Bewitching Season (37 page)

day. At least he has had his wish.”

Almost before she was aware of it, they had passed the royal dais. Persy saw Princess Sophia’s

face light up when she saw them, and her frown smooth out as if in relief. Was she that happy to see

them? Persy curtsied to her and was rewarded with a broad smile.

Mama led them farther into the ballroom and somehow managed to find a group of unclaimed seats.

“We saw her. We finally saw her,” Pen said in hushed tones. Her eyes were positively starry.

But Persy felt somehow let down. Seeing the princess was at once thrilling and disappointing. To

have been so close, without having a chance to meet her eye or touch her hand—it just wasn’t fair.

This would probably be the only time she would see the princess in her lifetime. Governesses were

not received at court.

Pen’s elbow dug into her side. “Look,” she whispered.

Persy looked and wished she hadn’t. Lochinvar was making his way through the crowd toward

them. “Quick! Where’s the necessary?” she said, trying to dodge behind Pen.

But there wasn’t time to flee or even to hide. Lochinvar was there bowing to Mama and Papa

before she could do anything. She was barely able to return his mumbled greeting or to meet his eyes,

gold tonight under the glitter of the many candles in the great ballroom. She watched as he led Pen out

for the first quadrille. He looked almost feverish, eyes too bright in a very pale face. Had he been

taken ill? He’d seemed well enough that afternoon, trotting down the street on Lord Chesterfield with

Charles.

She sat down next to Mama in one of the chairs. Princess Sophia had been terribly provoking when

they’d told her about Ally, telling the whole tale to the odious Sir John after they’d sworn her to

secrecy, but maybe she’d gone looking for her—she’d seemed very interested and eager to help.

Would it be possible to speak with her this evening? Was Ally herself somewhere here tonight? Had

her dream been real?

A couple promenaded past her seat. Persy recognized the richly dressed dark-haired woman from

the royal dais: It was the Duchess of Kent, Princess Victoria’s mother. Though her mouth curved in a

smile, her eyes were peevish and anxious as she surveyed the room. She clung to the arm of her

escort, who also wore a slight smile below his wary, darting eyes. When the cold eyes settled on

Persy, the faint smile spread wide.

Persy bowed her head as Sir John Conroy’s grin touched her. She knew she should feel grateful to

him for ensuring that they received their invitations to this ball, but the only emotion he roused in her

was aversion. Something about his shrewd, calculating eyes, as if gears and wheels spun behind them,

reminded her of Mr. Babbage’s calculating machine that Papa had told her about. She remembered the

overheard conversation back at Kensington and shivered. The poor princess had withstood this man

for years. How could anyone doubt her mental strength and resilience?

She sat staring at the fan in her lap long after Sir John and the duchess had passed. Only whispers

of “the princess!” made her lift her head to watch Princess Victoria make her way to the center of the

ballroom, led by the Duke of Norfolk’s grandson for the opening quadrille of the ball. As most of the

dancers were also trying to watch her, the orchestra was soon accompanied by a low, constant

murmur of “I beg your pardon” and “So sorry” and “Did I hurt you?” If she hadn’t felt so sad, she

might have laughed.

Lochinvar and Pen passed too, and something about Pen’s creased forehead and stiff posture as she

danced the figures caught her attention. Oh please, Pen wasn’t grilling him about the trip to

Kensington or, heaven forbid, talking about her, was she?

She was even more surprised when, after leading Pen back, Lochinvar turned to her and without

speaking held out his hand. She stared at him.

“Lochinvar would like to have this waltz with you, Persy, if you please,” said Pen behind him in a

patient voice. She sounded like Ally correcting Charles’s table manners.

For one fleeting second Persy thought about refusing. Why was he asking her to dance? Why was he

even acknowledging that she existed? “I—” she began.

But Lochinvar was nearly pulling her out of her seat by then, and it was too late. As they took their

place on the floor, she saw Pen peer anxiously after them.

Oh, why had Pen made her do this? She wished the strange watching-from-above sensation that

she’d had when seeing the princess for the first time would overtake her now. But it stubbornly

refused to, and she was forced to be very much there, staring at Lochinvar’s mouth as she always did

when they danced. She had come to know it well after all these weeks of balls; right now it was

tense, the lips pressed tight together.

As she watched, the lips parted and then closed. A few seconds later they opened once again.

“Might I ask you a question?”

She looked steadfastly at his mouth, and hoped her voice wouldn’t shake. “Perhaps.”

“Why have you been trying to put me off?”

Was he about to denounce her? “I’d rather not say. In fact, I’m not even sure why you have asked

me to dance this evening.”

He swallowed. “Because … because I have something that I need to say to you.”

She laughed, even though it hurt to. “Under the circumstances, I can’t imagine that there’s anything

left for us to say to each other.”

“Persy!” He looked angry, and gripped her waist so tightly that she was sure he’d snap a bone in

her corset. “Will you please listen to me—”

At that instant, Pen was suddenly at her side. She grabbed Persy’s arm and yanked it out of

Lochinvar’s grasp.

“Perse! Look!” She spun Persy around and pointed to an open door in the far wall of the ballroom.

Ally stood there.

20

A
t first Persy thought she was going to faint. “Ally!” she gasped, ignoring the irritated looks from the

couples trying to waltz around them.

“Come on, Persy! We’ve got to go to her!” Pen yanked on her arm again and took a step toward

Ally.

Ally stared at them from the doorway, beckoning. Her face was pale and her expression anxious,

even at this distance. Had she escaped in the confusion of the evening? If so, they had to get her away

to safety before she was found again. Persy pulled away from Lochinvar and hurried after Pen’s

billowing pink skirt.

“No!” Lochinvar grabbed her arm. “Persy, wait.”

“Let me go! It’s Ally!” She pulled away from him and turned after Pen again, darting and weaving

through the dancing couples.

“Persy, it’s not really—”

His voice was lost in the music and the angry mutters of the dancers they dodged around. Pen

banged full tilt into a dancing couple and nearly fell.

“See here, young woman!” said the man, red-faced.

“Your pardon, sir.” Pen regained her footing and tossed the apology over her shoulder. Persy

caught up to her then and grabbed her hand.

“Pen,” she said as they dodged and wove. “What about my dream? Ally said—”

“I don’t know. Please excuse us, sir, ma’am,” she called as they plowed past an elderly couple

who jumped out of their path, looking terrified.

A few dozen feet from the door, Pen stopped. Persy just had time to see it slowly close.

“What is she doing?” she panted.

“I don’t know. Come on!” Pen threw herself at the door.

In a second’s time they stood at the end of a long corridor paneled in dark wood. Persy could still

hear the orchestra playing and the reverberation of dancing feet and conversation from the room

behind them. But here it was still and quiet, with not even a footman standing by to apprehend

trespassers from the ballroom. Halfway down its length a small lantern set in an alcove cast a pool of

dim light.

Pen still clutched her hand. “Ally,” she moaned. “Oh, where did you go?”

“Pen, Lochinvar said—I don’t think he saw her.”

“Then he couldn’t have been looking in the right place. You saw her, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” An image of Ally’s haunted eyes flashed before her.

“Then let’s go. She’s got to be here somewhere.”

A movement caught Persy’s eye. She looked up and saw a skirted figure just disappearing around a

turn at the end of the hall. “There!”

Pen didn’t bother to answer. She seized Persy’s hand again and ran.

That turn led to a short passage, more a jog than a hallway in its own right. When they came to its

end, they found another long hallway like the first, lined with doors and dimly lit with small lamps set

at intervals down its length.

“Ally!” Pen shouted, just as they saw her disappear through a door at its end.

“Why is she running away from us?” Persy gasped for breath and mentally cursed Lorrie and her

tightly laced corset.

“I don’t know. But we won’t find out unless we catch up with her.” Pen was already halfway down

the hall.

That door opened to reveal stairs. They hurried up them and into another corridor much like the

others. There were no footmen, no servants, no lights but the infrequent lamps, and no sign of Ally.

“Pen,” Persy whispered as they peered down this new hall. “Doesn’t this remind you of

something?”

“Umm, no … blast it, where did she go? Should we have gone down?” Pen tugged at the door

nearest them. It was locked.

“Listen! Our dream, back at home—before we came to London—when we first thought there was

something wrong about Ally.”

Pen paused after trying the next door. “You’re right,” she said slowly. “I’d almost forgotten.” Her

eyes widened as the details returned to her. “It looked just like this, didn’t it?”

“What do we do?”

Pen bit her lip. “Keep looking. What else can we do? You take that side of the corridor and I’ll do

this one.” Pen motioned with her hand and went to the next door. It too was locked.

Persy swallowed, remembering the sense of dread and danger she had felt in her dream. She tried

three knobs that all stubbornly refused to turn. Were all the doors locked? At least that would mean

that if one opened, then Ally would probably—

“Perse!” Pen hissed. “Over here!” She pointed at a door slightly ajar.

Persy hurried over to her, and after they exchanged one more anxious look, Pen pushed it open.

The room was brighter than the corridor. Persy had to blink while her eyes adjusted to the stronger

light. Funny place for candles, though, set on the floor in circular patterns like that—

In front of her Pen let out her breath in a whoosh and sprinted across the room. Persy caught an

impression of empty space, furniture pulled up against the walls … and a still figure neatly laid out in

the middle of the bare floor, her hands folded on her breast. It was Ally.

Pen already knelt beside her, yanking off her gloves and lifting Ally’s hand. Candles flickered

around her, casting weird shadows. “Ally,” she called softly. “Are you all right? Wake up, Ally!

Persy, help me!”

Persy took a step forward, then froze. Right at her foot was a thin, chalked line. She followed it

with her eyes and saw that it formed a large circle that took up most of the room, with candles set at

intervals around and within it. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

“Persy, come on!”

“Pen,” Persy said carefully. “I want you to come here first.”

“What are you talking about? Don’t you see it’s Ally? She’s fainted or something, and I can’t lift

her on my own.” Pen smoothed Ally’s hair and glared up at Persy, breathing hard.

“I’m not coming in there, Pen. Don’t you see it? Didn’t you feel it?” She gestured at dancing

shadows cast by the candles and the soundless hum of energy that flowed around them. A thin reek of

burning herbs—she caught the scents of ginger, basil, and clove—came from braziers set in the

corners of the room.

“Feel what?” Pen followed her hand, but Persy could see by her wild eyes that she didn’t

understand.

“The circle, the candles—Pen, please come to me. Please.” She made her voice as calm as she

could.

Perhaps it was the last “please” that did it. Pen looked at her and then at the limp Ally, then gently

set her hand back down. Persy noticed that Ally’s head was resting on a small folded cloth, and that

her skirts were carefully and modestly draped. It was clear that she hadn’t fallen there, but had been

deliberately placed. Spiky, angular figures had been chalked on the floor around her.

That was when Persy realized just how afraid she was.

Pen clambered to her feet. “All right, I’m coming. Then will you come and help me—”

She stopped dead, as if she had hit a wall, and felt the air in front of her. “Persy! I can’t! There’s

something … I can’t get past it.”

It looked to Persy as if she were pressing her hands against a pane of glass that stood between

them. She could see the soft skin of Pen’s palms flatten against the invisible barrier.

Pen slid her hands up and down and then moved sideways, making a circle as she did. “I can’t,”