Chapter SIX
Bruxley Hall was absolutely crawling with busyness here at the end of the day.
Luna stood on the opposite sidewalk across from the driveway, beneath one of the decorative neighborhood trees. It didn’t offer much shelter this time of year, but she held onto the slender trunk like a support beam and watched the comings and goings. Vendors and service people pulled up to the front gate, where they were immediately redirected around the back way by an austere, uniformed guard. The guard had Dragon with him as reinforcement, an effective deterrent for any gate-crashers. While the brindle mastiff was currently relaxed, thoughtfully scratching at a flea, no one in their right mind would try to get past him and his great jowls.
Luna bit her lip. Her gaze drifted momentarily to the tree branch, which extended out over the wall, some way beyond Dragon and his guard. For just a moment, her mind cast back to that evening, all those months ago, when she’d climbed onto Mr. Grimm’s shoulders and got him to boost her up, and . . .
“Oh gods,“
she breathed and squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of heat flooded her cheeks. At the time, she’d not thought anything of it! She’d been intent upon retrieving that rogue tiger lily, and Mr. Grimm was still just some guy. A very nice guy, yes, and her boss, sure. But he wasn’t Mr. Grimm to her. Not yet. She didn’t know him and all his various modes and moods.
“It’s a miracle he didn’t fire me on the spot,“
Luna whispered. But then, Mr. Grimm always did put up with a lot from her. Like he had today.
Giving her head a little shake, she opened her eyes and focused on the house in front of her again. She was here with a purpose to fulfill. No point in letting herself be distracted. But how was she supposed to get past Dragon? She couldn’t very well pretend to be one of the guests, not dressed as she was.
Even as this thought passed through her head, a florist’s van pulled up at the gate. The driver stuck his head out, exchanging words with the guard, while Luna read the name painted on the side of the van: Bloom’s Bliss, with the subtitle, “bountiful botanical beauties.”
Luna’s lip curled. She knew that name—the swankiest flower shop in Northside Ballycastle. Customers were always telling her about how they’d ordered arrangements for their weddings or birthdays or christenings from Bloom’s Bliss. But Mr. Bloom charged more than twice the rates going at The Arcane Bouquet; and there was no way his botanical beauties were anywhere near as fresh as Mr. Grimm’s!
Then again, Mr. Bloom’s flowers had probably never chased Lord Bruxley halfway across the city, nipping at the seat of his trousers. She supposed she couldn’t blame the man for taking his patronage elsewhere.
As the florist van’s thaumatic engine hiccupped, and the vehicle lurched back into motion, following the guard’s directions, an idea sprang to Luna’s mind. Wrapping her coat a bit tighter and turning up the collar, she trotted after the van, around the bend, using the carefully-shoveled sidewalk. It was a bit of a hike—Lord Bruxley’s abode took up the entire block.
There was a guard at the back gate as well, but no Dragon, and Luna managed to nip in on the far side of the florist van, just out of sight. The van rumbled slowly, and she maintained a quick pace until she was well beyond the gate and down the back driveway. Then she slowed down to catch her breath, while the van continued on up to the house.
Resting her hands on her knees, Luna lifted her head and got her first real look at Bruxley Hall. It was tremendously impressive by daylight, even from this back angle. There were stables on this side of the property as well—she recognized them by the smell as much as anything—which was somehow even more impressive. Only the very rich kept horses in the city.
“He’s the only man in the world whom I could ever love,“
the Countess d’Ackerley had declared all those weeks ago, “for he’s the only man in Ballycastle with a proper seat.”
Luna set her jaw. She’d suspected at the time that horsemanship was not the basis for a good marriage. Now that she was more familiar with the man in question, she was sure of it.
Her breath recovered, she set out at a trot up the drive and joined the hurly-burly taking place in the courtyard at the back of the manor house. The florist van was parked, and a harried-looking young fellow in a gray bib apron was in the process of hauling numerous large flower displays from the back. Luna stood a moment, eyeing them critically. Enormous white camellias, ranunculus, tweedia, and greenery, popped against neutral-toned floral linens, all very posh and elegant. To her eye, the tweedia looked just on the edge of wilting. Nothing a little Mama Morgana’s Miracle Spritzer couldn’t fix up, but . . .
“Here, get out of the way,“
the florist’s boy growled, shouldering past her. A long fern frond whipped across her cheek.
Luna leaped back. “Hey, do you need any help?“
she called after him. “I could—”
“No!“
the boy barked over his shoulder. “And don’t touch nothing, neither!”
Luna hesitated, chewing her lower lip. Then, when the boy had disappeared into the house, she sprang forward, picked up a heavy floral display, and hastened up to the back door. A woman with the militant air of an experienced housekeeper stood there, looking down her nose at the world.
“I’m with Bloom’s Bliss,“
Luna said, not quite making eye-contact.
The imperious woman took a long look at her from over her nostrils. “Do you think I was born yesterday?“
she intoned at length. “I know a journalist when I see one. Trying to sneak in the back way, eh? Get the scullery scoop? Well! We’ll have none of that nonsense here, my girl!“
She plucked the flowers from Luna’s hands and tossed her noble head. “Be off with you! And tell the rest of your kind that they may have the official media statement along with the rest. Go! Before I set the dogs on you!”
Protests were to no avail. The more she declared herself not a journalist, the more suspicious she sounded, even in her own ears. Luna had no choice but to retreat to the edge of the driveway, out of sight of the door. There she tucked her face into her scarf and her hands deep into her pockets. What was she to do now? Evening drew on fast, bringing with it a frigid chill. Perhaps she ought to abandon this foolish venture and make for home. While she hated to leave the countess to her fate, she didn’t seem to have any other options.
Toot-toot!
Luna jumped at the sound of the horn behind her and sprang out of the way just as a little bus trundled up the drive. It parked in the courtyard, opened its doors, and disgorged approximately two dozen stunningly beautiful young women, all carrying garment bags over their shoulders. They were dressed for the cold, but even winter layers could not fully disguise their lithe, vixen-like beauty. Their faces were all made-up, with long, sketched-on eyebrows and red-lined lips. They looked like a series of magazine pages come to life.
One of them, however, stood out from the rest.
Luna cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bryony!“
she called.
The redheaded beauty in a fur-lined hat paused, turned, garment bag still draped over her shoulder. At sight of Luna, standing in the shadows, her eyes widened with surprise. “Lunaloo! Is that you?”
Luna trotted hastily to her roommate’s side and caught hold of her arm. “What are you doing here, Bryony?”
“I’m here to work, of course, you ninny.”
“I thought you worked at the Rowdy House?”
“I do. The Rowdy House hires out sometimes. The girls and me is here to, um, serve the amuse-bouche, if you catch my drift.”
This made perfect sense to Luna. Of course, a fancy occasion such as this would require servers to carry around the little silver platters of finger food and drinks. While this was not exactly the kind of occasion she’d imagined the Rowdy House serving, what did she know? She’d never been to the Rowdy House. Maybe they served a very different clientele than she’d assumed all this while.
Either way, opportunity knocked. “Can you sneak me in, Bryony?“
she asked eagerly.
“Why?“
Bryony’s brow knotted. “What in the Green Mother’s name are you about, Lunaloo? Some mysterious florist business?“
Her eyes brightened, and she glanced from side to side. “Is Mr. Grimm here?”
“No, he’s not,“
Luna answered, perhaps with a little more shortness than necessary. “I’m here because . . . because . . .“
Here words failed her, so she settled for a simple, “Please, Bryony!”
“Fine, fine.“
Bryony waved a hand and rolled her perfectly-mascaraed eyes. “Mary called out sick today. You’re about the right size for her uniform, and she’s . . . well, she’s a waitress. An actual waitress. Nice, mousy little thing. You can definitely do her job.“
She pointed then to the bus, where a seedy looking gentleman with a cigarette dangling from his lips was going over some ledger, checking items in the back, and growling indiscernible answers to various beauties, who crowded around him with questions. “Go talk to JoeJoe there. He’ll be glad to have someone to fill in for Mary. Just tell him Bryony sent you.“
She squeezed Luna’s hand then. “I’ve got to go get ready now, Lunaloo. When this is over, you’ll explain everything to me, all right?“
With that, she slipped away, disappearing into the great house.
Luna breathed a little sigh. She would have preferred an introduction to the aforesaid JoeJoe, but at least she had an angle now. She owed it to the countess to try one last time.
Summoning her courage, she approached the cloud of cigarette smoke and the man inside it. “Um, Mr. JoeJoe?“
she inquired tentatively.
“What?“
he snarled, turning to look at her over his ledger. His eyebrows rose, and he took a long drag at his cigarette while his eyes made a more leisurely study of her and her drab little winter coat and her nice, new winter boots. “What can I do for you, doll?”
“I, um, Bryony sent me. Said you were short a girl. She thought I might be able to sub for . . . for Mary.”
He exhaled a plume of noxious fumes. “I can get by without Mary,“
he said. “It’s Kate who’s the trouble. Called out again on account of her young man.“
He narrowed his eyes, looking Luna over once more. She couldn’t help the crawling suspicion that he was taking her measurements. “You’re about the same size as Kate,“
he said at last. “If you want her job, you got it.”
“Oh?“
Luna hesitated. Then she shrugged. Mary or Kate, what difference did it make? “All right. I’d be happy to. Is there a, um, uniform?”
JoeJoe grabbed an extra garment bag out of the bus and shoved it into her arms. “Get changed, quick,“
he said, the cigarette drooping from his lip. “You’re all expected out on the floor in time for the Grand Announcement. I’ve got to speak to the band leader.”
With this inexplicable statement, he got busy closing up the bus. Luna blinked a few times, then shrugged. Armed with the garment bag, she hurried to the back door once more. The housekeeper was distracted, shouting something at one of the male servers, and Luna held up the bag to hide her face as she ducked through, hoping she’d be taken for just another one of the Rowdy House girls. The ruse worked well enough; she was through.
Once inside, she followed the sound of giggling female voices to a changing room down the hall, off the kitchen. She opened the door, only to be met by a flurry of naked female limbs, an overwhelming cloud of perfume and makeup, and stockings and underthings strewn positively everywhere. Suddenly wishing she’d made very different choices for her day, Luna stood a moment, frozen in shock, the garment bag clutched to her heart.
“Get in and shut the door!“
a brassy voice sounded. “Those footmen outside are a load of peeping toms, and my Tom don’t like anyone else doin’ the peeping!”
A burst of laughter erupted at this. Luna, smiling weakly, hurried inside and pulled the door shut behind her. She sidled around the edge of the crowd, searching for Bryony but not seeing her. But she found a quiet spot and, still wondering how she’d ended up like this, unzipped the garment bag.
“Oh my.”
It was an . . . interesting sort of outfit. Not quite what she’d expected for a waitress’s uniform. So many details that didn’t make any sense. For one thing, it included the stockings: black silk stockings with an outlandish pattern of roses. And the garters to which these were affixed were frilly and sequined, as were the . . . what would you call these? The pantaloons? Not quite voluminous enough to sport the title, but neither did they look quite like panties. Some sort of in-between item, with so many ruffles on the bum. And then there was the bustier.
“I suppose you couldn’t just wear an ordinary brassiere underneath this uniform?“
Luna muttered as she held up the bone-ribbed garment, all sequined and black and trimmed with so much lace and beading. It hardly made sense considering the extremely demure skirt and blouse she saw the other girls putting over the tops of their bustiers and ruffled panties. But everyone wore the same thing, so it must be right.
It wasn’t a true corset at least: no laces up the back, just handy little front-hooks. She managed it well enough, then removed her brassiere and stuffed it, along with the rest of her clothing, into the garment bag. She pulled on the outer skirt and blouse last of all and . . . Green Mother alive, but they were cheaply-made things, weren’t they? Considering how nice and detailed the undergarments were, she might have expected a bit more from the uniform itself. Why, these were so flimsy, they were liable to tear right off her body if she so much as brushed by a stray nail! She’d have to be careful while navigating the room with her serving tray.
There were shiny shoes in the bottom of the bag, a bit tight for her feet, but close enough. She added the white apron last of all, and was just in time to join the tail end of the line of girls making their way out of the dressing room. Once more, she looked for Bryony, but did not spy her roommate’s magenta head among all the platinum blondes, siren reds, and ravens in front of her. It seemed like an awful lot of waitresses for one party. But then, Lord Bruxley and the countess were the absolute cream of society. This event was bound to be a big one.
The girls all crowded into an interim hall, where a plate of cheese puffs was shoved into Luna’s hands. The plate was exquisite silver, and the cheese puffs smelled absolutely heavenly! Her stomach growled, but there was too much noise from all the talking, twittering, and shuffling young ladies for anyone to hear it.
“All right, you lot, listen up!“
the reedy voice of JoeJoe piped from somewhere. “I expect you all to be a credit to the Rowdy House, d’ye hear me? Lord Bruxley was adamant that you be featured here tonight, and he is not a patron we can afford to disappoint. So big smiles, and put a little vinegar in your step while you’re serving up those bonbons!”
More giggles at this.
“I expect you to mind your ps and qs,“
he continued. “Play the part of downcast misses until the band leader gives the signal. You’ll know it when you hear it!”
Luna frowned, uncertain what to make of these enigmatic instructions, but . . . whatever. JoeJoe wasn’t her boss, thank heaven. She remembered Bryony’s soliloquies about pervy bosses versus curmudgeonly bosses, and wondered briefly where JoeJoe fell on the spectrum. Before she had time to work it out, however, she was shuffled from the interim passage and out into the magnificence of Bruxley Hall.
It was quite the thing.
Luna did her best not to gape at the riches and luxury so gratuitously displayed. Gilt this and polished that, all marble and glass and glittering crystal decadence, such as she’d only ever seen in black-and-white on the cinema screen. The cinema could never have prepared her for the overwhelming majesty of such in-person opulence! To a Crimble Mountains girl like her, it was like stepping into another realm entirely, more overwhelming even than the experience of meeting Garden for the first time. Garden, at least, was magic, and magic she understood to a degree.
This wasn’t magic. It was very of-this-world. Only not her world.
But far more overwhelming than the setting were the people who moved and breathed within it. Like so many glorious birds of paradise in their natural, heavenly habitat, they exuded absolute confidence in their very being. They were not solely congregated in one room, but scattered everywhere across the enormous lower floor of Bruxley Hall. Forming little knots and cliques here, larger, laughing groups there. One large room was such a cloud of cigarette smoke, Luna could hardly discern anything of the guests inside. Elsewhere, however, they were a feast for the eyes: feathers and silks and bias-cut gowns, trailing long trains behind jeweled heels. Ropes of pearls and diamonds, headdresses and feathers, all so glorious and glamorous! And those were just the ladies. The men were beautiful in their own way, sporting tuxedos so perfectly cut and fitted to their figures, whatever those figures might be. It hardly mattered if the man in question was magnificent or an absolute baboon—once clad in his tuxedo, he became a figure of power and magnetism.
It was certainly a sight worth seeing. And all beneath glittering chandelier lights and cradled in an atmosphere of light, jazzy music, played by a live band situated on a small stage at the front of the house. Luna recognized a lilting arrangement of “A Rose in the Rain.“
Because of course they were playing that song. It was impossible to escape it, anywhere in Ballycastle. A male crooner with gravity-defying hair stood at the microphone and poured out his heart in deep, soothing tones:
“I watched you dance with someone new,
Heartbreak wrapped in shades of blue,
Every smile you give away,
Turns my dreams to shades of gray.”
Rather lovelorn lyrics for an engagement party, Luna thought. But then, who really paid attention to lyrics anyway?
She moved through the crowd with her silver platter, which was empty before she knew it. Rather than duck back to the kitchen for a refill, however, she simply tucked it under her arm and made her way to the edge of the crowd, searching for some glimpse of the Countess Claudine. It was nearly impossible to spy one woman out of so many—like picking out an individual flamingo from the flock. But she’d not come all this way simply to give up. She would find the countess, whisper a few words in her ear . . . make this whole ridiculous venture worth the effort and the pinching shoes.
Lord Bruxley appeared suddenly, directly in front of her. Handsome, mustachioed, resplendent in an exquisitely-tailored tux. His face was flushed bright red with alcohol, and he stumbled a little, but smiled so enormously, no one seemed to care. A cheer went up from the crowd, and glasses were raised and clinked in his general direction.
Luna ducked her head, resisting the urge to hide her face behind her silver platter, and instead darted to the far side of a large Bloom’s Bliss floral display. From there she could overhear masculine voices jibing, and the thick sound of hands slapping shoulders.
“What are you thinking man,“
someone cried, “tying yourself down to that woman?”
“Well, y’know,“
Bruxley replied, his words elegantly slurred. “Got to do it some time, haven’t I? And the old lady’s loaded. Don’t think it’s going to stop me from having my fun, though! I’ve already told her, I’m not a man to be kept down!”
“Nah, nothing gets old Archie down!“
the fellows concurred with riotous enthusiasm and much clinking of glasses.
Luna set her teeth. Peering out through greenery, she was halfway tempted to spring from hiding and smack him up the side of his face with her silver platter.
As though receiving that thought like thaumatic radio waves, Lord Bruxley turned his head suddenly, forehead crinkling as he stared at the floral display. Luna gasped. Could he see her behind it? Surely he wouldn’t recognize her, would he? It had been many weeks now since that little incident with the tiger lily, and the gentleman hadn’t shown his face around The Arcane Bouquet since then. He must have harassed dozens more shop girls in the meantime, and she had long since faded from his memory. But if not . . .
Luna began to back away. There was a little side passage for servants not far from her current position. She made a bolt for it, only to turn the corner and bump right into a pea-green uniform. “Oh!“
She startled and tilted her head back, looking up into the stern face of . . . not Officer Ward. For a second, she thought it might be him, what with the familiar double-breasted jacket and buckles. But though the SSSD insignia was clearly pinned to his lapel, this man was a stranger.
“Careful where you’re going, miss,“
the officer muttered, his gaze flicking briefly and without interest over her staid, black waitress uniform.
“Pardon me,“
Luna replied, and demurely slipped back out of the passage and into the safety of the busy throng. Her heart throbbed. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she spied several more SSSD officers stationed in various discreet positions all around the house. Some sort of sorcery-prevention service, something the upper crust could afford for extra protection. Had Lord Bruxley’s encounter with the tiger lily frightened him so much? Or were there other sorcerous activities taking place in Ballycastle which had made him nervous enough to hire extra security?
A hand gripped her elbow.
Luna jumped and only just stifled a scream. She half-raised her silver platter in defense before recognizing the familiar face of her roommate.
“Lunaloo!“
Bryony hissed, her eyes wide as she took in Luna’s uniform. “What are you doing?”
“I’m working,“
Luna replied, trying to pull free of Bryony’s pincher fingers. “Thanks for the gig, by the way.”
Bryony’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t thank me yet! I thought I told you to ask for Mary’s spot?”
“Oh, well, Mr. JoeJoe thought it best if I fill in for Kate instead.”
“Kate? Oh, Luna, honey, I don’t think you should be—”
Just in that moment, the band struck up a triumphant fanfare. Everyone in the house moved as one, gathering to the foyer. Luna and Bryony were both caught up in the flow, but managed to jostle themselves to the edge of the room. There Luna stood against the wall with her silver plate in front of her chest, trying to make herself small. Not that anyone noticed.
All eyes were fixed on the top of the stairs, where Countess Claudine d’Ackerley had just arrived for her engagement party.
Luna’s eyes nearly popped from her skull. Though every woman in Bruxley Hall that night was stunning, the countess was the last word in glory. Though not a beautiful woman by traditional standards—and certainly not by the standards of the Rowdy House—she certainly knew how to descend a staircase, by gods! She was clad all over in glittering silver and stars, which trailed behind her like constellations. Her head was adorned with a headdress of more stars, sparkling diamonds worth more than the whole house and its contents combined.
The foyer erupted with a series of “ooooohs!“
and “ahhhhhhs!“
Luna wondered suddenly if she had made a terrible mistake. The countess looked so happy, receiving the admiration of her peers, here at the beginning of her dream-come-true. Maybe she knew what Lord Bruxley was like. Maybe they had an understanding, an arrangement that worked for the two of them. Maybe Luna was butting in where she was neither welcome nor needed.
“I say!“
Bryony whispered, her mouth suddenly close to Luna’s ear. “I thought you said he wasn’t here tonight?”
“Who?“
Luna frowned as her roommate pinched her arm and pointed. She turned her gaze where indicated.
And her heart tumbled to her stomach.
Mr. Grimm.
Mr. Grimm stood on the other side of the foyer, his back to the wall.
Mr. Grimm, wearing an elegantly-cut tuxedo which fitted his slim frame to perfection and emphasized the nice squareness of his shoulders.
Mr. Grimm, looking pale and worn out and almost painfully handsome. His brow wrinkled with worry. His blue eyes searching the crowd for . . . for . . .
“Green Mother save me,“
Luna breathed. “What is he doing here?”
“Hmmm.“
Bryony growled softly. “Ain’t he just a yummy snack you want to lick off the—”
A series of things happened next which, in retrospect, Luna never could fully place in order. It was all such a jumble, and her senses seemed to have almost completely abandoned her. Some part of her was aware that Countess Claudine was just reaching the end of the stairway, one hand extended to catch the offered fingers of her clearly-inebriated fiancé. In that exact instant, the crooner at his microphone suddenly shouted out, “ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!“
and the band erupted, blaring a reveille that could wake the dead. Elegant party guests yelped in surprise, champagne sloshed from many a glass.
And the waitresses, scattered throughout the crowd, let out a series of, “Whoop whoops!“
as they ripped off their aprons and hurled them over their heads.
“Come on, Luna!“
Bryony cried, snatching Luna’s apron and tossing it after hers. Luna choked on a protest as her hand was caught in her roommate’s grasp, and she was dragged across the foyer toward the band on its little stage. She was jostled, lost track of Bryony, lost track of her silver tray, and found herself squashed between platinum blonde curls and ebony finger-waves, standing with them in front of the guests.
The Rowdy House girls threw up their arms and struck a series of poses, all angled hips and flashing grins. Every eye in the household was turned their way. Luna just glimpsed the countess, her mouth rounded with shocked horror, even as her fiancé abandoned her and pushed his way through the crowd of leering gentlemen and affronted ladies toward the stage and dance floor.
Then, with a rattle of drums and clash of symbols, and another series of, “Whoops!“
from the girls, all those ugly black blouses were suddenly torn away, revealing the sparkly bustiers underneath.
“Oh, gods!“
Luna yelped, her voice drowned out in a trumpet’s blast and the lusty cheering of far too many male voices.