Masked by Moonlight (17 page)

M
atthew banged on the Grace House door until someone let him in. He demanded to see Reverend Bauers and, no, he didn’t care about the hour.

Bauers eased himself down into one of the chairs after letting Matthew into his study. “I’d offer you some coffee—” he yawned “—but you don’t look as if you’d care to wait that long.” He ran his hands down his face and squinted at Matthew. “What is it, son?”

“I love her. She needs to know everything. I see that now.”

The reverend’s smile was warm despite his chiding tone. “Could you not have come to this life-altering conclusion at a more decent hour?”

Matthew simply sighed.

“Of course not. Such things seem always to hit us in the middle of the night. And you, we know, are at your best by moonlight. I have gotten far less sleep since meeting you, my friend. And I didn’t get much sleep before.”

“You were right. It is as much as lying to her. She deserves the truth, and she deserves to know how I feel about her, no matter where it leads.” Matthew shook his head. “I sound like an idiot. Talking in valentines. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Love and faith in a single fortnight? It’s a wonder you’re still standing. A little high-minded speech can only be expected.” The clergyman settled back in his chair. “How did you come to realize this? No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want the details—there’s enough of it on your face. I wish love and our Lord kept more sensible hours.” He yawned again, but grinned all the same. “You’re going to tell her.”

“At the ball.”

Bauers cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t think of someplace more private?”

“Don’t you see? It will be private. I’ll be hiding among a sea of Bandits. It won’t have to be a rushed meeting in the middle of the night. I can be both men at once.”

“May I remind you that you
always
have been both men at once? It is only
you
who’ve chosen to hide one side or the other.” He gave Matthew a long stare. “She shares your feelings?”

Now, here was the sticky wicket. Matthew got up from the chair and paced the room. “She cares for the Bandit. I know that much.”

“Matthew,” Bauers replied, “do not do this only because you think it will gain you Georgia. Do it because it is the truth, and because you know she deserves as much. Do not think to trick the lady’s heart.” He rested his hands on the arms of the chair. “She may be angered by your deception. Have you thought of that? You told me yourself she asked the Bandit to reveal himself, and you denied her. If she does not care for you the way you think she does, she may use the truth to hurt you.”

Matthew paced the floor for a moment, hands stuffed in his pockets, considering all the possible outcomes. He stopped and turned. “It comes down to one question, doesn’t it, Bauers?”

“And what is that?”

“Is she worth everything?”

Matthew could not remember being more unsettled for a social occasion. Sensing his nerves, Thompson paid extra attention to his attire. Some of that, of course, may have been the personal pride of finally getting the opportunity to show off the Bandit’s costume. He fussed and fidgeted until Matthew could barely endure the attention.

As he left for the ball, Matthew had the distinct impression that he had best return with a list of compliments on his attire. And whether or not he had the best Bandit costume, he would tell Thompson that had been the case. It could not be considered lying, for how could it not be the best Bandit costume, since it was the genuine thing?

He had the head-spinning, contradictory sensation of being a public secret. The room would be filled with men pretending to be the Bandit. He actually
was,
and yet no one would know. No one but him knew that the gray shirt had been patched in one sleeve thanks to a scrape from the chicken crates. Casual observers would miss the nick in his broad black hat made by Trivolatti’s meat hook. And no one, not even Thompson, knew about the odd but dear little Bible tucked under the shirt over his heart.

The absurdity of the whole evening struck Matthew as he walked out of the Palace Hotel in plain sight, dressed as the Bandit right down to the whip and a pocketful of white ribbons.

And was promptly greeted by two more Bandits.

There was no doubt this would be one of the more extraordinary evenings of his life.

Knowing Stuart as he did, Matthew thought he was prepared for the extravagance that would be the Waterhouse mansion. Despite his wildest imaginings on the subject, he found he had vastly underestimated Stuart’s gift for excess. It was rather hard to find the monstrous house under all the flowers and ribbons. White bunting, festooned with billows of silver-gray fabric, strung itself around the fence like cake frosting. Where the fabric paused, cascades of flowers erupted.

Every conceivable combination of the Bandit’s black trousers, dark gray shirt, black hat and gray mask wandered the grounds. The efforts at mock weaponry made Matthew chuckle; some men sported riding crops instead of bullwhips, and more than a few, rusty swords that looked as if they’d been recently wrenched off living room walls. Matthew could never describe this experience to anyone who hadn’t been there.

But he couldn’t merely stand and gawk; there was work to be done. He had a list of people to find and engage in conversation. A few carefully placed questions, to tongues loosened with frivolity, could provide all kinds of useful information. Matthew knew that under the right circumstances, men could be induced to boast of their crimes rather than cover them. Tonight, he guessed, plied with both drink and disguise, men might leak legions as to what was truly going on on San Francisco’s docks.

Even so, tonight was really only about one conversation: with Georgia.

What would come of it, he couldn’t begin to say. Would they have weeks together, then feel both of their hearts break as he lugged himself back to England? Would he uncover calamities at Covington Enterprises that would keep him here for years? Was there a way he could simply decide to stay? Tonight would certainly be easier if he had answers to these questions, but there were no answers to be had.

If any set of circumstances could drive a man to prayer, it’d be these,
Matthew thought, remembering the hour he’d spent pouring his heart and his anxieties to God earlier today.
Father, guide me. This is all so new. I’m so far from home, from who I was. I’m trusting You have a plan in place.

Matthew kept up a steady stream of prayer as he wandered from room to room, from Bandit to Bandit, working his way through his list of sources. He had failed to find Georgia after a good half an hour of mingling. Nor, he realized, had he seen Stuart.

Five interviews and three frighteningly enthusiastic Bandits later, he saw her. He had expected his heart to skip when he saw her. He had not expected the whole world to grind to a stop. She did not see him at first—proof of God’s grace, he decided—for it took him long moments to recover his composure.

She wore white. A simple, exquisitely cut gown of the most iridescent, liquid white he had ever seen. It stood out among the riot of gown colors and black-gray Bandit costumes. Her hair was done up with a shower of tiny yellow flowers. She wore gloves of the palest yellow, matching the ribbon trim of her dress. Around one wrist, tied in a simple bow, was a long white ribbon. It danced and fluttered as she gestured, and Matthew felt its movement beneath his skin. If there was any question that he found her the most beautiful woman God had ever created, it was put to rest now. His admiration, his affection went far deeper than her charm or grace. It was the knowledge that inside this tiny, frail-looking creature beat a heart of courage. A soul of endurance, a warrior who wielded any weapon she could against the sins of her city. A woman so busy looking to the needs of others that she could not even see her own strength.

I would change that,
he thought.
I would help her see all that she is. Remind her of all the strengths she has. I would love her, even if it cannot be forever.

And then, as she turned and caught his eye, he added,
God help me if it cannot be forever.

S
he would know him.

She wasn’t sure how, but the Bandit would come and she would know it was him. The knowledge steadied her steps as she descended the grand stairway into the crowd of Bandits and other revelers.
He is here and I will find him.

Stuart made a grandiose speech, but she didn’t hear a word of it. She was scanning the room, looking at the men, wondering which one had the deep, smooth voice from her terrace. Looking at the hands, wondering which ones held the whip and the sword.

She danced with many of them, thinking that would provide the opportunity for him to reveal his identity. It proved a tiresome task—for she grew impatient with each dance, as it took only moments for her to decide this man could not be her Bandit.

Her Bandit.
She’d come to think of him that way, even though it was unwise to do so. Sister Charlotte’s words had pounded in her head all day—how she should look to the men in her real world and not dismiss them for a man of her imagination. It made perfect sense. It was sage advice. Georgia’s heart simply refused to comply.
Once I see him,
she thought,
once I know who he is, perhaps I can settle my heart on someone else.

She knew that for the lie it was.

There was a moment, though, where her heart skipped. She walked into the front hallway with Mrs. Oakman and caught sight of a tall man. “My dear Miss Waterhouse,” he said, as his blue-black eyes danced from behind the oddly fashioned gray mask he wore. She knew at once from his accent that it was Matthew Covington. “You are the most beautiful woman in the room tonight.” He took her hand and kissed it, just as he had on her birthday, and the same spark danced up her arm.

She had hoped he would come. He had dressed as the Bandit, too, which charmed her, for she wasn’t sure he would. He had made the best he could as a visitor, and he had crafted a slightly tattered but very authentic-looking costume. His trousers had so many odd pockets they looked almost military, and one sleeve sported a patch. The whip coiled at his waist certainly looked far more dangerous than any of the ones carried by other “Bandits”—heaven knows where he had been forced to shop to have ended up with one so large and fierce. Other Bandits looked dashing and pirate-like. Covington looked hard-edged and, well, a bit ragged. He was the only Bandit with both whip and sword. She could not deny that the overall effect was rather eye-catching. He was somehow all the more handsome for his rough-hewn attire. Truly, if any man could come close to what she felt the Bandit ought to be, it was Matthew. Given time, the two of them could have had something.

But England would call him home soon, and so it was wise to ignore the tug she felt in her heart when he took off his hat and bowed deeply, saying, “You look stunning.”

She smiled. “I see you have not quite yet fetched back your reserve.”

“Tonight,” he said as he gestured around the ornate hall, “seems to be a night for excess rather than reserve.”

“I do not believe there is a white ribbon left in San Francisco,” she mused.

“I’ve a few in my pocket, but I am saving them for later.” He offered no further explanation when she raised her eyebrow at the comment. The orchestra started up a waltz. “I recall you are especially fond of waltzes. May I have this dance?”

“Yes.” It delighted her that he remembered. “I would like that very much.”

He danced well, sweeping her around the crowded floor with a fluid ease. His gaze blotted every detail out of the room until it felt as if the two of them were alone together. Which in some ways was true, for few could tell one of her Bandit partners from another for any given dance. It was a delightfully public sort of privacy.

“Bauers will be busting his buttons. You’ve surely raised enormous funds for Grace House.”

Did he pull her half an inch closer as they rounded that turn, or did she just imagine it? “I am sorry he missed it. He’d have enjoyed it, don’t you think?”

“I’m certain.” Matthew continued to stare at her, hard and deliberate, as if memorizing her features. “Is it a hectic evening for you?” he inquired, and Georgia had the odd sense that it was not the question he’d intended to ask at all.

“Not as much as one would think. Stuart knows how to get things done. The decorations, I’m afraid, are all his. I was able to wrest away some control of the other parts of the evening. I must say it took him a bit to adjust to my telling him what I wanted. You can imagine it usually goes the other way around.”

Matthew grinned. “So, are you enjoying your ball?”

“It is a most extraordinary evening,” she said, finding every other description too complex.

“Miss Waterhouse—”

“Please!” She interrupted on an impulse, realizing she and Matthew might never have such an occasion again. “Call me Georgia. Just for tonight.”

His eyes did something she could not name, something that lit up the air between them. He let his face come near to her shoulder as he pulled her into a sweeping turn. “Georgia,” he said softly, and the tone of his voice nearly made her miss a step. “Georgia, I would—”

“Peach! We’ve got to make an announcement of how much money has been raised. Come.” Stuart snatched her efficiently from the dance floor before Matthew could say a word in protest. She was beginning to despise her brother’s gift for interruption.

“Thank you all for your generosity. The funds you’ve donated will help so many families and improve so many lives. Tonight, you are all heroes.”

Georgia stepped down off the grand staircase and accepted the congratulations of several friends. How satisfying it was to have finally redirected one of Stuart’s schemes to a higher purpose. To have asserted herself at last. Months ago, she would have quietly but miserably endured the ball as Stuart’s misguided idea of a gift. Now, by standing up for what she valued, she had managed to turn affairs to something that truly pleased her. And, she hoped, pleased God.

God had granted to her the one thing she most valued in her hero: courage. The most important kind—the courage to stand up for what was right. God had honored that courage, for Georgia knew that it was the first and only time many of these people had ever given money to Grace House. San Francisco was already famous for its vice. Perhaps now it could also be known for the virtue of philanthropy. She was, after all, a legendary—and now courageous—optimist.

One of the house staff approached her. “This came for you,” the girl said, handing her a message. Georgia’s heart stopped when she saw the rolled paper was tied with a simple strip of white cloth. She ducked into an alcove and pulled at the ribbon with shaking hands.

It was him. It had to be him. Only he and Stuart knew she was George Towers. He had come, just as she knew he would. She rushed to the library to check the clock. Ten-fifty. Ten minutes! It would seem like ten years.

Foolishly, she checked her hair in the glass of the clock face. If she went through the back hallway and the kitchen, she could slip through the dining room to the terrace without having to see anyone. Georgia was quite sure she could not converse with a single soul at present. She was feeling light-headed as it was. It was best to just go now and wait on the terrace—praying the entire time, she decided.

Oh, Father, thank You. I’ll accept whatever comes of this, but thank You!

Matthew was pacing the terrace like a schoolboy. He’d planned this a dozen times in his head, and suddenly every plan seemed like rubbish. Words tangled on his tongue. He surely must be sweating despite the cool of the evening. Some part of him had hoped she would realize the truth earlier, when she saw him dressed as the Bandit. He’d harbored a silly fantasy that some sort of surreal spark would fly between them and she would
know.
But she didn’t.

I saw this going so much differently,
he thought to himself. Now who had written a ridiculous Bandit episode? He had envisioned them sweeping around the ballroom with their grand secret, just as they had done about the Bible he hid in his pocket. They’d share a secret the whole world wanted to know, just the two of them.

He was about to give in and tell her when Stuart had plucked her from his grasp. Matthew had stood there, fuming on the dance floor for a few minutes, his great plan foiled. It was then that he came up with the idea of the note.

Surely now she’d come. This was a private part of the house, and no one from the party would be here. She’d know why the Bandit wanted to meet her. And then he could tell her. Ten long minutes from now.
Help me, Lord,
he pleaded as he pulled off his hat.
I’m twisted up enough as it is.

He still had his hat in his hand when the French doors opened up and she came out onto the terrace. He gulped. So much for ten minutes.

She looked even more surprised than he. “Matthew!” she blurted, sounding much less pleased than he would have liked. “I…I found I needed some air.” She put her hand behind her back. “I’ll be fine in a moment. Please, don’t let me keep you. Surely you ought to go and enjoy yourself at the party.”

She was urging him to leave. Matthew’s resolve wobbled a bit when he realized she truly had no idea he was the Bandit. It stung, but not enough to stop him. “Georgia…”

“I’ll be back inside momentarily,” she said, trying to look around casually. She was a charmingly poor liar. “It’s a grand evening. I wouldn’t want you to miss any of it.”

The music of another waltz flooded out through the open doors. Matthew walked around her, noting how Georgia shifted her hand out of his view as he passed. She who kept many secrets was unskilled at deceit.

Instead of leaving, as he suspected she thought he was doing, he gently shut the doors. “Were you expecting someone?”

Her face twisted up just a bit, and the sight of it tied his heart in knots. “Well, I…” She was trying to lie, but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

He laid his hat on the terrace table and pulled his mask off with the other hand. Somehow, as he removed it, every shred of doubt left him. He was, in every sense of the word, unmasking himself to her. “
I
was,” he said softly.

She blinked, shaking her head just a bit. Her expression was so stunned, so transparent that he could watch her think. Watch the thoughts collide in her head. “No, really, I…”

He altered his voice to the one he had used as the Bandit. “I was expecting George.”