Wildwood Dancing (26 page)

Next down was Iulia. There was a ripple of disapproval as she came along the line, and I heard a whistle,
sotto voce
, from one of the young men. Now the shawl was gone, I saw that the neckline of the gray gown had been drastically altered and a generous expanse of winter-pale flesh was on view. The kind of bodice our aunt had deemed acceptable on me was decidedly immodest on Iulia, with her far more womanly figure. For a thirteen-year-old, the gown was shockingly inappropriate. As if to have the last laugh on Aunt Bogdana, Iulia had sewn a tiny frill of fine lawn across the plunging décolletage, a wisp of transparent fabric that only served to emphasize what was on
show. Her shoulders were back; she held her head high. Cezar was staring, and so was every other young man present. Aunt Bogdana’s cheeks went scarlet.

“Good evening, Aunt,” said my sister. “Good evening, Cezar.” Her smile was sweet, her eyes sparkling. I saw that she felt like a woman—she felt beautiful.

Cezar’s eyes raked over her. He did not smile. “Go back upstairs and fetch a shawl,” he said. “Cover yourself up before your guests.”

Iulia went white. It was as if he had hit her. She turned without a word and fled. Perhaps Cezar thought this had been a prank; I recognized it as simply a misguided attempt to be more grown-up. Paula excused herself and made for the stairs.

“Jenica,” said Aunt Bogdana loudly, pretending that nothing had happened, “this is Raffaello, son of my acquaintance Maria Cataneo and her husband, Andrei.”

Raffaello was tall and pimply. He bowed over my hand and introduced his friend Anghel, who was short and had a weak chin. Gogu stuck his head out of the pocket for a better look, and I squashed him back in. The music began—something not too lively, out of respect for the family’s recent loss. I wished Uncle Nicolae were here tonight, with his twinkling eyes and bluff humor.

“They say your elder sister is a rare beauty,” said Raffaello. Evidently this was his idea of starting a conversation.

“Yes, they do,” I said. “She’ll be down soon, I expect.”

There was a little silence. Anghel cleared his throat.

“You enjoy hunting?” Raffaello asked, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“Not much,” I said. “And since my uncle’s recent death, even less.”

“Mmm-hm,” he responded, proving that he was not listening.

A fool. An idiot. Strike him off the list
.

“I’m so sorry,” said weasel-faced Anghel, who was paying marginally more attention. “A terrible tragedy—”

Before I could say a thing, Cezar was beside me. “Mother seems to think that dancing is in order,” he said. The look in his eyes made the two young men step backward. “Jena, will you honor me with the first?”

“I suppose that would be appropriate, Cezar.” This was going to be the longest night of my life. “You upset Iulia.”

“Your sister requires discipline. Lacking your father’s presence, and in view of the evident inability of Tatiana and yourself to provide strong guidance, the job falls to me. Iulia must learn not to make a spectacle of herself.”

I thought of poor Iulia’s stricken face and the fact that even in the unseemly gown, she had looked remarkably pretty. “Discipline,” I echoed, with my heart full of resentment—not least because, in part, he was right. “Maybe so. But discipline should be administered kindly, don’t you think? Girls of Iulia’s age are so easily hurt.”

“I’ve no interest in talking about your sisters tonight, Jena,” Cezar said, drawing me closer as the dance began. “Let us enjoy the evening. Mother tells me you’re all novices at dancing. Do you know any of the steps to this one?”

I looked into his eyes and shook my head.

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m expert at leading.”

Do we have to put up with this?

“You haven’t brought that wretched frog, I hope?”

“I always bring him, Cezar. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in my pocket, out of sight.”

But not out of earshot. Why are you dancing with
him?

Grimly I danced, trying to ignore Gogu. As Cezar and I moved about the room—and as I discovered how hard it is to dance badly when the skill of doing it well comes naturally—my sisters returned to the party: Iulia, red-eyed, with an embroidered silk shawl artfully draped across her cleavage, and Paula by her side. And Tati. I faltered, stepping hard on Cezar’s foot. Tati, not in the blue and silver of Aunt Bogdana’s choice, but ethereal in the pale butterfly gown, the gown that had been made to wear for Sorrow. It revealed a startling change in her appearance: she had lost more weight than I had realized. Her back was all bones, her arms fragile, her waist tiny. The pallor of her garb drew the eye to the strange pendant around her slender neck, a crimson drop of blood on the white skin. Her hair was newly washed—it hung, dark and lustrous, across her shoulders. There was not a trace of color in her face, save for the vivid violet-blue of her eyes.

“Tati’s looking very unwell,” observed Cezar, leading me through a complicated maneuver that turned me away from her.

“Mmm,” I murmured, thinking I had better do as Aunt Bogdana had suggested and consult the herbalist. Under the bright lights of the party chamber, Tati looked not so much ethereal as wasted. It frightened me.

“A brighter color would have been more appropriate,” he went on. “She looks quite washed-out. And it’s important that she present herself at her best.”

“Oh?” I would not help him through this particular conversation.

“Well,” Cezar said, putting his hand on my waist as we made our way down the line, “isn’t that what tonight is all about? Beginning the search for possible partners?”

“More or less,” I said. “It’s not something I particularly relish, Cezar. But I’m happy that your mother has enjoyed helping. And I suppose I should thank you for paying for everything. I don’t imagine you actually wanted to.”

He grunted some kind of response, and his hold on me tightened, brushing me up against him. In the formal line of the dance, I could not wriggle away. “You hope that Tatiana will attract the interest of these young men? You think any of them eligible?” He ran his eyes over those closest at hand; his expression was one of disdain.

“Aunt Bogdana chose them. They’re all eligible. If Tati doesn’t snare one, maybe I can.” I attempted an insouciant laugh, without a great deal of success.

“You far outshine your sister tonight, Jena.”

I stared at him, full of suspicion. His expression alarmed me. It was deadly serious.

“Besides,” said Cezar, “for you, there is no need to go through this exercise—this fishing for suitable husbands.”

“Really?” I remembered a conversation with Aunt Bogdana. “Because I’m the one destined to stay at home and tend to Father in his old age, you mean?”

“Don’t tease, Jena,” Cezar said. “You know what I mean.”

I hate him
. The frog was trembling with fury.

A horrible possibility suddenly occurred to me. I recalled
that awkward conversation with my cousin in the workroom, the one in which he had seemed on the point of some declaration. I thought of certain other things he had said recently, certain other gestures he had made. Surely I must be wrong. I was the sensible sister, not the beautiful one. Besides, even Cezar must see it was ludicrous. The two of us did nothing but argue.

The music came to an end. Across the room, I spotted Tati sitting quietly beside Aunt Bogdana and a group of older women. She looked like a grieving young widow. Shockingly, she looked as if she belonged there.

“You must dance with each of my sisters,” I told Cezar. With Gogu in my pocket vibrating with ill will and my cousin’s conversation troubling me more than I wanted to admit, I decided I would avoid Cezar for the rest of the evening. “And make sure you’re nice to Iulia,” I added. “Remember, she’s only thirteen.”

Cezar smiled at me. Then the pimply Raffaello asked me for the next dance, and my cousin let me go. I could feel the imprint of his hand on my waist, like a brand of ownership. Perhaps that
had
been what he meant: he and I. The look in his eyes had frightened me. It had been a look of utter certainty.

I danced with Raffaello, whom Gogu had already dismissed as an idiot. I danced with Anghel.

I can’t see from in here. Put me on your shoulder
.

Anghel glanced down: the wriggling form of the frog was clearly visible under the close-fitting skirt of the red gown.

“My pet frog,” I muttered. “He would insist on coming.”

Pet
. The tone was accusatory.

“A frog?” Anghel struggled for words. “Or did you say a dog?”

“Er, no—although it’s not unlike one of those little dogs, the kind ladies carry about …,” I babbled, hating myself.

“Yes, my mother has one,” Anghel said, holding me at arm’s length lest he come in contact with Gogu, even through a layer of fabric. “Hideous little thing. It sheds everywhere. One can’t wear black.”

“What a trial for you,” I murmured, calculating how soon I could politely excuse myself.

Looks like a stoat
. Gogu’s head was out of the pocket.
Sounds even sillier than the first one. You can do better
.

I danced with Vlad, whose uncle was a
voivode
. Vlad was better-looking than the others—tall and broad-shouldered, with thick dark hair. His manners were exemplary. We chatted about the weather and the music. We talked about his home near Braşov and his horse and his hunting dogs. He complimented me on my hair and on the party, which Aunt Bogdana had told him I organized all by myself, and on the red gown. He asked me for a second dance and I accepted. He fetched a little platter of pastries, which we sat down to share. Gogu had retreated to the depths of the pocket. Quite against logic, the sense I was getting from him now was:
No. No. No
.

“I have to ask,” said Vlad, smiling to reveal perfectly even white teeth, “whether it’s true you have a pet frog. Someone told me you carry it around everywhere.”

“Well, yes,” I said cautiously. “His name’s Gogu. I rescued him a few years ago.”

I waited for the nice young man to shrink away, to make
an embarrassed comment, or to fall silent. Instead, he leaned forward.

“May I see?”

I was charmed. I got Gogu out and held him on my palm, where he embarrassed me by cowering in abject terror. “He’s usually quite friendly,” I said. “I don’t know what’s come over him.”

Vlad reached out to touch, and such was the shock emanating from Gogu’s small body that I drew my hand away.

“Oh, yes, I find them fascinating,” Vlad enthused. “I have a big collection myself, you know. It’s a special study of mine.”

“Really?” I began to wonder whether it was possible that there might be a man who was not only eligible, but genuinely suitable—someone I could actually come to like. From over by the hearth, Cezar was staring at us with an expression dark as a thundercloud.

“Yes, I have one of every species to be found in the Carpathian region, and a number of more exotic ones as well. But nothing quite like your little fellow. I can’t tell exactly what he is. You realize how very unusual it is for him to be active in winter. A scientific curiosity of the first order.”

“Yes, well, I think Gogu’s one of a kind,” I said.

“I can see that we have a great deal in common, Jenica,” said Vlad. “I’ll ask Mother if she can arrange a return visit in the spring—I could show you my laboratory. I’ve devised a wonderful new method for preserving my specimens. They keep more or less indefinitely, you know. I start with a few drops of ether on a cloth, and then—”

“Excuse me.” I felt sick. In my hands, Gogu was trembling like a leaf. “I think I hear Aunt Bogdana calling me.”

I fled to the safe company of my aunt and her friends. Tati was no longer with them. I scanned the crowded room, wondering whether she had gone back upstairs already.

“Tatiana is such a lovely dancer,” observed my aunt’s friend Elsvieta. “And what an exquisite gown …”

“If it’s possible to obtain something similar,” said another woman, “I think your son will be flooded with orders after tonight, Bogdana.”

“You’re a nice little dancer, too, Jenica,” Elsvieta went on, smiling at me. “I could see my son was enjoying himself. Vlad is rather too fond of his own company and his experiments. I hope you may come to visit us in the spring. A little riding, perhaps, and some music. It would be so good for him.”

“I’m sure Jena would welcome that,” said Aunt Bogdana, alarming me. “If her father approves, of course. We hope very much that Teodor will be home by springtime. Jena, who is that young man dancing with your sister?”

I looked across the room and froze. Maybe there was no black coat tonight, but I knew instantly who it was, and my heart filled with terror. Tati was in a trance, moving in his arms like a graceful bird. Sorrow wore a mask—black, of course—which didn’t do much to disguise his snow-pale skin and burning dark eyes. He had made some concessions to the nature of the gathering. His hair was tied back at the nape of the neck, and he wore a white shirt under a traditional waistcoat: black, embroidered with red flowers. Black trousers and boots
completed the outfit. Around his neck was our mother’s silver chain. He held Tati reverently, as if she were the one thing he valued in the world. Their eyes remained locked as they went through the steps of the dance—there might as well have been nobody else here.

“He dances well,” commented Elsvieta. “But he does look rather … 
intense
. Who is he, Jena?”

I thought frantically. “Er—I think he came up with Judge Rinaldo’s son, Lucian,” I mumbled. “I’m not sure what his name is.”

“The mask is too much of an affectation,” said another woman. “But he’s quite striking, isn’t he, with that very dark hair and the pale complexion? Your sister certainly seems to think so.”

I looked around wildly for Cezar and saw him near the passageway to the kitchen, talking to Iulia. He looked distracted and she looked miserable. I muttered an excuse and dived into the crowd. What was Sorrow thinking? Did the man have a death wish? And how could Tati have encouraged him? They’d planned this—the butterfly dress proved that. I had to get rid of him now, immediately. If Cezar realized where Sorrow had come from, our sedate party would descend into violent, bloody tragedy.