Page 38 of Lyon on the Loose

But none of them was Roland.

She barely picked at the buffet and refused to drink anything stronger than water; her nerves were fizzing so much she feared adding any alcohol to the mix. Wherever was he? She had successfully sent a message back to Oscar, requesting that he meet her in the small sewing room at nine o’clock. Roland had promised to conceal himself there half an hour beforehand, but she’d expected him to appear at the ball before that. He’d promised her a waltz—and her dance card was now dangerously full. She might be dead on her feet if he didn’t claim his dance soon.

Eventually, she excused herself from the ballroom and returned to the supper room, where she found Latymer picking the fruit out of a bowl of rum punch.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sister?” asked her brother, who was dressed as a seventeenth-century Puritan. “Don’t you find the noise distracting? I shall be glad to return to my parish.”

“Yes, it’s an excellent ball. Tell me—what has inspired you to fish for fruit?”

“Do I look like a sailor? I have sworn never to let a drop of rum pass my lips, but fruit soaked in it is another matter. I’m indulging myself—briefly. If I don’t eat the fruit, somebody else will, won’t they?”

She couldn’t fault his logic, even if she didn’t approve.

“Tell me,” she said, lowering her voice, “have you seen an executioner hereabouts?”

“Are you talking about a real person or one of the castle ghosts?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I mean one of the guests.”

“Why would you be interested in finding an executioner? Perhaps I shouldn’t ask. Maybe try Hugo—he spent an age greeting people as they came in. He has a mind like a trap. I’m sure he will know if we have an executioner among us. Tell me—would the man be holding a noose or an axe?”

She had no idea. Would Hugo have let anyone over the threshold if they’d been carrying an axe? Would he recognize Oscar when he arrived? She’d invited him as a guest to ensure he came in through the main doors—neither she nor Roland wanted him creeping in through the dungeons. She had no idea how he’d be dressed, but she was certain she’d know her former sweetheart anywhere, in any guise.

After running the gauntlet of a far-from-sober judge, an over-excited Nell Gwyn, and a vociferous Roman emperor, she finally located Hugo, costumed—somewhat unimaginatively—as a mine worker, complete with leather apron and a battered tricorn hat with a lighted candle on the brim.

“Hugo—have any of our guests arrived dressed as an executioner?”

“They’ve arrived dressed as everything you could possibly imagine. One must applaud them for their imagination. I think this ball is going exceedingly well—who would have thought Mama would ever do anything quite so . . . entertaining?”

“Yes, yes—but I’m particularly keen to find this executioner.”

“Why?” he asked, grinning. “Do you need somebody to cut the cake?”

Lissy jigged from one foot to the other. “I’m deadly serious, Hugo—please help me!”

She glanced up at the clock—only a quarter of an hour until the chimes rang nine. Was Roland in position? How could he be, if no one had seen him?

“If I can’t find my executioner, I may have need of your miner’s pick and hammer. I can’t explain now, but please don’t go anywhere for the next quarter of an hour.”

Her brother sobered, his mouth setting in a line. “I see. Something serious is afoot. Yes—there was someone dressed as an executioner. All in black, with a mask covering his head. He carried an axe, but it was only made of wood, with gray paint on the blade and a little red daubed on the edge, which I thought in poor taste.”

Thank goodness—Roland was in the house! But was he in the requisite position, and why hadn’t he sought her out first?

“He hasn’t been in the ballroom, and I’ve searched the supper room. I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Who is this gentleman, may I ask? Would Mama approve of his presence? I’m fairly certain now that he didn’t use the main entrance.”

Lissy wanted to grind her teeth. She was running out of time, and all Hugo could do was ask questions.

“It’s our secretary, Mr. Cowley. He was meant to be carrying out a particular commission for me, and I need to find him.”

Hugo’s brows shot up above his mask, but she stared him down, determined not to answer any further questions.

“I think he went up the stairs,” Hugo said at last. “I don’t recall having seen him come down again. I cannot tell you in which direction he went. Shall I come with you?”

“No, Hugo. It’s better if you remain here. There’s always the possibility that undesirable people may try to gain entrance to our ball, and I’m relying on you to stop them. I’ll go in search of Mr. Cowley.”

Hopefully Roland was already concealed in the sewing room. Such a shame she couldn’t have told him about Mama’s revelation, but there might still be time before the contretemps with Oscar. Gathering up her voluminous skirts, she hastened upstairs.