Once we set foot on the polished parquet floor, we were surrounded by gaudy costumes and jewels that sparkled beneath the bright lights. Dancers moved around the center of the room to the music of an orchestra tucked to one side of the stairs. Emma and I tried to make one circle of the room together to see if we recognized anyone, but we were soon separated in the crush of people who each wore a different flashy outfit and a different perfume. Without knowing who wore which costume, we found the half masks hid identities.
By the time I reached the stairs again, I’d received two indecent proposals. I hadn’t expected that sort of party. I climbed up two steps, but I didn’t see any sign of Emma or the Duke of Blackford in his highwayman disguise. All I saw was a sea of multicolored masks and costume hats.
I was frustrated as well as amazed and dazzled by the brilliance of so much wealth and power. I had to remind myself to ignore the overwhelming mix of inherited position and status as the crowd swirled and shifted around me. I couldn’t afford to be impressed, not with so much at stake. Blackford would be wise to show up now and tell me what he wanted done, so we could take care of the problem and then enjoy this carnival mix of glamour and music. I found, with my identity hidden, I wanted to join the waltzing throng.
I stepped down from the staircase and wandered among the crowd watching the dancers. I felt as if I walked alone, swallowed up in a shiny, writhing rainbow. The only thing I wished for was that the highwayman would whisk me out on the floor for a waltz. No doubt the duke was a superb dancer. He did everything with grace.
Since that wouldn’t happen, I’d settle for a cool breeze. Several hundred bodies pressed close together created a heat similar to that in Sir Broderick’s study. Oppressive.
I bumped into Joan of Arc and said, “Excuse me.” Then I looked more closely at the square chin and wide mouth and burst out laughing. “I didn’t think I’d see you here, Lady Julia.”
“Ssh. I can come in disguise to these parties and be sure at least half my dance partners have no idea who I am or how much I’m worth.” She started to back her way through the crowd to get away from me.
I grabbed her arm to detain her. “Does the Earl of Waxpool know you’re here?”
“Grandpapa has no idea either my brother or I am here, but he’d be proud of us for finding a way to have fun without being valued like a racehorse.”
“Then I’ll add my congratulations on your brilliant idea.”
“I have nothing more to say to you.”
“It’s not about—that subject.” I hesitated a moment and Lady Julia looked at me sharply. “I need to ask you one question about the day Miss Victoria died.”
She glanced around before she nodded. “Very well. One question.”
“What do you remember about the flower arrangement in Lady Margaret’s parlor?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Nothing odd happened in connection with the flowers?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Please.”
“I didn’t see anything unusual happen with the flowers. When I first arrived, Victoria was saying something was a very strange custom, and one she didn’t think was too hygienic. Margaret dismissed her with a wave of the hand and rose to greet me. I never found out what they were talking about.”
“And you didn’t see or hear any more about this strange custom?” I let go of Lady Julia’s arm. I was certain she wouldn’t leave now.
“No. It was never mentioned again.”
“Not even when Victoria was taken ill? In the carriage or in her room?”
“No. I think whatever Margaret suggested, Victoria rejected. Victoria did say something later about not being a follower of silly peasant customs.”
“But nothing else?”
“Nothing else. And nothing about flowers.”
That was it, then. There was no evidence to either clear Margaret from suspicion or prove she killed Victoria. I looked at Lady Julia’s eyes through the two sets of eyeholes in our masks. I could see defiance growing in hers.
“Margaret’s my friend. I’m not going to help you hang her.”
I held her gaze. “You think Margaret poisoned Victoria, don’t you?”
“I don’t think it was physically possible. I was with them almost the entire time they were together. What I remember most from that day was that Victoria was wretchedly unhappy.”
“What?” Victoria was unhappy? That was news.
“Victoria didn’t want to marry the duke. She couldn’t stand him. She thought he was stuffy, dull. The duke and her father arranged the match. Her mother was thrilled. Victoria felt like a sacrificial lamb. And she planned to make everyone pay for her misery.”
“She told you this?” We couldn’t be talking about the same Duke of Blackford. He wasn’t stuffy or dull. He was infuriating, helpful, riveting; and he deflected danger and unwanted questions with grace.
“Every time we were alone after the engagement was announced.”
“Thank you for your honesty. And I’m sorry to hear about your grandfather.” Would she be honest about this rumor, too?
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t know you knew. I’m heartbroken. He has less than a month to live and I don’t know what will happen with Papa and the title then.” She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
I nodded, mouth slightly open, and then watched Lady Julia walk away. If Waxpool’s impending death was the reason Drake was being hunted, then Waxpool’s manservant, Price, would be somewhere in the crowd looking for the blackmailer. Blackford told his fellow victims that Drake would be here tonight, and I suspected our costumes were designed to be beacons for the search.
Now I’d heard both Victoria and Margaret were unhappy women. What role had it played in their deaths? I doubted I’d get an answer to that question, but I still had to ask it, if only to myself.
I pressed through the crowd looking for Emma. I thought I saw her and her shimmering blue mask near the French doors and worked a path in that direction, only to lose her again in the crowd.
Then I spotted her on the dance floor, whirling around in a waltz with a slim, trim Henry VIII with blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. They made a handsome couple. I hoped Emma wouldn’t lose her head. A man in a wizard costume watched them closely from the edge of the floor. I suspected he’d be Emma’s next dance partner.
The crowd parted slightly for a tall figure in a black hooded robe, a scythe gleaming in one hand. Who had come to the party dressed as the angel of death? His full mask and his hood hid his face, but his head swiveled between watching Emma and looking at me.
I slipped back to the chaperones’ section with its scattering of chairs and found the Marie Antoinette I wanted carrying a bow-covered green parasol. I recognized the parasol from my visit to Portman Square. “Your Highness,” I began, “or should I say Your Grace?”
“You recognized me?”
“You wear the same costume every year.” I hoped what I’d been told was correct.
She nodded. “Do I know you?”
“Archivist Society.”
“Oh, yes. Your costume is quite unique.”
“Just the effect I was hoping for. What is your daughter wearing?”
“A shepherdess. I wish she weren’t. She looks so lifeless next to Daisy Hancock.”
I glanced in the direction the duchess was staring and saw two shepherdesses standing in conversation. Daisy Hancock’s blondness and animation were hard to overlook, especially next to the demure, dark-haired girl she was talking to. A man came up and took the laughing Daisy away for more dancing. The duchess’s daughter slipped away into the rainbow-hued crowd.