The Magnificent Masquerade (10 page)

It was all very dull until Toby asked for a
second helping of the little meat cakes Naismith had served. "Absolutely
delicious," he declared, licking his lips. "What are they, any
way?"

"Mutton pates, my lord," Naismith
informed him. "Prepared l'Englaise, I presume," Lord Edgerton
quipped. But only one person in the room laughed at his joke -a serving maid
standing in the corner holding a sauceboat.

Everyone turned to see who the servant was
who'd had the temerity to laugh, and Emily, noting with shock that the maid was
none other than Kitty Jessup, choked. Evidently the butler had commandeered
Kitty to help serve the dinner. While Naismith glared at the maid for daring to
listen to and laugh at-the table conversation, Emily's choking sound diverted
the attention of the others. "Did you start to laugh at my brother's
puerile joke?" Toby asked her. "I don't blame you for stopping
yourself. It wasn't worth a laugh." Emily colored. "No, I wasn't
laughing at ... I didn't understand-"

"Nor did I," said Alicia, coming to
Emily's rescue. "What was so funny, Greg?"

"Well, the maid there laughed at it,"
his lordship said with a grin. "Let her explain it to you." He turned
to Kitty, cowering in the corner. "Go ahead, girl, tell my sister what was
funny."

Kitty threw a questioning glance at Naismith,
who merely rolled his eyes heavenward. Then she stepped forward. "It was
funny because only the English ever cook mutton," she explained, "so
of course it had to be l'Englaise." She glanced round the table at the
five pair of eyes staring at her enigmatically. "The French would rather
die than serve mutton, you see." There was still no response in those
eyes. She threw another look at Naismith and then plunged on. "And what
really made it witty, you see, was that her ladyship had said the soup was a la
Russe..." There was still nothing but the stunned response, so Kitty
looked at Lord Edgerton and shrugged. "Well, my lord, perhaps it wasn't so
funny after all."

This was too much for Edgerton. He guffawed.
"The girl is quite right," he said when his laugh had subsided.
"No quip is funny that has to have so much explanation." Then,
turning serious, he studied the maid with interest. "Tell me, girl, how is
it you know French?"

Kitty was stricken with terror. Had she given
herself away? She stepped back into her corner as if to escape the scrutiny of
those five pair of eyes. "French? I don't kn-know French, m'lord,"
she said hastily, trying to copy Mrs. Prowne's manner of speaking. "I mean
... knowing what l'Englaise means isn't . . ain't knowin' French."

"No, of course it isn't," Edgerton said,
turning back to the table. "In any case, thank you for finding my quip
amusing. I'm glad somebody did."

Behind his back, Naismith, glaring at Kitty
with fury, jerked his head in the direction of the door. The meaning of the
gesture was unmistakable. Kitty slipped quietly out of the room and was not
seen again in the dining room. Meanwhile, Toby returned to his mutton pates.
"One may say what one likes about mutton," he remarked, "but
it's a great deal better for the digestion than the walrus meat the rest of you
are eating."

"Walrus meat?" Emily squealed,
dropping down her fork. "Now, Toby, must you?" his mother sighed.
"Give the child a chance to get to know you before you start on your
outrageous stories."

"It really is veal," Alicia assured
the blushing girl. "You mustn't mind Toby. He loves to say shocking things
and frighten people out of their skins. Just ignore him."

"No, no, keep it up, Toby," said his
brother calmly. "By playing tricks on this girl, you're only digging a
hole for yourself. I think Miss Jessup is just playing a deep game. Biding her
time, as it were. If the things I've heard of her are even half true, she'll
give you better than she gets, as soon as she's taken your measure. Am I right,
Miss Jessup?" Emily knew that the real Miss Jessup would certainly have
proved him right had she been sitting here herself, but she, Emily, felt quite
helpless. All she could do was to play the game as best she could. She picked
up her fork and, attacking her veal with renewed energy, tried to respond as
she thought Kitty might. "Perhaps, my lord," she said, keeping her
eyes lowered with what she hoped was an air of mystery. "Let's wait and
see."

The ladies left the table after the pastries
had been served, but the gentlemen did not sit long at their brandies. Edgerton
was eager to rejoin the ladies so that Toby and Miss Jessup could become better
acquainted. When they entered the drawing room, they found Alicia holding forth
on her favorite subject, the delicacy of her constitution. Toby felt no compunction
in interrupting her. "Are we to spend the evening listening to your
symptoms?" he asked rudely. "Why don't we all sit down to a really
savage game of silver-loo?"

"Not I," his sister said sourly.
"Playing with you gives me the megrims. You are always so set on
winning."

"I don't wish to play with you,
either," his mother declared. "You always insist on making the stakes
too high. I would much prefer an evening of music to one of gambling. Perhaps
Miss Jessup would be willing to entertain us. Do you sing, Miss Jessup?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid. But I would be
happy to accompany anyone else who would like to sing."

"Ah, you play, then," Edgerton said
with a smile, strolling over to her chair. "Will you favor us with a few
selections?"

All evening Emily had been eyeing the
magnificent pianoforte set between the two tall windows in the room's west
wall. She'd longed to run her fingers over the keyboard but had not dared to do
it. Now here was her chance. "I'd be happy to, your lordship," she
said shyly, standing up and taking the arm he offered.

Edgerton escorted her to the piano bench. She
settled her hands on the keyboard, her heart pounding with excitement.

What would Kitty play if it were she at the
piano? she wondered. Most likely it would be something easy yet bravura. Emily
didn't take long to decide. She began with Haydn's "Gypsy Rondo," a
safe and conventional choice. Every "accomplished" young lady was
required to memorize the rondo, for it was lively, familiar, and intricate
enough in fingering to persuade the listener that the performer had some
technical skill. Emily executed it without a flaw.

But as she played, her delight in the tone of
the instrument grew, causing her to make her second selection from her own
heart-a Bach theme and variations. In her joy at the response of the sensitive
instrument under her fingers, she almost forgot where she was.

By the time the Bach was over, Edgerton knew
the girl possessed an extraordinary talent. "Your father never told
me," he said in amazement, "that his daughter was so musically
gifted."

"Thank you, my lord," Emily said, at
once very pleased with the compliment and very uneasy, too. She'd never played
for an audience before (except for the pupils of the school), so it was good to
hear such sincere approval from so worldly a man as his lordship. But she was
accepting the praise under false pretenses-in the name of Kitty Jessup, and
Kitty, not having been very diligent at her music studies, was no better than
average at the keyboard. The dishonesty of the situation made her feel unworthy
of the compliment. "I am not so very gifted," she murmured in
discomfort.

"Come now, Miss Jessup, I don't appreciate
false modesty," his lordship declared. "You must know that your
playing is quite beyond the ordinary."

"Oh, yes, Greg is absolutely right,"
Alicia put in. "I'm not especially musical myself, having always been too
delicate to spend the hours needed to practice, but even I could tell that your
playing is decidedly superior."

"Such beautiful playing, my dear! So
lovely! It brought me to tears," Lady Edith said, sniffing into her
handkerchief. "Do play some more for us."

Emily complied, choosing a Mozart sonata that
began rather modestly and could be played with cheerful, tuneful ease. This
choice, she hoped, would bring more attention to the sonata's own melodic line
than the player. But by the time she'd reached the andante, she'd again lost
herself in the music and was playing with her full vigor. Never before had she
played on so superb an instrument. Without realizing it, she let herself go.
The chords, the runs, the trills were executed with true musical artistry. Her
playing revealed her mastery of the two primary facets of good musicianship:
technical precision and deep emotional understanding. The pleasure she took in
the playing was magically transmitted to the listeners. They were entranced.
The applause at the conclusion was so enthusiastic that it was several moments
before the assemblage became aware of the sound of gentle snoring. Toby Wishart
had fallen fast asleep.

Lord Edgerton sat through the rest of the
evening gritting his teeth. It was a decided relief to him when his mother rose
and announced that it was time to retire. The others rose with her, all of them
quite willing to bring the evening to an end, but Edgerton insisted that his
brother remain downstairs with him. He'd reined in his irritation long enough;
he didn't intend to go to bed before making his brother aware of the extent of
his displeasure.

"Damnation, Toby," he barked as soon
as they were alone, "how could you let yourself fall asleep? That is the
girl to whom you're expected to make an offer! Couldn't you behave in a
gentlemanly manner on your first evening in her comp any?"

Toby threw himself into a chair and ran a hand
through his thick curls. "It's been a deucedly long day, Greg, and I'm
tired. You know I ain't the sort who likes music. I can bear it all well enough
if someone's singing words that I can understand and laugh at, but just to sit
still and force myself to listen to an endless evening of piano playing ...
well, that just ain't in my line."

Edgerton sighed in disgust. "You could
have tried, confound it! Just this once you could have made an effort to
attend. You could have concentrated on her hands on the keys, or on the
intricacy of the harmonies, or even on the charming way she bit her underlip
when she was absorbed-" "Those things might keep you awake, Greg, but
they ain't interesting to me. In fact, there's nothing about this girl you've
picked for me that I find interesting."

"How can you say that?" his brother
demanded angrily. "She's as pretty a creature as any I've ever seen you
with, her demeanor is much calmer and gentler than I expected, she is sweet and
talented, and is evidently trying very hard to create a good impression. What
more can you ask?"

"I can ask for someone a little less
insipid," Toby muttered sullenly.

Now it was Greg's turn to run his fingers
through his hair. "I wouldn't call the girl insipid, exactly," he said,
his brow puckering as he dropped into a chair opposite his brother. "She
seems, rather, to be timid. As if she were dreadfully afraid of saying the
wrong thing. Her father led me to believe that she's an incorrigible
mischief-maker, but-"

"Mischief-maker? That one?"

Greg shook his head in puzzled agreement.
"I know. When one looks into those innocent eyes it hardly seems possible.
The only explanation I can make is that the poor chit was bullied into
submission by her father. Perhaps he threatened some dire punishment if she
didn't behave herself while she was here. It's too bad, really. I'd have liked
to see what she's like when she's being impish."

"That girl hasn't an impish bone in her
body," Toby stated decisively. "I'd wager a monkey her father's put
one over on you."

"You haven't a farthing to wager, old boy,
much less a monkey. So whether her father put anything over on me or not
shouldn't concern you. What should concern you is the twenty thousand pounds I
plan to settle on you the day you marry the girl."

Toby's mouth dropped open. "Twenty
thousand? Do you mean it, Greg?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't see why you're so
surprised. You heard me promise Father I would deal fairly with you."

"Yes, but twenty thousand is more than
fair. It's positively magnanimous!"

"Even though Miss Jessup goes along with
it?" Toby groaned. "She certainly sours the brew."

"You'll have to take the brew just the way
it is, for I've given my word you'll wed her. It's up to you to find a way to
sweeten it, when you're married."

"I don't see why you gave your word
without letting me even see the girl. It ain't like you, Greg."

Greg felt a twinge of guilt. "It seemed a
good idea at the time," he mumbled.

"Perhaps we can get ourselves out of this
coil," Toby suggested, his expression brightening. "We can say
Birkinshaw misrepresented the merchandise, or some such thing, can't we?"

"Dash it all, you make-bait, Miss Jessup
is not merchandise!" Greg said furiously, slamming his hand down on the
arm of his chair, his momentary feeling of guilt completely dissipated.
"She's as fine a young woman as I can imagine, and much too good for the
likes of you!"

"That may be," his brother muttered,
sullen again, "but I think I deserve the right to choose my own
bride."

"Oh you do, do you'? On what basis do you
believe you `deserve' it? By your wise, thoughtful, responsible behavior in the
past?"

"I say, Greg," Toby objected, rising
in offense, "if you're going to throw all my youthful indiscretions in my
face every time the subject of my future comes up, I'll never be considered
deserving of anything."

"Ah, you admit to youthful indiscretions,
eh? Does that mean that these `youthful indiscretions' are now a thing of the
past?" Greg smiled up at his brother sardonically. "I believe it has
been a week since you were sent down from
Cambridge
.
Am Ito view you as `deserving' because you've been a model of propriety for all
of seven days?"