The Midnight Dance, page 2
Sara, by far the demurest of the girls, tapped Penny’s shoulder from behind. “You might want to do something about your hair.”
With a quick nod of thanks, Penny unwound the requisite hair ribbon from her wrist, where she much preferred to wear it, and raked the snarled mess of curls back into a bun at the base of her neck. It wasn’t even in the same league as Bianca’s perfect knot, but it would do.
After a couple of turns through a hall lit with unevenly spaced sconces, they spilled into the servants’ dining room. The girls were permitted a quick cup of coffee from the buffet and then it was straight to their studies. What few they’d be allowed to participate in today. If Madame Triolo had her way, they’d be dancing from dawn to dusk. Penny was certain they’d be called to the studio before noon.
Which meant she really needed some sustenance. She tucked two sugar cubes in her mouth and dropped a third one in her coffee. She gulped the scalding liquid only to have it nearly slosh down the front of her bodice as Ana swooped in with a squeal and grabbed her shoulders. “Did you hear? Master is due back today!”
Penny held the coffee steady at arm’s distance. “No. I had not heard until you screamed it into my ear.”
“Sorry,” Ana said, looking considerably unapologetic.
Bianca’s shrill voice rose above the chatter. “Come, girls, let’s get moving. We don’t want to be tardy.” She tossed Penny a quick glare, as if somehow Penny had the ability to make everyone late. Her failure to be punctual wasn’t intentional; she just wasn’t so rigid in following all the rules. Bianca, on the other hand, obeyed every single decree as if her future depended on it.
Perhaps it did.
* * *
Four hours and a quick noonday meal later, and the girls clustered outside the ballroom for an unscheduled dress rehearsal. Madame threw open the carved double doors and they spilled into the room.
The set was beautiful and simple: ornate plaster columns that scraped the high ceiling and an ethereal pastel landscape painted at the back of the stage. The girls bounded onto the raised wooden floor, jumping and leaping and dancing entrechats as if to test its sturdiness.
“Settle down, settle down.” Madame clapped her hands, but even she couldn’t seem to fight a tight smile from curving her lips. This was what they’d worked so hard for. Everyone scurried into the wings, behind thick brocade curtains that would hide them from the audience. Madame played the opening chord and the first act began. Penny danced the first scene and then exited stage left. She waited for her next entrance with her back against the wall. Her gaze was pulled to the bay window at the far side of the room, where it framed the huge expanse of lawn gracing the front of the manor. A lake took center stage, and cobblestones formed the drive that wrapped around the shoreline to stop at a roundabout near the main entrance. A coach bumped its way along the path, two beautiful Haflinger horses at the lead.
Penny felt a tug to escape, to climb aboard the coach box, scoop up the reins, and flee. Forget the gala. Forget the estate. See the world beyond their isolated existence.
With a clench of her jaw, she tore her gaze from the window and pinched her eyes shut. She pressed her fingers to her temples in an effort to relieve the piercing pain that erupted beneath her skull. She was so very tired of the migraines and their never-ending appearances. It would mean a third visit to Grandfather this week alone. As the estate physician, he’d give Penny some sort of vile tincture to drink and she’d be on the mend. But, blast, it tasted awful. And the effects of the medicine didn’t seem to last very long.
“You’re on.” Maria shoved Penny out from behind the curtain.
Trying to pull her fingers from her temples, Penny pirouetted to center stage.
“Smile,” Madame sang out in a patronizing voice.
Penny ignored her. If she made it through the routine without her head exploding, it would be a miracle. She wasn’t about to force her lips into a grin.
The doors to the room were suddenly thrown open. The piano stopped midnote, and Madame startled upright. The girls bounded out from the wings and everyone scurried forward. In unison they all dropped into a curtsy. Even Madame.
Penny and Ana were the only ones left standing upright, but at least Ana realized her mistake and dipped down, a second behind the rest. Penny glanced around, her forehead creased in confusion, and wondered if someone had forgotten to tell her the rules to a game. Then her gaze slipped to the door and settled on the figure standing there.
Master.
His presence seemed to fill every inch of the doorway. He was still dressed in traveling clothes, black pants and a velvet-lined jacket cut trim to his figure. His dark hair was slicked back, the skin above his sharp cheekbones was pricked red by the cold, and his emerald eyes were narrowed in her direction.
As if she’d done something wrong.
Like not curtsy.
She gulped and dropped her chin. Her bodice felt tight, and her pulse seemed to hum.
Master made Penny nervous, set her on edge. He was extraordinarily dashing but guarded, his thick lips set in a straight line while his eyes took in everything. And his voice … “Good afternoon, girls.” The words were low and smooth as silk. “How have you all been faring?”
It was as if he’d released some hold on them. They leapt from their curtsies to crowd around him, talking over one another in their haste to welcome him home and express dismay that he’d been gone so long. Sara hung on the outer edge, but she was still there, waiting patiently for a turn.
“We’ve missed you so,” Bianca lamented. The whine pierced Penny’s ears. She folded her legs beneath her to sit at the edge of the stage. Her headache still prickled at the edges, like it needed only the slightest motivation to flare into agony again.
Even though Master seemed to acknowledge each girl, answering questions and complimenting them on what he knew was going to be an amazing performance, his gaze never left Penny. He finally excused himself and walked over. His hand cupped her chin, a gesture familiar yet unsettling. “You look unwell, Penelope.”
“I’m fine, sir.” She croaked out the words.
“Are you upset about anything?”
She shook her head.
“Perhaps feeling a little restless?”
Her jaw tightened and she shook her head even faster. It was as if he could read her mind. But that wasn’t possible.
“All right, then. Do make sure you get enough sleep and stay healthy. I’ll check in with you later.” He paused to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and waited for her eyes to meet his. “I expect the performance to be flawless. It will be a special day, the spring equinox, a time for rebirth.”
“Yes, sir.”
His fingers trailed down her bare arm. An involuntary shiver did a bourrée up her spine. “I must get to my office. So much work to be done.”
The girls swarmed behind him as he strode toward the door. Madame clapped her hands again to rein them in, throwing a quick glare in Penny’s direction. What had she done? It wasn’t her fault Master had disturbed the rehearsal. Penny pushed herself upright and forced a smile in Madame’s direction. She went straight to her spot onstage and pirouetted en pointe.
She would show Madame. She would show all of them.
* * *
Penny pulled the sweater even tighter around her shoulders to ward off the drafty cold saturating the far end of the dining room. A fire flickered in the hearth built into the wall near where Bianca held court, but Penny had opted to sit as far from her as possible, figuring the heat wasn’t worth the price of listening to Bianca’s diatribe, which today centered on the necessity that all girls learn how to sew. “Why would you ever pay to have someone else mend your undergarments?”
Maria rolled her eyes and filled Penny in on the gossip she’d overheard that afternoon. “Master has invited the prince to the gala. Can you imagine? I’m surprised he can travel. Last I heard he was cooped up in the palace, still recovering from his leg injury.”
Penny shrugged, her shoulder blades rubbing against the back of the hard wooden chair. “Perhaps the distraction and entertainment would be good for him.”
“Oh, so now you’re okay with performing?” She lifted a fork from the knobby table and stabbed a slice of prosciutto.
“Well, as entertainers, I do think we’re pretty splendid.” Penny tore a pastry in half, the delicate crust shredding in thin layers. “It’s the whole façade I don’t particularly care for.”
Cricket slipped in from the side door, a tray held aloft in one hand while the other raked his thick hair out of his face so it stood nearly upright. He made quick work of clearing off their dishes, checked the level of oil in the lamps lining the mantel, and disappeared again to return seconds later carrying bowls of steaming polenta. He moved around the table, placing a dish in front of each girl.
When he got to Penny, the tray was empty. He leaned in close, his breath a soft whisper that tickled her ear. “I’ll bring your gnocchi in a minute.”
Penny tucked her chin and smiled. He remembered she disliked the polenta. The taste was dull and the texture gritty; she rarely ate more than a few bites. “Thanks,” she murmured as he rushed back into the kitchen.
Maria had barely stuck her spoon in her mouth when Master stepped into the room through the stone archway. Bianca straightened in her chair, shoulders thrown back to show off the low neckline of her blouse. The other girls grinned and jostled one another with their elbows, but Penny focused on the table, dusting at the crumbs in front of her until they formed a small pile. Master moved to stand behind Bianca, his hands resting on the sides of her shoulders.
“Good evening, girls.” His tone drenched the room in a heavy warmth. Penny felt her eyes drawn toward him, resting on his full lips, imagining what it would feel like to kiss them.
Cricket entered the room again from the side, the lone bowl of gnocchi cupped in his hands. He placed the bowl in front of Penny, temporarily blocking her view and dislodging her thoughts. She shook her head, trying to banish the image of her lips brushing Master’s. Her pulse hiccuped. What was wrong with her? She tried to focus on the scent of oregano and basil wafting from the steaming dumplings.
“Enjoy.” Cricket stepped back. “I asked the saucier to add extra spice, as you like.…” His voice trailed off as Master jerked away from Bianca and walked toward them, sharp steps echoing through the now-silent-again room.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were here.” Cricket’s gaze settled somewhere at Master’s feet. “Would you like me to arrange another place setting?” He scrambled to the cabinets lining the wall behind Penny and pulled open a drawer.
Master stopped at Penny’s side. His fingers reached under her heavy bun to wrap around the back of her neck. A shiver traced down her spine. The pressure of his fingers was enough to send fear dancing across the surface of her skin. His words were low. “No, that is quite all right. I will eat later.”
Cricket tipped his head in deference and moved toward the kitchen. His eyes seemed to implore something as he stared at Penny, but she didn’t understand.
“Penelope.” Master nudged her neck so she turned from Cricket to look at him. “Come with me. There is a matter I wish to discuss with you privately.” He slid his hand down her arm to grip her elbow and lift her from her seat. Even through the sweater his touch sent another chill through her body. His head tilted toward the door.
The girls all stared as they walked around the table. He stopped and nodded to them.
“Continue with your meal. I’ll be back shortly.”
CHAPTER
4
“Time to wake, Penny.” The words sounded muffled, as if they’d been whispered to her through a long tunnel. A sharp tang burned Penny’s nostrils and she coughed. Her eyes slitted and she blinked repeatedly to take in the dark furnishings and cluttered tabletops of her grandfather’s quarters. She tried to sit upright.
“Don’t.” Grandfather held her wrist tight and reached to remove a cold compress from her forehead. “Take it easy.”
“What happened?” she mumbled, the words like marbles in her mouth. Her tongue felt thick and heavy. Her entire body felt thick and heavy. She fought to remember what would have landed her on the sofa, but everything seemed hazy and vague, memories clouded in a sepia fog.
“You were brought here after supper. Apparently you didn’t feel well, and I gave you medicine to help you rest.” He stood, tall and thin with his head of thick, white hair.
“Oh.” She remembered the headaches now, but something he said seemed off. Then again, so did the room, which tilted to the side and left Penny gulping at air.
“Here”—he handed her a cup from the buffet—“drink some water.”
Penny propped herself onto her elbows and raised the glass with a shaky hand. She drank so fast the liquid dribbled down her chin and onto the blanket tucked around her torso. When she was done, Grandfather took the empty glass and smoothed back damp tendrils of hair that stuck to her forehead.
“Thank you.” She shifted higher so her back rested against a plum-colored satin pillow. It was new. As were the amethyst silk blanket and heavy emerald curtains. Her nose wrinkled. “Did someone redecorate your room?” Her grandfather rarely stayed at the manor; he had his own residence near the edge of the estate property. On the occasions he did spend the night, he slept here, in his chamber on the second floor. But these bright accents were a stark contrast to his rustic home.
He shrugged. “They’re moving me into the estate. I told them to do with it what they wanted.”
“It’s horrible.”
“Oh, Penelope.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “What am I to do with you?”
She raked the hair back from her temples and into a loose braid over her shoulder. Grandfather winced and reached over, nudging the braid so it covered her ear and the side of her neck. Then he glanced away, his eyes seeming to flit off every surface of the room before landing on the large clock ticking in the corner.
“You should be getting back to your room.” He opened his cracked leather bag and handed her a stoppered vial. “One last dose, so you can sleep through the night.”
She took the glass container and kissed his cheek. “I’m not tired.”
“I know.” He turned his back and walked over to place the bag on the dark maple sideboard running the length of the wall. “But just in case.”
* * *
The next morning Penny awoke and reached for her photograph album. It was a daily ritual of hers, to flip through the photographs of her mother. The images were imprinted on her brain.
Or so she thought. Because, at that very moment, she didn’t recognize anyone.
Not a soul.
Did I wander into another girl’s room last night? It had been late when Grandfather had walked her back to the dormitory quarters. And the tincture he’d given her had tasted even more potent than normal. Perhaps she’d gotten confused.
She glanced up from the leather-bound book resting on the faded quilt pooling in her lap. Her gaze skidded past the sterile stone walls toward the few personal belongings she kept on top of her dresser. The lopsided rag doll with a missing button eye was something she knew she’d brought to the estate. A stack of books sat precariously near the edge of her shelf, and her favorite pink sweater hung on a hook near the door.
Pink? My favorite color isn’t pink.
The words came unbidden and unexpected, falling fast through her mind as if they weren’t really her own. And yet she knew instinctively it was true. Pink was too feminine, a false color used to stain their cheeks and paste their nails. She preferred blue, pale blue. The color of a cloudless sky or the lake just after dawn. Or Cricket’s eyes.
This was definitely Penny’s room, but it couldn’t be her leather-bound album. The toddler in the photographs was unfamiliar, even with her dark mop of spiral curls and dark eyes. The stoic woman standing at her side, unsmiling for the camera, didn’t spark any sort of maternal recognition in Penny’s mind. Her chest tightened both in dismay and a sudden burst of fear. With a racing pulse and a sense of urgency, she kept flipping the album pages, trying to find something that struck her as … her.
“Ouch!” Penny slipped her fingertip into her mouth, sucking at a paper cut. The copper taste of blood dotted her tongue and she threw the album against the wall. It fell with an unsatisfying plop onto the patchwork quilt.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, unsure what was going on. Her thoughts felt fuzzy. Like pages in a book had been ripped out, leaving unfinished sentences and gaps in a story. She knew some things with crystal clarity, like the fact that their entire morning would be spent in ballet. So why couldn’t she recognize these pictures? And why was everything in her wardrobe the color pink?
A bell gonged, echoing through the walls of the dormitory. Only three minutes until a second bell would ring. No time to think this through. Penny scrambled to her feet, rising immediately on tiptoe to avoid the frigid floor. She pulled on a clean skirt that had been draped over the bed frame and was still crisp from yesterday’s wash.
Pink, of course.
* * *
The practice room felt warm for once. A fire popped in the hearth, the sweet scent of hickory wafting from the corner. “We need to keep your muscles limber today,” Madame said. “Now line up at the barre. First position.”
The girls glided into place, heads held high, toes pointed outward, arms sweeping above their heads as Madame barked her way through the positions. The stark winter sunlight streamed in the windows, pooling at their feet like an oblong limelight.
After they’d warmed up, Madame directed the girls to form a queue in the corner. She nodded at each student in turn and shouted a move. Bianca leapt a series of perfect grands jetés across the floor to the opposite corner. Maria whirled through her soutenus, and Sara followed with a sequence of pas de chat.
“Penelope, second arabesque.”
