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I cannot get warm. Whatever Eugenia feared, what Miss Wyatt meant to warn me about, will happen tomorrow, and I’ve no idea what it is or how to stop it. When I see Miss McCleethy and Mrs. Nightwing bent toward each other in conference, I shake. In their every glance, every laugh, every touch, I see danger.
All around me, the girls prance about, drunk on excitement, oblivious to my fear. The little ones play in their costumes whilst Brigid scolds them and insists they’ll dirty their pretty dresses and then where will they be? They nod solemnly and promptly ignore her.
“Why don’t you come join us, luv?” Brigid calls, seeing my long face.
I shake my head. “No, thank you. I’m not good company just now.”
Mrs. Nightwing glances at me, brow slightly furrowed, and my skin itches. I can’t stay here. I decide to take refuge in Fee’s tent. I’m surprised to see her sitting there, all alone. Her lips tremble.
“Fee?” I say.
She wipes her tears with unforgiving hands. “Well, I’ve done it now,” she says with a laugh that’s too hard. “I’ve charmed them, all right.”
“What do you mean?”
She holds up a letter. “It’s from Mother. Lady Markham has agreed to sponsor me—if I will marry her Horace.”
“She can’t do that.”
“She can,” Felicity says, wiping away more tears. “She means to mold me into the proper wife; it will be a feather in her cap if she does. She’s told Father that it might be a way for them to find favor in society again. And of course, there’s the money.”
“But it’s your inheritance….” I trail off.
“Don’t you see? Once I am married, my inheritance belongs to my husband! There will be no garret in Paris. My future has been decided for me.” She’s as small and lifeless as a porcelain doll.
“I’m sorry,” I say, though it is far too little.
Felicity takes both my hands in hers. My bones ache from her grip. “Gemma, you see how it is. They’ve planned our entire lives, from what we shall wear to whom we shall marry and where we shall live. It’s one lump of sugar in your tea whether you like it or not and you’d best smile even if you’re dying deep inside. We’re like pretty horses, and just as on horses, they mean to put blinders on us so we can’t look left or right but only straight ahead where they would lead.” Felicity puts her forehead to mine, holds my hands between hers in a prayer. “Please, please, please, Gemma, let’s not die inside before we have to.”
“What can I do?”
“Promise me we might hold on to this magic a bit longer, until I can secure my future—just until our debut,” she pleads.
“That is weeks away yet,” I answer. “And I must make amends with the forest folk. We should make the alliance.”
“Gemma, this is the rest of my life,” she begs, her tears turning to anger.
Two giggling girls streak past the tent in a blur of ribbon and lace. They twirl furiously in their princess gowns, picking up speed, laughing madly. It’s no matter that the dresses are only a night’s borrowed finery. They believe, and the belief changes everything.
I put my palms to Felicity’s in promise. “I’ll try.”
I sit on my bed trying to make sense of everything, but I can’t, and May first will soon be here. As a distraction, I tidy up my few possessions, arranging them neatly in my cupboard: the ivory elephant all the way from India, my mother’s diary, Kartik’s red bandana, Simon’s false-bottom box. I should toss that out. I open the secret chamber, and it’s as empty as I feel inside. A place to keep all your secrets, he told me. It will take a box larger than this for my secrets. I leave it on Ann’s bed as a gift and resume my straightening. I stack my books in one corner. Gloves and handkerchiefs. Wilhelmina Wyatt’s slate, mute as its owner. What to do with that? Useless. And heavy. That thick wooden base weighing it down…Suddenly, I realize how stupid I’ve been.
The illustration in the book—it told me where to look all along. The Hidden Object. Wilhelmina Wyatt was a magician’s assistant, with a knowledge of sleight of hand. If she’d wanted to hide something…
I feel around the edges of the slate until my fingernail finds a small latch in the wood. I press it down, and the board loosens. When I slide it out of the way, there’s the leather roll I’ve seen in my visions. My fingers shake as I slip the ties loose and peel back the ends.
And there inside is a slim dagger with a jeweled hilt.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
May 1
THE SUN HAS TAKEN ITS BOW, AND DUSK DESCENDS. THE air is warm; birds give a last concert before sleep. All in all, it is the perfect night for Spence’s masked ball, but I shall not rest easy until the night passes.
Lanterns have been set out on the lawn and far down the road to light the way. A long black line of carriages snakes toward us and around the drive. Our families arrive. Servants help Marie Antoinette and Sir Walter Raleigh, Napoleon and Queen Elizabeth from their coaches. All sorts of colorful characters drift over the lawn. With their masked faces, they lend the festivities a fantastical air. Music fills the ballroom. It floats from the open windows and into the woods. Girls streak by in layers of lace and tulle. I’m enjoying none of it.
I’d hoped Kartik would surprise me tonight. But there has been no signal, so I take my lantern to the front lawn to wait for my own family to arrive. I see Father first. He is a raja with a jeweled turban. Grandmama, who lives in terror of enjoying herself, has worn one of her gowns, but she has added a Harlequin mask on a stick. Tom wears a jester’s hat, which is far more appropriate than he knows.
