Dressed, Helena sprinted down the stairs as best she could with her mid-heel shoes and the full-length ruby artistic dress, bare-armed covered by long fingerless gloves and solid lame underlayment. She was delighted the dress only had a light corset. On top of her head perched one of her most beautiful wigs matching her strawberry blond hair perfectly, to complete her costume a black leather mask adorned with bright scarlet feathers.
Both men with tails, half capes, and black masks met her at the bottom of the stairs, mouths agape as she rushed to meet them.
“Miss Helena, one does not run while wearing a ball gown. You should do your best to glide down the stairs. You’ll draw everyone’s attention,” Sigmund reached over and closed Lane’s mouth before continuing, “Lane don’t you think it would be a good time to collect the automobile.”
“I can’t help it I’m so excited to meet real royalty, all we have here in San Francisco are normal people.”
“I hope they meet your expectations. I have a small gift for you, it might seem awkward, but I think it is for the best,” he handed her a slender walking stick. She took it from him and scrutinized it.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“Twist the handle and find out.”
She did as he told her, finding the handle disengaged from the shaft after twisting a quarter turn, tugging on the handle she withdrew a slender court sword from the scabbard.
“Oh, this is beautiful, thank you.”
“I thought you would like it, it belonged to your mother. It is more like the foil than the saber. Only the point is sharp, but you are to only use it for self-defense or an emergency.”
“To stab Lane when he’s teasing me, wait this belonged to my mother, why would she need a cane sword?”
“You are learning the world can be a hazardous place, ten years ago it was even worse.” Before Helena asked another question, Lane pulled up with Bessie.
“Now it is time to go meet your Count and Countess,” Sigmund hustled her out the door before she asked any more questions.
The trip from the estate to the Cliff House followed a straight shot out Geary Street and then onto Point Lobos Avenue. Carriage traffic was light considering the trio arrived at the party fashionably late, which, considering Bessie’s ability to spook horses, was for the best.
“I wish we could see the moon, it has to be getting close to full,” Helena said.
“The first night of the full moon is still six days away,” Lane said over her shoulder.
“That matters not, it remains overcast, we will have a very dark night,” Sigmund replied.
It was an odd sight approaching the Cliff House, carriages parked to the side of the road, their drivers huddled in little groups all sharing cigarettes and tall tales, leaving the smallest of track for them to follow. Lane pulled into the regular parking area in front of the Cliff House, and the guard waived him into a reserved parking spot at the front door. Lane began closing valves and flipping switches shutting the boiler down while Sigmund helped Helena out of the backseat. The boiler now secured, Helena could hear the surf crashing on the cliffs four-hundred feet below the foundation of the Cliff House.
“I’ve always loved this place in the daylight, the house looks like it came out of a fairytale. Now with the lights, the view is even more spectacular,” Helena gazed up at the many oil lamps illuminating the gingerbread facade of the mansion’s seven stories. Build on a precarious precipice, four-hundred-feet above the crashing surf of the Pacific Ocean, it was a marvel of engineering.
“Mister Suttor spent a lot of money building this resort, and the Baths below,” Sigmund noted.
“You two head in, I will follow shortly, after I get Bessie calmed down for the evening.”
Sigmund offered Helena his arm since officially tonight he played her escort though old enough to be her father. They walked to the front door, and Sigmund handed their invitation to a doorman who inspected it before giving a slight bow and waving them in. The card then passed to a runner, a young boy who sprinted ahead to provide the information to the waiting herald.
Upon arriving at the head of the stairs, Helena jumped when the trumpet started blowing a flourish announcing her arrival.
The herald called out in a clear voice, “The Mistress Helena Brandywine and escort,” if Sigmund had not been standing next to her, Helena would’ve backed away from the stairs. Suddenly she felt tiny, sure every eye in the ballroom was glued on her entrance. She would’ve been right, the combination of her late arrival and her bright crimson gown a washed in a sea of pastels, white, and black made her an instant beacon. She studied the ocean of white faces all dressed in formalwear trying to hide behind little leather masks. She felt Sigmund begin to step down the stairs, and she followed him, only to discover he stopped and let her make the entrance alone. She had never been so happy in her life for a small piece of leather and feathers covering her face to hide her blush.
She had barely descended the steps when a familiar voice spoke to her from the side in a loud whisper, “Have you found Missy?” Minnie ran up to her before she knew what had happened.
“Minnie? Is that you?” Helena’s head swam, too many new sensations bombarding her at once.
“Of course, have you found Missy?”
“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t found her yet, but I haven’t given up. I just needed to meet the Count.”
“I know, isn’t this about the most exciting thing that’s ever happened?” before the two women could
