She hadn’t exercised much last night. She remembered lying beside Jem, his gentle hands on her. She knew with a painful inner honesty that if things had continued, she would have done whatever he wanted. Even now, thinking about it, her body felt hot and restless; she shifted in bed, punching one of the pillows. If she had destroyed the closeness she shared with Jem by allowing what had happened last night, she would never forgive herself.
She was about to bury her face in the pillow, when she heard the noise. A soft rapping at the door. She froze. It came again, insistently. Jem. Her hands shaking, she leaped from the bed, ran to the door, and threw it open.
On the threshold stood Sophie. She wore her black housemaid’s dress, but her white cap had come askew and her dark curls were tumbling down. Her face was very white and there was a spot of blood on her collar; she looked horrified and almost sick.
“Sophie.” Tessa’s voice betrayed her surprise. “Are you all right?”
Sophie looked around fearfully. “May I come in, miss?”
Tessa nodded and held the door open for her. When they were both safely inside, she bolted it and sat down on the edge of her bed, apprehension like a lead weight in her chest. Sophie remained standing, twisting her hands in front of her.
“Sophie, please, what is it?”
“It’s Miss Jessamine,” Sophie burst out.
“What about Jessamine?”
“She . . . It’s just to say, I’ve seen her . . .” She broke off, looking wretched. “She’s been slipping away in the nights, miss.”
“Has she? I saw her last night, in the corridor, dressed as a boy and looking quite furtive. . . .”
Sophie looked relieved. She didn’t like Jessamine, Tessa knew that well enough, but she was a well-trained maid, and a well-trained maid did not tattle on her mistress. “Yes,” she said eagerly. “I’ve been noticing it for days now. Her bed sometimes not slept in at all, mud on the rugs in the mornings when it weren’t there the night before. I would’ve told Mrs. Branwell, but she’s had so dreadful much on her mind, I couldn’t bear to.”
“So why are you telling me?” Tessa asked. “It sounds as if Jessamine’s found herself a suitor. I can’t say I approve of her behavior, but”—she swallowed, thinking of her own behavior the night before—“neither of us is responsible for it. And perhaps there is some harmless explanation. . . .”
“Oh, but, miss.” Sophie plunged her hand into the pocket of her dress and drew it out with a stiff cream-colored card clamped between her fingers. “Tonight I found this. In the pocket of her new velvet jacket. You know, the one with the ecru stripe.”
Tessa did not care about the ecru stripe. Her eyes were fixed on the card. Slowly she reached out and took it, turning it over in her hand. It was an invitation to a ball.
July 20, 1878
Mr. BENEDICT LIGHTWOOD
presents his compliments
to MISS JESSAMINE LOVELACE,
and requests the honor of her company
at a masquerade ball given on Tuesday next,
the 27th of July. RSVP.
The invitation went on to give details of the address and the time the ball would begin, but it was what was written on the back of the invitation that froze Tessa’s blood. In a casual hand, as familiar to her as her own, were scrawled the words: My Jessie. My very heart is bursting at the thought of seeing you tomorrow night at the “great affair.” However great it may be, I shall have eyes for nothing and no one but you. Do wear the white dress, darling, as you know how I like it—“in gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,” as the poet said. Yours always, N.G.
“Nate,” Tessa said numbly, staring down at the letter. “Nate wrote this. And quoted Tennyson.”
Sophie drew her breath in sharply. “I feared—but I thought it couldn’t be. Not after all he did.”
“I know my brother’s handwriting.” Tessa’s voice was grim. “He’s planning to meet her tonight at this—this secret ball. Sophie, where is Jessamine? I must speak to her this instant.”
Sophie’s hands began to twist more rapidly. “See, that’s the thing, miss—”
“Oh, God, has she gone already? We’ll have to get Charlotte. I don’t see another way—”
“She hasn’t gone. She’s in her room,” Sophie interrupted.
“So she doesn’t know you found this?” Tessa flapped the card.
Sophie swallowed visibly. “I—she found me with it in my hand, miss. I tried to hide it, but she’d already seen it. She had such a menacing look on her face when she came reaching for it, I couldn’t help myself. All the training sessions I’ve done with Master Gideon, they just took over and, well—”
“Well, what? Sophie—”
“I hit her on the head with a mirror,” Sophie said hopelessly. “One of those silver-backed ones, so it was quite heavy. She went down just like a stone, miss. So I . . . I tied her to the bed and I came looking for you.”
“Let me see if I have this quite correct,” said Tessa after a pause. “Jessamine found you with the invitation in your hand, so you struck her over the head with a mirror and tied her to her bed?”
Sophie nodded.
“Good Lord,” said Tessa. “Sophie, we’re going to need to fetch someone. This ball cannot remain a secret, and Jessamine . . .”
“Not Mrs. Branwell,” Sophie moaned. “She’ll sack me. She’ll have to.”
“Jem—”
“No!” Sophie’s hand flew to her collar, where the spot of blood was. Jessamine’s blood, Tessa realized with a jolt. “I couldn’t bear if he thought I could do such a thing—he’s so gentle. Please don’t make me tell him, miss.”
Of course, Tessa thought. Sophie loved Jem. In all the mess of the past few days, she had nearly forgotten. A wave of shame swamped her as she thought of the night before; she fought it back, and said determinedly, “There is only one person, then, Sophie, whom we can go to. You do understand that?”
“Master Will,” said Sophie with loathing, and sighed. “Very well, miss. I suppose I don’t care what he thinks of me.”
Tessa rose and reached for her dressing gown, and wrapped it around herself. “Look upon the bright side, Sophie. At least Will won’t be shocked. I doubt Jessamine’s the first unconscious female he’s ever dealt with, or that she’ll be the last either.”
Tessa had been wrong about at least one thing: Will was shocked.
“Sophie did this?” he said, not for the first time. They were standing at the foot of Jessamine’s bed. She lay flung upon it, her chest rising and falling slowly like the famous Sleeping Beauty waxwork of Madame du Barry. Her fair hair was scattered on the pillow, and a large, bloody welt ran across her forehead. Each of her wrists was tied to a post of the bed. “Our Sophie?”
Tessa glanced over at Sophie, who was sitting in a chair by the door. Her head was down, and she was staring at her hands. She studiously avoided looking at Tessa or Will.
“Yes,” Tessa said, “and do stop repeating it.”
“I think I may be in love with you, Sophie,” said Will. “Marriage could be on the cards.”