“I thought you wished to dance with me so we might have a gay time. Do you plan to spoil that by playing the father with me?”
“I would never choose to spoil a gay time,” I said, nearly colliding with a plump lady of Arabia, “but is it not my responsibility as a man and a kinsman to look after your well-being?”
“My being has never been more well,” she assured me. “It is a rare thing I am allowed to put to use the dancing skills. And what could be more delightful than the variety of the masquerade?”
I pressed onward, knowing I should spoil this dance by doing so. “Do you not risk your honor, as well as your family’s, by coming here without my uncle’s knowledge, consorting with men he knows not who?”
Miriam’s jaw tightened. She had wished to make banter, to play the free woman unconcerned with what the world thinks, and I was determined to shatter this illusion. I had angered her, but I truly feared for her reputation. From what Elias told me of this Deloney rascal she consorted with, I could not even be certain that her honor remained unbesieged. I suspected that Deloney was somewhere at the ball, and I heartily wished that he should confront me for dancing with his partner. In this way I should show Miriam that a man such as myself should protect her with honor, and the pretty talk of a spark was but a bubble.
At last she spoke. “Would you lecture me on disobedience? You left your family, almost forever, when you were younger than I. You believed yourself capable of choosing your own way in the world. You would deny me that same choice?”
I found her so perplexing it was all I could do to continue the dance. “You are being absurd. You are a lady, and cannot assume that the avenues open to a man are open to you. A man may do many things, take many risks, that a lady must never even consider. It is monstrous strange that you should even think of taking the same liberties I did.”
“So because more liberties are denied me, I should presume to take for myself even fewer?” Miriam pushed away, breaking from the dance floor in the midst of the minuet. Her anger sparked the interest of the crowd, and as I rushed after her, I did all I could to obscure our exit from the gathering. Ignoring the knot of tension that twisted in my stomach, I caught up to her as she hurried along, her Roman goddess robes rustling as she went, and led her through a maze of men identically dressed in black dominos. We emerged close to one of the large punch bowls, and by that point some other reveler had certainly behaved either badly or comically enough to create a new diversion, freeing us from the ignominy of public spectacle.
“Miriam,” I began, uncertain what to say after that. Her eyes, behind her mask, looked away, but I pressed onward. “Miriam, surely you understand that I am only concerned for your safety.”
Her eyes softened as she began to relent. “I understand your motivations entirely, but I do not think that you understand mine. Do you not know what a masquerade ball means to a woman? I can be bold and forward and coquettish, or masculine and learned in my ideas—and no one knows who I am. My reputation will not suffer. Where else could I go to indulge these freedoms and hope to escape with my name unblemished?”
I could not but see the reason of her argument, but I had no wish to admit as much. Fortunately my response was cut short by the arrival of a gentleman dressed in a Venetian-style costume, featuring a birdlike mask with an elongated beak, and a suit of varicolored robes. “Miriam?” he asked in the masquerade squeak.
Miriam remained motionless, uncertain how to respond. So I spoke for her. “The lady is occupied at present,” I told this man in a clipped tone. Neither the mask nor the squeak concealed him from me. I recognized him as Deloney, though he surely did not recognize me.
“I say!” he exclaimed in his natural voice. “You are a rude enough fellow behind that mask, but I’ll wager that if I could see your face you would not be so free with your insults.”
I took a step forward and leaned toward him, clutching the beak of his mask in my hand. “Why, you know me, Deloney,” I whispered. “My name is Benjamin Weaver, and I am available to answer your commands at any time. I trust you will repay my loan before you call me to a duel. One would not want to fight with a debt of honor upon his conscience.”
He staggered backward, as though my challenge had been an actual violence upon him. I could hardly feel comforted by Miriam’s having this weakling for an escort. “Come,” I said to her. “I shall put you in a hackney and send you home.”
She cast a glance at this fellow, whose bird mask now hung in shame, but they exchanged no words. We exited the Haymarket, and I directed a footman to procure for us a hackney, and while he did so we stood in silence until the coach rode up and the footman we had sent jumped off.
Miriam walked toward the door, and then turned to me. “I had come hoping to feel emboldened, but I only feel shamed.”
I shook my head. “The next time you wish for an adventure, I hope you will come speak to me. We shall arrange something that you will find delightful but will involve no unnecessary intrigues.”
I thought for a moment that I had won her over—that she understood and respected my concern—but when she looked up, I saw none of these things. Only anger.
“You misunderstand my shame. I would have liked to have trusted you,” she said. “I would have liked to believe you cared something of my safety and my reputation.”
I shook my head. I could not understand her, and I could not even understand my confusion. I thought hard on what I had said, what I had done. I had given her reasons to think me bold and overbearing, but not untrustworthy. “What do you say?”
“I know what you are about,” she said, just above a whisper. Through her mask I saw voluptuous tears welling in her eyes. “I know why you are in Mr. Lienzo’s house, and I know the nature of your inquiry. Is he so jealous of the insurance money from Aaron’s lost ship—money he has refused to give me, though it is in truth, if not in law, mine? Ruin me if you wish, and collect your little reward for doing it. I cannot pretend any longer to find you anything but a villain.” With that she rushed into her coach and ordered the driver to ride.
I did not even think to chase after her. I stood still in a kind of foolish stupor, wondering what I had said and done, wondering what her words could mean.
I could indulge in this wonderment only a short while, for I had left Elias, dressed as he was in his Jew costume, awaiting someone who believed he was me. I pushed Miriam from my thoughts and rushed back in.
Elias had not been molested in my absence. I found him tolerably well, if a bit overly jolly, taking refreshment at the punch bowl.
“Ah, there you are,” he chirped. “I don’t think I was aware of what a truly terrible dancer you are, but I believe I like your cousin. She’s a girl of some spirit.”
“That is the trouble,” I muttered and separated from him again, hoping that whoever had invited me to the ball would make himself known soon. I had grown weary of costumes and dances.
Elias ventured into a crowd of nymphs, but I was careful never to let my friend out of my sight. While I found myself disgusted with the gawking and laughing of the other masqueraders as they pointed to his costume with delight, I could not but be grateful the disguise was as conspicuous as it was, for it was never long out of my view. Elias very much enjoyed the notoriety the Jewish peddler costume afforded him, and danced companionably with an assortment of Chloes, Phyllises, Phoebes, and Dorindas. For my part I kept my distance, concerned only to watch Elias and those in his vicinity. Aiming to keep myself unoccupied, I was astonished to discover how many ladies approached me with an inquisitive squeak, asking if they knew me. And while I have certainly been guilty of vanity in my days, it was hard to take pride of one’s appearance when dressed in a formless black robe and a mask that covered all of one’s face. Nevertheless, these masked ladies were aggressive, and I found that responding to the “Do I know you?” introduction with “I do not believe so, madam,” only produced further unwelcome conversation. I soon discovered that “Certainly not!” did my business admirably, and I was free to watch Elias’s feet, as well as his hands, roam nimbly about the dance floor.
The night wore on, and the hall began to thin out, and I soon wondered if our enemies had somehow detected our ruse, or if our allies had been too frightened to make the connection they had thought to make. Then, as I watched Elias bow a farewell to a striking sultana, I saw four domino-clad men approach him and, after a moment of discussion, beckon him to join them. I must say that while Elias was somewhat unsuited in constitution for combat between men of grit, he knew to keep his head about him, and he demonstrated an implicit trust in my vigilance. Without straining his neck to see if I observed what transpired, Elias nodded to the men and followed along.
I was dismayed to see that they escorted him with two behind and two before, for it would make it hard for me to get to Elias should the confrontation turn vicious. Nevertheless, as inconspicuously as I could, I followed
