 A masked ball! And in fancy dress. What could be more wonderful? Rona Trafford was humming to herself as she turned this way and that before the mirror, revelling in the beauty of her dress. It was made of gleaming white satin brocade, in the eighteenth century style, with wide panniers at the sides, and a tight bodice. She knew it enhanced her beauty, showing her dainty figure and tiny waist to advantage. She would make a sensation and, at nineteen, she was young enough to enjoy that. Her mother bustled in. She was dressed as Queen Elizabeth and looked very imperious, but her face lit up with a most unroyal glee when she saw her daughter. “There’ll be nobody to touch you, my darling!” she exclaimed. “What jewels are you going to wear?” “I thought the pearls, Mama,” said Rona, holding up a pearl necklace. “Hmm! Very nice,” said Mrs. Trafford doubtfully. “But I think diamonds would be better.” She opened the black box that she was carrying, revealing a heavy diamond necklace. It had three strands of completely perfect jewels and had obviously cost a king’s ransom. There were matching ear rings and bracelet. Rona gasped. “Mama! How can I possibly wear those? They’re yours.” “But I want to see them on you, my dear. You’ll look so lovely in them.” “But Lady Harris says an unmarried girl should avoid diamonds or, if she must wear them, no more than a discreet pendant.” Lady Harris’s word was usually considered law in the Trafford household. She was the wife of a Knight and made much of her knowledge of society, which impressed Rona’s parents, who had no title at all to boast of. But tonight Rona’s mother rebelled. “I don’t think we should take Lady Harris’ opinions too seriously, my love. I know for a fact that she has not been invited to the Duchess of Westminster’s ball tonight. We, on the other hand, have been invited. Royalty will be present. It is an occasion for showing ourselves at our best.” “At our wealthiest, you mean,” replied Rona impishly. “My dear, I beg of you not to say things like that. It is thoroughly vulgar.” “But that’s what Lady Harris says, that an heiress who puffs off her wealth is vulgar.” “I don’t want to hear another word about Lady Harris,” said Mrs. Trafford firmly. “She will not be at Westminster House tonight.” “But would we be going to Westminster House if it wasn’t known that Papa was terribly rich?” asked Rona. Her mother gave a little scream. “A young girl shouldn’t concern herself with such matters,” she said. “Now, not another word. You will wear the diamonds and you will outshine any other woman there.” “Yes, Mama,” Rona said with apparent meekness. “Well, you always do outshine the others,” said Mrs. Trafford cheerfully. “You’ve been the belle of the season. Just think. Westminster House!” “I’m really looking forward to seeing it. They say it has the most magnificent pictures.” “You’ll be too busy dancing to notice the pictures. And who knows what may happen tonight?” “Why should anything special happen tonight?” Mrs. Trafford put her finger over her lips. “Let’s just say that a certain young man is very interested in you.” That made Rona frown a little. Casting her mind back over the young men she had met in her glittering season, she could not recall a single one who had greatly interested her. She thought that the pictures she had read about would certainly be more interesting than the average young man. Older men seemed more intelligent, and certainly had a wider range of knowledge. “Aren’t you going to ask me who is it?” her Mama quizzed her archly. “Well, I’m sure you can guess. He’s been so particular in his attentions and I’ve noticed how much you enjoyed them.” Since Rona could not think of any man who had been particular in his attentions, still less one who had inspired her to enjoyment, she was left wondering. When the diamonds were draped about her neck it was time for the wig to be fitted on. It was shining silver white, dressed high on her head, with two ringlets falling down onto her left shoulder, and it revealed her beautiful, long, slender neck, which one admirer had likened to that of a swan. Finally, the mask. It was white satin, fringed with lace, decorated with silver spangles. “You look mysterious and enchanting,” Mama assured her. Rona picked up an elegant fan which matched the mask, and gave her mother a deep curtsy, smiling with pleasurable anticipation of the evening ahead. Laughing, Mama returned the curtsy, and they left the room together to go down the great stairway to find Papa. But there was no sign of him in the hall and the butler explained that Mr. Trafford had been delayed and would be down in a moment. “Yes, and I know what has delayed him,” Mama murmured to her daughter. “Primping in front of the mirror. I vow, men are worse than we are. Wait in the library, darling. I must speak to cook to make sure she knows what refreshments your Papa wants left out tonight. The last time she left sandwiches instead of cake and he was so cross.” She bustled away. Rona went into the library and sat down on a wide leather sofa, careful not to crease her lovely dress. This morning’s copy of The Times lay on a low table and to pass the time she began to browse through it. There was a report of a debate in the House of Lords which she tried to find interesting, and failed. They all seemed to say the same thing, at great length. Idly turning the pages, she came to an advertisement from an agency, and perused it, almost without realising she was doing so. After an advertisement for a secretary, a cook and several demands for coachmen who were well-trained, she read, ‘Wanted for a girl of sixteen. English governess who is prepared to travel abroad. Must be able to teach French, German and most European languages.’ ‘I expect they’ll have difficulty finding an English governess who is good at languages,’ she thought. ‘Mama always thought my governesses were hopeless at teaching me French.’ She remembered how finally her father and mother had taken her to Paris where they stayed with friends. She had managed, by the time they left, to speak French almost fluently. And she had enjoyed Paris. ‘So lovely,’ she mused happily now. ‘And all those gorgeous clothes.’ The following year when her father had taken her to stay with one of his friends who lived in Germany, she was able, by the time they left, to speak and understand ordinary German. Her father’s friends had said they had never known an English girl who had mastered their language so quickly. In fact they had praised her intelligence so much that Mama had hushed them, somewhat embarrassed. Girls weren’t supposed to be brainy, and a reputation for cleverness might harm Rona’s marriage prospects. At last she heard Papa’s voice in the hall and hurried out. He exclaimed with pleasure at the sight of her, and paid a compliment to Mama, who had also hurried back, so as not to keep them waiting. He was in a genial mood tonight, Rona was glad to see. Papa had an uncertain temper, which became unpleasant when he was thwarted. He spoiled and indulged his wife and daughter, showering costly gifts on them. But he expected to be obeyed. In fact, he reminded Rona of Henry VIII, the bullying Tudor king who had also smiled when he got his own way, and turned nasty when he did not. When he had been choosing his costume, Rona had suggested Henry VIII to him, half fearful, lest he should suspect her of satire. But he had embraced the suggestion eagerly and seemed unaware that it might have a personal application. “What splendid ladies,” he said now. “I shall be the envy of every man there.” They, in turn, complimented him on his magnificent appearance, and the atmosphere was very jolly. As the maid was settling the cloak about her shoulders, Rona became aware that her parents were whispering. “Have you told her?” she just heard her father ask. “Just a hint,” replied her mother. “I’m sure she understands everything.” ‘But I don’t understand anything,’ thought Rona. ‘What’s going to happen that I’m supposed to know all about? Who is it that has been ‘particular in his attentions’, and if I’ve enjoyed them so much that Mama has noticed, why haven’t I noticed?’ It was strange to be moving towards such a mystery, but she soon forgot that in the pleasure of the ball. It was high summer and they travelled to Westminster House in an open carriage. Normally Mr. Trafford enjoyed the stares of onlookers, interpreting this as admiration of the family’s wealth. But tonight he was less at ease. “They’re daring to laugh at us,” he muttered. “Well, you can’t blame them, Papa,” chuckled Rona. “It’s not every day that they see Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth riding together.” He scowled, and now he thought of something else that displeased him. “Did you have to wear that wig?” he asked. “It completely covers your hair.” “It’s eighteenth century, Papa. In those days they wore wigs, men too.” “But your own hair’s so pretty.” His grudging voice robbed the words of generosity. Luckily they were soon at Westminster House, where a stream of other carriages, also bearing colourful characters, were arriving. As soon as they entered the great house, they heard the sound of music coming from the ballroom at the back of the house. Crowds of strangely dressed guests were streaming along the broad hall to where the Duke and Duchess stood in the doorway waiting to greet their guests. They exclaimed in delight at the Trafford family, and Rona saw the Duchess cast a knowing eye over her diamonds. Then they were inside the ballroom. At first Rona felt almost giddy from the bright lights and the whirling couples. There was Cleopatra, dancing with a Sultan in gold robes, and Anne Boleyn dancing with a bear, while King Charles I shared a glass of champagne with a parrot. It all looked like enormous fun. “Ah, look who I see,” said her father, suddenly genial again. Rona followed his gaze to Lord Robert Horton. He was a handsome man whose looks, Rona had always thought, were spoiled by a permanently superior expression. He was dressed as a Regency dandy with a high neck cloth, knee breeches and swallow tailed coat. There was no doubt that it suited his elegant figure. Lord Robert’s estate ran beside the Trafford estate and he had several times stayed with them at The Court, their country house. He rode to hounds with her father and flirted with any married women who happened to be in their party, but it was rare for him to speak to Rona, whom he had seemed to consider unworthy of his lofty attention. Lord Robert had seen them and was making his way towards them. Over his face he wore a black silk mask, which he removed as he approached. “Sir, ladies.” He made a neat bow. “A pleasure to see you. Miss Trafford, may I beg the first dance?” Rona was about to make an excuse, for Lord Robert had never been a favourite of hers, but her father hurried to speak first. “Certainly you may. You make a delightful couple and I think you will both be an example of good dancing to the rest of the party.” Lord Robert laughed. “That’s a compliment I don’t usually receive from you,” he replied, “especially when we’re in the hunting field.” “You are now in a field of beautiful women,” Mr. Trafford said. “If you ask me, although I am prejudiced, I think my daughter wins the race.” “Of course she does,” Lord Robert agreed. “That’s why I am determined to open the ball with her and she is undoubtedly too pretty to be anything but the belle of the evening.” He spoke so fervently that Rona was astonished. Since when had he thought her so pretty? During his last visit to The Court, her parents had given a ball and he had not even danced with her, although, as the daughter of his hosts, she was entitled to that courtesy. She would have liked to refuse him this dance but she was now in an impossible position. Neither did Lord Robert wait for her answer, apparently thinking that her father’s consent made it unnecessary. Before she knew where she was, he had replaced his mask, put his arms round her and drawn her on to the floor. He danced very well and at first she had to concentrate on equalling him. As she grew more confident, she had time to look around and she became aware that she was being watched. A man dressed in a Harlequin costume, was standing by the French windows, his eyes fixed on the dancers – no, on her, she realised. As she was swept around by the dance, she lost sight of him, but then another turn would bring him back into view. And he was always looking at her. It was as though nobody else existed in the room. He was a tall man with a lean figure that was admirably displayed by the close fitting, diamond patterned costume. On his head was a black tricorn hat, around his neck was a small white ruff and his face was largely concealed by a black mask. It was strange, she thought, that she should be so certain that he was watching her, when she only glimpsed him now and then, and he was too far away for her to see his eyes properly. All she could discern through the slits in his mask was a gleam, and yet she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that the gleam was for her. It was as though the Harlequin was speaking to her in a strange silent language that only they could understand. There was something slightly sinister about him as he stood there, very still, almost as if he were warning her of something. “Miss Trafford!” Lord Robert was addressing her with a slight edge on his voice. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “What did you say?” “I complimented you on your appearance, but you made no answer.” “I beg your pardon. I was absorbed in admiring – admiring everything around us,” she finished. It was the best she could manage. “You must be very absorbed not to hear me say that you are the most beautiful girl here tonight.” “Why, how can you know how I look when my mask conceals so much of my face?” she asked trying to sound light-hearted. “But I have seen your face before,” he reminded her, “so naturally I know that you are beautiful, despite your mask.” Rona tried to look flattered, but this plodding attempt at gallantry set her teeth on edge. There was something about the heaviness of Lord Robert’s mind that reminded her of a suet pudding. She murmured, “too kind,” and turned her head as the French windows came into view again. But the Harlequin had gone. She forced herself to pay attention to Lord Robert’s ponderous conversation. It was as though he had read a book on ‘How to make light conversation at a ball.’ He was following the instructions dutifully, but it was hard going for them both. “This party is brilliant,” he said. “It’s just like the ones your father and mother give. They always manage to make everyone they entertain feel they are stepping into fairyland.” “Do you really think that?” Rona asked. “I thought when you were last staying with us in the country, you found it rather dull.” “Not at all. I enjoyed every moment of it, especially riding your father’s horses. They are some of the best I’ve ever encountered.” “I hope you said that to Papa,” Rona replied trying to sound amiable. “He loves being complimented on his stable.” “Your father and I understand each other pretty well,” said Lord Robert. She frowned. The words might have been meant pleasantly, yet somehow they grated on her. To her relief the music was ending. She tried to disengage herself, but he kept his arm around her waist. “I hope you will grant me the next dance as well,” he said. “You are too kind, but I don’t think I should do so,” she said, trying to sound firm. “Your father will not object.” “But I will object,” she said, becoming annoyed. His brow darkened. “You object to dancing with me?” “I object to being taken for granted. Will you please release me?” He hesitated and she was sure he was on the verge of refusing when a voice startled them both. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you.” The Harlequin had appeared, as if through a trapdoor. He danced right round the two of them before seizing Rona’s hand. “You promised me the next dance,” he said. “Don’t say you’ve forgotten.” Lord Robert’s lips tightened. “It’s quite impossible that Miss Trafford – ” “No, that’s too bad of you,” Harlequin rushed on, ignoring him. “Come along, you’re not getting out of it now.” Before she could catch her breath, he pulled her free from Lord Robert’s restraining arm and swept her away. The music struck up again and they were whirling, whirling around the floor in a dizzying waltz. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Rona said when she could catch your breath. “Why not?” “He knew I hadn’t promised you a dance.” “Nonsense, you promised me at our last meeting.” “Did – did I?” “I find it very sad that you should have forgotten,” he said, sounding hurt. “But we’ve never met before. You’re playing tricks.” “Of course. That’s what a Harlequin does. He’s a master of tricks. He can dazzle with deception and read people’s minds. That’s how he knows when a damsel is in distress and needs him to come to her rescue.” “I don’t know what you – ” she began to say primly. Then she stopped. This mysterious man really did seem able to read the thoughts she was trying to conceal, so perhaps it was useless to try to deceive him. “Was it that obvious?” she asked with something close to despair. “I saw you enter the ballroom. I saw him advance on you like a predator pouncing on a lamb, a tethered lamb, since you were given no chance to refuse. Henry VIII was very determined to make you accept, wasn’t he?” “Yes, I’m afraid he was. He’s my father. I suppose he thought it would be rude for me to refuse.” “Or maybe he’s trying to marry you to the fellow.” “Oh no,” she said quickly. “He knows that I have no particular liking for Lord Robert – ” “I wonder if he does know. He doesn’t look to me like the kind of man who interests himself in other people’s feelings if they run contrary to his own.” This gave Rona an uneasy feeling. It was so completely true of Papa. Harlequin could read people’s secrets. But surely he could not be right about her father wanting her to marry Lord Robert? She tried to silence the memory of certain signs and remarks that had made her uneasy that evening. “Was that why you were watching me?” she asked. “Because you thought I was a damsel in distress?” “Yes, I wanted to see if my first impression of you had been correct. Your initial reluctance might not have meant very much. You could have been madly in love with him, but had a violent quarrel.” “I can’t imagine any woman being madly in love with him,” she said frankly. “Nor I. And when I saw you dancing together, I knew that wasn’t the explanation. You held yourself stiffly and kept your distance. People don’t dance like that when they’re in love.” “Indeed?” she said, slightly offended. This fellow was growing impertinent. “You think you know all about it?” “Harlequin knows all about everything,” he said outrageously. “Then I think you must be quite insufferable,” she said, trying not to laugh. “I am,” he said at once. “Completely insufferable. Most people want to kick me after quite a short acquaintance.” This time she did laugh. It was impossible to stay annoyed with this joker. “That’s better,” he said. “You have such a pretty mouth. It ought to laugh often. It’s a shame that I can’t see more of your face, but your mouth will do – for a while, at any rate.” “You are shameless, sir,” she said, trying to sound severe. “Totally shameless,” he agreed promptly. “If we were not wearing masks, I could never listen to you talking like this.” “You’re right. One can say almost anything from behind a mask. I can say, for instance, that among the many subjects on which Harlequin is an expert, is love. You don’t love that man and he doesn’t love you. Don’t let them make you marry him.” “There’s no question of my marrying him. Nobody but you has even thought of it.” “I only wish you were right, but you are not. I simply want to put you on your guard.” “That’s very kind of you and although I disagree, I am grateful to you for rescuing me. Now, please tell me who you are. Without knowing your name I shouldn’t even be talking to you, much less dancing with you.” He was silent. “Sir, I insist that you tell me your name.” “My name is Harlequin and I am a lover of fair ladies. I sigh at their feet, I kiss the hems of their garments as they float past. I watch and protect them and rescue them from danger.” “I never heard of Harlequin as a lover of ladies,” Rona replied, briefly abandoning the attempt to make him serious. “He’s a joker and a trickster, who has to be rescued when he himself gets into a muddle.” “They lie who say it!” he declared theatrically. “Slanders, ma’am. Believe none of it.” She chuckled. He might not be quite proper, but he was exceedingly diverting. “I also heard,” she teased him, “that if it weren’t for Columbine he’d be in even more trouble.” “Good heavens!” he cried. “Unmasked. My secrets are all revealed. It’s true, I cannot deny it. Each man needs his Columbine to keep him on the straight and narrow. Are you Columbine? You look like it, all in white.” “Indeed no,” she said firmly. “I’m an eighteenth century lady.” She was falling in with his mood, finding it surprisingly easy to talk back to him in his own style. Not knowing who he was seemed to matter less as he whirled her about. “Of course you are,” he said. “A lady of the Court. You have danced with Kings and Princes.” “And I also think,” she could not resist adding, “that it would take more than my efforts to keep you on the straight and narrow.” He roared with laughter, showing strong white teeth. He was holding her improperly close but, strangely, she had no desire to back away from him, such as she had felt with Lord Robert. Instead, she found herself looking at his mouth, which was very near. It was a wide, mobile mouth, that looked as though it was made for laughing, and it made her wonder about the rest of his face. He was certainly a young man. She could tell that from the strength of the hands clasping her, and his lithe, graceful movements with their unmistakeable hint of power. He was very tall. Rona was tall herself, but he towered over her by a good eight inches. Beyond that, all she knew was his mouth. The face above was concealed by the black mask with only the eyes showing through the slits. She could just see that they were blue, the most intense blue that she had ever seen. They gleamed with life and wit, and something that might even have been danger. She could not be sure. The music was coming to an end. As the dance slowed Rona could see Lord Robert approaching with a look on his face that said he would not be denied. “Oh dear,” she sighed. “Remember,” Harlequin murmured, “don’t let yourself be forced into anything.” Lord Robert presented himself in her path, holding out his hand for her. “You will not be so cruel as to refuse to dance with me,” he said. It was an assertion, not a question. In fact his whole manner was of a man determined to have his own way, and for a moment Rona wondered whether Harlequin’s suspicions might be correct. But surely that was absurd. Nobody could force her into anything she did not want to do. Just the same, as Lord Robert led her away, she took a final look over her shoulder to where Harlequin stood watching. Then he melted into the crowd, leaving her feeling rather lonely. Continues.. | 
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