Rose managed to give the impression of attending to Ariadne and her mother, who had come to invite her to a house visit in the country. Rose gave an evasive answer and hailed with pleasure the appearance of two of her large admirers. Ariadne clearly wanted to stay, and Rose encouraged her to do so. Her mother did not seem too put out by this. Rose recalled that Ariadne had two younger sisters on the brink of their own bows to society.
When the hour for calls had passed, Rose learned from Hurst that the general had also left the house. The butler was carrying out of the drawing room two used glasses and an unfurled bottle of champagne.
Paige embraced her niece, kissing her on both cheeks. “My word, what have I done? Cork, for heaven’s sake. I don’t even know what to wear.”
“Does it matter? The general won’t notice.”
“Of course it matters. I’m a bride again, may the Lord have mercy upon me. I shall need all new night-clothes and underthings, at any rate.”
“Why?”
Paige’s cheeks turned pink. “Brides and matrons wear different styles. Oh.., you know what I mean. As a widow, I’ve been wearing very modest, very boring nightclothes. No one sees them but me and my maid. But a husband is a different matter.”
“I haven’t noticed that your underclothes are particularly boring. They’re more interesting than mine,” she said, thinking of her cashmere dressing gown and how she’d wished it were floating cambric and delicate lace.
“We shall buy you some new things as well. Madame Corant has the most charming Moravian white-work petticoats. Remind me to pick up a few pairs of stockings too. Pink, if she has them.”
Before they could go shopping, however, the general returned with a meek man carrying a large black case under his arm. He bowed to Paige and Rose. Undoing hasps and clasps, he opened the case to expose row after row of sparkling, gleaming rings. The sunlight rebounded off them as though the little man had opened a case full of water, sending rippling ribbons of light around the room.
“By Jove,” Rupert said, “ ‘ware Black Mask.”
“Oh, we never worry about thieves,” the man said, smilingly nudging the case toward Paige.
“I should say not,” Uncle Augustus put in. “There’s a fellow outside who follows this one everywhere he goes. He’s roughly the size of a cart horse.” He leaned over Paige’s shoulder. “Pick whichever you like, my love.”
“Augustus, this is unnecessary,” she whispered.
“Unnecessary? Certainly not. You must have an engagement ring. Knock their eyes out down at Almack’s tonight when I show the prize I’ve carried off in their teeth.”
Flattered, Paige finally chose a yellow diamond set about with brilliants. It slipped onto her slender finger as though it had been made for her. The little man from Rundell and Bridge bowed all around, shook hands with the general, and departed.
Riding in the barouche to her dressmaker’s, Paige gazed at her new ring, turning it this way and that in the spring sunshine. “It is beautiful,” she said like one determined to tell the truth even if it meant the rack.
“Exquisite,” Rose agreed. “And so unusual.”
“He’s jealous, I’m afraid.”
“Jealous? Of whom?”
“Of my other husbands, I think.” She pulled on her lavender kid gloves, easing the fingercase over her ring. “He wants to give me more than they ever did. I’ve tried to tell him he gives me more happiness, but I believe he thought I was being kind.”
“Were you?”
She waved at an acquaintance who swept off his hat to bow as she passed. “No, I wasn’t. I wonder if he’ll ever believe me.”
“If you tell him often enough, he will. Why did you accept him, Aunt Paige? I thought you’d made up your mind...”
“I think it must be the way he calls me ‘my lady’ when he is displeased with me. If the only way to make him stop is to marry him, well then, what choice have I?”
Happiness seemed to make people want to spend money. Rose’s task on this happy day was to approve Aunt Paige’s taste and attempt to keep her from buying too much for her niece. At times, Paige seemed confused as to whose trousseau she was buying, choosing just as many chemises, stockings, and new-style gored petticoats for Rose as she did for herself.
Rose asked to be excused from accompanying Paige and Augustus to Almack’s. Though she told herself she didn’t wish to play gooseberry, a different motive was at work. The Black Mask bad attempted to enter the house quite early yesterday. If he came back again, she didn’t want to miss him.
Tonight, the house breathed out silence. The ticking of the clock seemed to have an echo that dragged out the passing seconds into minutes. Rupert went out, promising to be good. Hurst brought her a small tea tray at ten o’clock, and Rose instructed him not to wait up for his mistress. He retreated behind the green baize door with the; other servants. The silence grew deeper, as though a fog came creeping in to muffle all sound. Rose read until the heroine’s adventures palled beside her own.
Not naturally patient, Rose remembered keeping vigil beside her mother’s bed when she’d been so ill. The nights had dragged then as well, but at least there’d been small tasks to do. It was then she had attempted to learn to knit, but it had not been a success. Crochet came more easily. She wished she had her hook and bobbin now.
At least she could light the fire to warm the increasingly chilly air. Hurst had laid it all out on the grate. She had only to light the balls of crumpled paper. Once they caught, she continued to kneel beside the fire, holding her hands out, watching the paper crisp and crumble, seeing how the tips of the kindling began to smolder, smoke, and burn. When they were well alight, she took the poker to push it all under the main logs, smiling as the sparks flew upward.
“Don’t you have servants for that?”
His voice teased her. The street accent faded and grew strong by turns. She felt if it would only disappear entirely, she could place it. It sounded so familiar, had sounded familiar even last night.
Turning her head slightly, Rose could just glimpse his dulled boots. “I like to do things for myself.” She sent her gaze up to reach his face. “But for some things I need help. Have you decided if you are going to help me?”
He reached down, and Rose put her hand in his to let him pull her to her feet. He held her hand a moment longer, brushing his thumb idly over the sensitive back. “You trust me?” he said softly.
“It is far from sensible, but yes, yes I do.”
Behind the mask, his eyes were intent. Rose found her breath catching, her pulse beating more strongly. She recognized the feeling of anticipation as the same she’d known in the instant before he kissed her. “It was you at the Yarborough party.”
“I told you it was not.” He let go of her hand and turned away, striding across the room. Opening the door to the hall, he glanced out and then gently closed it. “There’s not much time. Listen. Tomorrow, precisely at eight o’clock, I want you to be entering Sir Niles’s house.”
“How am I to do that? Through the window?”
“No. Through the door. Knock or ring. His man will let you in.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry. I thought you meant something more spectacular.”
“Would you truly climb in through a window?”
“You do.”
“That’s a different case all together. I’m a thief. It’s what I do. Miss.”
Rose smiled sunnily at him, which seemed to make him nervous. “Some people say you are a Robin Hood.”
“Some people will say anything.”
“You did give that emerald tiara to that poor man.”
“It was paste. Why d’you think he couldn’t fence it?”
“Fence ... oh, sell it?”
“That’s right. You pick up the cant right quick.”
“It’s not that difficult. You see, perhaps my talents lie along yours.” Even Rose couldn’t tell how serious she was being. “You could teach me to be a thief, couldn’t
you?”
“I’m not lookin’ to take on no apprentices,” he said. He roughened his voice, seemingly as an afterthought.
Rose wanted him to go on talking. “So tell me what it is I must do.”
“You go ‘round to Sir Niles’s house just on eight. While he’s busy with you, I’ll nip into his room and take ahold of his strong-box.”
“You sound certain it’s in his bedroom.”
“Certain sure. You just keep him occupied.”
“What about the servants?”
“What about yours? They don’t have any idea you aren’t alone. I come and go at will in any house I choose.”
“How did you learn to do that? Were you apprenticed to another thief?”
“I...” Suddenly a finger flew to his lips in a universal sign for silence. Footsteps crossed the hall. As a good servant, Hurst did not knock, No sooner had the knob begun to turn than Black Mask, swiftly and above all silently, slipped across the floor to whisk himself out of sight behind the opening, sheltering door.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Spenser.”
“Yes, what is it?” Rose asked, trying to pretend she often stood idly in the middle of a room late at night.
“I disremember—you understand how it is when one is readying to retire for the night—I cannot quite call to my memory whether Sir Augustus is partial to burgundy.”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. Is it important?”
“I am attempting to choose the wines for tomorrow evening’s dinner.”
“Dinner?” Rose asked, willing herself not to cast even a suspicion of a glance at the door. “What time are you serving?”
“I thought eight o’clock, miss, since her ladyship prefers not to keep country hours.”
“Don’t lay a place for me, Hurst. I think I have an engagement for eight o’clock.”
“With Miss Ariadne Belmont? A very pleasant spoken young lady, if I may say so. An excellent family.” The butler frowned as he spoke and Rose stiffened.
“What is it, Hurst?”
“You should have rung if you wished the fire lit, Miss.” He crossed to the fireplace, went down on his knees with a chuff of effort, and began to jab at the logs with the poker. “You’ve got to let the air in,” he said.
Rose watched, torn between alarm and laughter, as the Black Mask slipped around the door and through the opening. He did it so quickly, Rose could hardly believe she’d seen him go. After one instant, he reappeared only long enough to kiss his hand to her and hold up eight fingers. She nodded eagerly.
The next morning, Colonel Wapton appeared among the morning visitors for the first time in days. His former meticulous appearance had been restored, and yet something hunted in his eyes told Rose all was not yet well with the officer. He’d hardly taken time to make polite inquiries of her health before drawing her aside. “Is it safe? The ... my satchel, is it safe?”
“Yes, I have it inside ...”
“Don’t say it,” he said on a frantic note. He smiled uneasily at the other men in the room, some of whom stared when his voice had risen. Even the general, keeping vigil over his fiancée, frowned at him despite his pinkish haze of happiness.
“I don’t want anyone to know where you’ve hidden it,” he said, his gaze flicking, animal-like, to the faces around him. “I’ll come for it tonight.”
“Tonight I shall not be at home,” Rose said haughtily. The colonel hadn’t even asked if it would be convenient to pick up his satchel tonight. He’d given the order as if she were a non-too-bright subaltern. “I will happily leave instructions that you are to be given your property upon application to our butler. Now, pray excuse me, Colonel, I believe my aunt requires me.”
All day, Rose would, at unexpected moments, feel a pulse of excitement quickening through her veins. Her intentions were of the best, but it was not good intentions that made her feel as though she’d swallowed a hot-air balloon. She felt as though she should keep a tight grasp on the furniture lest she float up into the air.
She played over and over with the details of how she’d make her way to Sir Niles’s home, what she would say, and how he would talk to her. Though not an easy man to know, she had the memory of their tête-à-têtes to buoy her up. At some point, she’d discovered she could talk easily and naturally to him when he forgot his consequence. If her luck held, tomorrow night might prove to be one of those times.
“You seem all lit up,” Paige said during their noon meal. “I thought only brides-to-be wore such a glow. Is there something you are not telling me?”
Rose left her seat to kiss her aunt. “I’m so happy for you, though a little sad for me. So much for my dream of living in London with you.”
“I am sorry for that...” Paige began.
“I’m only teasing. How could I repine when I see how happy you are? No one deserves happiness more than you, dearest of aunts.”
As the hours passed, creeping slowly toward eight, Rose became more restless. More difficulties seemed to throng her imagination with each passing tick of the clock. What could she say to Sir Niles? First, of course, she must pass the point of explaining why precisely she’d come in so unorthodox a manner. Perhaps she could raise the issue of Rupert’s debt again. Rose no sooner thought that than she recoiled. She wished the matter could be forgotten between them. But once she had them in her hands, having so deceived Sir Niles to gain them, there could never be friendship between them anymore. The thought had not occurred to her before, since she was generally honest, and suddenly she felt unaccountably close to tears. She would gain Rupert a breathing spell, but she would lose Niles.
As though she were choosing what she’d wear to the guillotine, she deliberated a long time, knowing misty pink silk and her best silver-shot shawl were undoubtedly too dressy for a clandestine call upon a single gentleman. Yet she discarded everything else as being far too ordinary for such a desperate adventure.
Despite her depression over the deception she had to perform, Rose slipped out of the house at a quarter to eight. Aunt Paige had gone with Sir Augustus to a small dinner party while Rupert, still recuperating from the night before, stayed in his room. Rose rapped on his door to reiterate her story about Mrs. Belmont taking her along to an evening with Ariadne, but he didn’t seem to care.
As soon as the front door closed behind her, Rose felt the night close around her. Her footsteps sounded particularly loud while the slight breeze, carrying the scent of rain, caught at her shawl, tugging at it like an impatient child. If being alone in a garden at night had been mildly thrilling, being alone on the street at night made her feel strangely exposed and threatened. She glanced over her shoulder, afraid she heard someone following,
Pulling up in front of her aunt’s door was a traveling chaise with a pair of horses. A militarily-shouldered man in street clothes had just emerged and was climbing the stairs. Rose recognized Colonel Wapton come to call for his precious satchel.
With a petulant sniff, Rose walked on, hurrying now for fear he’d turn his head and see her. She felt a strange sense of relief as she turned the corner out of his line of sight.
Before she reached the next corner, the mist in the air had thickened, clinging to her hair and clothing, collecting to drip down her cheek.
When she reached Sir Niles’s door, it had begun to rain. “So much for this dress,” Rose said, and all but ran up the front steps. A slight overhang gave her a measure of shelter.
The chimes and bells of London were calling the hour, the deep tolling and sharp tings alike muffled by the mist.
After smoothing her hair and giving her shawl a controlling tug, Rose rapped smartly upon the front door. She prepared a brilliant smile, ready to charm whoever opened the door into letting her enter unquestioned.
When the moments passed and no one came, her smile slowly grew rigid and faded out. Standing forlornly on the doorstep, cold and wet, was not part of her imagined entrance.
Mustering her courage once again, she knocked as fo
rcefully as her gloves would permit. She heard a scrabbling, hasty series of sounds from within.
“Hello?” she called.
Again silence. Just when she felt ready to turn tail, the scraping metallic sound of the moving lock reached her. The large knob in the center of the door began to turn, slowly, slowly. This was more terrifying than the noises. She didn’t know who or what would answer.
When the pale, bony face of Sir Niles’s man poked forward through a tiny opening, Rose almost laughed. “Is Sir Niles at home?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then kindly stand aside and let me in.”
Unbelievably, the valet still hesitated. “I—um—-do you have an appointment?”
Rose drew herself up, suppressing the shivers that had begun to travel over her. “Kindly stand aside.” She started forward and the thin man, looking like a wasp in his damp yellow and black striped apron, fell back before her.
“Please tell Sir Niles that Miss Spenser has called.”
“Oh, I...”
Behind him, double doors suddenly opened inward. Sir Niles stood between them, looking much as he had on the night he helped her over the wall. His hair, however, was disarranged and looked wet, as if he had held his head under a pump and then pushed the waves of deep brown back with his hands.
“Pray enter, Miss Spenser. Baxter doesn’t mean to be inhospitable. Brandy, Baxter. And a towel for Miss Spenser.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Won’t you join me?” Niles asked, gesturing toward the room behind him. The dark paneling of the library seemed to absorb all the light afforded by several branches of candles. Rose gravitated toward the fire leaping in a wide fireplace, the marble mantel supported by two fauns, black and deep red by turns as the firelight caught an uplifted horn or shaggy thigh.
Remembering that the Black Mask had asked her to keep Sir Niles occupied, Rose’s imagination quailed now that she stood in the same room with him. What could she do that would keep him from going to his bedroom? Throwing herself into his arms, an image that came to her with shocking vividness, would be out of the question.
The Black Mask Page 16
