Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (8 page)

Letta whistled as she entered the
kitchen.

Brigitta waved at the young lady’s
maid. She had just stuffed a sweet into her mouth and her jaws were incapable
of speech. Finished chewing, she wiped her hands on a towel and said, “Good
morning.”

Letta shook her head and stared.

“This must seem rather odd. I
mean, me, out of my room, in the kitchen, no less. But I had to come and get
something to eat. Besides, my room is so cold that my tongue was freezing to
the roof of my mouth. Listen to me prattle on. Do forgive me but lack of sleep
makes me addled.”

Letta nodded.

“Apparently, the hour isn’t as
early as I presumed.”

“The rooster has crowed, my lady.”

“When does that infernal creature
not crow?”

Letta smiled.

Brigitta changed the subject. In
between bites, she said, “Letta, I’m afraid my gowns are in disrepair. I would
like to order new ones immediately.”

Letta opened her mouth to reply
when voices and footsteps approached. Brigitta placed her finger across her
lips and slipped into a dark corner.

Two scullery maids filtered into
the room, their arms full of vegetables from the kitchen garden. Excitedly,
they chatted. “Have you heard the news? There’s to be a masked ball.”

“A masked ball at Stockport?”

“Aye, a masked ball.” The last
was said with a breathy sigh as the maid twirled, landing against pots and pans
and creating a cacophony of sound.

They paused briefly when they
noticed Letta, but that didn’t persist long. They washed and chopped the
vegetables as they continued chatting.

“The ball is to occur in a
fortnight, which is hardly enough time to gather supplies. Why, we’ll have to
coax the poor hens now or we won’t have enough eggs.”

“Clarice, do you see nothing but
the work? What of the magic, the adventure?”

“How can you be so elated? You’re
a mite happier than seems expected.”

“Clarice, don’t you see? Fine
liveried footmen from other estates will be in attendance. We might meet the
man of our dreams and be whisked away to another place, maybe even a palace,
one with fairies.”

Knives thumped against a cutting
board and vegetables splashed into a large cook pot.

“Maude, your notion of fancy will
send you into the arms of a beast. Besides, fancy servants and new estates will
only bring servitude in a different shire.”

Maude laughed and Clarice rifled
through the larder. Extra pots thumped on the cast iron stove. Heat in the room
increased from comfortable to unbearable. Brigitta looked to escape. Letta must
have noticed her plight, for she pulled the two scullery maids aside and
distracted them while Brigitta slid out of hiding.

Upstairs, she lifted her chin and
passed the gawking footmen. Inside her room she plotted. Letta arrived shortly
thereafter and, taking one look around the room, she gasped in veritable
horror.

“My lady!”

“Oh, Letta. Come.”

“But my lady! Your gowns! Your
bed! Your mattress! They are all ruined.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Now that the
subject has been thoroughly discussed, I need your help.”

“My help, my lady?”

“Do stop repeating me, Letta, or
this will take all day to communicate.”

Letta nodded.

“Good. Did I understand correctly
that there is to be a masked ball at Stockport?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“No doubt the baron will continue
to sequester me in my suite. Therefore I need to devise a scheme to leave my
room.”

“You will need a gown also, my
lady.”

“Very astute, Letta. That is
where I need your assistance.”

“Me?”

“Yes. As there is no seamstress
among the staff capable of handling this project, I will need you to travel to
the village and engage a seamstress to create a gown for me.”

“But—”

“I want the gown to be of palest
blue silk, almost so pale it appears white. I will also need gloves and dancing
slippers.”

“But, my lady—”

“And a ribbon to weave through my
hair.”

“But, my lady—”

“Yes, what is it?”

“How will I pay for these things?”

“You will let the workers know my
true identity. That I’m Brigitta Blackburn, that I hail from their midst, and
that I have the power to help them, and if they assist me without comment I
shall not forget them. And if that doesn’t work, just open an account in my
name.”

Letta widened her eyes, her
expression one of grave civility. Brigitta understood her concerns but saw no
other way. If only she could gather a private audience with her husband, all
would be well. The masked ball was the chance she’d been waiting for.

****

Jarvis arrived in the library.
His gangly form reminded Luke of a billowing reed and he smiled.

The valet didn’t speak until Luke
nodded. When he did, he seemed uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and
wringing his hands. “Your lordship, I have word.”

“Good.”

“Roland is worried. So many
people believe Chadwick is the baron and that the baron is married. He is
unsure how to proceed with your request.”

“Anything else?”

Jarvis rubbed his temple. “And
Brigitta plans to attend.”

Luke clapped his hands. “Excellent.”

“Will there be anything else,
your lordship?”

“I will require a disguise.”

“A disguise?”

“Yes, and make sure Roland
believes I will be unable to attend.”

“My lord?”

“When we draw nigh to the event,
you will tell him I feel ill, but I wish for the ball to go ahead as planned.”

“As you wish.” Jarvis bowed and
turned toward the door.

“Jarvis, before you leave, I need
you to deliver a letter to the village. I’ve taken the liberty of writing the
address down on this slip of paper. Make sure you don’t lose it.”

Jarvis bowed and left the room.
Discreetly, Luke followed. Jarvis rounded a corner and smacked into Roland. After
the necessary apologizes, Jarvis said, “Roland, sir, the baron asked me to give
you a message.”

“Yes?”

“I fear he has taken ill.”

Roland’s eyes widened and he
gasped.

Luke smacked his forehead. Had
Jarvis not listened to a word he’d said?

The valet continued, “There is
nothing to be concerned about. It is naught more than the changing weather from
London to Stockport. Takes a bit of getting used to.”

“What of the masked ball?”

“He insists the ball go forward
as planned.”

“This is good news.” Roland paced
and tapped his finger to his chin.

“I thought you should know.”

“Thank you.”

Jarvis bowed and hurried away.
Roland murmured, “Chadwick will be pleased. Now he can attend without fear of
discovery.”

Luke’s felicity couldn’t have
been greater. Roland’s continued duplicity proved true, which meant his own
plan should work perfectly.

Two weeks passed in a flurry of
activity. Bakers and butchers from local towns offered their talents.
Seamstresses and tailors busily filled orders. Every noble, wealthy merchant,
and important landowner within a day’s ride agreed to attend the festivities.

“Jarvis, I’m officially
surprised.”

“Your lordship?”

“I can’t believe all these
acceptance letters.”

“They will be easier to believe
this afternoon.”

“I suppose you are correct. When
the lane is filled with barouches, sulkies, carriages, and other means of
transport, it will be impossible to deny.”

As if drawn into existence by
Jarvis’ words, the first hoofbeats clopped along the lane. Luke lunged from his
desk and hurried to the window. The open-air barouche shuddered to a halt,
horses stamping, and footmen rushed to help those within.

Ladies filed from the barouche
and twittered their fans. Gentlemen lifted masks and covered their expressions.

“Your lordship, are you sure this
is what you want? Perhaps it would be better if you present yourself formally
instead of pretending to be ill. Chadwick and you are not so different in
expression and build. It has often been commented amongst the staff and the
villagers that perhaps you two are actually twins, so I believe most people
wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Except for my
wife
,” said
Luke, with a grin lifting the corners of his lips.

“Yes, your lordship, your wife
might notice.”

“Besides, if I took your advice,
what would I do with Chadwick? Would I confess his duplicity before the guests?
No, I believe I should stick to my original plan.”

“Pardon, my lord, but I don’t
understand how you benefit by allowing Chadwick to continue the ruse?”

Luke pondered the question. How
did he benefit? The only advantage to him was time. Time to review his
feelings, time to pursue an investigation, time to acquire the appropriate
paper work.

An image of Brigitta swirled
through his mind and he fought a sigh. “Jarvis, some things are not easy to
explain.”

“Perhaps not, your lordship.”

“Keep your eyes open at the ball.
I expect a full report.”

Jarvis bowed. “As you wish, my
lord.”

The valet left. Luke dressed and
stood before the mirror. The tailed, double-breasted coat covered a white linen
shirt. His breeches were buckled neatly atop his silk stockings, and his
dancing shoes gleamed. He tied the mask over his eyes and placed a hat over his
short hair.

Studying the effect, he was happy
with what he saw. Even the staff who knew him would have a hard time
distinguishing him. Whistling under his breath, he lifted his cane and walked
toward the ballroom.

****

“You can’t possibly expect me to
miss the biggest event Stockport has ever had!” exclaimed Chadwick, pacing his
suite of rooms.

Horses and carriages converged on
the estate. The line of vehicles wound to the village and escorted people to
the door only to leave and return with more guests.

“Sir, I urge you to listen to me.
Your brother is sequestered in his room with illness. If you show up and
pretend to be him, then he will learn of our deception.”

“And what do I care if he knows?
I can make up some story that the people mislabeled me and I didn’t wish to
embarrass them by correcting their misconception.”

“Sir, you must heed my warnings.
Perhaps you should retire to the village for a nice game of Faro.”

“Encouraging me to gamble, are
you, Roland? That is completely unlike you. Are you really so worried about
Luke?” Roland didn’t answer and Chadwick continued, “You shouldn’t be, you know.
Luke will accept whatever I tell him.”

“That is what I fear,” whispered
Roland.

Chadwick laughed. “You fear I
will place the blame with you. Well, fear not. I have no intention of giving
you the credit for my hard work. The plan was mine and the actions were mine. I
made the money for the estate, of course I spent it as well, but that is of
little consequence. Now, I want you to find me the best outfit I have. Have one
of the maids secure me a mask. And after you do that, then I want you to escort
Brigitta to the hall. Perhaps I will be able to rile her and we can rectify our
situation yet.”

Roland bowed and left.

****

The material of the evening gown
was thin, almost translucent. The short sleeves and low neckline bared more
flesh than she was used to. The high waist squeezed her middle and she drew in
a sharp breath. Long elbow-length gloves complemented the ensemble. Letta swept
Brigitta’s hair upward and arranged it so several ringlets lay against her
face.

“My lady, you’re beautiful.”

Heat rushed to Brigitta’s cheeks,
and she said, “Thank you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,
what is your plan?”

Normal etiquette dictated that
she chastise the maid, but excitement welled inside her, and since she had no
one else to share with, she said, “My plan is to find the baron and speak with
him. I’m sure if he will but give me a chance to explain my erratic behavior,
then we can begin to enjoy our marriage.”

Letta twisted her head and peered
at the door. Whispered words flowed through the wooden panels.

“What do you think they are
saying, my lady?”

“I believe they are devising a
way to keep me in my room, but no matter. I will escape and enter the ball if I
have to descend from my window in full view of all the carriages.”

“My lady!”

Brigitta shrugged and pride swelled
in her breast that she was able to shock the maid. She gnawed at her lip as the
door opened and Roland walked inside.

“Letta, leave.”

Letta curtsied in her direction
and scurried from the room. Brigitta stood tall and lifted her chin with a
regal air.

“Roland, so nice of you to arrive
in time to escort me to the ball.”

“My lady, I do apologize for
having kept you waiting.” He held his arm out to her and she gasped. “My lady?”

She gulped and accepted the
offering. With her chin thrust upward, she allowed herself to be led past the
footmen and into the broad hallway. Music filtered from the rooms below and she
found herself desirous of swaying.

They reached the top stair and
she peered over the crowd. Her heart fluttered erratically in her chest and she
squeezed Roland’s arm.

“Do not worry, my lady.”

“Roland, you surprise me. I didn’t
expect you to allow me to attend.”

“The ball was ordered by the
baron, therefore his wife must be in attendance.”

She nodded and gnawed at her lip.
“Where is my husband? I do not see him.”

“The baron will arrive in due
time.”

****

Luke blinked rapidly. To have the
luxury of staring at Brigitta as she stood above him caused his gut to twist
and his palms to sweat. The costume, of almost transparent silk, clung to her
feminine curves. Candlelight hit the creation and the material sparkled.

Slowly his gaze roved from her
slippered feet to her striking visage. Her expression of wonder and delight
morphed into one of confusion.

She released Roland’s arm and
leaned to his ear with what appeared to be an angry whisper. He held his hands
out in surrender and once again grabbed her arm. Together they descended the
curved staircase. When they reached the lower landing, Roland released her and
she was absorbed by the curious crowd.

Luke remained on the fringes,
awaiting his opportunity. The mask hid his appearance and Roland sauntered by
without even a questioning glance.

Brigitta mingled. A smile tilted
her lips and her laughter filled the foyer. With the appearance of felicity,
she glided with the crowd toward the ballroom. Hushed whispers echoed as she
passed. Stopping just outside the ballroom entrance, she allowed visitors to
introduce themselves.

Ladies sauntered forward, fans
fluttering rapidly. One curtsied and introduced herself. “I’m Lady Vonda. It is
so nice to finally make your acquaintance.”

Brigitta bowed her head at the
bold Lady Vonda before walking on. Luke assimilated himself into different
small groups and listened in on the gossip.

“I find her pleasant enough.”

“As do I. But you wouldn’t know
it from the tours. Trust me, I have firsthand knowledge.”

“Oh, he does indeed. Every time
he visits Stockport he makes a point to tour the estate and, well, you tell
them, dear.”

“Of course I will. Each time the
behavior is the same. Why Baroness Stockport is positively atrocious to her
husband. He can barely correct her before she is flying off in a terrible fit
of temper and he is forced to send her to her rooms.”

“And this happens every time?”
asked an elderly gentleman as he sipped from his glass.

“Indeed, it does. That is one
reason for my return visits. I thought perhaps that her behavior was a onetime
incident, but I can safely say that is not the case. The young baroness is
tried and true, that is, with her bad humor, at least.”

The group laughed and Luke moved
away to join another group, encouraging the same speech.

“Do you believe they allowed
Baroness Stockport to come to the ball alone? Why, I would be horribly afraid
she would embarrass the entire area.”

“I heard the baron hadn’t a
choice. She is his wife, after all.”

“Well, I heard he never planned
the ball at all, but it was the baroness’ idea. They say she is locked in a
dungeon most days and this was their concession. Why, I heard they even deny
her wood!”

“Preposterous! The townsfolk
would never put up with the baroness being mistreated. I would say this
conjecture is highly unlikely and downright false. We would be better served to
find a partner and swing about the dance floor than to stand here and spread
this rubbish.”

Luke nodded his head in agreement
with the last speaker and the disgruntled group disbanded. After a few more
stops amongst the crowd, he was convinced the consensus was in. Brigitta was
not seen in a favorable light.

The poor woman had been labeled
as a spoilt child who had to be constantly corrected by a loving and faithful
husband. If the people knew the truth, how would they feel? Being duped would
no doubt affect their pleasant attitudes.

Musicians struck a lively tune
and men stepped forward to claim their previously promised dances. Luke had
been careful. He had only committed to dance with one woman, and then only
once. To dance with the same woman more than once could signify an interest he
did not have.

The dance began and Lady Ruth
joined him. Less than graceful, Lady Ruth sucked her lower lip in
concentration. Her head constantly peered downward, which was against ballroom
etiquette. Frequent apologies were offered as she tromped on his feet during
their lead down the middle and subsequent move into the second place slot.

He nodded in acceptance and
prayed the dance would end soon.