The Trouble With Moonlight (31 page)

The servants glanced at her but did not interfere as she followed the maze of unmarked doors, carefully finding her way outside. She looked back over her shoulder, but no one followed her.

The moon was hidden behind a cloud when she escaped the house, but as she picked her way down the curved path lined with fragrant herbs, it broke free, bathing her in moonlight. The fine hairs on her neck bristled, signaling the presence of the beams. She hurried down the path, wishing the moon had waited till she had safely reached her destination before illuminating her flight. A ghostly figure in a blue ball gown would certainly confirm Mr. Ramsden’s suspicions. No time to worry about that now. She spotted the shed and pushed through the unlocked door.

The earthly scent of rich loam and peat welcomed her into the dark shed. She stumbled about a bit, feeling her way around the clay pots and seedling tables toward a bank of windows that angled out into the night, much like Locke’s conservatory. She planned to absorb the filtered moonlight until she was barely visible before moving into direct moonlight. The waxing moon held more potency than the waning moon, so it shouldn’t take as long tonight to become invisible as it had before. She stood at the window and looked out at the grassy slope beyond. The guests amused themselves among the more formal gardens to the right. With luck, she could stay well hidden until the phasing process allowed her more freedom.

Meanwhile, she needed to free herself from the bulk of her dress if only to negotiate the confined area of the gardening shed. Careful to stay in the weak moonlight, she began to undo the fastenings of her overskirt.

By the time she had managed the removal of both the overskirt and the underskirt, dull tingling pricked at her toes and fingers. She hung the garments on the tines of some well-placed garden rakes to keep the silk out of her way, then began to work on the small buttons of her bodice.

The door to the gardening shed creaked open. Lusinda ducked down, hugging her knees through the petticoat. Had she been so intent on unfastening her skirts that she had missed the approach of a curious guest? Had Ramsden tracked her down? Had Locke?

The rattle of clay pots and the shudder of a bumped wood bench signaled the advance of the intruder. She held her breath. Whoever it was, they would be upon her in a minute, and in the small confines of the shed, there was no place to hide.

“Lusinda?” A hissing voice whispered. “Are you in here?”

Portia! Lusinda relaxed and stood. “Over here.”

“I came to help get you get undressed.” She wound her way back toward Lusinda.

“Were you careful? Were you followed? Is Locke safe?” Lusinda asked, pleased for the assistance and the company.

“I didn’t see anyone following.” Portia stopped short of Lusinda. Her face twisted. “Shouldn’t you be glowing by now? Your skin just looks . . . wet.”

Lusinda looked at her arm, which had a light, reflective sheen. “It’s not a full moon, and I’m inside.” She turned her back toward her sister. “Help me with these buttons. Then you can be my lookout when I go outside for direct moonlight. ” Portia moved behind her. “Did you and Locke have any difficulty?”

“I didn’t actually see Mr. Locke. I waited and waited. I thought I heard a man come collect another, so when all was quiet, I poked my head over the gate. No one was there so I just came through.”

“The gate was unlocked?”

Portia unfastened the last of the buttons and hung the garment beside the skirts. “I jingled it a bit and slipped a hairpin inside the lock. It popped right open.”

Lusinda turned, a wide smile on her face, then hugged her sister. “You are truly a Havershaw. But what of Locke?”

Portia shrugged. “I haven’t seen him.” She adopted a wicked smile. “Do you think he’s inside dancing with some of the ladies?”

Lusinda frowned. “Be serious, Portia.” She loosened the tie about her petticoats, then stepped out of them, trying not to think about all the ways their plan could go astray. “I hope nothing has happened to him.”

“You can’t go outside like that!” Portia said, sounding remarkably like Aunt Eugenia.

“I haven’t much choice. I won’t reach full-phase in here.” She reached around her back to find the catch that would loosen her corset, but Portia offered to do it for her instead. If Portia hadn’t seen Locke, would he still be able to work the diversions that had been planned to detract the guards?

“I think Locke was being followed,” she said, giving voice to her nervousness. “Ramsden sent someone out to watch him.”

Portia’s hands stilled. “You saw Mr. Ramsden here?”

“Portia, please hurry. We’re at risk of discovery, even inside this shed.”

Portia’s fingers fumbled at her back. “But you saw him. Was he alone?”

“He asked me to dance, so I suppose that meant he was alone, but Portia . . .” She turned and took her sister’s hands in hers. “He said he knows about me. He said things that . . . I don’t think you should trust him. Don’t trust him with your heart.”

Portia pulled her hands away, her lower lip extended in a pout. “You don’t know him like I do.”

“Perhaps I don’t, but I don’t wish to see you hurt,” Lusinda said, unrolling her stockings. “Or anyone else in the family.” She removed her loosened corset, then placed it with her stockings on a shelf with seed packets.

“I’ll check outside,” Portia said before hurrying back to the squeaky shed door.

Lusinda waited until she heard their secret knock on the door, then tentatively went outside in her low-cut chemise and pantalettes. Almost immediately, the tingling in her skin intensified. Without the safety and security of her lunarium, she was at her most vulnerable stage: too visible to escape detection and too translucent to be normal. She glanced about for Portia, but the girl was gone. She probably went back to the garden to play the role of decoy, she thought. That, after all, was the plan, to let people see Lusinda’s gown in the moonlight on a full-flesh woman. Although she wished Portia had said good-bye, it was probably just as well. Even Portia wouldn’t be safe if caught with a ghostlike sister.

The tingling intensified, then began to fade, a sign that she was moving into full-phase. She’d only need a moment or two longer.

Suddenly, footsteps pounded on a nearby path and someone issued a muffled oath. A man yelped, then swore before she plainly heard Portia yell, “Run, Sinda!”

Lusinda pulled her chemise over her head a moment before two men rounded the corner, holding a struggling Portia in their grasp.

“Look over there! Catch it!” yelled one of Portia’s captors, and the other sprang to action.

Lusinda ran barefoot down the grassy slope loosening her pantalettes from about her waist. The man followed close behind. It was a bit of a risk, but she paused briefly to let the traitorous cloth fall to the ground. Once she was naked and thus invisible, she changed her course to double back toward her sister. Her pursuer, however, changed course with her almost as if he could see her.

“Hair!” Portia yelled, an instant before the man who held her clamped a hand over her mouth.

Lusinda reached up and pulled out the bits of blue flowers and lace that Aunt Eugenia had so artfully applied. The ornaments fell harmless to the grass. She changed her course once again and watched her pursuer run past her to join his companion.

“Did you see that?” the runner said winded. “Whatever it was just disappeared into the night like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“If this one hadn’t yelled a warning, you might have caught it, whatever it was.” The thug tightened his grip on Portia. “It sure looked like a fancy woman’s smalls, didn’t it? All lacylike?”

“What’d we do with this one?” the runner asked.

“Tie her up so she don’t bite no more. The bitch drew blood, she did.” He nodded to the shed. “Should be some rags and rope in there.”

Lusinda stood helplessly by, watching her innocent sister thrashing against the man who restrained her. Her sister was a fighter, no doubt about it. Lusinda’s heart squeezed tight, wishing she could offer some sort of encouragement to Portia, but that would give away her location.

“Mr. Ramsden said not to hurt her,” the runner said.

Portia stilled, her eyes wide.

“Looky there. She stopped struggling. Must be one of Mr. Ramsden’s beauties, though this one’s young, even for him.”

“Likes ’em when they’re tender, he must.” Portia’s captor cackled through missing teeth. “Let’s leave her in the shed and have a word with Mr. Ramsden about what to do with her.”

“What about the other?” The runner dashed toward Lusinda, tossing her into a moment of panic. She stepped aside before the man collided with her. He stooped to the grass, then picked up her pantalettes, stretching them out for the other to see.

“He said the woman in the blue dress, nothing about dancing familiars. I don’t know what we saw, but that sure wasn’t no woman.” He peered at his companion. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw anything. Did you?”

The runner smirked and shook his head, then stuffed her best pantalettes in his trousers. Lusinda cringed. The two of them dragged Portia into the shed.

Lusinda waited until they exited and hurried away from the shed. One walked with a limp, bringing a smile to her face. There was comfort in knowing that Portia put up a fight. Once the two men had turned the corner toward the house, Lusinda slipped into the shed.

She found her sister on the floor near the front of the shed. Apparently, they hadn’t wanted to take the time to thoroughly hide her, which was good. Had the men dragged her to the back, they might have discovered Lusinda’s discarded gown and reconsidered what they saw. Portia trembled on the ground with a rag tied tightly around her mouth and another securing her hands behind her back. A rope wrapped around her ankles kept her immobile in the cramped space.

“Portia, it’s Lusinda. I’ll have you free in a minute.” She didn’t want to frighten Portia anymore than she already was by touching her without warning. She removed the none-too -clean rag from her mouth.

“Sinda, I’m so sorry, so sorry. I should have listened to you.” Tears rolled down her face. “I can’t believe Ramsden did this to me. I thought he cared about me.”

Lusinda tugged at the tightly knotted rags around Portia’s wrists. Just wait until she saw that Ramsden again. He’d believe he’d been cursed for all the mischief she planned in retaliation. “Now, now. It’s all over. Besides, Ramsden ordered the men to capture me. I’m sure he didn’t realize you’d be trussed up in the bargain.” Not that it would have made a difference, she thought. Still, Portia might fare better if she believed she hadn’t been betrayed.

“I wanted to see if I could find Mr. Ramsden,” Portia said, contrition heavy in her voice. “Those two thugs found me before I even entered the house. Did you hear what they said?”

“Yes, but it was me that they were after, not you. Remember that.” She worked the ropes to free Portia’s ankles. “Once I get these ropes off, I want you to go back to the gate you used to enter the gardens.”

“I thought I was to stay with Locke out in the moonlight, so people wouldn’t suspect you were Nevidimi,” she sniffed.

“You’ve done enough. We never intended for you to be treated roughly or be hurt in any way. There’s no more reason for you to stay,” Lusinda said.

“But I want to help.”

“You can help me the most by leaving before those men get back. I don’t want to worry about you, Portia. Promise me that you’ll go back to the gate and wait for either Locke or myself to bring the carriage around.”

She nodded and held her arms out to hug Lusinda. Lusinda stepped into her embrace, but Portia recoiled immediately. “I forgot. You don’t have any clothes on. You’re—”

“I know, Portia.” Lusinda sighed. Although her family understood the concept of phasing, they never did well with confrontation. “You go on now and be careful.”

She waited, watching Portia leave, and then turned her attention to the house. A cloud moved over the moon, thus reducing the amount of time she had in her current invisible state. Whatever she was about to do had to be done quickly, and done now.

LUSINDA STOOD IN A HALLWAY JUST OUTSIDE OF the dining room, watching the guests crowd the path in front of her. She had never been in phase in such a crowded situation. Even at the Velvet Slipper, couples sorted neatly into rooms. They didn’t congregate in the hallway. How was she to manage without touching or being touched by anyone?

One thing was certain, she would phase back to her naked self in view of all these members of high society if she didn’t attempt to cross now. She wished Locke were near so he could block a path through the crush, but wishes wouldn’t help her now. She ploughed forward and hadn’t ventured far when she bumped into one man’s back, pushing him into another. She heard harsh accusations toward the innocent behind her, but she continued on. She stepped on the train of one woman’s dress, causing her to stumble. Her companion caught her and appeared grateful for the opportunity. She upset a man’s drink as he hoisted the glass for a toast, but as the glass was clearly not the gentlemen’s first for the evening, his friends laughed knowingly at his clumsiness. No one appeared to connect the series of mishaps, and so she crossed to the staircase unnoticed.

Fortunately, the receiving line had disbanded, removing one of the hurdles to her success. She slipped up the marble steps to the first landing where the two guards leaned over the rail, commenting on the guests below. Locke’s walking stick was propped in the corner. He’d been there, just as he said he would. Renewed confidence calmed her nerves a bit. All was proceeding according to plan. She silently retrieved the stick and carried it up to the next flight of stairs toward the ambassador’s private quarters. Had the guards turned they would have seen the stick floating in the air, but fortunately, the battle of insults initiated by the drunken patron who insisted someone bumped his arm occupied their attention. Lusinda made it to the ambassador’s locked bedroom door without detection.