The Black Mask Read online

“He was telling me about shooting.”

  “Is that why he had his arm around your waist? And I suppose that Italian, what’s-his-name, was telling you about astronomy in the garden?”

  “If you remember, it was very hot last night. Perhaps you didn’t notice, busy as you were in the card room.”

  The housemaid hurried to open the green-painted front door, dropping a curtsy as they passed in. “How are you, Mary?” Rose asked. “Is my aunt in?”

  “Healthy as a horse, miss, ta. Her ladyship’s in her boudoir.” She giggled as Rupert gave her a wink.

  “Coming up?” Rose asked him as she unbuttoned the sleeves of her jaconet muslin pelisse. “Aunt Paige will want to hear all the details.”

  “I’d better change first. I’m dust all over from that office. Can’t go out like this.” He indicated his disarray with a wave of his hand, but Rose thought he looked very handsome in his tight blue coat and fanciful tie. She at least owed Sir Niles a little gratitude, for, profiting by his example, Rupert had toned down his love for the wilder fields of fashion.

  “Will you be out very late tonight, Rupert? I wouldn’t ask, only there’s a breakfast tomorrow and Mrs. Lane made a special point of asking if you could come.”

  “Is that spotty daughter of hers going to be there?”

  “I imagine she will. It is being given in her honor. And she doesn’t have that many spots.”

  Rupert sighed and kicked lightly at the black and white checked floor of the foyer. “I’ll go if you want me to.”

  “I always enjoy being escorted by handsome men. Didn’t you just say so?”

  He raised his hand as though he’d strike her. Rose just wrinkled her nose at him. “Don’t worry; you won’t be called out to defend my honor. If I lose my good name, I’ll just drown myself so politely even your precious Sir Niles will approve.”

  She danced away before he could catch her, laughing. When she put a foot on the bottommost stair, he called her. Hearing a serious note in his voice, she turned back.

  “Don’t forget your inheritance,” he said, reaching out, box in hand.

  “Oh, thank you. Aunt Paige will want to see this.” Rose looked up into his face. “Do you mind very much that I didn’t receive a fortune?”

  Rupert could hardly shrug in his tight coat, but he pulled a shrugging kind of face. “A few thousands would have come in dashed opportune. The dibs aren’t in tune often these days.”

  “Bad luck?”

  “I wish it were only bad luck. That would be an improvement.”

  “Rupert... I could sell the ring. It’s not much, but Sir Niles said it would bring something.”

  “That’s what I mean about your poor taste in men, Rose. You’d throw everything away on a wastrel like me and never look twice at a chap like Sir Niles. He’s got the ready in sackfuls, dashed if he doesn’t, and the devil’s own luck with it.”

  “You’re not a wastrel,” Rose said, seizing his arm and shaking it. “If Father would let you join up, you’d be the finest soldier ...”

  “What’s the use of talking about it? He’ll never let me go. And the war’s over, anyway. Maybe your old godfather had it right. India’s the place for someone like me. But, by God, I would have liked to see it in the Army.”

  He pushed past her, taking the stairs two at a time with the air of one who outran his thoughts. Rose followed more slowly. By the time she reached the top, Rupert had gone into his room. The lustily sung and off-key strains of the latest comic song burst forth.

  Rose hardly had time to unpin the hat from her head before a light tap on her door heralded her aunt. “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” Rose said, swinging the door wide. “I’m sorry I didn’t come directly to your room, but that office was amazingly dusty.”

  “Lawyers’ offices always are,” said Lady Marlton, twice a widow and therefore conversant with the law and lawyers. “I should have warned you not to wear that dark red. It is more than becoming, my love, but it shows every smudge. Turn ‘round. Let me unbutton you.”

  Rose smiled as she turned obediently, bending her knees to bring her topmost button into reach. Her mother’s sister was what men called a pocket Venus. Barely five feet tall, she was perfectly proportioned, even though her second widowhood and the boxes of bonbons she consumed to alleviate her boredom had put some weight on her. Or at least she claimed to have been bored.

  Since her niece and nephew had come to stay, they had hardly spent two consecutive nights at home. Rose hadn’t imagined there could be so many parties. The knocker at Aunt Paige’s elegant town house was never silent for long, and though Rose came in for her share of attention, more than a few bouquets and treats had been for the widow. Lady Marlton moved in the first circle of London society, and her friends waited breathlessly to see which of the competing eligible older gentlemen would be her third lord and master.

  “Colonel Wapton called while you were out. He was amazingly sorry to have missed you.”

  “I shall make it up to him with a dance this evening.”

  “Perhaps you should make him suffer. Along with Mr. March, young Lord Duchan, and the Right Honorable Member from Preffendale.”

  “Did all those gentlemen call while I was out?”

  “Yes, and were like to wear out the furniture. Why must you attract such outsized suitors?”

  “They only seem like that to you, Aunt.”

  “Wicked!”

  Rose laughed as she picked up her dressing gown. “Don’t you want to see what my godfather did leave me? Besides a hundred pounds.”

  “A hundred pounds is a hundred pounds,” Aunt Paige said consideringly. “Not a fortune, but enough to make a journey into the City worthwhile. But you said besides... he didn’t leave you a plantation or any such thing, did he? Really, you mustn’t even think of going to India. A dreadful place, by all I hear. Is that what Rupert was saying in the hall? You children must learn not to have arguments in public. I honestly thought he meant to strike you!”

  “Rupert hasn’t struck me since he was seven years old, Aunt. Even that was an accident.”

  Picking up the case, she relished the look of anticipation on her aunt’s face. Certainly nothing could prepare her for the wonders of the Malikzadi.

  “My word.” Aunt Paige laughed a little. “How perfectly ghastly.”

  “Wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Rose slipped it again onto her middle finger.

  “It’s the ugliest piece of jewelry I ever saw, except for the Queen of Naples’s diamond tiara. The woman had no taste. She would have loved that ring.”

  “If I am ever in Naples, I’ll make her a gift of it. It bears the name of a queen.”

  “Does it? Which one?”

  “I mean, it’s called Queen. In Indian. Malikzadi.” She slipped it off and handed it to her aunt. “It’s large enough to make you a bracelet.”

  “I wouldn’t have it as a gift,” Aunt Paige said, holding her pretty hands up. “You keep it. Maybe it will be your good luck charm. Did you say it’s worthless?”

  “Not worthless, precisely. Sir Niles said ...” She closed her mouth instantly, but wasn’t quite quick enough.

  “Sir Niles? Sir Niles Alardyce?”

  Rose nodded resignedly. Was she to suffer another paean of praise to the incomparable, inimitable, insufferable Sir Niles?

  “Whatever was he doing at an attorney’s office?”

  “He said Mr. Crenshaw had long been his man of affairs.”

  “Poor man must keep very busy if he is directing Sir Niles’s affairs.”

  Though she was very fond of her socially adept aunt, Rose did not like it when she gave vent to one of her sophisticated little laughs, leaving Rose with the feeling that she was a very ignorant and foolish girl indeed. Many older women laughed like that, with a cynical intonation that made Sir Niles’s irony seem like sweet-tempered enthusiasm. She wondered if she would come to laugh like that when she turned forty.

  “I confess I don’t
like Sir Niles very much,” she said. “But he doesn’t seem like a libertine.”

  “The most talented ones never do, dear heart. But never mind. Did he see this?” She pointed to the ruby.

  ‘Yes, he examined it.”

  “And pronounced upon it? A coup! Why, there are ladies by the score who have attempted to entice Sir Niles into looking at their gawds—usually while resting upon their bosoms. That man must have looked into more crevasses than a Swiss mountain guide.”

  ‘You like Sir Niles yourself, Aunt.”

  “I confess I do. There’s something about a very cold man. The challenge, I suppose. Oh, well. He’s years and years too young for me.”

  “Are you going to marry again, Aunt?”

  “Inquisitive, aren’t you?” Aunt Paige smiled mysteriously and fluttered over to Rose’s wardrobe. The room she’d given her niece was far quieter than Rupert’s, which looked right onto the street and was filled with noises from the call of the knife grinder to the bone-shaking rumble of delivery wagons drawn by horses with feet the size of pies.

  Rose’s room looked out over the back garden, a quiet, hardly used space except on sunny days, when the staff would take a few moments to lift their faces, like so many sunflowers, to the rarely glimpsed sky. Rose missed the blue sky over her home. In London, the air was too often tinged with the yellow stains of fog and coal smoke.

  In fact, the only drawback to this charming, airy room was that the garden marched down to meet Sir Niles Alardyce’s brick wall. His garden, while not as beautifully tended as Paige’s, served as a continuation of hers, so Rose had several hundred feet of nearly uninterrupted greenery to admire. She did admire it, except when she looked out her window to see Sir Niles taking the air. Then the view was spoiled.

  While Aunt Paige romped happily through her new dresses, Rose sat down to cleanse her face and hands in a basin. “What is going forward tonight, Aunt?”

  “The opera, my dear, and then Lady Fitzmonroe has had the most diverting notion. An indoor picnic. She’s turned her ballroom into a sylvan glade, if you can believe it.”

  “Sounds charming.”

  “Complete with a stream! Everyone will be copying her, mark my words.”

  “And are we all to dress like milkmaids?” Rose asked, drying her face.

  “No, no. It’s not a masquerade. There hasn’t been a decent masquerade yet this year.”

  “That reminds me. Aunt, have you heard of the Black Mask’s latest escapade?”

  “You mean the prime minister? Your admirers were full of nothing else. Of course, being men, they all think the Black Mask is nothing but a rogue with imagination.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I?” For a moment, Aunt Paige peeked around the open wardrobe door, her cap askew on her still golden hair. “If I were a young girl again, I should be lost in daydreams of such a dashing fellow. As a staid matron, however, I should naturally deplore the whole business, but I can’t quite bring myself to do so.” She giggled like a girl. “What do your friends think?”

  “That he is Robin Hood come to life again. But I told them one gift to the poor does not a Robin Hood make. Besides, I’m sorry for poor Miss Stonebridge. What a horrible way to find out about your lover.”

  “Better she should learn now than after they’ve taken their vows. I understand Mr. Stonebridge has threatened to horsewhip Curtman when he’s released from the magistrate’s. One of your admirers—they all do look so alike, Rose!—said bets are being taken that Curtman will flee the country. Apparently, no odds are offered he’ll do the honorable thing.”

  “What honorable thing?”

  Again Aunt Paige’s head popped out. “Suicide,” she whispered, like a ghost.

  “I wonder if that would make Miss Stonebridge feel better or worse.”

  “Here,” Aunt Paige exclaimed. She stepped into plain view, waving a gown like a flag of triumph. ‘You shall wear this!”

  The cream-colored silk was embroidered all over with green leaves in a shimmering thread. The square neck was outlined in deep green velvet ribbon, which was echoed in a triple row around the hem. “And flowers in your hair. Roses, I think. Pink roses. They’ll look vastly sweet peeking from your dark curls.” Lady Marlton squinted at her niece, visualizing the prospect. “My dear, you’ll charm the birds from the trees.”

  “Lady Fitzmonroe imported birds for the evening?”

  “I shouldn’t be at all surprised. She’s a frighteningly thorough woman.”

  As she unpinned her curling hair, Rose thought of Rupert. “Aunt, aren’t you going to ask Rupert to escort us?”

  “I already did. He’s made some engagement with a party of friends. But you needn’t worry. I asked Mr. Dickson to be so kind. He’ll call for us at eight.”

  “Mr. Dickson?”

  “Forgotten one of your admirers already?” Aunt Paige teased. “Well, with so many of them ...”

  “Which one is he?”

  “You met him at Almack’s. Tall, slightly graying, about forty, I suppose. He made his fortune in the City, but his mother was a de Matelet. So he’s quite eligible.”

  “Aunt...”

  Aunt Paige pushed a footstool close to Rose and sank down on it gracefully. “Older men make very secure husbands, my love. A trifle boring, perhaps, but one always knows where they are. But if you prefer the young and dashing, why not take Colonel Wapton?”

  “He’s not precisely young. He must be as old as your Mr. Dickson.”

  “But certainly dashing in his uniform.”

  Rose sighed. She’d known this moment would come and had decided to be both frank and determined. “Aunt, I appreciate your interest on my behalf. But I have no scheme to marry any of these estimable gentlemen.”

  “Why not?” A slight frown creased her forehead and was instantly rubbed away. “Pray don’t tell me you are stuffed full of ridiculous notions about marrying for love.”

  With becoming meekness, Rose looked away. “I made sure you of all people would be sympathetic to my plight.”

  But Aunt Paige caught the note of stifled laughter. “You thought nothing of the kind, minx.” She pinched Rose’s cheek.

  Then Rose did laugh aloud. “I can’t say I have too many ridiculous notions,” she said when she recovered. “But I cannot bring myself to consider marriage only in terms of economics.”

  “As is only right. A young girl shouldn’t consider such matters. Properties, jointures, pin money ... these things are better left to fathers. Let them sprout gray hairs while the women go mad buying bride clothes.”

  “I agree. However, I am a banker’s daughter and my blood runs true.”

  Aunt Paige looked curiously at her niece. “Do you wish you had been born a boy so you could have been a banker yourself?”

  “Not at all. Being a woman has so many benefits that I can hardly cavil at those inconveniences that go with it.” She toyed with her silver-backed hairbrush and comb. “I know perfectly well there is no other suitable path for me but marriage. I don’t burn to reform the world, Aunt, but if given a choice, I should like a marriage that is more than a merger of two equal properties.”

  Aunt Paige shook her head but seemed pleased. “Well, that sounds more practical than foolish. A girl must have her dreams, but she must consider her future very carefully.” Aunt Paige patted Rose’s knee. “I made up my mind when I invited you to come to London that you’d not go home without a promised husband. Your mother, as you know, cannot interest herself in finding you a husband at this time. If you put it off much longer, you’ll be on the shelf through no fault of your own.”

  “A terrible fate, to be sure.”

  “Yes, it is. You’ve no notion.”

  “After delaying my debut for two years, I have a very good notion indeed. Last year was the dullest of my life. I vowed when I came to London I’d be gay to dissipation, and so I intend.”

  “Excellent. The best way to find a husband is to search for one. He won’t come cli
mbing through your window, you know. Not unless you intend to marry the Black Mask!”

  Aunt Paige stayed to gossip and to direct her own maid in the dressing of Rose’s hair. Rose nodded and laughed in the right places, but her thoughts were busy. Though she disavowed all romantical fancies, the truth lay somewhere between illusion and reality. She cherished her dreams of finding and marrying a man she could truly love, but had long ago learned not to speak of them. Dreams, she found, withered faster than rosebuds in winter when scorn or rough humor followed their telling.

  She liked her indulgent, fashionable aunt very much, yet feared too much exposure to her cynicism would kill her dreams for good and all. Rose didn’t believe that she could marry for love alone. Too many kindly and practical people were watching out for her interests. Besides, she would never marry to disoblige her family. She would choose a good, sensible man and hope his admirable qualities would spark the tenderer emotions in her heart just as everyone promised. “Love comes with time,” seemed to be the refrain she was to take to heart.

  Meanwhile, no one could prevent her dreaming of her hero, some man who dared all odds like a knight of olden days, who would face dragons for his lady and win her heart in the moment of his victory. Rose knew these were only dreams that could never come true, yet they were very sweet. She couldn’t surrender them just yet.

  Chapter Four

  Lady Fitzmonroe’s inspiration more than fulfilled its promise. Banks of newly opened flowers filled the air of the ballroom with the thousand scents of spring, while the cleverly improvised stream made rippling music in sweet counterpoint to the orchestra. The musicians and, indeed, all the servants were dressed like yeomen, having put off their powdered wigs and knee breeches for the evening. The butler wore a disgruntled expression when he’d opened the door, obviously not relishing his smock and trousers.

  Rose had danced with half a dozen men before she’d had a moment to herself. She’d sent off her latest partner to fetch her something to drink. Now she sat alone in a quiet nook, enjoying with deep breaths the scents of jasmine and lily that surrounded her. She was a trifle too hot after her exercise and idly waved her fan, eyes closed.