It was necessary, as it always was, to remain cool and distant; to appear unmoved by the attention and the curious looks. But actually, thought Alice, sipping her champagne, actually I’m loving every moment of it, although I mustn’t let anyone guess that. And yet at the deepest level of all was still the thread of anxiety that seldom left her, because it would be so easy for this to suddenly end. If I were to be recognized – if I were to be confronted with a visitor to the house where I was a maid, or even a man from those shameful, shaming nights near to St Stephen’s Cathedral…
I could be anywhere, in any company, she thought, and someone might suddenly fling out an accusing finger, and say, But this isn’t a real baroness at all. This is only some drab little servant girl, brought up in an English village, aping her betters, pretending to be grand and rich and beautiful, drinking champagne as if she’s used to it, wearing expensive clothes instead of the ones suitable to her rightful station…What would I do if that happened? thought Alice.
She would not contemplate it. She would keep Lucretia’s mask firmly in place, and she would make sure that no one ever connected the dazzling baroness with a little brown-haired lady’s maid who, once upon a time, rather than face starvation, had sold her body in Vienna’s streets.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was rather odd the way that word, secret, had kept cropping up while Edmund was having that meal in Lucy’s flat. Edmund had always thought that Crispin was the only one who knew about the secrets in this family, but after that evening he had several times caught himself wondering. ‘I’d have thought Ashwood would be the last place you’d want to visit…’ Lucy had said. And when Edmund had asked why, she had said, ‘Well, because of Crispin…’
How much might Lucy know about Crispin? About the secrets?
They had played a game called Secrets on that night all those years ago when Lucy’s parents died. Edmund had been invited for the weekend; Lucy’s mother, bright, butterfly creature that she was, loved filling the house with people and she had said that of course Edmund must come, wasn’t it his autumn half-term from Bristol, or something? Nonsense, of course he could be there; all work and no play, remember the old warning, Edmund.
Mariana Trent’s party-game that weekend was a hybrid: a mixture of the old-fashioned Murder and Sardines, all to do with hiding in the dark (which would be pleasantly flirtatious, said Mariana), and with trying to elude the designated murderer (which should be deliciously spooky). It was Mariana’s own invention: a super game and it was called Secret Murder, and everyone would hugely enjoy it.
The party had a 1920s theme, which meant the females could dress up like mad in fringed outfits, and Mariana could wear a jewelled headband and a feather boa, while the men were persuaded fretfully into dinner jackets. There would be a nice supper, and Bruce would see to the drinks; he mixed a lethal Sidecar and they would have White Ladies or Manhattans with the food.
‘She’s trying to re-create Lucretia,’ said Deborah, on hearing Mariana planning all this. ‘She’s always doing it and I wish she wouldn’t, because no one ever will re-create Lucretia. You’d think Bruce would get tired of it, wouldn’t you, but he’s nearly as bad as she is. I suppose that’s why they married. Kindred spirits. She’ll be nicknaming people Bunty or Hugo next, and telling Lucy to call her mumsie-darling. Like something out of Somerset Maugham or a Noel Coward play.’
Lucy, who was only eight, would go to bed as usual; her room was at the top of the house, so she would be far enough away from the party not to be disturbed. They would look in on her from time to time, said Mariana, but she would sleep through it all, the lamb.
Everyone was very complimentary about the 1920s theme, saying wasn’t it fun to dress up like this, and imagine playing a Murder game before supper, what a hoot, and it would be just like an Agatha Christie book. And look at this – Mariana had set out little displays of ’20s and ’30s photographs and theatre programmes and things, how clever of her, where on earth had she found all that?