This Other Eden (29 page)

He
hurried to catch up, seeing countless similar scenes, the frivolity and
lasciviousness of a society weary of war and the threat of war. Ahead, he saw a
hangman stop Billy and attempt to drop a noose over the jaunty beret. Thomas
watched as Billy struggled loose, a portion of his boyish enthusiasm diminished
as he scowled at the black-hooded fellow.

"Close
call, that!" Thomas shouted, enjoying it all in spite of himself.

Glancing
ahead, he saw that Pitch had found his ladies, seated at a dark table near the
far side of the hall, a little spot of gloom in the midst of all the swirl and
color. He saw Pitch whisper something to the haymaid, who sat, still holding
her toy rake at a defensive angle.

Watching
the exchange, Thomas saw that the haymaid seemed very agitated. Pitch was doing
his best to soothe her, while in a chair pressed to the far wall sat the
serving girl, her feet primly on the floor, her small head rigid.

"Not
very promising," Thomas whispered to Billy while they were still a
distance away. "Do you know who they are?"

But
if Billy heard, he didn't answer, still keeping a wary eye on the hangman, who
seemed to be stalking him. He leaned close to Thomas. "We must keep
everything in hand, mustn't we, Thomas?"

Seeing
the young man's distress, Thomas laughed and put his arm around him, feeling
real affection. "A good smuggler knows how to avoid the noose, Billy. Stay
close beside me."

They
stood before the table. Pitch's nervousness increasing as he made the false
introductions. "Artist and Smuggler," he announced, "meet
Haymaid and Serving Girl."

Thomas
bowed low with a swirl of his cape, his eyes rapidly assessing the haymaid,
then moving on to the serving girl. The latter looked very young, a girl
almost, in her low-necked black frock with white petticoats and lilacs, her
head a crown of fair hair hanging loose down her back. The most striking
feature of her masked face was the unusual size of her prominent eyes, which
formed an odd but pleasing contrast to her small mouth. She was a beauty, of
that he was certain, in spite of the mask.

"Sirs,"
she murmured, ducking her head slightly, a becoming gesture which apparently
caught Billy's eye as well, for he quickly arranged a chair close beside her.

Thomas
took a chair on the far side of the table next to Pitch. Let Billy have her.
Clearly she was young, more suitable for Billy. Since the haymaid seemed to
belong to Pitch, Thomas decided to go it alone. Seated and resigned, he took
himself out of the feeble conversation and became merely a witness, amused at
Pitch's pitiful efforts to put his small party of strangers at ease. The
haymaid, with her slightly anemic-looking face and curiously reddened eyes, was
doing nothing to help, and Billy and the serving girl had not exchanged a word
beyond the formal introduction.

Thomas
looked longingly back up the aisle to where the highwayman was increasing his
assault on the milkmaid, holding her a prisoner in his lap, her screams
punctuated by laughter, everyone's but her own, her bodice almost completely
undone, the black-gloved hand still probing. A new minuet was forming on the
floor, groups of eight taking their place, right feet poised, arms raised, the
orchestra in the gallery above tuning their instruments.

In
an attempt to break the mysterious gloom which seemed to have settled on their
table alone, Thomas leaned forward and proposed, "Billy, the serving girl
wants to dance. Shall you take her to the floor or shall I?"

As
though jarred to his senses, Billy got to his feet, bowed low, and extended his
hand. But the girl demurred, shook her head, and pushed firmly back into her
chair.

Somewhat
embarrassed, Billy glared at Thomas, shrugged his shoulders, and sat down
again.

Thomas
stood. "What was it you said, Angus, about the spirit of the
occasion?" As the man looked up rather blankly, Thomas strode around the
table to where the girl sat and announced, "It's been my experience with
serving girls that you don't invite them, you order them." He took the
girl's hand and lifted her bodily out of the chair. A slight though genuine cry
escaped the lips of the hajmiaid. Even Pitch offered a mild protestation, but
in the heat of the moment Thomas ignored them both. Sensing no real objection
from the girl, he led her toward the promenade, where the music was just
starting. Near the center of the hall, he found an empty place, arranged the
girl opposite him, stopped to catch his breath then, heels together, he bent
his knees.

As
the dance commenced, he was relieved to see that she wasn't very good at it,
for neither was he. He was aware of an almost continuous blush behind her mask
as they met, separated, bowed, and dipped. She was graceful though, her slight
figure swaying pleasantly to the stately music, the lilacs on her hem beginning
to wilt, their delicate odor pleasing as they came together. For some reason
she did not strike him as being the pampered daughter of nobility. The other
ladies about him clearly were at ease, even in their disguises. This one
wasn't.

Still,
he was enjoying himself, clearly enjoying the grace of the shy creature
opposite him. Perhaps she wasn't such a child after all, for in turns, when
their hands met high in the air, he observed a woman's body. "Are you
enjoying yourself?" he asked in a moment of closeness.

"I
am," she replied, "although I apologize for not being very
good."

"You're
excellent," he praised her, cursing the next step, which took her away
from him. When they drew near again, he tried to put her more at ease. "We
can't really be held responsible, you know," he said with a smile. "A
smuggler and a serving girl are not generally skilled in the art of
minuet."

She
returned his smile, though she seemed to be taking it all so seriously. At the
next turn, feeling sorry for her, he asked, "Would you rather sit
down?"

But
her answer was quick. "Oh, no."

The
composure with which she met the situation set his mind at rest and they
concluded the dance, Thomas completely forgetting the foolishness of his
bent-knee position. Whoever she was, she was most charming, her hair whirling
about her as she turned, her face, what he could see of it, flushing becomingly
each time their hands touched. How sweetly she smiled out at him now and then,
and how gracefully she did the formal figures with her tiny feet.

As
they prepared for the final figure, he approached her in a playful mood and
instead of merely taking her hand, quickly slipped his arm around her waist and
pulled her to him in a rapid turn. Clearly caught off guard, she pressed her
head against his chest, and for a moment depended entirely, deliciously, upon
his support

The
music ended. He held her a second longer, then quickly released her. She
stepped back and looked at him with serious but inquiring eyes.

"I
apologize," he murmured, "but it's quite in character for a
smuggler."

"And
equally in character for a serving girl," she replied, completely in
possession of herself.

Delighted,
Thomas grew bolder. "Then shall we stay for another?"

A
strong voice came from behind them. "This one is mine." As William
Pitch stepped in front of Thomas, taking his place, he smiled apologetically, "I'm
sorry. Smuggler. Billy has the haymaid, and I'm afraid you're left with the
empty table." As the music started again, he added over his shoulder,
"There's refreshment there now. Help yourself."

Turning
away, Thomas noticed that the serving girl smiled as pleasantly at Pitch as
she'd smiled at him. A pretty coquette, obviously only recently come of age.
Apparently she would respond to anything masculine. Thomas continued to watch
her. The girl was flirting with both of them, her eyes behind the mask
apologizing to Thomas and appealing to Pitch.

Thomas
smiled and shook his head. What a vixen! Disillusioned and warm, he returned to
the table and a tall decanter of wine, three glasses half-filled, two empty. He
filled a glass and sat in the shadows, watching the merriment around him. He
spied Billy and the haymaid, executing the complex steps as though both were
eager for the ordeal to be over. As Thomas dabbed at his forehead with his
handkerchief, his eyes moved back to the couple at the center of the room. The
young girl was laughing openly with William Pitch, a gift she apparently had
not seen fit to bestow on Thomas.

As
he sat, he remembered his main purpose for coming. What chance did he have of
meeting prospective contacts here? There wasn't a masked face in the room with
a serious thought behind it. As the frenzy of laughter rose around him, he
caught sight of the highwayman with the milkmaid, her bodice completely undone,
revealing bare breasts, struggling with new seriousness to remove herself from
the arms that held her tight. They passed directly in front of Thomas, the maid
whimpering, her hands trying pitifully to cover herself from the eyes of those
who crowded about her. The scene had taken an ugly turn. Thomas considered
going to the lady's aid, then changed his mind. Perhaps it was only his
imagination.

The
little parade proceeded on to the end of the hall and disappeared out into the
gardens, the lady begging to be released, her pleas falling on deaf ears.

Several
minutes later the air was rent with a terrible piercing scream. The dancers
stopped, all heads turned. Instead of focusing on the assault which was taking
place in the gardens, Thomas caught himself staring at the young serving girl,
who had halted in her step. She gazed as though terrified in the direction of
the continuous scream. He saw Pitch try to comfort her, then suddenly she
pulled away and bolted, running in the opposite direction the full length of
the ballroom and disappearing finally through the central arch which led to the
street.

Thomas
was on his feet, his attention divided between the disappearance of the girl
and the apparent paralysis of William Pitch, who seemed disinclined to follow
after her.

As
several gentlemen started out into the garden, William Pitch among them, the
music sputtered forward and resumed. But Thomas' interest lay in the other
direction and he pushed his way through the gaping faces who were struggling
for a firsthand glimpse of the unfortunate lady in distress in the darkness of
the gardens.

Strange,
Thomas thought, that Pitch had let her go, though thank God he had, for Thomas
longed to find her and provide her with the protection she so obviously needed.
Behind him he heard new shouts of outrage as the tragedy apparently was being
played out in full. Even the footmen in the waiting carriages pressed close
through the central arch, forgetting their places and clogging the ballroom.

Outside
on the pavement, welcoming the cool night air, Thomas stopped and looked
eagerly in both directions. Not a sign of her. He stopped a passing coachman
and demanded, "A lady, a young lady, have you seen her? She ran out
only—"

"No,
Guv'ner, not me," the man protested, pulling away as though he might be
held responsible. "What's goin' on in there? Sounds like—"

But
Thomas rushed on, directly out into the street, his eyes searching each shadow.
Nowhere in sight. She'd simply disappeared. Across the way he saw an old woman
peddling violets. He crossed quickly, shouting at her while he was still a
distance away. "Have you seen a young lady, she—"

Coming
upon her sharply and looking down into two white ovals of sightless eyes, he
stopped. She'd seen nothing, neither that evening nor any other evening. As the
smell of soiled linen wafted up about him, her bony fingers extended a bouquet
of violets. Her moist sunken eyes expressed a deep but tranquil sorrow.
"Posies, sir," she croaked. "Only a ha'penny."

Quickly
he fished through his pockets and gave her a coin, then backed away, his eyes
searching the empty street again. At the far end of Oxford Road he saw a slight
figure climb into a cab. The horse started forward and the carriage disappeared
around the comer. Gone.

He
stared at the emptiness. It might have been she, but how imprudent of her to
travel the London streets alone at night. He considered following after her,
but dismissed that foolish idea. He wasn't even certain that it was she, and if
it was, let her go. In spite of her youth, he had the feeling that she could
take care of herself. Standing alone in the middle of the street, he looked
back at the glittering entrance to the Pantheon.