by P. N. Elrod
He thought it over and saw the sense of it. “But I still feel . . . well, violated in some way. First by her use of me, then again by making me forget it. I’m not sure that I’d care ever to see her again after all that.”
“I’ve an idea that if I made mention of it to her, she would doubtless offer a full apology. She did not forcibly impress herself upon her male friends. And she showed consideration for your feelings when she understood your reluctance to participate.”
“There’s that . . . .”
“Making you forget was spare you distress and protect herself, nothing more. I’m sure that’s what she had in mind when she did the same to me as well. It made our parting easier, for me. I’m sure it was difficult for her to bear, though.”
“You’re being rather generous. Think about poor Tony Warburton . . . if what you say she did to him is what caused his madness. I can still hardly imagine him doing such a horrible thing except that that’s the same time you began going peculiar. For three years you had this grand passion for the lady, and then you behaved as though she were no more important than any of the other women we’ve known.”
“Only because she made me think so,” I repeated, trying keep the weary note from my tone. Oliver was having the devil’s own time getting his head around that point. “She made me forget everything that was truly important between us.”
“And you can do the same sort of . . . of influencing? If you don’t mind my saying so, I find that to be rather frightening.”
“As do I, be assured, so I am cautious with it.”
“But you have . . . influenced me?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “And I humbly apologize and promise never to do so again. That’s what this talk is all about, so I may be honest and plain with you from now on.”
“I can appreciate that, Coz. Apology accepted, though damn it, I’ve no memory of what you’ve done, either.”
“Nothing awful, I assure you. I only asked that you ignore my avoidance of taking meals and not think it odd I sleep the day through. That’s all, I swear it.”
“Yet I remember nothing.”
“ ’Tis the nature of the act.”
“Insidious stuff, ain’t it? And Nora’s used it on God knows how many of us.” He gave a brief shudder.
“You must understand that she has to be secretive when it comes to certain things. As do I, now. You’ve only to recall your own reaction when you walked in awhile ago to see why.”
“Yes, that woke me up. Are you sure Jemma is unharmed?”
“Quite sure. In truth, I went to some effort to see that she enjoyed herself.”
“Hmph. If I’d troubled to do the same for Frances, I suppose I’d have come in much later and then we’d have not even had this talk.”
“Only in part. I’ve been intending to tell you the whole of this, but . . . well . . . the choosing of the right time grabbed the bit and dashed away from me.”
“Yes,” he said, hooking one corner of his mouth up in a smile full tainted with irony. “Well. The time chose itself. I suppose we’ve made the best of it, Coz, but damnation, this wants a good deal of getting used to.”
But the nights passed easily between that one and the present, with Oliver becoming quickly accustomed to my change. Certainly my own peace of mind returned for I’d taken no enjoyment whatever from the necessity of having to influence him. It’s one thing to be compelled to use it on a paid servant, but quite another to inflict it upon so good and close a friend as he.
Never again, I promised us both.
One point which he did not raise in regard to my strange talent was whether or not I had influenced his mother to our advantage during our recent confrontation. Oliver was a most clever fellow under his appearance of playing the ass, and certainly if he applied the least thought to it, he’d have worked things out and known why Aunt Fonteyn had mysteriously cooperated with my order that she make no trouble for us in matters of our inheritance.
She did hold to a total severing of communication with him, which he was the most cheered about.
Her letters of acidic advice to him had been almost a daily ordeal what with her endless supply of paper, ink, and opinions, but since that night those had ceased. Without that intrusion or the prospect of further summons to Fonteyn House, life turned most pleasant for him. He now had congenial and witty company in his great lonely home with the kind of family he’d ever longed for and deserved. I rather suspected that Oliver knew what I’d done and had decided to let sleeping ogres lie.
Life was indeed congenial for us all, and for me would have been perfect if I could just find Nora again.
* * *
“Oh, there you are,” said Elizabeth, emerging from the kitchen hallway to meet me as I reached the lower landing. “Thought you’d never be coming down.”
“Jericho was playing the taskmaster this evening. Wanted to make sure I was properly groomed for the Masque tonight.” I ran a finger along my freshly scraped chin and felt particularly bright of mood. The Bolyn’s gathering was the talk of the town, and if ever there was a chance for Nora to emerge from wherever she’d hidden herself, it would be at this huge party. Everyone would be there, invited or not.
“Did he tell you about Oliver’s mysterious treasure arriving?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes, all the boxes. Where is he? Still in his consulting room?”
She nodded. “He came home an hour ago, went in, and hasn’t been out since or even called for tea. I decided to wait until you were up before checking on him. He won’t mind if we both interrupt. Wonder what they could be?”
“Knowing the bent of his studies, probably stuffed and mounted specimens from Bedlam, ” I said, strolling toward the right room.
“Ugh. That’s disgusting.”
“I’ve seen worse. If you ask him, he’ll arrange to take you on a tour, y’know.”
“I think not.” Elizabeth was familiar with my account of the dread place and apparently it had been vivid enough to put her off seeing for herself.
We paused before the consulting room door and she knocked, calling Oliver’s name. There was no immediate reply; she repeated herself.
“Did you hear anything?” she asked, her brow puckering.
“Barely.” The response sounded vaguely like an invitation. I pushed the door open and peered in, making room for Elizabeth.
“Good heavens,” she said, staring in astonishment at a flood of disorder littering the floor. Books, papers, clothing of all sizes and colors and even toys were spread into every corner, leaving no doubt as to what had once been in the boxes, which now gaped empty. Cross-legged, Oliver sat in the middle of it all, a carved wooden horse in one hand, a child’s chapbook in the other. He looked up at us, his eyes rather bleary and lost.
“Hallo. Pardon the mess,” he said in a faint, tired voice.
“What is all this?” Elizabeth lifted her skirts and picked her way into the room.
“Mo—” He swallowed with difficulty. “Mother sent it. It’s another way of completely cutting me off, I think. If she can’t stop the money, then. . . .”
“These are your things?”
“Every blasted one of them. All of it. Clothes I outgrew that weren’t passed on to others, letters, even the prizes I won at school. Here it is. My whole life. She’s sent the lot of it away for good, as though she wants no reminder of me under her roof.” He spoke unevenly, and his eyes were red. He’d been crying, I was sure. “She could have tossed it away or burned it, but then I wouldn’t have known. She wanted me to know.”
“Dear God,” I said. The spite of it went right to my heart. “How could she do such a thing?”
“When it comes to cruelty, there’s little with which she’s unacquainted. I’d be wondering what it’s about except for a note from my old nurse. She’s working for Cousin Clarinda now, but Mother sent for
Nanny Howard and told her to pack everything of mine up and send it over with no explanation. Nanny couldn’t bear to leave it at that and wrote to tell me what little she knew. Of course they’ve all heard about the falling out, but nothing of the details.”
We had heard as much via cautious missives from other relations who were curious over what had happened. Oliver only told them that he’d had enough of his mother’s nonsense and left it at that. Aunt Fonteyn, skirting the truth and wholly leaving out her foul accusations against myself and Elizabeth, maintained that Oliver was a fool and being led more deeply into foolishness by his wild colonial cousin. She would forgive her son once he came to his senses. Of course she made no mention of just what foolishness was going on, so most concluded that it was our usual drinking and whoring that had so offended her. Compared to her mad delusion, the weight of those sins was quite acceptable to bear.
He carefully put the faded chapbook down. “I suppose I should be glad not to have lost it all. I hadn’t even thought of the stuff for ages—I might not have even missed it—but to have it back again in this way . . . something of a shock, that.”
“Oh, poor Oliver,” said Elizabeth. She gamely, and carefully, made the hazardous trek across the floor and knelt down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder. Elizabeth knew about the speculations Oliver and I had made to each other at The Red Swan by now and so had an understanding of the depth of the pain he was going through.
“Yes, poor me. She’s a wretched mother, but the only one I’ve got. It’s—it’s so damnable to think she hates me this much.”
“She hates herself, that’s why she acts as she does. Like a wounded animal lashing out.”
“And wounding others in turn. Well, this is it, I should think. She’s got nothing else to fling at me, not unless she changes her mind about the inheritance money. I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“But you went by the solicitors, didn’t you?” she asked, glancing at me. I winked, confident that my influence upon Aunt Fonteyn yet held strong.
“All they would tell me was that she’d not sent for them. She could, though, at any time.”
“It’s very difficult to alter a will,” I said. “Especially one that’s been in effect for so long without contest. It’s also rather public, and we know she’d be extremely reluctant to carry things that far. Too much like a scandal, y’know. Besides, I can always go back, if necessary, and—”
Elizabeth shot me a warning look.
“And, well, she just won’t do anything. We’ll get our money every quarter, as usual. We’ve no need to worry.”
“I suppose not.” He sighed. “You know, if it hadn’t been for the note Nanny Howard put in, I’d have thought Mother had sent it today on purpose just to spoil the party for me.”
“I hope she hasn’t. Has she?”
“I don’t think so, but I am unsettled.”
“What you want is your tea.” Elizabeth stood and put her hand out to help him up. He accomplished this with considerable groaning about pins and needles, for his legs had gone to sleep. With her to lean on, he limped from the room’s chaos and into the hall.
“I’ll have the new maid sort things for you,” she said, patting his arm as she led him into the parlor. He seemed to quite enjoy the attention. “That is, if you don’t mind—”
“Not a bit of it. She can pack the lot up again and put it in the attic where it belongs. The oddest thing is that it was rather fun seeing my old stuff again. That little wood horse was my favorite toy once upon a time. I played and played with it until the paint was worn off, but by then I was learning to ride real ones so it was all right.”
Elizabeth rang the bell for tea and encouraged him to talk about himself. Being as vulnerable as any to another’s interest in the subject of oneself, he complied, not knowing that it was her way of cheering him. By the time they’d finished their light meal, talk had turned to the upcoming party.
“I shall have to begin dressing soon if we are to be fashionably late,” she said, with a glance at the mantel clock.
“I must say that I’m looking forward to escorting a pirate queen once again,” I put in. “You’re in for a treat, Oliver. She was quite the spitfire when she was ‘Scarlet Bess, Scourge of the Indies.’ ”
“The whole gathering at the Bolyn house is in for a treat,” he said. “Think we’ll frighten anyone as her ‘Cutthroat Captains of the Coast’?”
“We shall certainly try.”
The problem of what to costume ourselves in had been much debated until Elizabeth suggested a recreation of our favorite childhood game of playing pirates. Oliver had enthusiastically fallen in with it, asserting that the three of us together would make a wonderful and memorable entrance to the Masque. Elizabeth, having since become fast friends with our future hostess, promptly took herself off to Charlotte Bolyn’s highly recommended dressmaker, while Oliver and I sought help from his tailor. Colors were agreed upon, fabrics and laces chosen, and a hasty construction was begun. I’d asked Jericho if he wanted to join us, reenacting his role as the “Ebon Shark of Tortuga,” but he’d begged to be excused from the honor. No doubt his much-valued dignity would have suffered.
“Are you sure you don’t wish to come?” I asked him one last time as he helped me to dress. “Other people are bringing their servants. We could yet improvise something for you. I heard that Lady Musgrave was going as an Arab princess and was bringing her maid as her, uh, maid, done up in gold ropes, feathers, and a long silk scarf.”
“Thank you, no, sir. I should prefer an evening to organize the new staff. There are also the contents of Mr. Oliver’s consulting room to put in order. The new girl is in something of a state about the task and will need help with everything. No, sir, I am really quite sure. Now hold still that I may apply your eye patch. . . .”
Obediently I held still.
“Now the mask. . . .” He tied it firmly in place, concealing me from forehead to nose.
“How do I look?” I asked anxiously.
“Most formidable, sir. But the eye patch is hidden now.” He frowned over it.
“I can’t see a damned thing. This patch throws off the eyeholes on the mask. Don’t know why the maker sent both.”
“Perhaps to give you a choice. Do you wish the patch removed or the mask?”
“The patch. I’ve been anticipating this gathering too much to end up missing half of it by keeping one eye shut.”
He adjusted things. Sans patch, with the mask properly in place, I was able to see excellently and said so. A pity I could not provide myself the satisfaction of admiring the final results in the mirror, for it seemed a superior costume. Though the tailor’s idea of pirate clothing was certain to be lacking in accuracy, I felt I cut a dashing figure in my blood-red coat, gold satin cloak, and sinister black velvet mask. We debated whether or not I should powder my hair, but determined that a rough-and-tumble pirate on the run from the king’s navy would not have time for formalities of dress. Once the wide baldric was secured over one shoulder and my cutlass sheathed, Jericho finished it off by presenting me with a hat matching the coat’s color, lavishly trimmed with stiff gold lace.
“Have a very good time, Mr. Jonathan. You won’t forget to keep track of the hour?”
The Bolyn’s Masque would not conclude itself until well into the next morning. “I shall be home before dawn. Elizabeth will see to it. Should anything delay me I will go to ground in a safe place.”
That garnered me a look, for he understood that to refer to my finding Nora Jones at this event. If so, then I might not be back at all for the day.
“I promise I shall be perfectly fine,” I said. “This is London. There are no rampaging rebels or Hessians to trouble us here.”
Reassured, he finally gave me leave to go.
I’d purposely failed to mention the rampaging Mohocks, ruffians, thieves, pimps,
and ordinary mischief-making drunkards that nightly roamed the streets of London.
CHAPTER TEN
Oliver’s assessment of our reception had been conservative. The three of us sweeping into the entry caused an excited stir in the crowd that had already arrived. We stood in triumph in the center of the foyer so everyone got a lengthy viewing, then as one drew our cutlasses and made a flourish. Having practiced earlier we were quite the impressive sight. On either side of Elizabeth, Oliver and I bowed in salute to her as the belle of all lady pirates, and she favored us with a curtsy in return, then we three gave similar honor to our hosts. There was a burst of applause from all.
Though we were collectively dazzling in our black, red and gold colors, Elizabeth was the best of our turnout. She’d found some striking crimson powder from an unknown source and used it for dressing her hair, making a fiery difference between herself and the other ladies. Woven into her coiffure were a number of gold and black ribbons long enough to trail down to her shoulders, giving her a most daring air. Her gown—and I was thinking as her protective brother in this—was short enough to reveal her ankles to a shocking extent, had they not been modestly encased in high riding boots. The rest of her costume was a wonder of gold lace and rustling red satin. Even her mask was trimmed with lace, the gold showing off well against the black velvet.
Oliver’s costume was identical to mine, but with the colors reversed, giving him a gold coat and a red cloak, and he looked most handsome in them. A few people recognized him, though; his long chin, left visible below the half-mask, was unmistakable. With his identity discovered, our own was also made known, but only to those who had already met us and could guess that we would be with our cousin.
Charlotte Bolyn immediately came over to give welcome and proclaim her pleasure at the success of our apparel. She was very fetching herself as the Queen of Hearts and dragged her brother Brinsley over, who was dressed as the Knave of Spades. We saw their parents were done up as the Queen of Diamonds and King of Clubs. Theirs was an extended clan, so many of the uncles, aunts and cousins also wore costumes with the same theme. Someone in the crowd called out that all the reds and blacks together were too much for his bewildered eyes, and Brinsley grinned and waved his mock sword at him in amusement.
