The Moon Master's Ball (3 page)

The girls muttered, “Yes sir,” and Tilly
began to leave with them. But Lord Hollingberry put out a staying
hand. “Not you, Tilly. Come into my study. Come in, come in.”

Tilly looked quickly at the painting she had
nearly knocked down and wondered if Lord Hollingberry somehow knew
she’d been rough with it. Meekly she stepped into his study,
waiting for some kind of rebuke.

“Ah, yes!” he said suddenly. “You’re a
bright girl, Tilly. Very bright. That’s something I’ve always
admired about you.” And he returned to the hall, lifted the
portrait off the wall, and carried it past her into his study. Had
she somehow damaged it?

But he said only, “If you would please close
the door, my dear . . .”

She hurried to obey. He didn’t seem upset.
Perhaps he
wasn’t
planning on scolding her.

When she turned back to the room, Lord
Hollingberry stood gazing down at the painting of his wife. He
suddenly seemed not quite so crooked and bent, not so wrinkled as
before. He glanced at Tilly. “Aminia would have enjoyed your
company, of this I am sure.” Then, to Tilly’s surprise, he slipped
the portrait into a cupboard, shut it away, and turned back,
brushing off his hands.

“I don’t like Mrs. Carlisle. In fact, I
quite despise the woman. But there are greater things taking place
here, Tilly.” His expression was grave.

“I . . .” Tilly was at a loss for words.

The old man continued as though oblivious to
her discomfort. “There are greater things taking place.” He said
this to himself, as though remembering something he had long ago
thought forgotten.

“Would you like me to go, sir?” Tilly inched
towards the door, not understanding exactly why he wanted to speak
to her.

“Do you recall, Tilly, the time you asked if
my wife and I ever had a child?”

She stopped moving and thought carefully.
She seemed to recall an instance when she had asked Lord
Hollingberry this. “Y—yes sir.”

“And what did I tell you?”

She bit her lip. “You told me that you and
your wife lost your child.”

He sighed and looked at her with a faraway
expression. “That wasn’t entirely true. We never had a baby of our
own. I was . . . a godfather of sorts. But what is true is that we
lost him. Are you going this year?”

The question startled Tilly. “Going?” She
played nervously with her feather duster and avoided his eyes.

“Yes, are you going?”

She didn’t need to ask him where. He could
only mean one thing. “I had a . . . bad experience when I was a
child. You know I never . . . go.” Tilly felt pressure welling up
inside her.

In her mind’s eye she saw the wispy shadow,
yellow teeth dripping with saliva, and glowing red eyes. All at
once Tilly wanted to scream, to run away from Winslow Manor and
Mrs. Carlisle and Bromley Meadow. But Lord Hollingberry’s earnest
eyes kept her feet planted on the soft rug in his study, and she
realized he was grasping her small hand in his large knobby
one.

“Things are about to change. As I said,
there is something greater at work here. I need you to be here. You
are special, Tilly; I know it. And I’m going to need you to go this
year. For me. And . . . for someone else. Can you do this for me?
For Winslow?”

Tilly wanted to say no, to shake her head
and tell him he wasn’t acting like himself. But she felt her head
nodding up and down in spite of what her heart was telling her to
do, and she heard her voice whisper, “I’ll try.”

“Thank you. Thank you, my dear.”

And then Lord Hollingberry was once more
hunched over and frail, pulling his fob watch from his vest with
shaking hands that had been strong a moment ago.

“Goodness me! Look at the time. You have
work to do, and I’ve kept you too long. Too long.” He opened the
door and ushered her out of the room. “Goodbye! Work hard, dear.”
The old man started to close the door behind her but then quickly
opened it again. “And don’t tell any of the other girls this.” He
tapped the side of his nose as if they were both children sharing a
secret. “We want things to work out properly, you know.”

His eyes began to water, and he dabbed at
them with his kerchief while closing the door, leaving a terribly
bewildered Tilly standing in the corridor, holding her feather
duster limply at her side.

Lord Hollingberry stood a moment before
shuffling over to his desk. He groaned as he sat down in his plush,
paisley chair, but then thought about Tilly and smiled. Sweet girl,
that. Poor dear had no idea what she would have to do in the
upcoming days. Was she ready?

The old man frowned at the question in his
mind.

No matter if she was or wasn’t, he told
himself. It had to happen
now.

Muttering quietly in agreement with himself,
Lord Hollingberry leaned forward and lifted a sheet of thick ivory
paper from his desk. Dabbing the nib of his pen in the inkwell, he
began to write in smooth, long strokes. After folding the paper up,
he stamped the Hollingberry seal on it. His wrinkled hands flipped
the letter over and addressed it to:

The Moon Master.

Tilly remained quiet the rest of the day,
mulling the strange conversation she had shared with Lord
Hollingberry over in her mind and preparing what she would say to
him when he asked her to go.

“No, Lord Hollingberry, I’m afraid I can’t
go . . .” She sighed heavily while sweeping out the mud tracked
into the foyer by the new arrivals. “Oh, that’s no good.” Frowning,
she leaned on her broom, trying to think of another way to phrase
the sentence. “Lord Hollingberry—”

“Tilly!” Ellen rushed into the foyer.
“Tilly, there’s only one room left for us to clean! And we figured
you were the best one to tidy up the parlor.” She grabbed the broom
from Tilly. “I’ll finish this.”

Tilly chuckled at her friend. “
None
of you wanted to brave the dangerous Mrs. Carlisle and her
daughter?” She shook her head. “I can’t believe they’re still in
there. They’ve been sitting in that room all day!” Tilly looked out
the windows framing the front door and saw that the sun was
setting. “Fine. I’ll finish up. You all owe me.”

“Yes, we do!” Ellen replied happily as Tilly
headed off to the parlor.

Approaching the parlor door, Tilly slowed
then stopped, uncertain. Should she knock? Common courtesy dictated
that she should, so only after thumping her knuckles against the
thick wooden door and hearing a soft “Enter” did she walk into the
room.

The parlor’s walls were painted a soft blue
that looked like the sky was just preparing to display its stars. A
long window in the center of the room offered a perfect view of
Bromley Meadow. Two settees graced the room, and three chairs, the
cushions of which had been stitched delicately by Genevieve, the
village’s most renowned seamstress.

The room’s prettiness was darkened, however,
by the two silhouettes lounging in those lovely settees and
chairs.

“Yes?” Mrs. Carlisle turned her head
slightly when Tilly entered; then she smiled. “Ah, Tilly the Tardy!
Come to clean the parlor, have you?” She chortled.

Tilly gritted her teeth. “Yes ma’am. It
won’t take long. I’ve only got to dust.” She entered the room and
began to do just that, hoping some dirt fluffed into Mrs.
Carlisle’s lungs and made her miserable.

“You missed a spot.”

It was Drosselyn who spoke this time. Tilly
didn’t acknowledge that she had said anything.

“I said you’ve missed a spot. Right
there.”

Tilly turned to see Drosselyn pointing
languidly from her seat, her luxuriant hair framing her face like
the dark petals of a flower.

Tilly brushed over that spot vigorously.

“You seem to be a smart girl, Tilly,” Mrs.
Carlisle stated.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Tilly continued to dust,
eager to leave the room and go to Apple Tree Inn with the rest of
the girls.

“There has been much talk of something
exciting happening soon. If you could enlighten us to what this
special occasion is, we would be most eager to hear.”

Tilly clenched her hands and moved to the
other side of the room, turning her back to Mrs. Carlisle. “I can’t
say that I could, ma’am.” She didn’t want to talk about it. Not to
them.

“How disappointing! It seems as though
everyone here knows what’s going to happen except us. Isn’t that
right, daughter of mine?”

“Yes, Mother.” Drosselyn responded in
monotone as though she spoke the words every minute of every
day.

“I’m sure you could tell us
something
,” Mrs. Carlisle continued, fixing her small,
staring eyes upon Tilly.

“Yes ma’am. I could.” Tilly turned around to
face the two reclining ladies. “But it’s not a pretty story and not
something I wish to tell. All I can say is that you’ll know what
this ‘special occasion’ is when you see it. Look for it in Bromley
Meadow.”

Mrs. Carlisle’s face didn’t change. She did,
however, click her teeth together in a thoughtful manner. The sound
repulsed Tilly.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Carlisle said, her head
twitching oddly.

Tilly finished dusting the last table and
left the room in a whirl, her face flushed with anger. She marched
down the back stairs to her room, grabbed her coat and scarf, and
rushed out of the house as quickly as possible.

Those women! Disgusting, detestable, prying,
rude, snobbish—

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

For the second night in a row Rodger
startled Tilly half to death. She spun about, letting out a gasp.
Rodger leaned against the back wall of the manor as though he was
about to fall asleep.

“Scared you good, didn’t I? And I wasn’t
even meaning to!” He laughed and walked towards Tilly, his presence
like a breath of fresh air. “Ellen said you were staying to finish
up, and I thought I’d escort you to the inn, since I’m such a
dashing, protective man.”

“Thank you, Rodger.” Tilly’s voice caught
when she said his name, and his quirky smile suddenly vanished.

“Was today really that bad?” All joviality
left his face, leaving nothing but concern in its place.

She nodded numbly and sniffled when he put
his arm around her.

“You need to be ’round people who love you
tonight. Come on. Let’s get to the inn. What happened?”

Tilly let out an exhausted sigh. “It’s . . .
Everyone wants to know if I’m
going
. And I don’t want to. It
scares me, Rodger! I know that everyone else here loves it, but I
saw something different than the rest of you!”

“You don’t have to go, Tilly. It’s all
right. You can stay home all week when they come, bundled up in
your blankets and drinking hot tea with honey.” He smiled one of
his most infectious smiles and patted her shoulder.

Tilly nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s
been quite a long day.”

“That’s all right. Perhaps we’ll toast some
bread with cheese over Caroline’s fire tonight. And we can have
some fresh cranberry sauce with it as well! Eggs sound good to me,
but I know you’re more for the bread and cheese . . .” He continued
talking as they headed to the inn, lifting her spirits with every
word.

But in spite of Rodger’s assurances, she
huddled beneath his arm, feeling the need of some protection
against the sightless stare of Bromley Meadow looming behind
them.