A Lily Among Thorns(78)
A sporting gentleman in his middle thirties, Lord Pursleigh was planning to dress as Richelieu in a combination of armor and red robes. Unfortunately, the possibilities for hiding a deck of cards in such an ensemble were nearly infinite, which boded ill for their plan to arrest Pursleigh quickly and quietly before the masquerade even started, so that the marquis wouldn’t be sure enough of the connection to change his methods before Brendan could be taken the following morning.
But young Ravi Bhattacharya, whom Serena had hired the day after Elijah’s return, proved to have nearly as many useful acquaintances as Serena. His particular friend Harry Spratt worked for the Pursleighs, and for the sum of five pounds had somehow contrived not only to sprain the ankle of Lord Pursleigh’s trusted valet, but also to be appointed to dress Pursleigh in his place.
As soon as young Mr. Spratt identified the location of the infamous pack of cards, he was to alert Ravi, who would come straight to Elijah, who would ask Lord Pursleigh to step into the kitchens to confer about a problem. And when Lord Pursleigh stepped into the kitchen, he would be quietly arrested where only Serena’s people could see it. She had assigned to the masquerade the staff she was most sure of, either as patriots or as personally loyal to her, and told a few of them what to expect.
That, at any rate, was the plan. In the meantime Solomon and Elijah, along with a few kitchen maids and kitchen boys and an undercook, were working in the kitchen under Sacreval’s direction. Like Sacreval and the rest of the staff, the Hathaways were wearing the livery of the Arms—unrelieved white and black except for a pocket handkerchief lavishly embroidered with the Ravenshaw coat of arms in scarlet, black, and gold. Solomon thought he recognized the work as Serena’s.
They had already heated wine for the syllabub, set pheasants to roasting, and put two small hams in the oven to warm. Ravi was bound to appear at any moment and the marquis showed no signs of going upstairs. Elijah was beginning to fidget, but at last Sacreval seized a carton full of fruit and flowers. “I am going en haut to make sure the buffet table is presentable. Jack, Emma, take those tubs and follow me.” The pair hastened to obey, and Solomon heard Elijah breathe a sigh of relief.
But a quarter of an hour later, there was still no Ravi. Half an hour more passed. The first guests trickled in, and he had still not arrived. At five to nine he burst in, ran up to Elijah, and said urgently, “May I speak to you, sir?”
“Of course,” Elijah said, leaving Solomon to finish the syllabub.
Elijah had not returned when Sacreval came in and said, “Is the syllabub ready?”
“Yes, monseigneur.”
“Merveilleux. Where is that brother of yours? I need the pair of you to flank the buffet table. Twins at a masquerade, it is too perfect. We must show you off, non?”
“He stepped out. He’ll be back any moment.”
Just then, Elijah walked in, biting his lip.
“You,” the marquis said imperiously. “Put on your mask, help your brother with that punch bowl there, and follow me.”
“Yes, monseigneur,” Elijah said ironically, and a dull flush crept across the marquis’s face.
Carrying an enormous punch bowl up a flight of stairs was even harder than Solomon had expected. He was glad the punch itself was carried separately, by professionals.
At quarter past nine the marquis was still at the buffet table, so Solomon could not ask Elijah what had happened. Then Lord Pursleigh appeared.
“Fancy a game of piquet, old fellow?” he asked Sacreval jovially. “I heard an anecdote just the other day that I think you’ll find hilarious.” He winked.
Something had gone very wrong.
Solomon glanced at Elijah, who did not seem surprised, only intent on listening without appearing to. The marquis nodded, looking disgusted by his confederate’s lack of subtlety, but before he could follow Pursleigh to one of the little tables set up along the side of the room, his arm was seized by the viscount’s dainty wife.
“You can have him in a little while, Pursleigh,” she said with a faint pout. “But first he must play with me. Last time he was here he trounced me thoroughly, and I want to show him I’ve grown up a bit since then.”
“I hope not too much,” Sacreval said. “You made such a charming girl.”
Solomon gagged inwardly. Lady Pursleigh dimpled, and her husband frowned. “Jenny, wouldn’t you rather dance with some of these besotted fellows?” He gestured at the cluster of costumed young men his wife had abandoned. “I let you muck up my house with laurel wreaths and broken scepters in honor of our victory over Napoleon,”—he said “victory” with an unpleasant sneer— “now you let me enjoy a game of piquet.”