by Kate Archer
Sybil considered the idea for a moment. She said, “Taking up a shotgun is unusual, to be sure. Though, if your claim of shooting birds is the cause of this, why should the birds in the illustration be three gentlemen? Are they the three gentlemen mentioned by Mr. Richards? Who are they?”
“I am afraid they are the Lords Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth,” Cassandra said. “I had not yet had time to tell you of my encounter in the park yesterday. Mr. Conners, who I met at the Montagues’ ball, approached me and proposed I engage in a horse race.”
“He did not!” Sybil exclaimed.
“He did. Then Lord Hampton came on the scene and chased him away.”
“That was very good of Lord Hampton,” Sybil said.
“Yes, it was,” Cassandra said. “But there is more. Not long after, Lord Lockwood and Lord Ashworth arrived. The three gentlemen insisted they escort us on our way home. All the way home. It was strange and there were no end of people staring at us. You see? The three gentlemen in the illustration are Hampton, Ashworth and Lockwood.”
“I do see,” Sybil said. “Goodness, that is unfair. You have not deserved this. As well, it does not entirely explain Mr. Richards’ comment on the three gentlemen. Why should one be wary of your company because three gentlemen of the pact did you a marked courtesy?”
“I do not know, nor do I fully understand why they did such a courtesy. I am perhaps most alarmed at the idea that something that occurred yesterday afternoon was so widely known that same night and a mocking of it is done today.” Cassandra paused, then said, “As well, who would be so determined as to throw it through my aunt’s window?”
“Lady Marksworth will know what ought to be done,” Sybil said. “I expect a ‘Chin up and ignore the gossip’ is what she will say.”
Cassandra took Sybil’s hands in her own. “But you need not ignore it, my friend. I would not like to see you tainted by talk involving myself. This will not be the only copy of this print and I cannot know how many others circulate. Perhaps Mr. Richards was right, perhaps it might be best for you to stay away for now.”
“Stay away?” Sybil said, with more vigor than she had displayed all morning. “I certainly will not. Lady Sybil Hayworth is made of sterner stuff than that, thank you very much.”
Cassandra smiled at her friend’s valiant loyalty, though she knew it might not hold. “Your mother may not feel the same,” she said.
“My mother comes from a long line of lady warriors,” Sybil said. “She will not retreat in the face of difficulty.”
Racine came in with the two footmen, who both worked to catch their breath. “The little blighter could not be caught,” he said.
“It is no matter,” Cassandra said. “I do not know what we would have done with him if we had caught him.”
“Knock the stuffing out of him is what I would do!” Racine said.
Cassandra smiled at the idea. It appeared Racine was from a long line of warriors too.
“I think,” she said, “the best thing we can do is send somebody to Mrs. Hanson’s house to retrieve my aunt.”
Racine nodded, though he appeared to experience some disappointment in not having the opportunity to knock the stuffing out of anybody. “Jimmy, you go. Say an important letter has arrived, nothing more until you are on your way. Ben, sweep the glass from the rug and cover the window with a cloth. I will arrange for a glazier to come and repair it.”
Cassandra felt a bit better, having settled on a plan of action and seeing Racine so competent in carrying out the details. She would feel both comforted and mortified to see her aunt. She had caused talk about herself! She would need to own that she had spoken so out of turn as to mention shooting. As for the three gentlemen escorting them home, she could not have done anything about that—Lady Marksworth had quite approved it.
It was simply that the two pieces of information, taken together, resulted in a humiliating picture. She supposed that was what the people who dreamt up such illustrations sought out—combining a few disparate facts into a scene that would amuse.
Though who would have felt it necessary to hire a boy to throw the thing through a window? That was not just amusement, there was real condemnation there. Further, her name was not even on the drawing. Were both circumstances so well known, and so quickly, that whoever had hired the boy had instantly perceived who the drawing represented?
Sybil wiped her eyes. “It is so unfair!” she said.
“Indeed it is,” Cassandra said. “Though I do not like to see you upset by it. You ought to go home, I know you attend the Blakeleys’ ball this evening and you will not want red eyes, particularly not with a mask on—you would appear a frightful specter.”
“Oh no,” Sybil said, her voice resolute. “I shall not go anywhere until your aunt arrives. I will not have you sit alone waiting for her. Though, I think we’d best move away from the window. Just in case another boy comes along.”
The thought of a second broken window sent a shiver down Cassandra’s spine and they moved with all haste to the other side of the room.
“You were to go to the Blakeleys’ tonight as well,” Sybil said. “Shall you attend?”
“I will do as my aunt suggests,” Cassandra said. “I very much hope she suggests we stay home, as I am in no mood for levity or for finding myself stared at. I can have no idea how many people have seen a copy of that print.”
“If you do go,” Sybil said, “I shall be right by your side. Let the starers note it all they like. I rather think you should go, my mama says Lady Blakeley takes a deal of time choosing the right mask for each person. I am rather terrified to see what arrives today but whatever it is, I will put it on and remain close by you.”
Cassandra smiled at her friend, much cheered to find her such a stalwart ally. Sybil might not gallop off without a groom or shoot birds, but she was as steady as any soldier. As for the mask, Lady Marksworth had told her of Lady Blakeley’s unusual way of going on. It was not a full-dress mask and those attending did not choose their own. Two masks of some sort would arrive for herself and her aunt before the day was through.
Cassandra had looked forward to the idea, but now she would just as soon forgo donning a mask of cheerfulness or anything Lady Blakeley might dream up.
*
It was not more than a half hour before Jimmy returned with Lady Marksworth. He’d somehow got her out of the house and then informed her of events as they made their way home, no doubt jogging alongside her window.
Cassandra’s aunt blew into the room like a north wind, took in the cloth covering the window and her niece sitting on the far side of the room with Sybil.
“Cassandra, are you quite all right?”
“I am unhurt,” Cassandra said. To claim being quite all right felt too much to own.
“And dear Lady Sybil,” Lady Marksworth said, “how good of you to stay with her. You must have been frightened out of your wits.”
Sybil rose and said, “Not terribly so and Cassandra was terrifically brave. In any case, as my father always says, the Hayworths stand their ground.”
Sybil curtsied and took her leave amidst Lady Marksworth’s thanks and Cassandra’s grateful looks. Her aunt came and sat beside Cassandra. She picked up the print and stared at it.
“You will only understand part of it, I think,” Cassandra said. “The three gentlemen are Lords Hampton, Lockwood and Ashworth.”
“I see,” Lady Marksworth said. “So the gossipmongers would make something of three gentlemen escorting a lady home. Entirely ridiculous.”
“The gun, though,” Cassandra said, determined that her aunt should understand it all. “That is my fault. At the Bergram’s ball, Lord Hampton said something provoking and somehow I carelessly mentioned I’d been in the habit of shooting birds.”
Lady Marksworth’s forehead wrinkled. “Why should you invent such a bizarre account of yourself?”
“It was not an invention,” Cassandra said.
“Not an invention? Do yo
u mean to say? No, certainly your father would not… he would not have allowed his daughter. Good Lord. He did.”
“He did,” Cassandra confirmed. “I ought not to have mentioned it and regretted it as soon as I said it.”
Lady Marksworth appeared pensive. “Well, a girl with a shotgun is strange, there’s no getting round it. Though I have heard that Lady Rentworth has been known to shoot bird.”
Cassandra was cheered by that idea. “So it is not entirely unknown,” she said.
“Perhaps not. But the reason I have heard of it is because people speak of it and Lady Rentworth is a middle-aged spinster who has always been known as a great eccentric.”
“And I am young and here for my first season,” Cassandra said quietly.
“Just so,” Lady Marksworth said.
The full weight of what had occurred, and what might be the result of it, seemed to come over Cassandra all at once. Was she to be stared at everywhere? Was she the subject of jokes? Was her name spoken in jest in the gentlemen’s clubs? Were there those that might snub her? Of course there must be. At least one person in town had paid a boy to break her window with the news.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she said, “I ought to go home, Aunt. I have disappointed you and caused talk that will reflect on you. It is not right that I stay.”
Lady Marksworth took her niece’s hand. “You will do no such thing, my dear. The very worst idea is to cut and run, it would be like air to the fire. No, we shall keep to our schedule and if anybody has the nerve to stare while I am in the vicinity, they will wish they had not. In any case, while the depiction of you is odd, it in no way impugns your innocence. You have been painted as having facility with a gun and having three dashing admirers. That is not ideal, but that is all.”
Cassandra thought that was quite enough but was encouraged by her aunt’s stance on the matter—Lady Marksworth was all cool head and commonsense.
“In any case, if there is blame to be shared, I must take my part in it,” Lady Marksworth said. “I thought it perfectly acceptable that the lords should escort us on our way if it pleased them. Together, we shall face down the talkers with grace and aplomb.”
“I wondered what we should do about the Blakeleys’ ball this evening,” Cassandra said.
“Wonder no more,” Lady Marksworth said firmly. “We will arrive as expected and let anyone dare say a word about it. You could not hope to arrive at a friendlier house. In the meantime, I will write your father of this idiocy. He will not put much stock in it, but better he knows of it if the print reaches as far as Surrey.”
“Could it reach as far as Surrey?” Cassandra said in alarm. She was not worried about her father, he did not rattle easily, but she would not like to think of all her friends viewing such a thing.
“One never knows,” Lady Marksworth said. “I suppose it depends upon how amusing the illustrator considered it and how much he thought he might gain by it. As you are relatively unknown, I don’t expect it will go far. A print of the Regent might be recognized in the furthest reaches of England, but not so with you.”
Cassandra found herself somewhat mollified by the idea. Of course, the prints must be sold to make them worthwhile, and who would pay for a print of an unknown and unnamed girl? She began to hope the pieces of paper would be few and of little interest.
*
Until a rock had sailed through her window, Cassandra had looked forward to the Blakeleys’ ball. They were a young couple, Lord Blakeley known for his outspoken politics and Lady Blakeley known for her forward-looking wardrobe. The lady was often in the newspapers, with breathless descriptions of some outfit or other. The last had been a red silk Japanese Kimono that she’d worn to a reception for the Persian ambassador.
There were some circles that wondered if the couple were not a little too fast for the best society, but Lady Marksworth was fond of them both. She’d known Lady Blakeley as a girl, having been friends with her mother, and had always found her lively and vastly entertaining.
Now, Cassandra was very much less looking forward to the Blakeleys’ mask. She had felt on pins and needles all through the day. A rock had shattered a window, she was the subject of a joke, and she waited to see how Lady Blakeley had depicted her character via the choosing of her mask.
It was with both great relief and great trepidation that the boxes containing their masks had finally arrived. Lady Marksworth opened hers and moved aside the delicate tissue to find the face of an owl, done in feathers.
“I am thought to be wise, it seems,” Lady Marksworth said smiling. “Either that or I am exceptionally cruel to mice. Now let us see what you are to be.”
Cassandra gently removed the mask from the box. It was covered in a soft taupe velvet with rounded ears outlined in a cream silk ribbon. The holes for her eyes were outlined in a black silk and there was a small black nose slightly protruding.
“A fawn,” Lady Marksworth said. “Both charming and appropriate. Nothing could be more innocent, gentle and deserving of care than a fawn. Well! Lady Blakeley has made her opinion known and all will see it.”
*
Lord Hampton had sent a note to all of the gentlemen of the pact after receiving an alarming communication from Dalton. The lord wrote that his butler, Bellamy, witnessed a street urchin throw a rock through the windows of Lady Marksworth’s house and that rock appeared to have had a paper tied round it. The lady’s footmen had given chase but returned empty-handed. Lady Marksworth had arrived to the house some time later and nothing else had been seen.
It had not taken much thinking to guess what had been done. Some person had decided it was time to send a stern message to Miss Knightsbridge. It was not unknown that a satirical print would be delivered via rock to some poor soul’s address, though it was usually a politician who could expect such discourtesy. If the lady had been at home as the glass shattered, she must have been terrified.
He very much doubted Miss Knightsbridge would venture out to the Blakeleys’ ball after having a rock thrown through her window. He was certain she and her aunt huddled together, attempting to work out the meaning of the print. If they had not been apprised of the rumor of the three engagements so far, and he did not think they had been, they would be mightily confused and alarmed by it.
In case his assumption that she would not attend was wrong, he had conferred with Lady Blakeley on the matter and convinced her he ought to know what mask Miss Knightsbridge wore. He had been well-pleased to discover it was to be a fawn, and further pleased that the hostess had heard the gossip and tossed it aside as rubbish.
After that meeting, he had sent what amounted to military orders to the gentlemen of the pact—they had all been invited and were therefore all to attend, they were to split up and do reconnaissance, and they were to challenge every scrap of gossip they heard. If Miss Knightsbridge made an appearance, she would be identified as the lady masked as a fawn and her dance card was to be filled.
He was well aware that none of the gentlemen wished to go to the mask; they had an abhorrence for such things. Especially the masks that Lady Blakeley might choose for them, as she could have quite the acerbic wit. However, he had made it their duty and they would go.
Hampton did not particularly wish to go himself. His mask this year was of an old and serious-looking clergyman, replete with a band. He supposed that was some comment on his lack of levity. Dalton was to be a pirate, and well-pleased by it. God only knew what the rest of them would be.
No matter, they were duty-bound to make every possible exertion on behalf of Miss Knightsbridge.
Chapter Nine
The Blakeleys’ house in Mayfair appeared quite usual from the outside, with its stone façade and many windows. However, Cassandra was just now hearing from her aunt that the inside was less than usual.
As the carriage came to a stop in the line, Lady Marksworth said, “Lady Blakeley has always been fascinated with anything foreign, fortunately her lord indulges her fancy. I understand
she’s recently added a sarcophagus to the drawing room and her children are fond of hiding in it.”
“Goodness,” Cassandra said. “I presume it arrived empty.”
Lady Marksworth laughed at the remark and said, “I am glad you are in good spirits.”
“I cannot say in what spirits I am,” Cassandra said. “I will perhaps have a better idea after an hour or two. However, I decided that I ought not allow myself to be defeated. I have not done anything shameful. Shocking to some sensibilities, perhaps, but nothing truly shameful. I should not blush at anything my father or my aunt have approved.”
“True, though I suspect even your father cautioned you to forgo mentioning shooting birds.”
“That he did,” Cassandra admitted, “and perhaps this has been a valuable lesson to me. I have been in the habit of saying all my thoughts and have now discovered that only thinking them is often sufficient.”
“I believe that is a lesson we all learn at some point,” Lady Marksworth said. “In any case, you are right to understand that you did nothing shameful and it will not be overlong before some new idea about someone else is setting the tongues wagging. Hold your head up and go forward—after all, it was only a silly illustration. Ah, here we are.”
Footmen had opened the door and they helped Cassandra to the ground.
*
Lord and Lady Blakeley were a dashing couple—he tall and lean and she nearly as tall as he. They had both removed their masks to greet their guests, though Cassandra could see two footmen standing nearby, ready to hand them over. They both went as lions, his with a great mane and hers as the more delicate female. She supposed the couple wished to declare themselves king and queen of the jungle and the thought made her smile. London was a jungle, when it came down to it.
Lady Marksworth was greeted in all genial familiarity. Lady Blakeley said, “And this must be your charming niece, Miss Knightsbridge.”
Cassandra curtsied and Lady Blakeley rose her up. Loudly, she said, “You are always welcome to my house, innocent fawn.” Then she leaned in and whispered, “Ignore the cobras, they will eventually turn on each other and devour themselves.”
