“I thought you said you couldn’t,” said Eve.
“My lady, I said I do not dance. That does not mean I cannot.”
“Do you even know the Entwine?” said Flora.
Mr. Keeper strode to Azalea, his dark eyes drinking her in. His cloak billowed behind him.
“My lady,” he said, without turning his eyes from Azalea, “I invented it.”
In a satinlike movement, Mr. Keeper had wrapped Azalea’s arm about his and had escorted her to the middle of the dance floor. So silky and gentle. Azalea blinked and realized that he had turned her around into an open dance position. She swallowed. It was hard.
“We’ve only been practicing with this,” said Azalea, producing Mother’s handkerchief. “It’s a bit short, I’m afraid.”
It flashed silver in the pale light. Mr. Keeper flinched.
“That won’t do,” he said. “But, ah! Here is one.”
Mr. Keeper flicked his hand, and a long sash appeared from nowhere. He shook it out with a snap. The bright red color flared against the pale whites and silvers. It was Azalea’s turn to flinch.
Bramble took charge of Mr. Bradford’s pocket watch, setting it on the dessert table to mark the time. The Entwine was exactly three minutes long. The girls watched, giddy with anticipation, as the invisible orchestra began a slow waltz.
Azalea shook, nervous, as Mr. Keeper stepped in time, turning the sash about her as she stepped out. He did dance like he walked and spoke, with polished movements. Unhumanly graceful.
“My lady glides like a swan,” he said. He pulled the sash up and brought her under his arm. “You are the best I have ever danced with. And I, my lady, have danced with many.”
He pulled the sash even closer, and Azalea caught a look in his eye—the same hungry glint she had seen when he had Mr. Bradford’s watch.
Convulsively, Azalea dropped the end of her sash.
That was immediate disqualification. The orchestra stopped.
“Only forty-five seconds,” said Eve, looking at the watch, disappointed.
“You know, Mr. Keeper,” said Azalea. “We’ve never really been properly introduced. Mother always said—”
“Ah, your mother,” said Mr. Keeper. His black eyes were completely emotionless. “I expect your mother always had sweet little things to say. Such as, ‘You’re only a princess if you act like one,’ and other such nonsense.”
“Well,” said Azalea, coloring. “What’s wrong with that?”
Mr. Keeper gave her a thin, cold smile.
“Nothing at all,” he said.
“You know, Az has a sharp point,” said Bramble as she and Clover gathered the sleepy younger ones together. “We hardly know a guinea’s peep about you. Where did you learn how to dance like that?”
Mr. Keeper’s thin, cold smile became even colder.
“I once knew a lady,” he said, “who could dance the Entwine nearly as well as your sister.”
Delphinium, lifting Ivy to her feet, perked up. Of all of them, she read the most romantic stories and drew the fluffiest of ball gowns on her stationery, and Azalea knew she wouldn’t leave until she had turned Mr. Keeper’s heart inside out, begging for details of romance.
“Were you in love?” she said. “Oh, do tell us about it. We only hear ghastly things about that time, with the revolution and everything. I want to hear something romantic.”
“Delphinium,” said Azalea.
Mr. Keeper held up his hand, silencing her.
“It is all right,” he said. He turned to Delphinium, his cloak brushing the marble. “I will tell you about the lady I loved.”
The girls settled together on the entrance steps, not even breathing, for fear it would rustle the rosebushes about them and mask Mr. Keeper’s words. Mr. Keeper stood unmoving on the dance floor.
“Once upon a time,” he said. His voice dripped in silk strands. “There was a High King, who wanted more than anything to kill the Captain General who incited a rebellion against him. It consumed him. The desire to kill the Captain General filled him to his core, and he spent every breath, every step, thinking of ways to murder the Captain General.
“But he was old, and time passed, as it always does.”
Mr. Keeper paused. Bramble cast a slightly bemused glance at Azalea, her eyebrow arched.
“So,” Mr. Keeper continued, “he took an oath. He filled a wine flute to the brim with blood. And he swore, on that blood, to kill the Wentworth General, and that he would not die until he did.
“And then, he drank it.
“The end.”
There was a very ugly, naked silence after that. The girls’ mouths gaped in perfect Os.
“Sorry?” said Delphinium. “I missed the part about the lady?”
“Ah,” said Mr. Keeper. “The blood. It was hers.”
The girls pushed one another through the fireplace wall, stumbling over skirts and tripping over untied slippers in a frenzy. They swarmed to the lamps on the table and by the door, turning up the oil as high as it could go.
“For the last time,” said Azalea as the girls flocked about the lamps, the younger ones gripping Azalea’s skirts, “it’s not true! Settle down!”
“Aaaah! Oh, ha ha, Ivy, it’s just you, ha ha ha.” Delphinium shakily sat on the edge of her bed, her hands fumbling with her slippers as she pulled them off.
“It really sounded true!” Hollyhock squeaked. “It really did!”