Page 13 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“Bloody ridiculous herding us about like cattle,” a man next to me complained. He wore a dark coat and a mask that covered the top half of his face.

“Oh, don’t be so impatient, John,” the woman with him chided. “They have to make sure they’re not letting just anyone in, after all.” I smiled.

We were ushered through into the entrance hall. I had never seen anything like it, and I had to stop myself from gawping like a provincial fool at the grandeur already on display. The walls and the ceiling were covered in gilt, candlelight flickering over the crowd.

The room was dominated by the famous Devonshire House staircase. I had heard about it, but never really believed it could exist – as if it were a creature from a myth or fairy tale.

Curving along the wall, shallow marble steps stretched upwards, smooth and shining. The handrail and all the intricate carved posts that ran the full length of the staircase were made of crystal, and the effect was dazzling. The light winked and gleamed off them, sending miniature rainbows dancing across the walls, the floors, and ladies’ gowns.

A waiter in another dark suit, this time accompanied by a black domino mask, offered me a drink from a silver tray: a coupe of champagne, the palest shade of lemon and sparkling with bubbles. I took a glass gratefully, enjoying the sharp, cool taste.

The last time I’d drunk champagne was to try a sip from my father’s glass. The bubbles had tickled my nose and made me sneeze.

I could hear his laughter now. “That will teach you, little cub! You’re not supposed to swig the lot!”

It was a shame that seamstresses didn’t get much chance to drink the stuff – I found that I liked it much better now. Strange that you could grow into a taste, as if it were a pair of shoes.

People were milling around in the entrance hall before climbing the staircase. I could guess why: the ballroom was at the top of it, and no one wanted to enter in a large group. They wanted a moment with all eyes on them. There were clothes to show off after all. It seemed that I was alone in wanting to keep a low profile.

I drained my drink in one more long swallow and placed the empty glass back on the tray. The effects were invigorating, and I took my long skirts in one hand, and placed the other on the crystal handrail.

With a final deep breath, I began the climb.

My plan was to slip in quietly, but it seemed that whatever mischief making spinners of fate were at work that evening had other ideas.

As I reached the final stair, the makeshift lace on my shoe came untied, and I almost left it behind on the staircase. I stopped on the landing and bent down to re-tie it. The sound of music drifted through from the open doors; a lively waltz played by a large orchestra.

If I hadn’t stopped to tie my shoe, it would never have happened.

As it was, I entered the room alone, just as the music came to a finish, and the couples on the large dance floor swept to a halt, most of them facing the door, and therefore … me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The final notes of the song still resonated from the violin strings, a sweet humming that hung in the air, an echo of something beautiful, that seemed in that moment like a bugle announcing my arrival.

I thought I was prepared for this party, for what a society occasion would entail, but suddenly I found hundreds of pairs of eyes on me – eager, rapacious eyes that devoured the sight of me in my dress and my mask. Eyes that all seemed to ask one question: who is she?

I felt a brief, shattering moment of panic – an overwhelming urge to turn and run back down the staircase, through the doors and down the drive, past the gates with their Latin warning, and through the city streets and shadows, all the way home.

I wasn’t going to do that. Instead of running, I lifted my eyes, staring them all down. I allowed my mouth to curl into the sort of smile I had seen Helena wear – a smile that spoke of power and confidence and something else. Something seductive.

A man stepped forward. He was dressed elegantly in a dark suit, almost severe in its simplicity. The black mask that covered the top half of his face framed warm, sherry-brown eyes. His hair was blond, so fair that it looked threaded through with silver. He wore a dark red rose in his lapel, and the smile he aimed at me was a crescent moon of straight white teeth.

“Madam,” he said with a bow. “You have brought the party to a standstill. Shall we get it moving again?”

His English was perfect, and yet his words were touched by a light accent, one that sounded faintly Germanic. He stood now with his hand held out to me, an invitation to waltz.

I placed my fingers in his and smiled again. “I would be delighted.”

A glimmer of pleasure lighting his eyes, he bowed once more and led me on to the dance floor. The crowd parted before us.

So much for keeping to the shadows.

There was a brief, taut moment, like the feeling before a storm breaks, and then the orchestra began to play. The room seemed to exhale, and the dance began again, only this time I found myself in the centre of it.

It had been a long time since I had danced, but fortunately for me, the waltz largely consisted of being spun around the room by an able partner. All I had to do was relax into his arms.

It was no hardship. A firm hand clasped mine, the other pressed gently against the small of my back. The man was taller than me, and broad shouldered. I could feel tight bands of muscle beneath my own fingers.