Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
T he fairgrounds were remarkably organized and well-kept, with paved walkways winding gracefully between the grand tents and bustling stalls. Men and women tended carts laden with sticky, sweet confections, their sugary aromas swirling in the summer air.
There was no end to the spectacle before her eyes; wherever Alice turned, some wonder awaited. To her right, strolling musicians filled the air with lively strains from double drums, tambourines, violins, and pipes. To her left, a troupe of tumblers twisted and turned, while posture-masters balanced with near-impossible grace.
“Gadzooks! Is that a dancing bear?” Penelope clutched Alice’s arm in wide-eyed astonishment.
“Bizarrely, it is,” Benedict replied, his voice smooth, entirely unruffled by the dozens of onlookers who shamelessly gawked at him. His gaze, however, remained fixed on the bear. “I do wonder how they trained it to perform such a thing.”
They paused to watch the bear now as it turned a few good somersaults and danced to the bagpipes. His companions were some little dogs dressed in red jackets, and a monkey that occasionally hopped atop the bear’s back.
“Something about this feels rather… unkind,” Penelope murmured, her soft brows knitting. The deep blue of her walking dress set off the fair strands of her hair, artfully swept atop her head in a chignon.
“It is all unfair,” Benedict replied, voice calm but edged with a touch of cynicism. “But many would justify it under the belief that God Himself granted them dominion over all creation.”
They drifted further into the fair, past a cluster of men expertly hurling knives—some even blindfolded. Alice sucked in a breath as the blades struck their marks with chilling precision.
“If you pardon my asking,” she ventured, adjusting the brim of her leghorn bonnet, “how is His Grace managing with all these… whispers?”
Benedict chuckled softly. “Edward could not be less concerned if the rumors were hand-delivered to him on a silver platter. My brother is a master of indifference—unless, of course, it involves his men, his dog Atticus, or me.”
I may be on that list.
“That’s good to hear,” she smiled thinly. “I know how cruel the denizens of your class can be.”
“I am perfectly aware,” Benedict tipped his head. “The ton is a world of glamorous elegance and lavish extravagance, but an ugly fickleness and an unforgiving nature lies at its underbelly.”
They neared a broad wooden structure where puppets danced, and the puppeteer told a story of a warrior and the princess he protected. The epic battle between the warrior and the enemy king was one that had her shocked by the level of sophistication the storyteller had.
At the end, she clapped with the rest of the spectators and dropped a coin in the bucket before moving on.
“Where is he these days?” she asked, knowing to keep her questions short and casual; she could not say anything to spark suspicion.
“Haggling with the stubborn lords at Westminster,” Benedict shrugged. “That is a job I do not envy and one that I am actively dreading to take over when he does pass the torch to me.”
The reminder that Edward was set on leaving England—and her—behind made her already upset stomach tumultuous like waves in the throes of a storm.
Though her pulse thudded, Alice drew her shoulders back. Don’t be a faint-hearted ninny . Think of Penelope and everything that is at stake.
“I am sure you will do fine,” she said. “From what I do know of His Grace, he’ll prepare you for everything coming your way.”
“Oh, oh, my lord,” Penelope hopped on her feet, excitement rippling over her face. She reached for him and tugged him toward a wide wooden pool with painted wooden fish bobbing in the waters. “If we hook five by the time that weight drops to the ground, we get a prize.”
“Lovely,” Benedict smiled widely. “Shall we fish then, my lady?”
While the two moved to take their places, Alice felt her attention drawn to a large tent that advertised the House of Mirrors.
A combination of lamps and sunlight-letting mesh openings in the fabric canopy illuminated the interior of the tent. Nevertheless, the room felt hot and restricting. Many of the precisely positioned mirrors were twisted to make the observer appear larger or fatter than they were, creating a bewildering—and upsetting—illusion.
She meandered to one where her reflection stretched her needle-thin but her head was a bulbous egg, and another that rendered her shorter than the end table in her bedroom.
Even as curious as it was, she left the tent humored and looked around for her sister—only to be approached by a woman, dressed in what she could only say were colorful rags and a headscarf. Her piercing blue eyes pinned Alice to her place.
“You—” the woman said, lifting a spidery finger to her. “You ‘ave ‘de hand of fate around ye… and ‘de murk of death and ‘de grave. The shadows twist and turn around ye, showing light one moment and darkness ‘de next.”
Alice blinked. And blinked again. “Beg your pardon?”
“The fates wind their strings around you,” the crone continued. “One path takes ye into the deep, another takes ye into the silver night, as ye hold yer bleeding heart in yer left hand. Beware the deep, gal, that is where fate snips the cord.”
With that, the woman wandered off, and flabbergasted, Alice stood rooted in place, unsure if she had just been given a blessing or a warning.
Shaking her head, she went off to find Penelope and Benedict, only to find them by the booths of stalls selling oysters and sausages.The two were sharing a hot pie and the tender expression on Benedict’s face as he gazed at a happily chattering Penelope warmed Alice’s heart.
A small twist of regret that she would never get that emotion from Edward did tighten her chest, but she pushed it away by pure force of will.
If and buts…
“Where did you wander off to?” Penelope asked, her eyes brimming with happiness.
“Just looking around,” Alice replied, not willing to bore them with tedium. “I apologize for leaving you. I am your chaperone, after all.”
“No worries,” Benedict grinned, “we hardly noticed.”
Of course not. You two are so in love.
“Shall we explore the rest of this fair?” She asked, as a juggler on stilts passed by them.
After the two finished eating, they roamed through the fair, trying the various games and booths, spending the tickets Benedict purchased for them at the ring toss and dice.
She linked arms with Penelope, watching Benedict attempt to test his strength by hitting a platform with a mallet to ring a bell. On his second try, the pendulum hit the bell so hard, the ring echoed in Alice’s ear for long after they left that booth.
An indigo evening was drawing down on them by the time they headed back to London proper—only, Benedict wanted to take Penelope for a stroll through his extensive gardens before they returned to the townhouse. Alice, having no desire to return to her aunt’s house just yet, gave her consent.
“Will you walk with us?” Penelope asked.
“Not this time,” Alice replied quietly. “I think I’ll find a quiet place to rest my feet. I am a touch fatigued.”
“Not a worry, I’ll have a maid chaperone us,” Benedict swept a courteous bow. “Ah, and Ramsay can show you to the library in the meantime.”
“Thank you,” Alice replied.
While the two went off, she turned in place, admiring the art on the walls until the butler strode to her and bowed. “Welcome, Miss Alice. I hope you’re doing well this evening. Please follow me.”
She allowed her mind to wander and simply followed Ramsay’s steady pace—until he halted before a door that was familiar… a little too familiar. She slowed her steps. “This is not the library—” She looked to the manservant. “This is His Grace’s study.”
“It is indeed,” Ramsay nodded rather matter-of-factly. “Forgive this old man for taking a liberty, but he has been a bit… unmoored of late.”
“There is nothing I can do about that,” Alice whispered chidingly. “There is nothing I can do for him.”
Ramsay’s shoulders slumped and the silver at his temples glinted in the lamplight around them. “Well, you cannot fault a man for trying, Miss,” he said, a touch softer now. “Especially when I’ve been instructed to burn no fewer than three dozen unfinished letters addressed to you.”
Alice’s head snapped to him while her lips parted. “Pardon?”
“I suppose I should not be disclosing my master’s personal affairs,” he grimaced.
“No, you undoubtedly should not,” Alice nodded but those words—not happenstance in any way— did turn her thinking. “Is he… inside?”
“Yes,” Ramsay nodded. “Staring into nothingness again I might wager.”
“Twist my arm, will you?” She muttered while she turned the knob on the door.
Slipping inside, she realized only a few lamps were lit, and in the flickering dimness, she noted shelves of books lining the walls and leather furniture clustered around the flickering fireplace at the center of the room.
She found Edward within moments.
His face, even in repose, was striking—made all the more so by the shadow of a night’s beard. Sprawled on the rug, he swirled his wine slowly, the deep red catching the light as it shifted in the glass, his expression unreadable yet captivating.
“I don’t need anything, Charles,” he said lazily.
Notching her head up, she murmured, “…I’m not Mr. Ramsay.”