Authors: Kate Kingsbury
His expression didn’t falter, but she could almost feel his disappointment. “I understand, of course, madam. Forgive me for the indiscretion.” He started to turn away. “Now, if you will excuse me …”
“Wait.” Unable to bear the thought of losing such a wonderful opportunity, she added quickly before she could change her mind, “It would not take me long to change my attire, if you would care to wait for me? By the time the entertainment is over and the dancing ready to begin, I could be, at the very least, presentable.”
His rare smile spread across his face, and the look in his eyes made her feel quite breathless. “I will be happy to wait for as long as necessary, madam. Please, take your time.”
“Very well. Give me an hour. I may be able to perform a miracle by then.” She crossed the room with a spring in her step that made her feel like a young girl again.
“I will wait for you at the foot of the stairs,” Baxter said as she reached the door, “and escort you to the ballroom.”
She turned to look at him. “That would be very nice. Thank you, Baxter.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine, madam.”
She grinned at him in sheer delight, then hurried off to change her clothes, her mind already tussling with the problem of what she should wear. This was a very special invitation, and she was going to do her very best to rise to the occasion.
It had been years since she had dressed for a man, and she had forgotten the nervous anticipation of such an event. She could only hope she still knew how to dance. Just the mere thought of dancing in Baxter’s arms could make her miss a step.
With a renewed energy she thought had gone forever, she hurried up the stairs to her suite.
The grand entrance into the ballroom had been carefully planned by Phoebe. The dancers were to be in position behind the drawn curtains of the stage. The pipers would enter the ballroom from the opposite end, through the main doors.
They would march between the tables, playing their soul-stirring music, and continue up the side steps to the stage, where they would line up behind the dancers.
Having come to the end of their opening presentation, they would then launch into the musical accompaniment for the Highland Fling, followed by the Sword Dance. The dancers would then leave the stage for the pipers to perform their closing presentation, which would be played as they left the ballroom through the main doors again.
With that scenario firmly fixed in mind, Phoebe ushered her dancers onto the platform. They seemed unnaturally quiet after the high spirits in the dressing room, and she fervently hoped they hadn’t been attacked by stage fright.
She remembered, only too well, the time a missing snake had suddenly materialized onstage, sending not only the dancers into an hysterical frenzy, but most of the female members of the audience as well.
Deciding that the best policy was a positive attitude, Phoebe gave one last round of commands to her fidgety performers, then retreated to her position in front of the stage. From there she hoped to control the proceedings with meaningful frowns or smiles, depending on the circumstances.
By now the high-pitched whine had developed into a recognizable tune, rapidly approaching the ballroom. Phoebe reached the floor just in time to see the pipers burst through the main doors, their colorful kilts swinging about their knees as they marched purposefully forward in time with the toe-tapping music.
A burst of applause greeted their dramatic entrance, and Phoebe felt a swelling of pride. She was responsible for this heart-stopping sight of nine pipers in glorious costume, striding out in unison to a rousing chorus of “Ye Banks and Braes of Bonny Doon.”
Tears actually misted her eyes as she watched the proud tilt of their heads. This had to be her best effort yet. She would never forget the sight of these brave, talented men, marching purposefully down the room between the crowded tables as if into battle.
The music, deafening now, made her feel like marching with them. She could only hope that the sound of it would inspire her girls to give at least a passable performance.
The pipers reached the stage and began to march up the steps as the curtains drew back to more enthusiastic applause. Phoebe let out her breath when she saw the girls poised in position, one knee tastefully bent with the toe
pointing down. Each dancer rested one hand on the hip, while the other was raised gracefully above the head.
Actually Dora’s fingers still looked like a bunch of sausages, and Marion was visibly wobbling, but all in all, the troupe looked quite presentable.
Phoebe began to relax.
The pipers halted in their positions at the rear of the stage, and the music died away. A hush descended over the audience for a moment or two, then the whine began again. Phoebe felt her toe start to tap as the opening chords of the Highland Fling soared into the room.
Everything seemed to be going very well. The girls actually missed each other as they exchanged places, and although Isabelle seemed to have forgotten her steps and was attempting to follow the others without much success, the dancers managed to look as if they were executing a reasonable pattern.
The music died once more, and the dancers took their bows, faces flushed with success as polite applause greeted them. Marion and Isabelle rather spoilt the illusion when they dashed inelegantly offstage to collect the swords, but they returned promptly enough to lay out the gleaming blades in the cross formation on the floor.
Phoebe, still wishing that the girls had been brave enough to attempt the dance in stockinged feet, nevertheless prepared to enjoy herself. At last it would seem as if all her patience and hard work was about to pay off in a near-perfect performance. At least as perfect as the girls could manage.
Once more the wail of the pipes signaled the opening of the dance. Even the audience seemed to be enjoying the proceedings, for once. The dancers assumed their pose and began the hop-and-skip step around the sword blades.
It happened so fast that Phoebe could not recall the actual course of events afterward. Just when it seemed that the girls would get through the entire dance without mishap, Marion stumbled.
Even then, it might not have been quite so disastrous, had she not bumped into Dora, who blundered into the swords. Her toe slammed into the one closest to the edge of the stage.
While Phoebe watched in cold dread, the long blade spun on its handle. With astonishing alacrity, it sped off the stage, heading straight for the center table.
Every one of the dancers froze in various positions, their glazed eyes on the glittering weapon. Phoebe’s heart threatened to stop as she watched the light flash off the deadly blade.
The horrified dowager seated in the direct path of the sword appeared too shocked to move, while the rest of her companions sat helplessly by. For one terrible moment it seemed as if the sword would bury itself in the heart of the terrified woman. Phoebe closed her eyes and prayed. She heard a scream, several screams in fact, which appeared for the most part to be coming from the stage. When she opened her eyes again, a portly gentleman in evening dress stood over the unfortunate lady.
At first Phoebe thought the woman had expired. Then she heard the dowager moan, while her worried escort cooled her white face with a large pink fan, delicately edged in black lace, Phoebe noticed.
The sword, its blade still trembling with the impact, protruded from the chair back, where it must have narrowly missed the dowager’s ear.
The pipers, experienced artistes as they were, continued to play with grim determination. Seemingly oblivious to the drama taking place in front of them, to a man they kept their eyes fixed grimly on a spot above everyone’s head.
The dancers, on the other hand, had totally fallen apart. They clung to each other, whispering and nudging, heedless of the efforts of the pipers to keep everything going.
Phoebe caught the shocked eyes of Marion, who stood with her hand pressed over her mouth. With a sharp gesture of her hand, Phoebe indicated that the dancers should
continue. Marion simply gazed back with a blank look on her face.
The dowager was now moaning loudly, enough to distract the entire audience. Even so, the noise did not quite cover Dora’s strident voice declaring, “Never mind the bleeding duchess. I could have cut off me blinking toes.”
Muttering under her breath, Phoebe advanced on the stage. Standing as close to the edge as she could get, she glared up at Marion. “Get moving,” she ordered loudly. “Finish the dance, for heaven’s sake.”
As if in a trance, Marion shuffled into position. One by one, with a great deal of reluctance, the rest of the dancers followed suit.
Just as they began to hop about like aging rabbits, the pipers played a final rousing chorus and, with a tremendous flourish, brought the music to an end. The girls halted and stood looking at each other as if not sure what was expected of them.
“Take a bow,” Phoebe howled.
Dora obediently dropped a deep curtsey. No one else seemed to pay attention, until she tugged on the skirt of the girl next to her. Sporadic and watery applause rewarded the dazed dancers as they executed their ragged bows. With flushed faces they rushed offstage.
As the pipers left the ballroom, Phoebe couldn’t help overhearing several comments from the guests seated at the tables, all of them expressing relief that the entertainment was mercifully over.
One day, she vowed as she made her way backstage, she would stage such a triumph that people all over England would talk about it for decades.
Right now, however, she had a few tart words to impart to some particularly inept young ladies. Bracing her shoulders, she headed for the dressing room.
Gertie had looked at the clock so many times that evening, she was beginning to see double. The entertainment part of
the evening usually took about an hour. It was past that now, and time she was making her way to the conservatory, where she hoped Ross McBride would keep his promise to meet her.
It was too bad, Gertie thought as she vigorously polished a crystal water goblet, that she couldn’t have dolled herself up for him. Her everyday black dress made her look like a witch. Mrs. Chubb would bleeding pounce on her the moment she saw her toffed up in her best Sunday frock. She could just hear the questions now.
Gertie put the last of the glasses away in the cupboard and took one final glance at the clock. If she didn’t go soon, he wouldn’t wait for her. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
She waited until she was in the hallway before pulling off her cap and tucking it into her apron pocket. Her hand shook so badly she almost dropped the cap. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t agreed to meet Ross McBride. Right then she would have given anything to be back in her blinking room, rocking her babies to sleep.
Actually they’d been asleep already when she left them with Daisy, who seemed happy to be settling down with the twins for a little while.
Gertie glanced at the grandfather clock in the lobby as she passed. She’d promised Daisy to be back within half an hour, so she hoped that Ross didn’t keep her waiting too long. It would take them a few minutes to get to the card rooms.
The upstairs hallway was deserted. Everyone would be in the ballroom, enjoying the dance music. She could hear the violins all the way down the hallway.
A lot different to the sound of the pipes, she thought, as she hurried into the conservatory. She could bleeding hear them as far away as the kitchen. No wonder they sent their soldiers into battle playing the blinking things. It would be enough to scare the bloody wigs off the enemy, that it would.
She reached the conservatory, still without seeing anyone.
The sound of hushed giggles told her that someone was dallying behind the aspidistras. It was a favorite hiding place for courting couples who needed some privacy.
Where she was going was a bleeding lot more private than that, Gertie thought as she peeked into the long, narrow room, her heart thumping.
Ross McBride stood with his back to her, staring out at the darkness beyond the French windows. Her heart did a flip-flop as she stared at his broad shoulders. Gawd, he was a big man. Make bleeding twice of Ian, he would.
Gertie felt shivers chase each other up and down her back. She was a big girl, she assured herself. She knew what she was doing. Putting her hand up to her mouth, she uttered a loud hiss.
He turned around at once and gave her a smile that started her heart racing even more. She held up her hand in warning as he opened his mouth to speak.
Give him his due, she thought, he caught on bleeding fast. He gave a slight nod of his head, then sauntered across the room as if he’d just decided to leave.
Gertie waited out in the hallway until he joined her. “Come on,” she whispered, “we’ll have to be bleeding quick before someone sees us.”
“Where are we going?” Ross whispered back.
“To the card room. I told you.”
Gertie paused outside the drawing room, her head cocked to one side to listen for possible voices. Hearing none, she crept past the door and headed for the foyer, with Ross McBride on her heels.
The grandfather clock struck the hour, frightening her half out of her wits as she crossed the foyer. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the piper still following her, a slightly puzzled expression on his face.
Giving him an encouraging smile, she opened the door and stepped outside into the frosty night air. She wasn’t sure if it was the bleeding cold or her frazzled nerves that made her shiver as she waited for Ross McBride to close the door
behind them. Pulling her shawl closer around her shoulders, she headed down the steps.
“Will ye wait up!” Ross said, catching up with her. “I thought you told me the card rooms were in the hotel.”
“They are, but we have to get to them from the kitchen yard.” She looked up at him, her stomach going squishy again when she saw him smiling at her in the dim shadows of the hotel walls. “I couldn’t take you through the bloody kitchen to get there, now could I? We have to go the long way around.”
She reached the bottom of the steps and led the way around the side of the hotel to the kitchen yard. Light streamed across the courtyard from the windows, and for a moment Gertie felt as if she was shut out from the security the kitchen offered.
What was she bleeding doing, she wondered, creeping around in the bloody dark with a strange man? What with her being a bleeding mother and all.
Having a bit of fun
, a devilish voice in her head answered. That’s what she was doing. There was no blooming harm in that.
That was the voice she liked to hear. The voice that got her into trouble more often than not, her common sense warned her. It was too late now, anyhow. She could hardly back out without looking like a right proper idiot.
“Come on,” she said quietly to Ross McBride. “Follow me.”
Mincing slowly across the yard, she kept her eyes glued to the kitchen door. She could hear Ross’s soft footsteps following her. It gave her a shivery feeling to know he was that close behind her.
She heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the door to the cellar. So far, so bleeding good. Ross paused beside her and put his mouth close to her ear. Her entire body got the quivers when he whispered, “I hope you won’t get into trouble for this.”
The excitement of it all made her feel reckless. She shook
her head at him, deciding that it would be worth a scolding from Mrs. Chubb. She’d never felt like this before, and she liked it.
The door uttered a loud creak when she opened it, and she froze. Nothing moved in the yard except the wind rustling the dry branches of the trees. The kitchen door remained firmly closed.
Opening the door further, Gertie beckoned to Ross with her finger and stepped through the doorway into the pitch-black darkness. Carefully closing the door first, she felt along the wall until her fingers touched the oil lamp that hung by a nail on the wall.