“Don’t be long, Fanny,” I said. “Don’t forget I’m the hostess tonight. I must see that everything is in order.”
Guests would not be announced as at an ordinary ball. They would be ushered in by Pengelly and others of the men servants, all splendidly dressed in blue-satin coats, frogged with silver cord, white knee breeches and powdered wigs; and then in their masks they would mingle and assemble for supper, and afterwards unmask. We had decided on a masked ball because they were always so much more exciting, we thought. The air of mystery they gave to the proceedings added to the gaiety, and we believed that people enjoyed hiding behind anonymity, and it gave an added zest to attempt to guess who one’s partner was.
The Menfreys would move among the crowd so that none would know that we were not guests ourselves until the unmasking when we should receive their thanks and congratulations.
I should be watchful of a man in a Roman toga. But then I should know Bevil anywhere. Two Roman togas had been delivered, William had told me in dismay and wondered whether to send one of them back. He had ordered a Persian costume for himself, a Roman one for Bevil.
“There simply isn’t time to do anything about it,” I told him. “There will just have to be two Romans from Menfreya. You can be sure there’ll be others.”
He agreed.
Sir Endelion was a cardinal—Wolsey, Mazarin or Richelieu, I was not sure, but he could have passed as any one of them. Lady Menfrey was, ironically, Catherine of Aragon.
I thought of the change in Sir Endelion. But was it change? Hadn’t the mischief always been there, waiting to be brought out? Perhaps I had much to learn of those about me.
I shivered.
“Someone’s walking over your grave?”
“It’s more likely to be a draught from that window.”
Fanny went over and shut it. “Your hair’s shining. I used to like to see it look like that. Now where’s that thing?”
“ ‘Thing’ seems disrespectful, Fanny. It’s a ‘snood’ or a 'filet.’”
“Well, bless me, it’s a pretty thing, anyway. I don’t know. It does suit you. You seem different somehow … when I put it on.”
“How … different, Fanny?”
“I don’t know … as though you don’t belong here … but somewhere else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t ask me. It just came into my head.” Her face puckered suddenly, and I thought she was going to cry.
“Fanny,” I cried. “What’s wrong?”
She threw her apron over her head suddenly and sat down. I went to her and put my arm about her shoulders.
“I’m a silly thing, I am. It’s just that I wanted to see you happy…”
“I am Fanny. I am, I tell you.”
She looked at me sadly, and I remembered how she used to look at me hi the past and mutter: “You can’t fool Fanny.”
I recognized Jessica at once. She was the only one in that assembly who was simply dressed; and how clever of her, for she was the one who consequently attracted all the attention. She had made the dress herself. Almost puritan in its simplicity, it was made of lavender-colored silk; the skirt cascaded to her feet; the bodice was meant to convey primness, but on her it had the opposite effect, by accentuating her perfect figure. Her dark hair was smoothed down on either side of her face to a simple knot hi the nape of her neck. She had come as a governess of another age. I caught my breath when I saw her.
“I see you recognized me in spite of my mask,” she said. “What do you think of my costume?”
“It’s so …”
“Plain? It’s supposed to be a governess, you know.”
“It’s charming. What made you decide on that?”
“Your going as a long-ago lady of the house, which is what you are. Why shouldn’t I come as what I am? It was easy to make, and I thought no one else would come like this.
The idea came to me when we were talking in that eerie part of the house the other day.”
“I see.”
“Do you think that governess looked like this?” she asked. “I think she might have. I looked up the costumes. And this is about the same period as yours. I wonder if anyone will notice it.”
“I should hardly think so.”
“Rather amusing, if they do.”
I turned away from her, and as I made my way across the hall I was joined by a Roman toga, and for a moment I thought it was Bevil. “You are looking striking in your costume.” The voice was William Lister’s.”
“Thank you. I’ve already seen two other togas. I told you there would be plenty. We might have strayed into the Appian Way.”
“Practically every country and period is represented.”
“I’m going to the supper rooms to make sure everything is in order there.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, do please go and look after Mary, Queen of Scots. She looks as it she’s in Fotheringay rather than Menfreya.”
I saw a cardinal’s costume pass by with Marie Antoinette. My gallant father-in-law was regaining his youth.
We had decided on music from all countries, and “The Blue Danube” waltz was being played as I made my way to the supper rooms. There were three of them, all beautifully decorated with flowers and leaves, and small tables with dazzling napery had been set up in each. I spoke to Pengelly, who assured me that everything was in order, so I returned to the ballroom.
“Will you join me in the dance?”
Another Roman. For a moment my heart leaped. I thought it was Bevil putting on a disguised voice to amuse me; but that illusion quickly passed.
The floor was too crowded to dance very successfully, but that did not worry my partner, who was obviously not a good dancer and wanted to talk.
“I must confess I know who you are,” he told me.
“Is it so obvious?”
“Not at all. But I’ve seen you in that dress before.”
I had caught the voice now. I knew that mouth. It had grown tight-lipped when Gwennan had gone away.
“So it’s you, Harry.”
“I'm betrayed.”
“You gave it away by mentioning the dress.”
“That seems years ago.”
“Harry…”
“Yes, go on. You’re wondering whether I mind talking about it Well, it’s in the past, and she’s dead now.”
“Oh, Harry,” I said, “it was so silly of her. It wasn’t as though ...”
“As though she really cared for him? No, perhaps not. But she didn’t care for me, either. I don’t think she cared for anyone but herself. She was a Menfrey.”
I heard the bitter note in his voice, and I felt a great pity for him. He hadn’t forgotten; perhaps he hadn’t forgiven.
“She suffered terribly, Harry.”
He was silent and I saw his lips harden, almost as though he were glad that she had. Poor Harry, he had loved her; there seemed to be some power the Menfreys had of binding people to them. I thought of my own feelings for Bevil; nothing he did to me could alter it And so it might be with Harry, who continued to brood over Gwennan.
I wondered then whether he had decided to go into politics to turn his thoughts from that tragedy, and whether he wanted to stand against Bevil as a sort of revenge.
“You’re sorry for me, Harriet,” he said suddenly, reading my thoughts. “You’re thinking that Gwennan jilted me and now I’m going to be humiliated once more when the people here show me they don’t want me to represent them in Parliament.”
“Why here, Harry?” I asked. “Why not somewhere else?”
“You don’t like the idea of my standing against your husband?”
“No. After all, you're an old friend of the family. I know we pretend that isn’t important but it is … in a way. I’d like to see you putting up somewhere else.”