The Magnificent Masquerade (21 page)

"No need to apologize," the doctor
said, softening. "I don't know why the sight of blood causes such
consternation among the uninitiated. But you must learn to observe bleeding
with dispassion, my dear, if you intend-" He stopped himself in
midsentence and blushed.

"Yes, Hugh ... I forgot," Alicia
mumbled, blushing also. Kitty took no notice of this interesting little
exchange.

"May I not stay?" she begged the
doctor.

Mr. Naismith growled and looked skyward.
"You heard the doctor, did you not? Wait outside!"

"It's all right, Emily," the
white-faced Emily said, trying to give Kitty an encouraging smile. "I'll
be all right."

Kitty and Miss Alicia waited anxiously in the
corridor outside Emily's door, both of them too absorbed in their own thoughts
to engage in conversation. Kitty's mind was racing about, trying to decide how
this latest calamity might affect Emily's and her own precarious position in
this household. She felt strongly that Emily's accident was the last straw in a
series of mishaps that had been occurring during the last few days. Everything
about this adventure was turning out to be more complicated and troublesome
than she'd expected. In the first place, her position as abigail, which seemed
a great lark when she'd begun, was now a daily drudgery. She didn't mind
attending Emily (who was not at all a demanding mistress), but her other tasks
were becoming a heavy burden. She was expected to keep her mistress's room
heated, which meant she had to carry buckets of coal up from the cellar and
empty the ashes three or four times daily; she had to help the upstairs maids
make up beds and dust the bedrooms; she had to wash and iron undergarments,
petticoats, sashes, camisoles, or nightclothes almost every day; she had to
take her turn serving at the servants' meals; and if Mr. Naismith or Mrs.
Prowne suspected that she had an unoccupied moment, they found some task-like
cleaning the wax from the candleholders, polishing the lavaboes in all the
bedrooms, shining the crystal of the dining-room chandelier, or sweeping the
hall carpets to keep her busy. By bedtime she was so tired that she fell
instantly asleep despite the lumpiness of her mattress and the narrowness of
her dreadful cot.

In the second place, the burn on her hand had
blistered, the blisters had burst, and the palm was now red and raw. Instead of
healing, it was becoming more and more painful each day. She had complained
about it at first, asking Mrs. Prowne to excuse her from carrying the coal
scuttle, but the housekeeper had accused her of trying to malinger, so she
never mentioned it again. Miss Leacock had dusted her palm with a medicinal
powder and wrapped it with gauze after the blisters had burst, but since then
Kitty had been reluctant to draw further attention to it. It seemed to her that
the housemaids on the staff were all strong and hardy girls who, when they did
become ill, bore their ailments with admirable stoicism. She wanted to be as
strong as they. To be forever crying about a little burn would be behaving like
the spoiled child she used to be. Therefore she padded the palm of her hand
with a folded handkerchief, bound it with another, and merely gritted her teeth
when the pain became severe.

The third troublesome situation had to do with
Emily's request that they cut this visit short. It was a very sensible re
quest, and in the light of the other problems, Kitty realized perfectly well
that it was just what they ought to do. Emily was obviously becoming enamored
of the odious Toby Wishart, and the best thing for her would be to leave.
Emily's suggestion had other advantages as well: if they left at once, Kitty would
no longer have to slave away belowstairs, Emily could get over her infatuation,
and Lord Edgerton would never have to learn what a dreadful liar and trickster
she, Kitty Jessup, really was.

But there was the rub. Gregory Wishart, Lord
Edgerton. If Kitty took Emily's advice and went away, she would never see him
again. Nothing she'd suffered in the past several days pained her as much as
that thought. She didn't know when or how it had happened, but she'd somehow
lost her head over Lord Edgerton. He'd become someone special to her. She hated
to admit it, but the most appropriate word for her condition was obsessed. She
thought about him constantly. It seemed to her no man existed who was more
handsome, witty, kind, wise, or, in a word, wonderful. She found herself
hoping, during every waking moment (and even in her dreaming ones), that he
would cross her path. She peeped down every corridor, looked constantly over
her shoulder, found any possible excuse to go upstairs to the family's part of
the house, just to catch a glimpse of him. Any day which failed to grant her
that glimpse was an overwhelming disappointment.

This obsession with the master of the estate in
which she was living as a servant was the fourth, and probably the greatest, of
all the troubles that had beset her until Emily's fall. She knew that an
obsession such as she had for Lord Edgerton was bound to lead to pain for her.
In the long run, no good could come of it. When his lordship discovered who she
really was, he'd be as angered and disgusted with her as her parents would. As
an upstart little servant girl she held a bit of charm for him, but as the
spoiled, troublemaking daughter of Lord Birkinshaw she could not expect him to
feel anything but revulsion.

After all, his only interest in Kitty Jessup
was as a possible wife for his brother. She was certainly not the sort he would
ever consider for himself. Miss Leacock had described the sort of lady he
wanted; that tall, willowy, elegant creature with the beautiful hands was
nothing at all like Kitty Jessup. As long as her identity remained undetected,
she could hope to see him, speak to him, find ways to tease and irritate and
flirt with him. But once the truth came out, it would be all over. That was why
her every instinct cried out to remain. Her time for happiness was so short.
There was less than a week left to her. These few remaining days were all there
would ever be of her association with his lordship.

But now there was this last straw-the accident
that had happened to Emily. And it was all Kitty's fault. She had to face the
facts: everything was going wrong. If, miraculously, Emily proved not to be
badly hurt, Kitty promised herself that she would take Emily's advice and
arrange to leave Edgerton Park as soon as possible. Besides being the most
sensible solution to the coil she'd created, it was the best way to make amends
for the suffering she'd caused her friend. "Don't let any bones be
broken," she prayed silently.

Though the doctor soon emerged to inform them
that indeed no bones were actually broken, his news did not encourage Kitty to
hope for the prospect of a quick departure. "The young lady," he
informed the two females waiting in the corridor, "has sustained a
dislocated left shoulder, a severely bruised hip, several scrapes and
contusions on her left arm and leg, and a laceration on her head which, though
it bled profusely, is really only a minor injury. There are no signs of
concussion. I've reset and bound the shoulder, cleaned and medicated the open
wounds, and administered a laudanum sedative. Only time will do the rest. She's
to spend a few days in bed, and her arm will have to be carried in a sling for
several weeks." He took his hat from Alicia's hand and clapped it on his
head. "For the rest of today," he ordered, turning to the abigail,
"Miss Jessup must be left to sleep undisturbed. You are to watch over her
all night, understand, to administer laudanum if she wakes and is in extreme
discomfort. She is to have no visitors and is not to go downstairs or even
leave her room. As for tomorrow, I shall call in the morning and we shall
see."

In his abrupt fashion, he turned and made for
the stairs, Alicia following hurriedly in his wake. Mr. Naismith, however, hung
back and took Kitty's arm, preventing her from going in to Emily's room.
"Hold on there, miss," he said in a hissing whisper. "I'm not at
all certain you're up to sickroom duty. Per'aps I should ask Miss Leacock to
take your place."

"No, please, Mr. Naismith," she
answered earnestly, "I promise to do my very best for her, really I shall.
I'll sit beside her all night. I won't let myself drowse for an instant! She'll
be much more pleased to see my face when she wakes than a stranger's, I swear
she will. Please?"

Mr. Naismith made eyes at the ceiling and
relented. "Very well," he said, wagging a finger under her nose,
"but if you go wrong in any way, it's the finish of you."

Kitty entered the bedchamber, closed the door
quietly, and went over to the bed. Except for the bandage around her forehead
and the remaining pallor of her cheeks, Emily looked quite normal. Her
breathing seemed regular and untroubled, and her expression was not that of a
person in great pain. Kitty, relieved, closed the drapes to blot out the light
of the setting sun, lit a small candle to give herself enough light in which to
observe the slumberer, drew up an armchair near the bedside, and sat down for
the night's vigil.

She'd just settled into the chair when there
was a knock at the door. She opened it just a crack. Toby stood outside, tap
ping a foot impatiently. He was disheveled from the top of his unruly hair to
the bottom of his mud-spattered boots, and his face was tight with distress.
"Let me in!" he ordered. "Sorry, sir, but the doctor said-"

"The devil take the doctor!" he
growled, pushing the door back and forcing his way past her with such angry
strength that she fell back against the wall. He strode across the room, but
when he caught sight of the dimly lit figure lying unmoving on the bed, he
stopped short.

Kitty, regaining her balance, ran up to him.
"Please, sir, don't wake her. The doctor told me most
particularly..."

But Toby wasn't listening. He was no longer
aware that she was there. He was staring down at Emily's white face with a look
of horror in his own. "Oh, my poor, sweet little kitten," he muttered
in a choked voice. To Kitty's utter astonishment, he sank down on his knees
beside the bed and lowered his head until it rested on the bed beside Emily's
bandaged shoulder. "What've I done?" he asked himself thickly. "My
love, what've I done?"

Kitty's throat tightened with unshed tears. She
was both profoundly shocked and profoundly moved to see the rakish, wild,
sportive Toby Wishart brought so low. But after watching him for a moment, she
felt uncomfortably like an intruder. On tiptoe, she backed out of the room and
carefully, silently, closed the door on the private scene within.

Chapter Twenty

If Kitty expected Toby to recover his composure
and emerge from the bedchamber within a short time, she soon discovered her
mistake. The grandfather clock at the end of the corridor chimed the half hour
and then the hour, but the door remained closed. Another half hour passed.
Kitty became bored with pacing up and down the corridor. She began to wonder if
she should return to the bedside and eject the young man bodily. After all, the
doctor had said no visitors. And what would Mr. Naismith say if he came by and
discovered her out here in the hallway instead of inside at the injured girl's
bedside where she was supposed to be?

The question had barely crossed her mind when
she heard a step behind her down the hall. If it was the butler, she was
doomed. She couldn't duck into the bedroom now, for she'd surely already been
seen. She wheeled about and peered down the hall. But the figure approaching was
not Mr. Naismith. It was Lord Edgerton himself.

He came down the hallway with a quick,
purposeful stride. "Ah, Emily," he greeted her, his brow knit
worriedly, "good evening. I've just come in from the dairy and only just heard
about the accident. Is Miss Jessup badly hurt?"

"I don't think so, my lord," Kitty
replied, dropping a little curtsey. "A dislocated shoulder and several
bruises. Contusions, Dr. Randolph calls them. But no bones broken, he
said."

"That, at least, is a relief. I'm very
sorry this has happened. May I go in and see Miss Jessup for myself?"

"I don't think so, my lord. Dr. Randolph
said she was to have no visitors today."

"Oh, I see." The amused look that was
missing from his eyes on his arrival now returned. "Is that why you're
pacing about out here? To keep visitors away? Shouldn't you be in side, keeping
an eye on your mistress?"

"Yes, my lord, but, you see, your brother
is with her now."

"Oh, he is, is he?" Lord Edgerton's
eyebrows rose in mock displeasure. "How is it that he's permitted to visit
and I am not?"

Kitty lowered her eyes, the very epitome of
modest virtue. "I don't usually care to tell tales, my lord, but in
self-defense I

must confess that he forced his way in."

"Did he indeed? The blasted rudesby!"

She flicked him an enigmatic glance. "Yes,
I've heard him described so."

"Oh? Have you?" He studied her with
an intent interest. "Is that what you think of him?"

"It is not my place to make judgments of
my betters," she responded primly. "In all fairness, however, I must
admit that he seemed very upset by Miss Jessup's accident."

"I should hope so. And he's still in
there, I take it. How long has he kept you out here?"

"Over an hour. But he isn't keeping me
here. It was my own decision to leave the room. It didn't seem proper for me to
.. . er . . to be an observer of his distress."

"Well, you may not wish to be an observer
of it, but I do," his lordship declared, and he turned and opened the
door.

The sight that met his eyes caused him to stop
in his tracks on the threshold. Toby was still on his knees beside the bed, but
he'd laid his head upon Emily's pillow and was gazing at her face with a look
that could only be called adoring. Lit by the single candle on the nightstand,
their faces surrounded by shadow, the scene looked exactly like a painting by a
master of French Romanticism, a dark canvas with only the faces shining in an
amber glow. If the scene had been a painting, it would have been given a title
of mythic significance, like "Eros et Psyche" or "La Nuit de
l'Adoration."