Wyrde and Wayward

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Such is the nature of the affliction,’ said Miss Frostell lightly. ‘No one chooses the nature of their Wyrde, and in my experience the grotesqueries do seem to be more common. Though Lady Honoria does not appear to be displeased with hers.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Gussie. ‘She has always been unbecomingly delighted with it.’

  ‘You are not Wyrded yourself, Miss Frostell?’ said Lord Maundevyle.

  ‘It is a great relief to me that I am not, my lord,’ she replied. ‘Nor Gussie either. We are much more peaceful at home as we are, I believe.’

  ‘But furnished with far fewer opportunities for engaging mischief,’ said Gussie. ‘Uninterrupted domestic harmony has its drawbacks, on occasion.’

  ‘And what manner of mischief might you like to commit?’ said Lord Maundevyle. ‘Had you been Wyrded, like the rest of your family.’

  Gussie, unprepared for the question, had no ready answer to give. She had spoken flippantly, out of fun; not once had she ever given serious thought to what might have been, if she had inherited the curse of the Werths. Not since she was a child, anyway, and those flights of fancy had been just that — daydreams.

  ‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘I could not wish for Theo’s, certainly, nor do I quite have the stomach for Honoria’s. And while I am sure Lizzie will make a splendid gorgon I cannot but be relieved that I have all my own hair.’

  ‘Lord Bedgberry shall not be too inconvenienced in remaining here for the ball, I trust?’ said his lordship.

  Gussie recognised this as a form of subtle enquiry into Theo’s particular affliction, and did not choose to gratify his curiosity. Let her cousin remain an enigma for as long as possible. Lord Bedgberry took some getting used to. ‘I am sure he will manage,’ she replied. ‘He always does.’

  Lord Maundevyle cast a glance out of the window, as though reflecting on the precise ways Lord Bedgberry might be managing at that moment. Wisely, he did not enquire.

  ‘And where is Lady Maundevyle this morning?’ Gussie said. ‘I should like to ensure she is amenable to the presence of Miss Frostell and my cousin.’

  ‘My mother has not yet come down,’ answered Lord Maundevyle. ‘But do not trouble yourself over the matter. She will not contradict me.’

  This bordered upon a rather repugnant self-satisfaction, though it was uttered without undue pride. Gussie decided she had had enough of the Selwyns for one morning. If her hosts did not require her company, she could easily furnish herself with more agreeable activities.

  ‘Come, Miss Frostell,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘If Lord Maundevyle will excuse us, it is time to see whether my excellent closet can supply us with suitable attire for a ball.’

  ‘It is a costume ball,’ said his lordship, as Miss Frostell rose, obedient to Gussie’s command.

  ‘Oh?’ said Gussie. ‘There are to be masks and intrigue, then, I collect?’

  ‘Certainly the masks. As to the intrigue, I cannot say.’

  ‘I should think it inevitable,’ said Gussie. ‘There is mystery enough surrounding the event already. Masks and secret identities were all that was wanted to make it quite perfect.’

  Lord Maundevyle looked at her. Perhaps he was deciding whether or not she was in earnest; she could not tell how he got on. ‘You are amused by mystery?’

  Gussie merely smiled.

  Miss Frostell gave a somewhat unladylike snort of laughter. ‘Consider her mere presence here, my lord. Your mother offered her a mystery, and Gussie, as you see, cannot let go of it until it is solved. It was quite the perfect way to ensure her compliance, whether her ladyship knew it or not.’

  ‘Then I see my mother has chosen the nature of the ball with similar luck,’ said his lordship. ‘Or skill.’

  Gussie also wondered which it was. Lady Maundevyle appeared to know more about Gussie than Gussie did herself, which was disconcerting.

  But it was also a situation which could not last beyond the evening, so she repaired to the door with a cheerful spirit, having made her courtesies to her taciturn host. ‘How shall you be dressed, my lord?’ she called back, as a parting sally. ‘Some dark and gothic character would doubtless be suitable?’

  ‘Naturally I cannot tell you before the ball, Miss Werth,’ he replied. ‘That would be to wholly spoil the fun, would it not?’

  ‘Well, Frosty, and how shall we appear?’ said Gussie ten minutes later, having arrived once more in the relative sanctuary of her own rooms. No Clarissa had waited for her en route, ready to jump out unannounced with some fresh scheme of high drama. Nor had she seen anything of Mr. Selwyn, which also pleased her.

  Theo, she did not consider for so much as a moment.

  ‘I believe I should like to be some dark and gothic figure,’ said Miss Frostell. ‘If Lord Maundevyle is not going to claim the role.’

  ‘A white gown, perhaps,’ said Gussie, walking into her dressing-room. ‘Signifying virtue and innocence, all ready to be outraged by some depraved villain—’ She stopped, for two sets of matched garments had already been laid out by some unknown hand, and that they were intended for the ball could not admit of a doubt.

  The first set consisted of a gown of shimmering blue-green, the colour of the sea, sewn from exquisite silk and adorned with myriad pearls and other gems — what Aunt Wheldrake would have described as “sea-jewels”, in fact. A crown of pearls and sea-spray gauze had also been provided, and a quantity of silk ornaments she collected were meant to resemble ocean weeds and blooms. The mask matching this array was of soft golden silk, like sunlight on the water, and presented a striking appearance with its silver and blue-green embroidery.

  The second costume was some mythical creature; a dragon, perhaps, for the gown was of heavier substance and bore the appearance of delicate scales. A pair of cleverly-contrived wings was attached at the back, borne up and out with some manner of hidden construct, and the headdress and mask and other ornaments were all of dazzling jewels; a veritable dragon’s hoard. Eyeing them, Gussie could not quite convince herself that they were only of paste. Surely the Selwyns had not given over real jewels in such quantity?

  ‘One of us is to be a beautiful mermaid, I perceive,’ said Gussie. ‘And the other a fire-breathing monster out of legend. Which shall you prefer? For my part, I think the latter role perfect for you.’

  Miss Frostell declined this honour. ‘I have not the spirit to carry it off, my dear,’ she said. ‘It must be all for you.’

  Gussie gazed mournfully at the vision of shimmering silk and gauze claimed by Miss Frostell, and heaved a sigh of resignation. ‘Then it falls to me to wear all of these jewels,’ she said, picking up the crown. Diamonds and emeralds were set in gold, and interspersed with sapphires. Paste diamonds, surely. ‘I wonder why these costumes?’ she said, trying the crown against her hair. The mermaid sent her mind winging back to Lizzie’s Great Event of only a few days before, and all her poor aunt’s dashed hopes. ‘We have not had a mermaid in the family for several generations, and I never heard that we ever had a dragon at all. The Selwyns might, perhaps, be misinformed.’

  ‘It may not be intended to bear any reference to your family,’ suggested Miss Frostell, and Gussie felt a fool for not having considered that possibility when she had seen every portrait at Starminster. Had there been any mermaids or dragons among them? She did not recall, having taken in far too many portraits too quickly to remember the details of them all. But it was possible. Perhaps that was the theme of the ball: hearkening back to a Wyrded past that Lady Maundevyle evidently regretted losing.

  And Gussie was here as the representative of a family that had lost nothing of theirs at all.

  Considering Lady Maundevyle’s accepted status as a recluse suspicious of general company, Gussie was expecting a modest affair. The family; herself and Theo and Miss Frostell; some few of the Selwyns’ immediate neighbours; that would make up enough for a respectable ball, but without too far violating her ladyship’s preferences. Even so, the prospect perhaps daunted
Lady Maundevyle, for she was not seen all day, choosing instead to recruit her strength for the evening’s revelry in her own apartments.

  When the hour of the proposed ball arrived, Gussie was startled to observe a pair of carriages lumbering their way up to the house remarkably promptly. And they were followed by another, and then two more — and then a great many more. There was a queue, in fact, to draw up outside the house and discharge an increasing hoard of bedecked, bejewelled and beribboned guests, and Gussie watched for some quarter of an hour, near paralysed with astonishment.

  ‘Just what manner of entertainment is this to be?’ she croaked to Miss Frostell, who as ever hovered at her elbow.

  ‘A grand and populous one, it seems,’ said Miss Frostell, observing the building crush with a more detached interest. ‘I wonder what it is her ladyship is intending to show off?’

  Such events were always a matter of display; that Gussie knew, despite having never attended a large gathering in her life. The Werths were not much given to these excesses, perhaps on account of the fact that many of their neighbours viewed them with a settled suspicion. And nobody could make either Theo or Great-Aunt Honoria presentable for a ball, which was why it was unfortunate that it had been those particular two, among all the Werths, who had come so far to intervene. She had seen nothing of her cousin either, and had not the smallest idea if he had contrived to get hold of any ball-clothes. She did not imagine it would trouble him overmuch if he had not.

  ‘Starminster itself is worthy of display,’ Gussie offered, knowing as she spoke that this could not be explanation enough. Starminster had, probably, always been a splendid palace deserving of grand company, and the lords Maundevyle had not chosen to throw it open to guests in some years. Why now, then?

  When, some little time later, Gussie and Miss Frostell ventured downstairs, suitably clad in their costumes, they found Lady Maundevyle herself, appeared at last, and holding court at the bottom of the sweeping staircase. She was dressed as some kind of fire-spirit, putting Gussie in mind of one of the family portraits that had made some small impression upon her. Fire-red silk swirled around Lady Maundevyle’s feet with every movement; her sleeves were as light flames, licking coyly up and down her arms; sprays of gold erupted from her hair, like showers of sparks. Her mask was a token only, covering very little of her face; her identity was perfectly obvious. She welcomed her guests with the grace of a queen, and a suppressed excitement which convinced Gussie she expected to triumph in some definite way over the course of the evening.

  Clarissa stood at her mother’s side. Though she was heavily masked in black, Gussie had no difficulty recognising her, for she wore the self-same men’s garb in which she had staged Gussie’s own abduction, albeit a finer example: this highwayman was dressed for a ball, in knee-breeches and stockings, and he had met with considerable success in his profession, judging from the profusion of gold and diamonds winking at collar, cuffs and cravat. She ought to cause a stir, except that the costume — and the mask — were so good, and so disguising, that she might pass quite easily for a man. Perhaps the assembling ball-goers imagined themselves meeting Mr. Charles Selwyn, and wondered at the apparent absence of Clarissa.

  Gussie had to admire her daring, even as she shook her head. Sooner or later, someone would realise her true identity, and then there would be a fine stir. Knowing Clarissa, she was greatly looking forward to it.

  She did not see Clarissa leave Lady Maundevyle’s side, her attention being briefly distracted by the myriad of costumes filtering into the house; truly, every manner of myth and monster imaginable was in attendance, and some of them were excellent.

  Her appreciation of a grand peacock with vast, sweeping tail was interrupted by a hiss in her ear: ‘You make a splendid dragon, Miss Werth! Mama has chosen perfectly for you.’

  ‘Miss Frostell said the same,’ replied Gussie calmly. ‘I cannot think what I have done to give her ladyship the impression I might break into roaring flame at any moment.’

  ‘Can you not?’ said Clarissa, and Gussie heard the grin in her voice.

  ‘I am surprised she let you dress like that,’ Gussie said. ‘Surely it is not proper.’

  ‘Mama gave up on the prospect of my ever observing propriety overmuch,’ said Clarissa, unconcerned. ‘And it is a good costume, is it not?’

  ‘Very convincing. I stand here trembling in all my jewels, expecting at any moment to be divested of every one.’

  ‘But that would not be very entertaining, since they are only Mama’s anyway,’ said Clarissa, supremely uninterested.

  ‘Who are all these people?’ Gussie gestured in wordless awe at the crowded hall. Many had gone into the ballroom already, yet a crush remained, and more were still coming in at the door.

  ‘Every family of any consequence for quite twenty miles around,’ said Clarissa. ‘Including several of the noble families of the country; and, of course, every Selwyn in existence. Mama insisted upon the family’s attendance.’

  ‘But not so far as to grant them house-room?’ said Gussie.

  ‘Oh, no. That would not do. They are quite good enough to come to the ball, but far too irksome to encounter over the breakfast-table. Most of them are putting up at inns hereabouts, I suppose.’

  ‘I wonder that they consented to come at all,’ Gussie remarked. ‘I would not wonder at it if they were a little piqued at being dismissed to common inns.’

  ‘It is far too important an event to admit of a denial. There has never been a ball here in my lifetime. Who could possibly refuse?’

  ‘And why is there a ball now, Miss Selwyn?’ Gussie looked hard at Clarissa as she spoke, intending to convey a settled determination to receive a definite answer.

  Her efforts were wasted. Clarissa only smiled, and said: ‘You will not be left long in suspense, I am persuaded.’

  ‘Because one or another of you will suddenly be overcome with a need to abandon all this mystery, and answer my questions?’

  Clarissa thought. ‘No. No, I do not think that will be the reason.’

  ‘You astonish me.’

  Whether there was some unspoken signal of which Gussie was not aware, or whether their illustrious hostess had a fixed schedule in mind for the evening’s entertainments, a change at that moment occurred. Lady Maundevyle left her place at the foot of the stairs, and led a general exodus into the ballroom — contriving in the process to sweep up her daughter and her honoured guest, and carry them along in her train. Upon entering the enormous ball-chamber, with its mouldings and gildings and statuary and every extravagant thing, she encountered her eldest son standing in an out-of-the-way corner, and bore inexorably down upon him. ‘Henry, there you are. Miss Werth?’

  Finding herself expected to follow, Gussie chose obedience over useless rebellion and trailed along in her ladyship’s wake. Lord Maundevyle had not entered into the spirit of the event with quite his mother’s degree of enthusiasm. He was duly costumed and masked, but with no very marked flamboyance; he wore crimson and velvet and otherwise sober colours, with a mask of burgundy-wine and gold. Gussie could not tell what he was supposed to be.

  He made her a bow as she approached. His face was too well covered for her to gauge his feelings, but a slight tightening about the mouth proclaimed him displeased by something.

  Lady Maundevyle did not say anything else, but stood by, watching as her son made his courtesies to her guest. She was too evidently waiting for something.

  Gussie thought she heard a small sigh escape his lordship.

  ‘Miss Werth,’ he said. ‘I hope you will do me the honour of dancing the two first with me.’

  Gussie blinked. Why, to dance the first two with the lord of the house would be to open the ball! A position of high honour indeed, and one to which she had no claim whatsoever. Any number of high-ranking ladies must be here tonight, any one of whom had a greater right than Gussie to expect such a distinction.

  Her eyes narrowed, and she regarded Lady Maundevyle with un
disguised suspicion.

  Her ladyship merely smiled benevolently, the picture of an obliging hostess tending to her special guest’s consequence.

  Gussie, of course, had no power of refusal, though she had no real wish to. Lord Maundevyle might prove to be an excellent dancer, and if she found herself the object of general resentment for a distinction that must be seen as misplaced, well, she was a Werth. She was used to rumour and distrust. ‘I shall be delighted, my lord,’ she assured him.

  Behind her, Clarissa clapped her hands. ‘Excellent, and then after that you shall dance with Charles. I know he means to ask you, and will soon present himself for the purpose.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Lady Maundevyle. ‘You must certainly favour my second son with a dance, Miss Werth. I know he will be anxious to secure you. And then, I trust you will find no shortage of agreeable partners among the rest of my guests.’

  Surveying anew the crush in the ballroom, Gussie did not doubt it either. Not that she possessed either looks or consequence enough to attract a great many partners on her own merits, but in such a squeeze, surely there must be partners enough for everyone.

  Upon a high balcony overlooking the dance floor, an orchestra was secreted; Gussie heard them strike up the opening notes of a lively quadrille. Her company was required at once; she went, with her partner’s escort, to take up her place in the dance, and determined upon failing to notice the reactions of her fellow guests as she took up the place of honour opposite Lord Maundevyle. If there were murmurs of dissent, the music was too loud, and too beautiful, to permit her to hear them.

  Couples formed rapidly, and soon Gussie forgot everything but the pleasure of dancing. Rarely had she enjoyed such a treat, and never in such company. Her partner, moreover, while taciturn as ever, was a capable dancer, and for the duration of two excellent dances, she felt she had nothing to wish for.