‘Sorry, old fellow.’ Edmund moved quickly. ‘What part do you not get?’
‘So even if I am dressed up in the fancy rig of some loser, how is your father not going to realise I’m not you?’
‘You will be wearing a mask. It wouldn’t be much of a fancy-dress ball without them!’
‘So these Cavalier fellows wore masks then, did they?’
‘No. Not that I know of, anyway.’
Jack shook his head as he considered the daftness of the rich. He thought about Edmund’s plan. The lure of a guinea for a night’s work was strong. ‘Sounds all right to me, that does. What do I have to do once I’m there?’
‘Just be seen. Loiter around. There will be food and drink, dancing too.’
‘Dancing! You never said anything about any fucking dancing.’
‘You don’t have to dance, you dolt. So long as my father knows you are there, that is all that matters. You can slip away before it ends. I shall leave you a note in my hand. You can give that to a servant and ask them to deliver it to my father.’
‘You’ve got it all planned.’ Jack was impressed.
‘I like to think I have thought it through. Nothing can go wrong.’
‘And I won’t have to talk to anyone?’ Jack bit his lip. Edmund’s declaration that nothing could go wrong was not reassuring for the man who would be standing in his shoes.
‘No. Keep yourself to yourself. Hide away if you must. Just be seen at regular intervals. You can leave at nine or ten. No one will think much of it.’
‘But I’ll have to say something.’ Jack was worried.
‘Perhaps a little.’
‘Don’t you think someone will hear my voice and know straight off I ain’t a toff?’
‘You will just have to pretend. You can do that, can’t you?’ Edmund was deaf to Jack’s concerns.
‘I suppose.’ Jack was less sure. He wondered what the punishment would be for forcing his way into a ball. It could hardly be worse than a beating from Lampkin. The notion cheered him up. He looked hard at Edmund. He could see the eagerness in his friend’s face. The lure of Mary’s body was clearly strong. The spark of jealousy threatened to flare up again, so he made himself think about the money.
‘I ain’t doing it.’ He eased himself back down under the sheets.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Edmund looked genuinely shocked at the sudden change.
‘I ain’t doing it. I’ll be risking my neck so you can get your cock away. Doesn’t seem fair to me.’
‘You are not risking anything. If you are discovered, you will be thrown out but no worse than that. It will be as nothing to what I shall face.’
‘Two guineas.’
‘I’m sorry?’
Jack pushed himself on to his elbows and fixed Edmund with a smile. ‘I’ll do it for two guineas.’ He tried to hold back the laugh that was fighting to be free. He was gambling.
‘Why, you damned blackguard.’
‘Just think of Mary and those sweet little tits of hers. I don’t see you getting her any other way. You can’t keep slipping out without your guv’nor becoming suspicious. Way I see it, this might be your last chance to get a hold of her.’
‘Damn your eyes. Two guineas, then.’
Jack laughed. Then he sat up and bellowed at the mildewed ceiling, barely able to credit his luck. Two guineas was a fortune. All for dressing up like a plum pudding and filling his face on free food. It was the easiest money he would ever earn.
Chapter 7
Jack loitered in the entrance to the garden in the centre of the square. He was nervous. His clothes did not help. He was dressed in a wide-brimmed hat with an enormous white feather on its crown. His baggy doublet and hose were of bright purple, and a wide white collar was draped around his neck. A straight rapier hung at his hip, held in place by a polished black leather belt. He had never worn such well-made clothes and he fidgeted, uncomfortable and nervous.
He watched the entrance to the grand town house where the night’s festivities were taking place. Two huge braziers stood either side of a fine carpet of the deepest crimson laid out on the pavement. Liveried footman stood by like so many living statues, their faces impassive under powdered wigs.
Jack walked forward, sucking his courage tight. He had waited for the arrival of the carriage belonging to the Ponsonby family, the coat of arms painted on its doors matching the description that Edmund had given him that afternoon, when he had delivered Jack’s fabulous costume. He had not been able to see the passengers who had got out, and that concerned him. He wanted to avoid them at all costs, but quite how he was to do that without knowing what they were wearing, he was not sure. It was the first omission in Edmund’s plan. Jack hoped it was not the first of many.
He hurried across the square, doing his best not to trip over the rapier, which seemed determined to catch around his magnificent calf-high leather boots with their expensive-looking spurs. He had already made up his mind that the boots would not be finding their way back to their owner when he returned the costume, their addition to his wardrobe now part of his fee. He waited for another carriage to move away, noticing the pair of well-dressed men who stood watching the entrance to the house, scribbling notes in little books. He had no idea what they were doing there, but they were in full view of the servants manning the door, so he could only assume that their observations were part of the evening’s ritual.
He straightened his spine and walked towards the older servant waiting at the head of the red carpet, aware of the cursory glances coming his way. He tried to act as if he belonged, but his stomach was churning and he was sure the man would see through his charade in a heartbeat.
When he got close enough, he handed over the thick cream invitation card that Edmund had passed to him along with the costume. It was decorated with gilt swirls and flourishes, and Jack had struggled to decipher the golden script that flowed across its face. The writing bore little resemblance to the simple letters his mother had insisted he learn, but it looked important and was clearly expensive. He wondered at the sanity of the rich, who could waste money on such a frippery.
The servant read the invitation in a single glance before bowing at the waist and raising an arm to usher Jack inside. Another servant immediately slipped in front of him to escort him forward, and Jack followed him into the town house’s enormous hallway, certain that everyone would be able to hear the noise of his racing heart pounding away in his chest.
He had to do his best not to draw a loud breath as he entered the grandest building he had ever seen. His spurs clinked on the marble floor, the noise loud even over the sound of the string quartet stationed in the corner of the hallway. It was a vast and imposing space with enormous fluted columns lining the walls. An immense staircase swept down towards the entrance, its banisters of dark carved wood. Every spindle was made from twisted ironwork that must have taken a day’s work to create, yet now their beauty was lost in the splendour of so much assembled finery.
‘This way, sir.’
The servant led Jack forward, his pace slowing. Jack did not think he had ever been called ‘sir’ before; he felt his confidence build. No one was questioning his right to be there. He had turned up in the right clothes and with the correct piece of fancy card. It appeared that that was sufficient, all that was needed to gain access to a part of society that he was not even fit to serve.
His thoughts distracted him and he tripped, the rapier at his waist catching the spur on his right heel. He stumbled, the sudden noise making heads swivel in his direction. The servant leading him turned, a supercilious sneer visible as his expressionless mask slipped for just a fraction of a second.
Jack straightened. It was hard not to laugh out loud. It would be a treat to wipe the smug bastard’s face clean. He pictured the servant’s reaction should he open his mouth and reveal his true origins. It was a pleasing notion, but he kept his lip buttoned and followed the servant as they moved further into the building. He wanted to se
e more of the strange world that he had not known existed.
They passed through a second set of wide double doors and entered a cavernous room. Golden drapes covered the windows, their shade matching the gilding on the richly panelled walls, which were painted a delicate cream with detailing picked out in green. There were more chandeliers than Jack could count, the room fabulously bright, the chime of the glass beads just about audible in a pause in the music being played by a hidden orchestra.
The servant turned, his arm sweeping in a grand gesture indicating that Jack should find a place in the ballroom, then moved away quickly, leaving him alone. With nothing else to do, Jack eased his way into the crowd of people pressed around the room’s periphery. The fabulously dressed throng lined the wall in small groups, the buzz of their conversation underscoring the music. Yet Jack saw how few of them actually looked at one another, their masked faces constantly turning this way and that as they scrutinised other guests, as if always searching for alternative company.
It was hard to make any progress in the press of people, who guarded their places with determination. Jack got the sense that each spot was chosen with care, the positioning a calculated indication of some hidden status.
He eased his way through a group of gossiping women, the smell of their rich perfumes catching in his throat, each one vying for dominance and leaving the air heavy and cloying. He caught bits of conversation, the women speaking fast and low as they tittle-tattled.
He slipped past a man in golden robes with a crimson turban wrapped around his head, topped off with a single giant ostrich feather. In the centre of the turban was an enormous jewel the colour of blood. For a moment, Jack paused, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated the value of such a gem. Then it caught the light and he saw the dull patina revealed, the paste jewel as fake as the costume. The man saw the direction of Jack’s gaze and dipped his head in acknowledgement. It was enough to set Jack’s nerves on edge, and he moved on as quickly as he could, until he found a gap in the crowd where he could pause and savour a moment of relative freedom.
He felt his courage build. He had made it into the heart of the ball. Now all he had to do was avoid being thrown out. It was time to make himself at home.
The wine tasted like nothing he had ever drunk before. He had accepted it from a servant’s tray, drawn to the deep, dark red liquid in a thick-stemmed crystal glass. The taste of it overpowered him and he felt tears form in his eyes as he swallowed his first rich mouthful.
He took another, more circumspect sip and surveyed the room. He had never seen anything like it. Some guests, the younger ones, with the firm, lithe bodies, were dancing, their claps of delight and short gasps of laughter revealing their enjoyment as they followed the intricate routines. Jack had danced before, and if pressed, he might even admit to having enjoyed it. But what he was watching that day bore no relation to the wild jigs that sometimes erupted in his mother’s palace when a wandering fiddler managed to disturb the crowd from their gin.
Less agile bodies lined the walls, heads leaning close to one another as they gossiped behind the large fans that were also used to indicate the younger members of the throng cavorting across the room. The noise of their conversation was a constant drone underscoring the music, their catty observations and caustic slights only pausing in the gaps between dances.
Jack’s eyes followed the movements of one dancer in particular. She was dressed in a complicated array of gossamer-thin silks, wrapped around her in such a way that barely any imagination was needed to picture the pert young body hidden underneath. He felt his breath catch in his throat as she twirled past, a tall young man dressed as some sort of knight looking desperately clumsy as he trailed in her wake. The girl was captivating, her beauty a delicate perfection, and Jack could not help but stare.
‘Edmund!’
Jack started as someone tapped him on the elbow. He turned and looked into the golden mask of an older man dressed in a sumptuous swathe of white fabric decorated with purple edges. He caught a glimpse of the keen blue eyes hidden behind the mask and shivered as his gut churned with a sudden fear.
‘Stop staring at that poor girl. You look like a dog on heat.’ The admonition was delivered quickly and quietly. ‘And do not drink so quickly. I don’t want Clemence to have to carry you home like last time, is that clear?’
Jack managed to get his head to nod. The wine he had drunk settled heavy and sour in his stomach and he wanted to puke. The man speaking to him was clearly Edmund’s father, and Jack was certain he was moments away from being denounced as a fraud and an impostor.
‘Caesar! Oh bravo, Sir Humphrey, bravo indeed!’ Another man addressed Edmund’s father. He was dressed as a Highlander, with an enormous bonnet atop a fat face with great ginger whiskers billowing around a plain white mask.
‘Good evening, Lord Turner.’ Edmund’s father beamed in welcome, clearly recognising the man badly hidden behind the costume. ‘May I present my son, Edmund.’
To Jack’s horror, he was ushered forward.
Lord Turner lifted a huge paw and offered it. For a moment, Jack could do nothing but stare.
‘Edmund!’ Sir Humphrey hissed the words, his embarrassment clear as Jack left the hand hanging.
‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’ Jack blurted the words and shook the sweating hand. He could barely breathe as he waited for Edmund’s father to explode, certain that his attempt to mimic Edmund’s upper-class drawl was about as effective as Jem’s efforts at being a footpad.
‘Och, you’re a canny wee fellow.’ Lord Turner laughed at his own dreadful attempt at a Scottish accent. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Edmund, I most borrow your father for a moment. Sir Humphrey, I’d like to speak to you about a little business matter, if I may?’
Jack stepped back as the two men moved away. His head filled with a roar of triumph as he revelled in his success as a charlatan.
‘Ow!’
He turned, half spilling his wine, as soon as he heard the exclamation of pain.
‘You trod on my foot, you great clumsy beast.’
He was face to face with the beautiful girl he had watched on the dance floor.
‘Can you not look where you are going!’ The girl lifted her foot and massaged it in both hands, her movements fluid and balanced.
‘I’m sorry.’ A heady mix of wine, success and desire fuelled Jack’s confidence. Edmund had told him to talk to no one unless it was strictly necessary, but he could not help himself. The girl captivated him. He did not think he had ever seen anyone quite so perfectly formed, and he would not forgo what might be his only chance to ever talk to someone like her.
‘As well you should be.’ The girl’s mask was nothing more than a thin silk veil that did little to hide her face. ‘Who are you?’ She snapped the words. They were an order rather than a question. She let her foot go and stood in front of him. She was a good deal shorter than him and she was forced to crane her neck back so that she could scowl up at his mask.
‘Edmund Ponsonby.’
‘From where?’
‘London.’ Jack had no idea what he was supposed to say.
The girl frowned. ‘Who is your father?’
‘That man over there.’ Jack gestured with his wine glass, nearly spilling the last of its contents on to the floor.
The frown deepened. ‘Do I know you?’
Jack’s tongue felt as if it had been tied in knots. ‘No, I don’t think so. I am not often in town.’ He forced the words out. Even he wanted to laugh at his attempt at an upper-class accent. It sounded fake, but the girl appeared to notice nothing amiss.
‘I see.’ She already sounded bored. ‘Do you know George?’
‘George?’ Jack’s confidence was slipping.
‘It is his party.’ The girl was scowling now.
‘I am afraid I ain’t had the pleasure.’
The girl looked as if Jack had suddenly farted. ‘Where did you say you came from?’
Jack put his gla
ss to his mouth. His confidence was running away quicker than a pickpocket from a peeler.
‘I say, you are drunk already.’ The girl’s hands went to her hips and she shook her head like a despairing mother confronting a wayward child. ‘What jolly bad form.’ She turned on her heel and was gone in moments, leaving Jack trembling. But he still had the wherewithal to stare at her behind as she flounced away.
He finished his wine. The fleeting conversation had left him in no doubt that it was time to hide. He would have to idle away two hours at least before he could hand over Edmund’s note. It should be easy to find a hidey-hole in such a grand mansion. Then he could beat a retreat and head back to where he belonged.
He stepped away, pushing past a pair of short, rather dumpy women dressed in wide-hipped dresses, and headed for the door of the ballroom. He had nearly made it outside when his attention was diverted by a table covered in tiny cakes laid out on elegant china stands.
His stomach rumbled. He needed something to soak up the wine that sat heavy in his gut, and if he had to sit and wait out the evening then at least he would do it with something to eat.
The table was not popular, with few guests paying any attention to the sweet treats laid out for their delectation. Jack moved quickly, picking up a heavy napkin in which he planned to stash a dozen or so of the pretty little cakes, but immediately found his path blocked by the back of a large woman dressed in a tight-fitting dark-blue gown. As he waited for her to move, another guest, a man dressed all in green so that he resembled some sort of tree, clattered into Jack’s back, knocking him forward and driving the hilt of his rapier into the voluptuous woman’s backside. To his horror, she turned and faced him.
‘Sir Cavalier!’ she screeched loudly as she ran her eyes over him. ‘Were you poking me with your sword!’ It was followed by the sort of giggle only someone two sheets to the wind could give.
Jack backed away. The woman loomed large, her enormous bosoms bulging over the rim of a tight bronze breastplate. On her head was some kind of helmet with a pair of enormous wings sticking out, one on either side.
Jack Lark: Rogue Page 6
