comes and goes, never worse than when our loved ones suffer.”

  Daphne shook her head, staring at him through tear-filled eyes. “She’s not coming back—ever.”

  Leaning forward to capture one of her hands between his, Monsieur Henre smiled. “I know it seems harsh, but the country air will help her heal, and she’ll return to you in no time.”

  A frown pulled at her face, bringing back images of her mother’s warning and then the sight of Lady Scarborough with blood-shot eyes. “Then why does Father want me to marry her affianced?” she burst out, unable to contain the knowledge.

  He sat back, his expression mirroring hers. “But you said…never mind. When do I lose you?”

  Daphne could almost see the calculations already whirling about in his head. Her mentor had vanished under her master. “The other family must agree to the change. I pray they won’t. I haven’t even had my coming out.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about such things,” Monsieur Henre said, his tone harsh. “I thought you only wanted to dance.”