“I’ll see you there tonight, then. The professor won’t come, not even with the promise of Radcliffe’s finest brandy.” She paused, with the hint of a smile. “It will be nice to have a bit of fun again.”
SOME HOURS LATER ELLIS let me off in front of Lucy’s house, where the iron gate hung wide open as though beckoning me in. A small fleet of workmen filled the front garden, sweeping the front walk and securing candles among the trees that would be lit later tonight when guests arrived. I didn’t want to get in their way, so I walked around back to the servants’ entrance, where I used to sneak into the house to visit Lucy before her parents approved of me. It felt strange turning that corner, seeing the hedges trampled with footprints and street salt and all manner of muck. A flash of my former life—a life I never wanted to return to.
A delivery wagon waited in the alleyway, the horses’ feet stamping impatiently. I could only imagine the extravagant purchases Lucy’s father must have made for the party—lace tablecloths woven with red and green threads, white pillar candles of every height, champagne by the case. I knocked on the servants’ door tentatively. It swung open to reveal Clara’s tired face. Her mouth hung open to scold, but when she recognized me her face lit up.
“Miss Juliet! Why didn’t you come to the front? Oh, never mind that. Hurry in, Miss Lucy’s been expecting you.” She waved me in and closed the door a little breathlessly as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Come quickly, I’ll take you upstairs before I’m missed. Goodness, you’ve no idea how many deliveries we’ve gotten today.”
We both jumped as someone shouted in the kitchen, followed by the honking of a goose and clatter of pans. Clara rushed me through the pantry and up a narrow set of stairs to the second floor, where I caught a glimpse of the sprawling ballroom with its enormous fir Christmas tree, a peek of polished floors, workmen on ladders, and housemaids carrying silver warming trays. Just as quick, we were climbing up to the third-floor bedrooms.
It was blessedly quieter here, with the soft carpet and empty hallways, and I started to feel calmer until a curse came from a room to our left.
“Oh, stuff it, and this blasted ribbon, too!”
I hid a smile. Only Lucy cursed like that and got away with it. Clara hurried me across the plush carpet runner to Lucy’s room and stuck her head through the doorway.
“Clara, I’ve had an awful time with these curls. Won’t you send Molly up?”
“Yes, miss. And Miss Juliet is here.”
I heard a commotion like metal dropping to the floor, and then Lucy’s disheveled head popped through the doorway. She was in her corset and a combination with lace trim, ribbons half-untied in her curled hair, her blue eyes wide and beautiful.
She grabbed me with something like a growl and pulled me into the room. “You devil! I’d started to think you weren’t coming.”
I caught myself against a dressing table that was littered with ribbons and brushes and an overturned tin of face powder. It looked like a wild animal had been set loose in her room.
She picked up a mask from the table, a delicate thing of black and soft purple, made to cover just the eyes, with shimmering green feathers along the side like a bird taking wing. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and she thrust it at me like a can of beans.
“Mother picked this one out. I detest it.” She flopped into the dresser chair, tossing the mask to the side. “It’s so boring. John will probably adore it.”
I bent down to right the overturned powder tin. All the makeup, and ribbons, and the vase of lilies on her desk didn’t fit with the words I’d come here to say. If only the masquerade wasn’t tonight, and she and I could dance and drink champagne and have one last night together, before I had to shatter her world with my confession.
But Edward was out there, and she needed to know the truth about the man she claimed to love.
While she hummed a sweet little song and admired herself in the mirror, I went to her bedroom door and closed it softly. An array of brushes and powders and rouges were laid out in front of her, as she debated which to apply first.
I took a deep breath. “Lucy . . .”
“If you don’t start getting ready, we’ll miss the masquerade all together.” She picked up a thick brush and started dusting powder on her cheeks. I remained by the door, not sure how to say the words warring in my throat. She threw me an exasperated glance and I crossed to her dresser, fiddling halfheartedly with a stick of rouge. The lilies on the table stole my attention. Flowers were subject to the laws of mathematics, a fact few people knew. You could see the repeating patterns if you looked hard enough. And I tried to look hard, but Lucy snapped her fingers.
She met my eyes in the mirror, giving me a questioning look. “Juliet, what’s going through your head?”
Her voice had a softer timber than normal. For everyone else she pitched her voice higher, exaggerating her words. But now, in the intimacy of the small room, she had dropped the act. The least I could do was show her the same courtesy.
I perched on the edge of the chair next to her. “Do you remember when you said we were like sisters, and we should tell each other everything?” She nodded slowly. “I lied to you about the island.”
Her eyes went wide. She didn’t speak right away; instead she set down the makeup brush and stood, then twisted the key in the door’s lock, before coming back and taking her seat again.