29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

D espite her distraction of a moment before, Beatrice wasted no time in setting off to find Florence. She turned abruptly from the colonel, her eyes scanning the crowd.

"I will check the front sitting room," Gregory said, formulating a plan with all of the precision of a military commander. "I will work my way backward from there. You check the gardens, and work your way up through the ballroom, and we will meet in the centre of the house."

Beatrice nodded an agreement, and turned away. Her heart, already racing from the scene just a moment before with the colonel, was positively galloping now. She suspected that she was going to berate herself later for getting so carried away.

No time for that now—focus, Bea, you need to find that girl before mischief does, she ordered herself.

Using her long legs to her advantage, Beatrice sidled her way through the crowd. The doors to the ballroom were thrown open to the gardens, letting fresh, cool air into the overly warm room. It was through one of these stylish French doors that Beatrice at last wriggled, grateful for the crisp air.

She stood and surveyed the gardens for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. They were lit here and there with torches, which threw out pools of light onto the pathways. Slowly, couples and clusters of guests walked slowly through them, admiring the statues and plants. The gardens remained by and large shrouded in darkness, however, and it made spotting Florence difficult. This was compounded by the fact that white was a popular colour for young ladies to wear to balls.

Still, Beatrice kept a weather eye out, and her persistence was rewarded: She spotted Florence standing in a little alcove beneath an archway grown over with ivy. There was a man with her, whom Beatrice almost did not spy at first, as he was dressed nearly completely in black. Beatrice pursed her lips and, picking up the hem of her gown a little, hustled over. Beatrice was nearly upon them when she heard the man speak.

"Why, Miss Hillmot, you are a clever little thing, aren't you?" he said, his voice low and his tone nearly a purr.

Beatrice stopped abruptly in her tracks. A strange feeling crawled up her spine, like she was being tickled with a piece of grass. She assessed the man more closely, her eyes narrowing behind her mask. He stood before Florence, one fist on his hip, leg crooked elegantly. Though there was a respectable distance between them, there was something unsettling in the way that he leaned towards her.

Jaw tight, Beatrice stepped forward noisily. "There you are," she said clearly, and she saw Florence's eyes flick towards her. The expression in them was all that Beatrice needed to know that she was right to intervene. An instinctual protectiveness reared up within Beatrice, and she was fully prepared to give this rake a piece of her mind.

The man, however, turned slowly, and Beatrice felt the bravery in her veins turn to ice. Though he wore a mask, cut sharply to resemble a raven's beak, there was no mistaking the grey-blue eyes beneath. They narrowed cruelly when they spotted Beatrice, laughing silently, mirthlessly.

"Judge Horner," Beatrice said flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he had successfully rattled her. Outwardly, she remained cool and calm, as if he were of no consequence. Within, however, she was a frantic mess, her mind racing. How did he find me? How could he find me? she asked herself again and again.

"Miss Heart," he replied with an ironic little bow.

Beatrice lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. She slid her gaze to Florence, who was watching with wide eyes behind her mask. "Go and find your father," she instructed in a tone that would brook no argument, far more stern than she had ever been with any of the girls before. "He is searching for you in the house. Go and find him, and stay with him. Now ."

Florence, her eyes darting between Beatrice and the judge, hesitated for a moment before nodding. Awkwardly, she slid past the judge, careful not to come too near him. Beatrice did not turn to watch her go, refusing to take her eyes from the judge.

"What a charming girl," the judge said, his tone oily. "I must confess, I had always thought country girls to be simpletons with bad manners and worse taste, but that one is delightful."

Beatrice's temper flashed, but she refused to show it. "What are you doing here?" she demanded flatly.

"One might ask you the same thing," the judge replied, turning to face Beatrice straight on. "Imagine my shock when I realised that not only had you come to live in the absolute middle of nowhere, but you were working as a governess—a governess —in this provincial nightmare. It really is too delicious."

"My employment is none of your concern," Beatrice snapped, immediately regretting it. To show any kind of emotion to the judge was to give him leverage.

"Now, see, that is where you are wrong," he said, stepping closer. With one hand, he reached up and carelessly removed his mask, letting it dangle carelessly from one finger. "I think you will find that everything about you is, in fact, my concern." Beatrice did not say anything to that, merely arching an eyebrow sceptically.

The judge, seeing her contemptuous gesture, stepped closer to Beatrice. "I find myself in need of companionship, and in spite of your little stunt at our last meeting, I still believe you to be the ideal candidate."

"Me?" Beatrice said, then laughed harshly. "Whatever would give you that idea?"

"You know precisely what our arrangement would entail, with no expectation of anything else. We are very similar, you know—you might curl your lip up at me and pretend that is not true, but you know that it is. We are both cold and sharp, and both willing to do what is needed to get what we want."

"I am still not hearing an inducement to agree to your request," Beatrice replied. "In fact, I find it rather repulsive. I think it has far less to do with me , and far more to do with you: You were humiliated, and you wish to put me under your thumb again to soothe your bruised... ego ," Beatrice finished, her eyes flicking down to the judge's nose significantly.

All pretence of humour vanished from Judge Horner's face. He stepped right up to Beatrice, his expression flinty. "You still have not learned your lesson, you uppity minx," he said, his voice quiet and dangerous. "I'd have thought that your time in exile might have taught you a thing or two, but clearly I was mistaken. You will be returning to London with me, and you will do so with all haste. When there, you will be the perfect companion: docile, adoring, obedient."

Beatrice, despite the fear and tension that had her in its jaws, could not help but laugh again, though this time it was weaker. "And why ever would I agree to that?"

Judge Horner's icy eyes flicked behind Beatrice's shoulder, to the direction that Florence had fled in. "You seem to care a great deal about these country bumpkins, though I cannot for the life of me figure why. You will do as you are told, or you shall be the ruin of them."

"What do you mean?" Beatrice demanded sharply, a sickening coil of fear settling in her stomach. The judge's lips curved upward a little. "It's so easy for a young girl to lose her reputation, isn't it?" he said. "All it takes is a few well-placed words, and she is done for ever. You of all people ought to know that."

"You wouldn't," Beatrice whispered, but even as she said it, she knew the truth of it.

The judge laughed again, cruelly. "It would take so little effort, really. Perhaps she would get into my carriage, and we would be discovered. Or, even simpler, I simply let it slip that her governess is nothing more than a tart from the stage; then all three of them are ruined."

Beatrice was staring at the judge, her mind reeling. Desperately, she searched for some way to counter the judge's scheme. "The colonel would stand by me," she said at last, thrusting her chin up.

"Would he indeed? He knows the truth of you, then? No?" Judge Horner asked, his nostrils a little pinched. "Perhaps we should ask him." Raising his voice and his arm, he called out, "Colonel Hillmot! How good of you to join us."

Slowly, as if she were trapped in a nightmare, Beatrice turned around. Standing beneath the ivy-covered archway, the colonel was watching her and the judge. There was no telling how much he had overheard. She could scarcely breathe as her eyes met the colonel's.