“Does it now?” She looked back at the large wooden box. A slow, creeping grin spreading across her face. “And I’m sure Mr. Wyck is of no interest whatsoever. C’mon. There’s time for this later. We’ve got work to do.”
Reluctantly, I allowed her to pull me away.
When we reached the receiving room, the footman was there, looking apoplectic. “Where have you been? You cannot leave the chamber unattended. If you have a question or need—”
“Sorry, it couldn’t be helped,” I said. “We won’t leave again.” I looked at Marlie. “At least not at the same time.”
The footman grabbed his lapels and appeared to have more to say before thinking better of it. “Fine,” he relented. “Do you have any questions?”
I brushed past him and entered the chamber. “We take the coats and cloaks and whatever else and hang them up or put them on a shelf. Fill out a ticket and give it to the guest. Is that right?”
“Yes,” he said with a huff. “Now if anything should go wrong, you can find me near the entrance.”
If something went wrong, I doubted he would be any help at all. “Where will Mr. MacDougall be?”
He scratched his head. “It’s difficult to say. He moves about. Why do you ask?”
“It’s just…” I looked at Marlie. She shook her head. I knew what she meant. The less we spoke of our true mission, the better.
Marlie stepped forward. “It’s just that we want to be sure he sees us doing a good job. The kitchen is fine and all but…”
A liveried man swept through the door. “There you are, Chester. A carriage is on its way.”
Chester rolled his eyes and glanced our way. “And so it begins. Get to your places, girls. It will be a long night, I assure you.” He straightened his cap and hustled off with the other footman.
I leaned closer to Marlie. “Thank you for your help there.”
She smiled and winked. “That’s what friends are for.”
The words stopped me cold. Friends? Is that what we were?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The clatter of the approaching carriage jolted me from Marlie’s surprise declaration. Guests to the Queen’s masquerade ball would be funneling in soon and there was no time to waste. I hurried to the chamber door to see the first arrivals. I hoped that’s what I appeared to be doing anyway because I was really searching for Mr. Wyck and Mr. MacDougall.
There was no sign of either man.
Instead, I saw footmen, a dozen of them or more, arranging themselves into tidy rows on both sides of the red-carpeted staircase as a carriage stopped at the main doors. Along the lower steps, more footmen assembled—until a frantic Mr. Galding appeared and waved them away.
“Not here, men,” he cried. “You’re needed in the ballroom. There aren’t enough footmen in the ballroom.”
An underbutler approached. “Sir, these men are required here. The Chief Deputy to the Lord Chamberlain made the order himself. Assign pages to the ballroom, if you must.”
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Galding wailed. “Pages are useless in the ballroom. I was assured there would be adequate staffing, but there is not. You have commandeered my footmen.”
From behind the two men, Mr. MacDougall appeared, his arms held wide, false cordiality oozing from his expression. “Gentlemen, we all agree there are too few men to do the job adequately, but we must do the best we can under the circumstances. Shall we remove ourselves to the Guard Room to discuss it?”
As he herded the other two into a side room, a gray-bearded man in regimental attire ascended the stairs from the arriving carriage, a golden mask dangling from his gloved fingers. Behind him, two paces or three, came a stout matron in a pale-pink gown with a matching mask festooned with white ostrich plumes that obscured half of her face.
“That’s the Earl of… Oh, what was it? Berg-something. No. Mon—no, that’s not it, either. It’ll come to me. A stickler, for sure, I remember that about him. Complains about everything and always has to request something peculiar when he attends a dinner. Last time it was a fruit chutney to spread on his roast pheasant. Curry wasn’t even on the menu! He does it to aggravate, if you ask me.”
Marlie prattled on, but I stopped listening.
I was too busy watching the entry and the vestibule, searching for Mr. Wyck, who would be restricted to the common areas now, dressed as he was. I was so focused on examining the shadows that I didn’t even notice Chester approach with a pair of gentleman’s gloves, a scarf, and a pale-pink stole.
“She’ll take them,” Marlie said, motioning to me and proceeding to gawk at the couple, not even trying to be subtle in the way she craned over the man’s shoulder.
“What? Oh, yes, of course.” That was Mrs. Crossey’s plan, wasn’t it? I was to touch the belongings, wait for a vision, and tease out any threat to the Queen. That the most credible threat was, at this moment, still carting about pieces of a steam instrument gave me some comfort.
Yet how could I keep Mr. Wyck away from the Queen once I did spot him? That was the question that plagued me as I folded the scarf, the gloves, and the stole and placed them on a shelf. I was so caught up in those thoughts, I considered skipping the vision altogether, but curiosity got the better of me.
I had never read an earl before, or the wife of one, and my fingers twitched with curiosity.
Carefully, I slipped off my right glove and picked up one belonging to the earl. Its leather was of a reddish brown, and I was admiring its softness
