Kat, Incorrigible

by Stephanie Burgis

  I made a face at her. Hadn’t she even noticed her cue?

  “Come now, Miss Angeline,” Mr. Carlyle said. He looked across the flock of pastels to where she stood by the carriage, her chin up high like an angry queen, and his voice shivered with laughter. “I really must insist on fulfilling my obligations. What kind of gentleman should I be otherwise?”

  “I would never desire to be considered an obligation.”

  “Not even a charming one?” he asked.

  “Good evening to you,” Angeline said frigidly, and swept past the flock, head held high.

  Elissa and I followed in her wake. I could have pointed out that it was a waste of effort—Stepmama had just been gathered into a low-voiced conversation with two older women from the next carriage, and it was clear she wouldn’t be ready to move inside the assembly rooms for at least five more minutes—but when I opened my mouth to tell Angeline so, Elissa touched my arm and shook her head.

  Later, she mouthed.

  I sighed. Behind me I could hear Mr. Carlyle’s laugh mingle with the flock’s chirps and giggles. At least he wasn’t suffering too badly. Stepmama and her cronies looked as if they’d settled in for a full round of vigorous, pre-ball gossip. I settled myself in for a tedious wait.

  We might still have been in Yorkshire, but the local assembly rooms were in a small, round-roofed building that looked like it wanted to be in ancient Greece. It had arrived about two thousand years too late. Marble pillars rose up to support the overhang, but they just looked silly beside the plain, low-roofed stone butcher’s shop on its left and the pastrycook on its right.

  Lights shone through the windows, and music and voices filtered through the closed doors. The rest of the party from Grantham Abbey shuffled around in a genteel confusion behind and around us, trying to avoid the horse pats on the ground and the lean dogs scavenging in the street nearby. In the confusion, I almost didn’t notice the light, insistent tug at my arm. No, not at my arm itself, I realized—at the reticule that hung off it.

  I clapped my hand to the cord it hung by, just before it could snap. “Careful—,” I began.

  Then I saw who it was.

  “I thought so,” said Sir Neville, and let the reticule go. He smiled. In the shadows, he seemed even taller, and I had to resist the urge to back away from him. “You couldn’t leave it behind even for one night, could you?” he asked softly.

  I licked my lips, trying to think of what I could say. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” had been used up in our conversation the day before. Anyway, it wouldn’t work. Not now.

  The reticule was warm against my fingers, the mirror’s heat burning through the thin, beaded cloth. Obviously, Sir Neville had felt that heat. Equally obviously—and much worse—he knew exactly what it meant.

  “I—that is—,” I began.

  But Elissa turned around before I could think of what to say. “Sir Neville!” She curtsied hastily. “I am sorry. I didn’t hear you approach.”

  Angeline turned too at the sound of Elissa’s voice. Her gaze flicked first, razor sharp, to the flock of giggling, chirping females behind us. Then she looked back to our own group.

  “Sir Neville,” she said, and bared her teeth in a smile as she curtsied. “What a delightful surprise.”

  “Delightful for myself, indeed,” said Sir Neville. “But surely no surprise.” He took Elissa’s hand and raised it to his lips. “I could hardly stay away.”

  Elissa’s cheeks flushed, and her eyelashes swept down to cover her eyes. I gritted my teeth. Heat rose from my reticule, warming my hands. The heat of magical power … completely useless in this situation. What could I do, apart from snatching Elissa and vanishing with her into the Golden Hall? That would be no use at all. Firstly, I would have to listen to her lectures there for hours, even if Mr. Gregson or Lady Fotherington didn’t appear as well, to make up a horrible magical party. And secondly, hiding in the Golden Hall could hardly be considered a long-term solution.

  So I just stood there, choking on rage and that hideous, unbearable feeling I’d discovered earlier. Helplessness. I breathed in the smell of charred meat and almost gagged. Someone in a nearby house must have let their dinner burn.

  I could actually feel Sir Neville’s power circling through the air around him. It prickled against my skin like a thousand tiny needles. It made me want to sink to the ground like a coward and give up.

  Weapon, I thought. All I had to do was find the right weapon to use against him.

  It was so laughable, I couldn’t even pretend to believe it. All I could do was clench my jaw to hold myself back. Even if I didn’t know how to fight Sir Neville in a way I could win, I did know that launching myself at him with my fists in public would do nobody any good at all.

  Although it would feel satisfying …

  A discreet cough sounded behind me. “Sir Neville,” Mr. Gregson said.

  For once, his voice came as a welcome interruption. I looked back and found him standing just behind me, his spectacles glinting oddly in the shadows. He smiled faintly but didn’t look at me.

  “Gregson.” Sir Neville turned away from Elissa, focusing his hard gaze on my would-be tutor. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

  “No?” Mr. Gregson said mildly. “You know I enjoy observing local customs. Especially when something worthwhile is at stake.”

  “You know I enjoy winning,” said Sir Neville, and his stare hardened into a fierce glare. “You might as well have stayed at home.”

  “My, you’re both acting mysterious,” Angeline said, and yawned behind her fan. “Might the rest of us be included in your conversation, please, or must we all start speaking enthusiastically about the weather?”

  “I … beg your pardon, Miss Angeline,” Sir Neville said. It looked like it took a real effort for him to yank his gaze away from Mr. Gregson’s calm face and assume an unconvincing smile. “Gregson and I are old friends, you see. We sometimes forget our company and lapse into childish banter when we are together.”

  Mr. Gregson coughed. It was not a sound of agreement. But when Sir Neville turned sharply to look at him, Mr. Gregson was smiling charmingly … at me.

  “And how are you enjoying your first ball, Miss Katherine?” he asked. “Are you terribly excited by it?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “I might be, if we ever went inside.”

  Dangerous as Mr. Gregson might be, at least I could breathe when I was around him. Ever since he’d arrived, the tight knot of tension—helplessness—in my throat had disappeared. The horrible smell of burned meat was gone. Even the prickles against my skin had eased. So I was happy to throw myself into battle against him once more.

  “You must be very bored, though, after all those elegant London balls you usually attend,” I said. “Sometimes,” I added, looking him in the eye and thinking of the first night we’d met, “you probably don’t even return to your townhouse until dawn. It must be exhausting.”

  Amusement glinted in his eyes. “It is a bit exhausting. And yet, I expect you might enjoy it too, if you gave the London life a chance.”

  Sir Neville muttered something under his breath.

  “I beg your pardon, Sir Neville?” Mr. Gregson said.

  Sir Neville bared his teeth. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Miss Katherine,” he said loudly. “I have known many young ladies who found that life more dangerous than they had expected. Some of them even lost their lives to it.”

  “Lost their lives to too much dancing?” Angeline said dryly. “My goodness. What pitiful young ladies you must have known, Sir Neville.”

  It wasn’t until she’d finished saying it that I realized—and she did too, I could see it in her face—exactly which young lady Sir Neville had known.

  His first wife, to be specific.

  Angeline’s face tightened into something sharp and dangerous. I clenched my hands around my skirts, feeling that choking sensation start up again.

  Elissa flicked her fan out with a je
rky, nervous gesture. “We shall all have to hope we may manage some dancing tonight, at least.” Her voice sounded tight, almost as choked as I felt. “And look—here comes Stepmama. Perhaps we won’t be out until dawn after all.”

  “Perhaps not,” Mr. Gregson murmured, and faded back into the crowd as Stepmama approached.

  Now that all the older women had broken up their gossip group, the rest of the crowd prepared for action. As Stepmama sailed toward us, the crowd pressed close, pushing us forward.

  “Sir Neville!” she said brightly. “How delightful to see you. I hope you come prepared for dancing tonight.”

  “Indeed I do, Mrs. Stephenson,” Sir Neville said. “I hope to dance with all three of your daughters tonight.”

  I gritted my teeth even harder and wished Mr. Gregson were still there to tarnish the smug arrogance on Sir Neville’s face.

  “Miss Stephenson, may I escort you into the ball?” Sir Neville asked, holding out his arm.

  “She would be delighted,” Stepmama answered for her, and Elissa took his arm.

  She looked wistfully over his shoulder as she did it, and I looked too, but Mr. Collingwood was nowhere to be seen. Poor Elissa, I thought. She’d probably spent all day dreaming of dancing with Sir Neville’s younger brother and enjoying the tragic bitterness of hopeless love.

  The thought of it irritated me so much that it loosened the knot in my throat and let me speak. “Where is Mr. Collingwood tonight?” I asked Sir Neville.

  “My brother?” He blinked. “I’m afraid he felt unwell and could not come.”

  “Oh, no!” Elissa said. Then she caught herself, looking guiltily up at her escort. “I mean—do please give him our condolences. It is terrible to miss a ball.”

  “Terrible indeed,” said Sir Neville. His gaze had sharpened, but he didn’t look displeased. “Those who miss it must be pitied,” he added, and smiled.

  I thought if I ever heard a double meaning again in my life, I might be violently sick.

  I was still simmering as we all finally filed into the main assembly room and heard ourselves announced like kings and queens to the locals. And I was ready to throttle myself out of sheer boredom by the end of the first hour of the ball, when I’d sat on the sidelines with my hands folded, listening to Stepmama gossip, for longer than any reasonable creature could possibly stand.

  But I was surprised when the orchestra drew to a sudden, screeching halt. The dancers in the middle of the floor stopped too, and the patterns broke into confusion as they all turned around, looking for the source of the interruption. Whispers and high-pitched speculation rose to fill the room.

  A shot exploded in the center of the dance floor. Plaster rained down on the heads of the dancers. Screaming, they scattered toward the sidelines.

  A man’s confident voice rang out and silenced even the most panicked screams.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he called. “I am sorry to break up such a charming party, but I really must insist. My associates are here to assist me in asking you all to make a choice, and I beg you each to consider the question carefully: your money … or your life?”

  The highwayman had arrived after all.

  Sixteen

  As the dancers scattered in a panicked rush, a man in a cloak and black half mask stood revealed in the center of the floor. His first pistol, now empty, was still aimed at the ceiling, where a large chunk of molded plaster was missing. Somehow, none of it had fallen on him.

  He was smiling underneath the half mask, and he held a second loaded pistol ready in his right hand.

  “You may form two lines, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “As quickly as possible, if you please.”

  “This is absurd!” It was the burly man who’d sat next to Mrs. Banfi eld on our first night, the one who’d told her not to worry about the highwayman. “It’s only one impudent rascal. We can all—”

  The second loaded pistol was suddenly aimed directly at him across the room, and the burly man’s neighbors were clearing away from him as rapidly as they had from the highwayman.

  “I must request that no one does anything rash,” the highwayman said. “Not even you, Major Connors.”

  The burly man’s face flushed brick red. “How the devil do you know my name?”

  “That, I’m afraid, is my own concern,” said the highwayman. “Meanwhile …” He turned his head, and his gaze swept the room. “I think I really must keep one of you with me to help maintain order. But which one …”

  I jumped up from my chair. “I’ll come!” I said.

  “Get down, Kat!” Stepmama hissed, and grabbed my arm. She flung her own fan, stretched wide, across my face to hide me from the highwayman’s gaze. I batted it away with my free hand.

  The highwayman met my eyes and laughed. “Very generously done,” he said. “But I think perhaps …” He circled. It looked aimless, but I was suddenly strangely certain that it wasn’t. The way his gaze searched the crowd … He pivoted to point. “There. You, please. Miss Stephenson.”

  It took a moment, through my excitement, for the name to penetrate. Then I lurched forward, and Stepmama fell back.

  Elissa stepped away from her dancing partner. I could see her pallor from across the room.

  “No!” I said. I pulled forward, but Stepmama wouldn’t let go. “Not her!” I yelled. “Don’t make her—”

  “It’s all right, Kat,” said Elissa. “Better me than either of my sisters.”

  She walked across the dance floor, looking pale and saintly. I glanced around wildly and glimpsed Angeline among the watchers. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was muttering something. If she planned on any sort of magical attack, I hoped she’d found more useful spells in Mama’s magic books than I ever had.

  “Ah, Miss Stephenson. Very brave and kind of you. If you’ll just stand here …” The highwayman gestured for her to stand beside him. He was remarkably fussy about it, adjusting her until she was in just the position he wanted, at a slight angle facing away from him.

  Wait. My eyes focused more sharply. He wasn’t only adjusting her position. He was whispering in her ear as he did it. The rascal! If he was embarrassing her, or making her unhappy …

  Elissa blinked rapidly. Her eyes flicked to his face and away. I clenched my hands into fists … then loosened them as I recognized the emotions flitting across her face.

  She wasn’t frightened or embarrassed. She was shocked, surprised, relieved … and then absolutely furious in a way I knew only too well. For a moment I was actually tempted to feel sorry for the highwayman. I wondered if she would start lecturing him on his behavior in front of all of us. What a way to spend his greatest robbery ever—being ranted at about propriety by the one young lady he’d chosen for looking most sweet tempered.

  I could have told him a great deal about my angelic-looking oldest sister’s temper. But there wasn’t any time for that now.

  She started to speak, then stopped when he whispered something urgently in her ear. Obediently, she pressed her lips together. But I saw the angry flush rising on her cheeks, and I knew he’d hear more about it later … if there was a later.

  Someone was moving quietly through the crowd, as stealthily as a wolf stalking his prey. I couldn’t see who it was, but I felt the shift of people around me, making way. Then I felt the sparks brush against my skin. Sir Neville.

  I coughed loudly. The highwayman jerked around, abandoning the whispered argument with my sister. His eyes narrowed, and his right arm swung out, pointing the loaded pistol. “Ah, Sir Neville,” he said. “Have a care, please. I’d prefer not to shoot anyone tonight.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Sir Neville growled. “But I will personally make certain you hang for tonight’s work anyway.”

  “My, you are bloodthirsty.” The highwayman nodded to someone behind Sir Neville. “But you might be interested to know that I am not the only one aiming a pistol at you just now.”

  I swung my head around, along with everyone else in the c
rowd. But the press of people was too thick for me to see anything.

  “My associates are positioned around the room rather carefully,” said the highwayman. “So I’d advise you to restrain yourself. You may distract yourself by planning your revenge, if you’d like.”

  “I will,” said Sir Neville, and I believed him.

  “In that case, we may begin,” the highwayman said, and beside him, Elissa gave an audible sniff of disapproval.

  It was a sniff I knew all too well. Even the highwayman’s confident smile faltered for a moment as he turned to look at her. He looked like a puppy who’d brought her a brand-new bone as a gift, only to be told that it was horrid. I’d seen that expression on another man’s face just two nights ago, when he’d seen Sir Neville escort Elissa into dinner.

  And suddenly I knew.

  “Oh, my Lord!” I muttered, and fell back into my chair.

  “Language, Kat,” Stepmama whispered. She was fanning herself rapidly and taking deep breaths.

  I wished I could calm myself as easily. But everything was suddenly much too complicated for me. The idea of a highwayman—even one holding my sister hostage—had been exciting. But this was just ridiculous.

  I looked at Sir Neville’s angry face and felt my stomach sink. He obviously hadn’t recognized the voice behind the mask. But somehow, I didn’t think it would make him any more forgiving when he realized he was facing his own brother.

  I couldn’t let him find out. It was bad enough for Elissa to be in love with a penniless younger brother. But for her to have to watch him be captured, arrested, and hanged …

  Well, if that happened, I would never persuade her out of her belief in gothic romances. She would be a confirmed tragic heroine for life.

  I took a deep breath, yanked my arm free from Stepmama’s grip, and started through the crowd toward Sir Neville.

  “Kat!” Stepmama hissed. “Get back here!”

  I ignored her. The closer I came to Sir Neville, the stronger the prickles against my skin became. They felt like burning needles, pushing me back, trying to form that choking, helpless feeling in my throat again. It made me want to go back to my seat and fold my hands like a proper young lady, and not even try to avert impending disaster.