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“That is the point,” she says. She holds out her skirts and gives a small twirl. “And you’re certain no one will be able to tell?”
“I cannot tell,” I assure her.
Her face clouds. “And how long will the illusion hold?”
“I can’t say,” I answer. “Several hours at least. Perhaps even the whole day—certainly long enough for our purposes.”
“I wish it could be forever,” she says, touching a gloved hand to her new face.
Cecily prances through, all grins. She wears a beautiful pearl necklace with the daintiest cameo pendant. “Oh, Fee, come look! Isn’t it absolutely gorgeous? Mother sent it. I shouldn’t wear it before my debut but I can’t resist. Oh, how do you do?” she says, seeing Ann for the first time.
Felicity jumps in. “Cecily, this is my cousin, Miss—”
“Nan Washbrad,” Ann says coolly. Felicity and I nearly burst with laughter, for only we realize that that is an anagram of her name, Ann Bradshaw.
The spell is working well for Ann. Cecily seems absolutely enchanted with Felicity’s “older cousin,” as if she were speaking to a duchess.
“Will you be joining us for tea, Miss Washbrad?” she asks, breathlessly.
“I’m afraid I cannot. We’re to see Miss Lily Trimble in Macbeth.”
“I am a great admirer of Miss Trimble’s,” Cecily coos. Liar.
Ann is like a cat who has cornered the mouse. “What a lovely necklace.” She runs a finger boldly over the pearls and frowns. “Oh, it’s paste.”
Horrified, Cecily brings her hand to her neck. “But they can’t be!”
Ann gives her a look that is both pitying and contemptuous. “I am well versed in jewels, my dear, and I am so very sorry to inform you that your necklace is a forgery.”
Cecily’s face reddens, and I fear she will cry. She pulls the necklace off and examines it. “Oh, dear! Oh! I’ve shown everyone. They will think me a fool!”
“Or a fraud. Why, I heard a tale recently of a girl who passed herself off as nobility, and when her crime came to light, she was ruined. I should hate for such a fate to befall you,” Ann says, a hardness creeping into her tone.
Panicked, Cecily cups the pearls in her hands, hiding them. “What shall I do? I shall be ruined!”
“There, there.” Ann gently pats Cecily’s shoulder. “You mustn’t worry. I shall take the necklace for you. You may tell your mother it was lost.”
Cecily bites her lip and gazes at the pearls. “But she’ll be so angry.”
“It is better than being thought the fool—or worse—isn’t it?”
“Indeed,” Cecily mumbles. “I thank you for your good advice.” Reluctantly, she passes the necklace to Ann.
“I shall dispose of it for you, and you may be confident that no one shall ever know of it,” Ann assures her.
“You are most kind, Miss Washbrad.” Cecily wipes away tears.
“There is something in you that brings out this kindness,” Ann purrs, and her smile is like the sun.
“That was a remarkable forgery,” I say when we are alone. “How could you tell they were false? I could have sworn they were real pearls.”
“They are real,” Ann says, clasping the jewels around her own neck. “I am the remarkable forgery.”
“Why, Ann Bradshaw!” Felicity exclaims. “You are brilliant!”
Ann beams. “Thank you.”
We hold hands, relishing the moment as one. At last, Ann has bested the hideous Cecily Temple. The air feels lighter, as it does after a rain, and I am certain we are on our way to a happier future.
