Beheld (Kendra Chronicles #4)

“Indeed he did,” Ethel said, and even she had a little smile.

We walked around a bit, looking like the Andrews Sisters and admiring other people’s costumes too, though most people had boring costumes like scarecrows and witches. A few people were dancing, but I didn’t know any of the chaps there. But then I saw Dora and Helen, whom I hadn’t seen since they’d finished school the year before, and my sisters saw some friends from the factory where they worked and our neighbor, a girl named Kendra. So we separated. Our costumes didn’t make sense that way, but I didn’t really care. I ran up to my friends.

“Girls, what’s new?” They wore matching costumes, as a black and a white cat, which just involved wearing cat ears with a black and a white dress.

“Um, nothing much for me,” Helen said, “just work, work, work. But I think Dora has some news.”

That was the cue for Dora to remove her hand from behind her back and hold it up, showing off a ring with a speck of a blue stone.

“Ned?” I asked her.

“Of course Ned!” She beamed.

“Is he here?”

“No, he’s enlisted,” she said proudly, “but he’s getting leave for the wedding.”

“Oh, that’s nice . . . but how hard for you to have him leave straightaway.”

“I know. But at least we’ll be married.”

We went on like this for a few minutes, and then I noticed someone at my elbow.

I beheld a man who was tall, broad-shouldered, and graceful, with blond hair. He wore a red satin jacket and a white ruffled shirt. I looked up at his face and gasped. It was hidden by a mask.

“I see you’ve become separated from your sisters, Miss Andrews.” His voice was soft and cultured. “May I have this dance?” He held out his hand, which jutted from a ruffled sleeve.

“I . . . I don’t know. I don’t know you.” I noticed his hand shook a bit. Was he nervous to speak to me?

“I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to approach you. It’s only . . . I just came back from overseas, from France, and I have no friends here who might introduce me. I saw you come in with your sisters. When I was in hospital, I listened to the Andrews Sisters day and night, and Patty was my favorite.” He stuck his hand in his pocket, as if to stop it shaking. “You look like her.”

“You were in hospital?” I said. “From the war? You were injured?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly I recognized his costume. He was the Scarlet Pimpernel, after the film with Leslie Howard, and the books too. Had the Scarlet Pimpernel worn a mask? I couldn’t remember. I didn’t think so.

“My apologies. I would be happy to dance with one of our heroes,” I said. “My name is Grace.”

“Phillip.” He offered me his hand. I worried that his palm would be warm or clammy, but it wasn’t. It was cool and dry, and his grip upon mine was firm. He was a gentleman.

He led me out onto the dance floor. A new song was starting, “You and I,” which was slow, but with a lovely, lilting beat. He put his other hand on my waist. He was tall, and I wondered what his face looked like behind the mask, but the rest of him was so handsome, and the hint of eyes I could make out were vivid blue.

“I love this song,” I said.

“Me too.” He turned me around. “I can play it on the piano.”

“Lucky! I took piano lessons as a girl, but I gave it up. My mother said I’d regret it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. But I can sing.”

He was very light on his feet, and since I was the best dancer in my class, we made a good pair. Only a few people were dancing, and some of the ones who did stopped to watch us. His elegant costume likely made us a handsome couple.

“Are you supposed to be the Scarlet Pimpernel?” I asked him.

“You’re the first to recognize me!” he said.

“I saw the movie, years ago, with my family. My brothers, they’re at war now. Your costume reminded me of happier times.”

He smiled. “If I had a drink, I would drink a toast. To happier times.” He raised my hand as if it was a glass. “And happier times to come also, I hope.”

“Yes. When this is all over and they come back. I loved that movie.”

“A nobleman going out in secret, fighting injustice,” he said. “Sir Percy Blakeney. I wish I could be more like him.”

“Exactly.” I swayed in his arms. He was tall and made me feel tiny and light, like Ginger Rogers, the dancer. “But you did that. You’re a hero like Sir Percy. You said you were in the war.”

“I was.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t wear your uniform.” Several boys had done just that.

He shrugged. “Well . . . it was fancy dress. And sometimes one likes to forget.”

I nodded. I wondered what had happened to bring him back. Something horrible, maybe. I dared not ask what.

I felt his arms around me, guiding me. Nothing wrong with them. Or his legs either, judging from his dancing.

As if reading my mind, Phillip said, “I was on a ship. It sank off the coast of France.”

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