Lady Night, page 17
They arrived at the home of Giselle and Linette La Fray, where Edgar was already waiting for them in the alleyway at the back of the house.
"I took a quick look inside, and it looks like they're still getting ready," Edgar explained in a hushed whisper.
"Good," said Arabelle. "Then we still have time."
They crept towards the backdoor where Derek produced a couple of lock picks from his back pocket and started picking the lock. Once it was opened, Arabelle and Rosalie slipped inside while Derek and Edgar stayed crouched by either side of the door.
Derek heard singing coming from inside the house before it was cut off abruptly. Moments later he heard a muffled thump from upstairs followed by the window above them opening and Rosalie sticking her head out.
"All clear," she whispered down to them.
Derek and Edgar found Arabelle and Rosalie upstairs and in the middle of dragging the unconscious La Fray sisters into their bedrooms. In Arabelle's arms, Giselle La Fray was even snoring as if she were fast asleep in the most comfortable bed and not being dragged across the landing like a sack of potatoes in taffeta skirts.
Derek knew it was due to the effect of the sleep tonic Arabelle had bought from the herbalist the day before. He could even smell the faintest traces of peace lily and lavender in the air.
"Instead of standing there gawking," snapped Rosalie. "Might you boys deign to help us?"
Edgar moved to help Rosalie with Linette while Derek took hold of Giselle's feet so he and Arabelle could manoeuvre her into the nearby bedroom. Once they had safely deposited her on the gaudy bed, Arabelle snapped her fingers in front of the woman's ear.
But Giselle La Fray snored on.
"She's dead to the world," Arabelle announced.
"Now let's just hope that she stays that way until this is all over," said Derek.
Arabelle didn’t answer. Instead, she swept out of the room, purposefully not looking at Derek as she walked past him.
I guess she’s still upset with me, Derek thought.
He followed Arabelle back onto the landing where Rosalie was already handing two parcels in brown wrapping paper to Edgar.
"You boys go get changed downstairs. Arabelle and I will meet you once we're ready."
And so, while Rosalie and Arabelle retreated back into the bedrooms, Derek and Edgar were left to change into their party finery in the downstairs parlour.
Derek's clothes were made up of a burgundy-red waistcoat with gold brocade, a white, high-collared shirt and a pair of black trousers and a matching black tailcoat, as well as a pair of black boots. His mask was silver, only covering the top half of his face and, was made to look like the head of a wolf.
"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," Edgar was saying as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his grey tailcoat. "If we get caught, the Captain will have my head."
"We won't get caught," assured Derek, watching his reflection in the mirror on the wall as he forced his hair to lie flat using the pomade he had nicked from Mayor Boeheart's ensuite. "It's a masquerade. No one there will know who you are so long as you keep your mask on."
"I suppose you're right." Edgar chuckled, albeit nervously. "I just can't help but imagine the worst that can happen."
Derek looked through the mirror where Edgar was tying his cravat behind him. He thought of Edgar the way he had been as a child, sensitive and always seeming in need of saving, especially from the children who liked to tease him because of his weight. He remembered when they had first become friends, after he had stood up for Edgar to a group of children who had been throwing rocks at him. Even though it had left him bleeding and bruised when the children had turned their rocks on Derek instead—and made his mother angrier than he had ever seen her when he returned home—before getting bored and leaving, he had turned to the whimpering Edgar with a smile and said, "Don't worry, I'll protect you."
"I never got the chance to ask before, but why did you join the Guard?"
"Ah, that . . . it's a silly reason."
Derek turned away from the mirror. "I'd still like to know."
Edgar fiddled with the knot of his cravat. "I—You can probably imagine what the Town Guard is like under the captaincy of Goldridge. It's nothing like what I'm sure the Crown Guard is like in Ember. A lot of the men are dishonourable and the decent ones are too afraid to stand up for what's right because they know all it might achieve is a beating in the barracks by their fellow Guards." Edgar took a breath, and it was then that Derek noticed his anger. "When I was thirteen, a group of men that my da owed money to trashed the shop and beat him bloody. He knew exactly who the men were because they didn't even bother to cover their faces. The Guard did nothing about it because the men had already bribed the Captain to look the other way. And two years ago, one of my mum's friends was—she was—attacked. By a Guard. One night out in the streets."
Disgust curled unpleasantly in the pit of Derek's stomach."And nothing was done about it, was it?"
Edgar shook his head.
"So that's why you joined the Town Guard? So you can change it?"
Edgar nodded, an embarrassed tilt to his lips. "I know it's silly. How can someone like me change the ways of a corrupt Town Guard? But still I . . . want to try."
"It's not silly," said Derek, feeling pride at how much his old friend had grown. "Not at all. And if anyone can make a difference in this shitty old town, it's you."
The older boy grinned at him and for a moment, Derek saw him as he was when they had been children and he felt that same desire to protect him.
"And even if something does go wrong tonight," he said. "We’ll be there to look out for you."
Edgar laughed.
"What?"
"You’re still trying to protect me."
"Even though you’re the older one," Derek said with a grin, mimicking what Edgar had once said to him years ago. "You shouldn’t be protecting me. I’m the older one. It should be the other way around."
"Are you boys decent?" Came a woman's voice from the top of the stairs.
"Well, I have my faults, but I'd like to think I'm still a good person," replied Derek.
"Very funny, Draco. Really, though, you two better have everything covered up because we're coming down."
There was the sound of heels against the hardwood of the stairs as Giselle and Linette La Fray descended the staircase. Only it wasn't really the sisters, but Arabelle and Rosalie.
Both were dressed in the ball gowns the real Giselle and Linette had been wearing. Both had long sleeves and bodices that looked so tight, Derek wondered how it was possible for them to even breathe. Rosalie's—Linette's—dress was made of violet taffeta and black lace along the neckline and the hem of the skirt. She'd done up her long, dark hair into a chignon and painted her lips a plum colour.
Arabelle's dress was a striking crimson with flared sleeves. The neckline plunged so dramatically that Derek couldn't help but avert his eyes as quickly as possible. Arabelle had opted to let Giselle's hair fall loose down her back. She wore a string of white pearls around her neck and a pair of white gloves.
They both wore identical pearl-white masks that reminded Derek of the faces of porcelain dolls.
"You two look lovely," said Edgar.
"Aren't you sweet," said Rosalie. "You two don't look too bad yourselves. Don't you think, Arabelle?"
"Yes, you both look very . . . handsome." She said that last part with a glance at Derek before quickly looking away.
Derek didn't miss the way Rosalie's painted lips stretched into a knowing smirk as she looked between him and Arabelle.
Not in the mood for anything Rosalie might have to say about it, Derek quickly said, "Shall we go?"
* * *
The Goldridge estate was nestled in the woods, only a short carriage ride outside of town. It was so close by that one could walk there without growing too weary—unless they were wearing heavy skirts, however.
As their carriage approached the front gates and tall stone fence, they were halted by a pair of Guards.
"Invitations, please," one Guard asked, stepping up to Arabelle's side of the window.
Arabelle handed the Guard their invitations. "And my sister and I are accompanied by two of our friends from Brai," she said, ignoring the strangeness of hearing herself speak with someone else's voice.
The Guard looked over the invitations, deemed everything in order and waved them in through the gates.
Their carriage trundled into the front courtyard of the estate. The house itself was a grand and imposing structure, made up of dark brick and gabled rooftops dusted with snow. The front windows on the first floor were illuminated with the whitish light of illuminae crystals.
Derek, Arabelle, Rosalie and Edgar were showed inside and ended up in an entryway with a towering, arched ceiling, illuminae crystal chandelier and white tile floors. Everything one would expect of a noble's residence.
A footman greeted them. Once their coats were taken and put away, they were led down the hall and out into the garden, full of winter-blooming flowers and stone statues of horses and men battling fearsome-looking beasts.
In the middle of it all was a tall, brick structure, with high windows and a domed roof. As they drew closer, the sounds of music and voices could be heard from inside.
The doors were pushed open to reveal a ballroom. At least seven chandeliers hung from the high ceilings and though it was nowhere near as big as the ballrooms in the royal palace, it was still spacious enough to fit quite a large gathering of people. Men and women wearing their finest attire, their faces covered by masks of all sorts, milled about the room. Servants carrying platters of finger food and flutes of champagne, weaved in and out of the crowds gracefully. They, too, wore masks.
Some guests could be seen dancing near the back of the room, where masked musicians played their lutes and their pipes. Others stood around in groups or lounged on the divans that had been placed around the room, sipping their drinks and smoking their cigars. The whole room smelled of some sort of sickly sweet tobacco.
The footman had slipped into the crowd as soon as they had arrived, only to return no time later with Orville at his side.
Orville's half mask, made of royal red material and gold lace, matched the red of his brocade and trousers and the gold velvet of his cape, which shimmered under the light.
"Giselle, Linette!" His voice boomed as he strode forward to greet them, his arms spread wide and a goblet clutched in one hand. "So glad the two of you could make it."
"Of course, we wouldn't miss it," said Rosalie in Linette's high voice.
"I only hope we haven't arrived too late," Arabelle added. She leaned over to place a hand around Derek's arm. "Our dear Ambrose and Cecil here were a bit tardy with bringing the carriage around."
Orville waved a hand. "Not to worry, the night is still young and there's still plenty of drink to be had!" He raised his goblet as if for a toast, before parading back into the crowd, calling out to someone as he did so.
"So, what is the plan again?" Edgar asked, loud enough for only the four of them to hear.
"We wait for Orville to make his speech," Derek said.
"Then Edgar and Derek use that as an opportunity to slip out unnoticed," Rosalie continued.
"And make it back to the house to search through Orville's rooms for anything incriminating," finished Arabelle.
"And until then?" said Edgar.
"We try to enjoy ourselves, I suppose."
"Wonderful idea," Rosalie said primly and latched herself onto Edgar's arm. "Come along, my dear Cecil, let us mingle with the crowd."
"R-Right."
And they were gone, leaving Arabelle and Derek to stand around rather awkwardly with each other. Arabelle resisted the urge to pull at the uncomfortably low neckline of her gown—but did it really make sense for her to feel self-conscious if it wasn't actually her own skin that was showing?—and fiddled with the pearls around her neck instead, as she tried to look anywhere but at Derek. The way he had spoken to her in the library the other night felt stark between them—or at least it did for Arabelle.
And she hated that in actuality, it made her feel like a kicked puppy when she thought about it. Certainly, she was angry at how he had spoken to her and she wished that anger was all she felt. But really, she couldn't help but feel like maybe she had been at fault that night, too. That she might have crossed some sort of line—
"Giselle, darling!"
A man with tousled brown hair and a forest green mask and matching waistcoat approached them.
Oh, no. Arabelle grimaced inwardly. She'd been hoping that, with the help of the masks, they'd be able to avoid being noticed by people who knew Giselle La Fray.
"My dear, I was so hoping I would see you here tonight," he was saying, a broad grin on his face. "Please, won't you do me the honour of a dance—"
"I'm sorry, what was that, Cecil?" Arabelle said hurriedly, turning to Derek. "You wanted to dance? Oh, well, let's not waste anymore time then!" And with that, she dragged Derek into the throng of partygoers, leaving behind a very put out-looking green waistcoat man.
"I thought I was Ambrose?" said Derek.
"Don't worry about that now."
As they passed through the crowd, Arabelle spotted Mayor Boeheart, seated on one of the divans, surrounded by a small group of people and recognisable, even with the navy blue mask that matched his finery. Beside him sat a woman, who Arabelle was certain could be none other than Anna. Her long, brown hair was gathered into a pile atop her head and her mask was the colour of snow, as was the gown she wore, but her lips were painted scarlet in startling contrast.
Standing not too far away, by one of the windows, was a tall figure in a deep red velvet waistcoat and matching trousers. Their mask was vibrant vermillion in the shape of a bird with a curved beak, sitting over the person's nose. Even though Arabelle couldn't get a good look at the person's face with their mask on, she couldn't help but think they resembled Aryel Sabir, with their short, straight, dark hair and golden-brown skin.
She didn't get the chance to know for sure. A laughing couple walked passed and once they had stepped out of Arabelle's line of sight, the person she thought was Aryel Sabir had vanished.
She tried not to feel too unnerved by it as she and Derek came to a stop at the edge of where the dancers occupied the floor and Arabelle was suddenly very aware of her arm in Derek's, their shoulders pressed snugly against each other. Suddenly, she didn't feel like a Guardian on a covert mission or like she was still mad at Derek for snapping at her the other night. Instead, she simply felt like a young girl, flustered at the idea of dancing with the boy she loved.
Derek seemed to sense her hesitancy and said, "Would you like something to drink?"
She exhaled. "Please."
Derek gestured for one of the nearby servants to bring the drinks their way, and he took one of the flutes filled with golden, bubbly champagne and handed it to Arabelle.
"Nothing for you?" she asked as she accepted the glass.
"I really don't have a taste for alcohol."
Arabelle took a sip and was surprised to find the drink had an almost fruity taste to it, like citrus and peach. "My parents would murder me if they knew I was drinking alcohol," she said.
"You've never had any before?"
"I've never had the opportunity. What about you? Have you ever tried it?"
"No, and I never plan to."
She got the feeling that there was more of a story behind those words, if the slight edge to Derek's tone was anything to go by, but she decided against pressing the matter. You've already done enough of that.
"Also," he said after a few beats. "I wanted . . . to apologise for the other night. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."
"Oh. It's all right. I shouldn't have tried pushing you so hard to talk."
"You were trying to help. I just got needlessly angry." He was fiddling with the cuffs of his coat. "It's . . . easier that way."
Easier? Arabelle was going to say, until she caught the look in Derek's down-turned eyes. Even beneath the silver wolf mask, she knew he had that faraway look on his face, like he was recalling a memory so vivid it trapped him inside his own head. The same look she'd seen on him in the library before he snapped at her. The same one she had seen so many times before. A look Arabelle had only ever wanted to be able to rid him of.
Before she could say anything else, the green waistcoat man sidled up to them, this time wrapping his arm around Arabelle's shoulders, startling her enough that she had to forcibly stop herself from applying her elbow to his throat.
"Giselle, my flower." His voice was slurred now. "I been lookin' everywhere for you. And now, here you are!"
"Yes, here I am." She tried to extricate herself from the green waistcoat man, but he clung to her like a stubborn weed.
"How 'bout that dance now? Since you appear to be finished with this chap?"
Derek stepped forward, gripping the restrictive hand the man had on her shoulder and with a pleasant enough smile. He said, "This 'chap' is her companion for the night and would appreciate you showing some proper respect."
"Respect, huh? I'll show you some respect—"
He made to take a swing at Derek, and while the man was clearly intoxicated and she doubted he could have done Derek any real harm, Arabelle stuck her foot out and—as discreetly as possible—swept the already unsteady legs out from under the green waistcoat man. With a shout, he pitched forward, sprawling onto the floor and gathering the attention of those around them.
"Oh my," Arabelle said loudly. "I think that man's had a bit too much to drink. How embarrassing."
Two masked servants appeared and began the task of helping the man to his feet.
