The ballroom was in a different league. It took up half the first floor and was teeming with people. They stood around in little groups or formed long lines in order to dance. The room was buzzing like a beehive with their voices and laughter, although the beehive comparison wasn’t quite right, because the decibel count must have been as high as the sound of a jumbo jet taking off from Heathrow. After all, there were up to four hundred people here, all shouting at each other, and the twenty-man orchestra in the gallery was trying to rise above their voices. The whole scene was lit by such vast numbers of candles that I automatically looked around for a fire extinguisher.
In fact, after that soirée we’d been to at the Bromptons’ house, this ball was like a nightclub by comparison with one of Aunt Maddy’s tea parties, and I could see why people would call it a glittering occasion.
Our appearance didn’t attract any special attention, particularly as there was coming and going in the ballroom the whole time. All the same, several of the white-wigged guests were staring curiously at us, and Gideon took my arm more firmly. I sensed that I was being inspected from head to foot and felt an urgent wish to look at myself in a mirror, just in case I’d made a mistake and there was a cobweb on my dress after all.
“It’s all fine,” said Gideon. “You look perfect.”
I cleared my throat, embarrassed.
Gideon grinned down at me. “Ready?” he whispered.
“Ready when you are,” I replied automatically. It just slipped out, and for a moment I thought of the fun we’d had before he let me down so treacherously. Although, come to think of it, even then, it hadn’t been as much fun as all that.
A couple of girls began whispering as we passed them. I wasn’t sure if it was because of my dress or because they thought Gideon looked so cool. I stood up as straight as possible. The wig was surprisingly well balanced and followed every movement I made, although its weight must have been like those jugs of water that African women carry on their heads. As we crossed the ballroom, I kept my eyes open for James. After all, his parents were giving the ball. Surely he’d be somewhere here. Gideon, who towered over most of the people in the ballroom, had quickly spotted Count Saint-Germain. He was standing, elegant as ever, on a small balcony, talking to a small man in brightly colored clothes who struck me as vaguely familiar.
Without thinking much of it, I lost myself in daydreams and regretted it a moment later when I remembered how, last time we met, Count Saint-Germain had broken my heart into ten thousand tiny pieces with his gentle voice.
“My dear children, you are wonderfully punctual,” said the count, beckoning us over. He nodded graciously to me (I supposed that was an honor, considering that, as a woman, I had an intelligence quotient reaching about as far as from the balcony door to the nearest candle). Gideon, on the other hand, got a warm embrace. “Well, what do you say, Alcott? Do you see any of my inheritance in this fine young man’s features?”
The man dressed as brightly as a parrot shook his head, smiling. His thin, long face was not just powdered, he had also rubbed red rouge on his cheeks, so that he looked like a clown.
“Ah, how can anyone compare such a youthful face with my old one?” The count gave a wry, self-mocking smile. “The years have wreaked havoc with my features. Sometimes I hardly know myself in the mirror.” He fanned himself with a handkerchief. “May I introduce you? Sir Alfred Alcott, First Secretary of the Lodge at this period.”
“We have already met on my various visits to the Temple,” said Gideon, with a slight bow.
“So you have.” The count laughed.
Now I knew why the parrot looked familiar. He was the man who had welcomed us to the Temple on our first meeting with the count, and he had ordered the coach to drive us to Lord Brompton’s house.
“I’m afraid you have missed the appearance of the duke and duchess,” Alcott said. “Her Grace’s hairstyle was greatly admired. I fear the wigmakers of London will hardly be able to move for customers tomorrow.”
“A truly beautiful woman, the duchess! What a shame she feels that she has to meddle with politics and men’s affairs in general. Alcott, could you find these new arrivals something to drink?” As so often, the count spoke in a soft, gentle voice, but in spite of the noise surrounding us, he could be heard very distinctly. I shivered at the sound, and definitely not just because of the cold night air blowing in through the open doorway of the balcony.
“Of course.” The First Secretary’s eagerness to oblige reminded me of Mr. Marley. “White wine? I will be back in a moment.”
Just my luck. No punch this time.
The count waited for Alcott to disappear into the ballroom, then put his hand in his coat pocket and brought out a sealed letter, which he handed to Gideon. “This is for your Grand Master. It contains details concerning our next meeting.”
Gideon pocketed the letter and handed the count another sealed envelope in return. “And this is a full report on the events of the last few days. You’ll be glad to hear that the blood of Elaine Burghley and Lady Tilney has been read into the chronograph.”
I jumped in surprise. Lady Tilney? How had he fixed that? Last time we met, it hadn’t seemed at all likely that she’d give her blood voluntarily. I cast Gideon a suspicious sidelong glance. Surely he hadn’t taken blood from her by force? I imagined her desperately defending herself by pelting him with crochet pigs.
The count clapped him on the shoulder. “Then now we have only to track down Sapphire and Black Tourmaline.” He was leaning on his cane, but there was nothing frail about his posture. Indeed, he looked very powerful. “Ah, if he only knew how close we are to changing the world!” He jerked his head in the direction of the ballroom, where I saw Lord Alastair of the Florentine Alliance on the other side of the room, loaded with any amount of jewelry, just like last time I saw him. The large gems in his many rings sparkled right across the ballroom. So did his eyes, icy and full of hatred, even at this distance. A menacing, black-clad figure towered up behind him, but this time I didn’t make the mistake of thinking he was a guest at the ball. The black figure was a ghost who went around everywhere with Lord Alastair, just as little Robert went around with Dr. White. When the ghost saw me, his mouth moved, and I was glad it was so noisy that I couldn’t hear the nasty remarks he was making. It was bad enough to have him haunting my dreams.
“There he stands, dreaming of running us through with his sword,” said the count, sounding almost pleased about it. “In fact he’s thought of nothing else for days. He has even managed to smuggle his sword into this ballroom.” He stroked his chin. “Which is why he is neither dancing nor sitting down, merely standing around stiffly, like a tin soldier, waiting for his opportunity.”
“And I wasn’t allowed to bring my own sword,” said Gideon reproachfully.
“Have no fear, dear boy. Rakoczy and his men will not take their eyes off Alastair. We can leave any bloodshed to the bold Kurucs this evening.”
I glanced again at Lord Alastair and the black-clad ghost, who was now waving his sword at me in a bloodthirsty way. “But would he really … in front of all these people … I mean, even in the eighteenth century, surely you couldn’t commit murder and simply get away with it?” I swallowed. “Lord Alastair wouldn’t risk ending up on the gallows because of us, would he?”
The count’s heavy lids hid his dark eyes for a few seconds, as if he were concentrating on the way his enemy’s mind worked.
“No, he’s too clever for that,” he said slowly. “But he also knows how few chances he will ever get of having you two within reach of his sword again. He won’t miss this one. As I have passed information to the man whom I believe to be the traitor in our ranks—and only to him!—about the time when you two will have to return to the cellar, unarmed and alone, in order to travel back, we shall see what happens—”
“Oh,” I said. “But—”
The count raised his hand. “Don’t be anxious, child. The traitor has no idea that Rakoczy and his men are keeping watch on everything you do. Alastair sees himself committing the perfect murder: the corpses will dissolve into thin air the next moment. Very useful.” He laughed. “With me, of course, that would not work, so he destines me for a different kind of death.”
Well, great.
Before I could digest the news that we were fair game to be thrown to the wolves, which changed my attitude to balls in general and this one in particular, the garishly dressed First Secretary—I’d forgotten his name again—returned with two glasses of white wine. In his wake came another old acquaintance, fat Lord Brompton. He was delighted to see us and kissed my hand more often than I thought quite proper.
“The evening is saved!” he cried. “I’m so glad you are here. Lady Brompton and Lady Lavinia saw you as well, but they were held up on the dance floor.” He laughed so much that his fat paunch wobbled. “I’m told to take you both over to join the dancing.”
“A good idea,” said the count. “Young people should dance! I never missed an opportunity to do so in my own youth.”
So here we went. Now everyone was going to see that I had two left feet and wasn’t very good at turning right, a problem that Giordano had described as “a striking lack of any sense of direction.” I was about to drain my glass of white wine, but Gideon took it away from me and handed it to the First Secretary.
On the dance floor, they were getting into position for the next minuet. Lady Brompton waved to us enthusiastically, Lord Brompton disappeared into the crowd, and just before the music began, Gideon stationed me in the row of ladies. To be precise, I was in between a pale gold dress and a green embroidered one. The green dress, a sideways glance told me, belonged to Lady Lavinia. She was just as beautiful as I remembered her, and even for the fashions of this period, her décolletage was generous, giving anyone who wanted a good look. In her place, I wouldn’t have ventured to bend over. But Lady Lavinia didn’t seem bothered.
“How wonderful to see you again!” She cast a radiant smile all around, but directed it mainly at Gideon, and then sank into the opening curtsey. I imitated her. In sudden panic, I found that I couldn’t feel my feet.
A number of instructions were buzzing around in my head, and I almost muttered out loud, “Left is the side where your thumb is on the right!” but then Gideon stepped past me, performing the tour de main, and oddly enough, my legs seemed to find the right rhythm of their own accord.
The cheerful sound of the orchestra filled every corner of the ballroom, and the conversations around us died down.
Gideon put his left hand on his hip and gave me his right hand. “Wonderful music, these Haydn minuets,” he said in a conversational tone. “Did you know that the composer almost joined the Guardians? In about ten years from now, on one of his visits to England. He was thinking of settling permanently here in London at the time.”