Through the crowd, Ellen caught occasional glimpses of the others—of Carter with Nigel, who was already well away to the point of almost staggering. Carter looked exasperated, as did Drake’s men, but between the three of them, Ellen didn’t doubt they would keep Nigel under control.
When she spied Robbie, he was very nearly grim faced as he sought to protect Julia from the worst of the crush while they stuck close to Tilly; indeed, even Tilly looked ready to claim Robbie’s protection from the surging hordes.
Ellen regretted not being able to have Christopher beside her; he would have ensured she wasn’t jostled and bumped. As it was, she had to rely on her fan and her elbows to redirect some of those less steady on their feet.
The evening wore on, and the atmosphere in the rooms thickened to that of a hothouse. Even Rose was affected; she drew to one side of the ballroom, where an open window let in some air, and while apparently scanning her guests, vigorously plied her fan.
Ellen halted beside her and did the same.
To Ellen’s relief, no young men gathered about them; by now, all were intent on the action at and around the tables.
She seized the moment to ponder the “what comes next?” that Drake and their select company had, thus far, left largely unresolved. Once this party ended, they were going to have to wait for an unknown period of time for the mastermind to make his move. While they might hope he would contact Rose the next day, they couldn’t count on it being that soon. They’d tossed around the prospect of Ellen, Drake, and Louisa joining the Hall household, and that Rose herself might need to be returned there, albeit kept locked away. They hadn’t made any decisions and had left the matter to be dealt with tomorrow, once they’d weathered this event.
Rose snapped her fan shut, then with a resigned glance at Ellen, plastered on her hostess’s smile and forged back into the shifting mass of bodies.
Ellen stepped out in Rose’s wake.
They’d managed only three steps before a surging group of rowdy young men stumbled into them, knocking them almost off their feet.
The young men immediately leapt to save them; sobered somewhat by their own clumsiness, they steadied Rose and Ellen and even attempted to straighten their crushed skirts. Order of a sort restored, Rose and Ellen did their best to smilingly reassure the swaying men that all was well.
Finally, the group moved on, allowing Ellen and Rose to do the same.
Rose changed direction, heading toward the door to the front hall.
Following close behind, Ellen didn’t see the crumpled paper Rose tucked into her bodice, and neither did those covertly watching from the musician’s gallery above the far end of the ballroom.
One o’clock had come and gone, and to Ellen’s eyes, the bulk of the guests were, finally, starting to flag.
She certainly was. She fetched up beside Rose, who had halted just inside the doorway.
Instead of turning to face her guests, Rose dipped her head closer to Ellen’s and whispered, “I desperately need the withdrawing room.”
Ellen blinked. She’d been aware that Rose had drunk rather more than she had. “Where is it?” She knew of the room to which the men were being directed, but presumed Rose was speaking of a room set aside for ladies. As the only ladies present were herself, Rose, Tilly, and Julia, three of whom lived in the house, Ellen was fairly sure they hadn’t bothered to create a proper ladies’ withdrawing room.
In obvious discomfort, Rose muttered, “I need to go up to my room.”
Ellen sighed and nodded. “All right. Let’s go.” She wasn’t about to allow Rose to wander the house alone. Ellen looked up at the musician’s gallery, then followed Rose into the front hall.
The hall wasn’t completely deserted. Two footmen stood by the front door, and at the rear, the senior footmen manning the tables for the exchange of tokens were quietly talking among themselves. But other than that, all the guests remained crammed into the drawing room, ballroom, and dining room; for what seemed the first time in untold hours, Ellen felt able to breathe.
She and Rose climbed the stairs. As they reached the top and stepped into the gallery, the sound of rapidly nearing footsteps had them both pausing.
Christopher appeared from the shadows of the corridor. His eyes went to Rose. “What’s amiss?”
“Nothing.” Ellen waved at Rose. “Rose just needs to answer nature’s call.”
“Ah.” Christopher deflated. Halting, he studied Rose, then looked at Ellen. “I’ll come and stand guard, regardless.”
She smiled and tipped her head in acquiescence.
Rose made a growly sound, swung around, and head high, continued along the gallery and down the corridor to her room.
Christopher paced beside Ellen. His gaze on Rose, walking several feet ahead, he lowered his voice and said, “Drake’s men on the floor—the two helping Carter—have reported there are several not-quite-so-young gentlemen they wouldn’t have expected to see scattered through the crowd.”
“Oh?” Ellen shot him an inquiring look. “What does Drake make of that?”
“He’s not sure, but he’s wondering if one or more of those not-so-young men are pawns of the mastermind, sent here to assess how well the card parties have gone.”
“We did think that might happen,” she reminded him. “That the mastermind would send spies. Given what any spies will report, surely that makes it more likely that the mastermind will conclude that all has gone swimmingly and will promptly contact Rose to get his money.”
Christopher tipped his head. “We can hope.”
They’d reached Rose’s room, which lay at the end of one wing. She opened the door and swept in. With a glance at Christopher, Ellen followed and shut the door behind her.
Rose made a beeline for the large screen set up across one corner of the room.
Ellen strolled to the window and looked out at the gardens. From behind the screen came the rustling of fabric, then the tinkling sound of liquid striking porcelain.
Ellen focused on the view. Although there was no farmland attached to Goffard Hall, the gardens were extensive; she could see the waters of an ornamental lake glimmering between the canopies of the old trees that grew around the house. Her attention caught by a glimpse of white on the far side of the lake, she squinted and could just make out an archway amid the dark shapes of bushes and trees. No doubt a folly of some sort.
The susurration of silks followed by footsteps had Ellen turning to face the room.
Rose emerged from behind the screen. Her expression suggested severe distraction.
Given how self-confidently unruffled Rose had been to that point, Ellen found the change striking. “Are you all right?”
Rose had been staring, apparently unseeing, toward the door. She brought her gaze to Ellen’s face. “What?” Then she frowned, shook her head as if to clear it, drew breath, and straightened. “Yes. Quite all right.” She started for the door. “We’d better return downstairs.”
Inwardly shrugging, Ellen followed.
Christopher pushed away from the wall and fell in beside her, and together, they paced behind Rose.
When they reached the head of the stairs, Christopher closed a hand about one of Ellen’s and gently squeezed. “Another hour, and this will be over.”
He released her and, with a quick nod, walked on, heading back to the musician’s gallery, leaving Ellen to descend the stairs beside Rose.