The Abandoned Heart Page 4

  The painted woman danced, her long black hair sliding wantonly over her shoulders to tease over her breasts. Lucy thought she heard her chanting, but the music quickly swallowed her words. As the woman raised her arm with the ribbon in her hand, the first man facing her walked his ribbon under hers. Randolph walked beneath Lucy’s ribbon, and he was gone.

  Her reserve was quickly lost in her concentration and the quickness of the dance that made her ankle ache just a bit. After a few minutes, she glanced up at the pole to see that the ribbons had wrapped the pole in color, the red bleeding over the white like blood flowing over the palest of skin.

  The fire burned hot, and her heart pounded with exertion as it had when she had ridden her bike from Faye’s house.

  How long ago that seems. As though we are stopped in time.

  Finally the music began to slow, and the sky lightened with jagged lengths of murky blue. The pole was nearly wrapped, the dancers coming closer and closer together, their bodies touching, skin against skin, arm against breast. They glistened with sweat, and though their faces were covered by masks, Lucy could see the sharpness of their eyes, alive and hungry. She could feel that hunger and, suddenly feeling vulnerable, she found herself shifting her body so she could avoid the searching touch of the others. By the time the gay wreath fell down the pole to shoulder height, several of the dancers dropped their ribbons and drifted from the Maypole toward the fire and their clothes. Lucy followed, grateful, limping the slightest bit because of her ankle.

  There she found Randolph nearly dressed. She turned her back to the fire to put on her own clothes and saw that the dozen people left at the Maypole had finished the dance and were now engaged only in touching and fondling one another. Faye and Josiah were among the group, and though Lucy sensed she would be welcome even without a partner, dawn was quickly approaching, and it was not the way she wanted to spend the rest of her time at Bliss House.

  As though by mutual agreement, she and Randolph fell in beside each other as they walked back to the house, each carrying their shoes.

  Terrance stood by the open door, waiting. Was that a smile hiding behind his thin lips? There were circles beneath his eyes.

  How many of these sorts of parties have you seen, Terrance?

  “Bring a warm towel, Terrance. And some . . .” Randolph looked at Lucy. “Chocolate or coffee, my dear?”

  “I would very much like some chocolate, Randolph.”

  I have used his name. Randolph. Because I am a woman, and not a child.

  “Chocolate, then, Terrance. For both of us. I assume coffee and chocolate are set up in the dining room, as we planned.”

  Terrance didn’t reply, but Randolph didn’t appear to take it for insolence.

  He led her to the large salon off the front hall. Several lamps inside were still lighted, but dawn played at the windows and the French doors that opened onto the garden. At first she thought the room was empty, but then she noticed that there were two women and a man, asleep (and clothed, for the most part) on a sofa in a distant part of the room.

  “Let’s sit by the fire.”

  Lucy put down her gloves and shoes and sank into a deep-cushioned chair, exhausted. The champagne had worn off, and she found herself sober, yet consumed by a strange feeling of contentment.

  “Shall we?” Lucy asked. “Our masks?”

  “Wait just a moment. It is the anticipation of a pleasure that I enjoy the most. Do you find that is true for you, as well?” Randolph’s rugged face bore a healthy flush, and he looked happy, if a little anxious.

  Lucy tilted her head in thought. Finally she said, “No. I don’t think so. If there’s something that I think will please me, I want it right away. I haven’t always been that way, but it seems I’m guided by different stars now. I have no patience at all.”

  Her answer pleased him. “Then I would not dare to stop you. I fear you will have no surprises with me, once my mask is removed.” He untied the mask with one hand and let it fall with theatrical flourish into the other. The mask had made small vertical impressions on either side of his face, but otherwise, he was familiar to her. They had nodded to each other in town, and at church, but had never been formally introduced. Her impression from earlier in the evening that he looked younger than his fifty-something years was still true. His features were strong and definite, particularly his jaw and the pronounced shape of his nose—not overly large, but assertive. His brown eyes regarded her without trepidation. She smiled, and it was returned.

  “My turn.” Lucy put her hands back to untie the velvet ribbons of the mask, but the ribbons had caught in her hair.

  “Here. Let me help you.” As Randolph came to stand behind her, he touched her shoulder for the second time that evening, and Lucy had to stop herself from reaching up for his hand.

  “I’m afraid Faye tied it up with my hair. It was very dark outside.”

  “Faye? Josiah’s Faye?”

  Lucy laughed. “Oh, yes. We’ve been friends since we were children. Though we’ve been apart much of the last two years. We’ve both been away. Like you.”

  Randolph silently disengaged the ties from the twist of her blond hair. She shivered as one velvet ribbon trailed over the back of her neck.

  “I hope that you won’t be disappointed.” Lucy found herself unaccountably nervous. She took the mask away and waited for him to come around the chair. When he did, she looked up at him. “Hello.”

  He looked genuinely surprised and did not speak for a few moments—a long enough time that she began to get uncomfortable.

  “Why, you’re Lucy. Selina and Edward’s daughter. I didn’t know.”

  She looked for some sign of delight in his face, but she found only a strange sort of curious wonder.

  “I have disappointed you.”

  “I didn’t know. Josiah told me that Faye was bringing a pretty friend, but I never put the two of you together.”

  Lucy tried to rally from her disappointment in his reaction. “I wonder who you were expecting, then. Faye has any number of friends, but I have always wanted to come here.”

  “I think your father and mother would not like it at all that you’re here.” Despite his words, there was no censure in his voice.

  “But I’m not a child, Randolph. I’m twenty years old, and it’s the dawn of a new century. I can’t live like a child in a . . .” She found the word nursery hard to say, given the monstrosity in the hall above them. “I am not like my parents.”

  “Oh, but you’re so like your mother. You look like her. As I recall, she liked to dance as well.”

  Lucy blushed with irritation and just a little pleasure. Her mother was beautiful. “Shall I go? I know my parents have been unpleasant to you. I would not want to deepen the wound.” She watched his eyes as he contemplated the alternatives.

  I have ruined it. I can never come here again.

  He looked away from her for a moment, and shook his head, disagreeing with some internal voice. There were sounds of people speaking in hushed voices in the hallway, as though the coming dawn had illuminated the events of the evening, and made them reluctant to acknowledge them. Perhaps Randolph was having a similar revelation.

  His face changed. “I’ve been ridiculous, Lucy. I’ve striven to live my life without worrying about the judgment of others. But when I saw who you were, I was momentarily overcome. Your father would judge me. He has judged me from the day of our first meeting. That has nothing to do with you. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  The relief that it had not been something that she had done, or some way she looked, flooded over her, and she thought for a moment that she might begin to weep.

  What will he make of that? Weeping like a little girl.

  She breathed deeply. The air smelled of flowers and wood smoke. Safe, happy smells. “There’s nothing to forgive. I have lived with my father a long time. I understand judgment.”

  “I’m so glad, Lucy. Very relieved.”

  Terrance arrived wit
h the chocolate, set it down on the table, and left again without speaking. Randolph poured, and they were very careful and quiet with each other.

  After a while she suggested that she and Faye should be getting home. “It’s late. Or perhaps just very early.” She hadn’t seen Faye come inside, but hoped that, somehow, evoking her name would bring her into the great hall, dressed and ready to leave. The truth of where Faye was, and what she was doing, hung in the air between them.

  Randolph sat back in his chair.

  “It’s been a long time since a woman like you has sat in front of this fireplace with me.”

  Was he talking about Amelia? Her portrait hung above them. She was older than Lucy had expected, but beautifully dressed in an off-the-shoulder evening gown of the type popular a quarter century earlier. Despite her feminine appearance, there was an almost masculine aloofness in her fair face. She might have been described as handsome, for she was not lovely. Her waist was thick and her blond hair was worn close to her cheeks, making her face look overly narrow. She did not look unkind, but only unhappy.

  Is it you, Amelia, who calls my name in this place?

  Surely there had been other women close to him in the, what? Twenty years since she had died? There were plenty of rumors about Randolph. That he had little discretion when it came to women, and sometimes even married women. It was one of the reasons her parents declared that they would not accept his invitations.

  “It wouldn’t do,” her mother had said. “It’s bad enough that he dares to occasionally come to church. What sort of example would it set if the priest was entertained by an adulterer?”

  “I only note it because it’s such a pleasure to have you here.” Randolph smiled. “I wonder, though, what your esteemed father will think of your being here until dawn. I have invited them here, you know. Though they are probably beginning to suspect that my invitations are a jest on them.”

  Yes. That is exactly it. I can see your wit in your eyes. How clever you are, Randolph Bliss!

  “Let’s just say that it’s been arranged so they won’t worry.”

  Randolph threw back his head and laughed, startling one of the women on the distant sofa to wakefulness. Lucy had even forgotten that they were there. The woman gave a little cry and said, “Thomas. We’ve fallen asleep!”

  The trio roused themselves and, straightening their clothes, crossed the room unsteadily. They didn’t look at Randolph and Lucy, but when they’d passed, Randolph called out to them.

  “Coffee is in the dining room, ladies. You may freshen yourselves upstairs when the time comes.” He turned his attention back to Lucy. “So you’re not only independent, but a mite devious as well.”

  “Not devious. Perhaps just cautious?”

  “Cautious. An excellent word.”

  She knew she and Faye really would have to leave soon. The Archers’ housekeeper had a habit of sleeping late when Faye’s parents were gone, but Faye said she could not be trusted if she found they had been out all night. But it was pleasant in front of the fire, and Randolph was so companionable. She wished it might go on forever.

  “I loved seeing the tumblers. I had never seen any before. Do tell me about the theater. I’ve never seen a house with a theater in it. What made you think of such an unusual thing? It’s terribly original.” Lucy leaned forward, the firelight shining in her eyes.

  “Now you’re just flattering an old man.” But she could tell Randolph was truly pleased.

  “Well, if you say that you’re old, then I must accuse you of fishing for compliments, mustn’t I?”

  Now Randolph laughed heartily. “Touché, dear Lucy. You are absolutely correct.” He finished his cup of chocolate and offered her brandy, which she took. It was delicious after the chocolate.

  “My parents were somber people. My mother’s parents were Dutch, and she was very much raised in the old ways. Religious, protected from society. The poor woman didn’t have a bit of fun in her, and my father was much the same way. Always with his head in his business. I might have been that way, too, except I had particularly good preparatory school experience in Massachusetts. A wonderful old don and his wife there helped me see that there was more to life than lessons and taking over the family business. My parents wouldn’t have liked it, but I got involved in amateur theatricals without their knowledge.”

  “Ah. You like to play roles, then?” She lightly touched her mask, which lay nearby.

  “I do. Well, I did. I never got the romantic roles, always Tybalt, but never Romeo; Claudius, but not Hamlet.”

  “Heroes are often dull. And Hamlet—he was simply mad.”

  “You have me thinking like a youngster, Lucy. Remembering careless days.” He shook his head. “Amelia thought our theater even more frivolous than the ballroom.” Here, he looked up at his wife’s portrait. “I think she imagined that I saw myself up on my own stage, but in truth I think it’s a more joyous, playful room for dinner parties like tonight, and the occasional entertainment for the neighborhood. Concerts and speakers.”

  “Old Gate needs that kind of stimulation. I fear we are a little dull.”

  “Walpurgisnacht has many bold traditions, particularly in Europe, but I’m afraid that you’re correct. Old Gate has been difficult to persuade to cast off its outdated prudishness, but it is coming around. You enjoyed the Maypole, I hope?”

  Lucy blushed, her voice almost a whisper. “I enjoyed it very much.”

  He leaned forward and closed both of his cool hands around one of her hands with a gentle pressure, and she felt the chill make its way up her arm.

  What is this? I feel I may be going mad, as though I am bewitched. If he were to ask me to join him in one of the upstairs rooms right this moment, I would not hesitate.

  “I am so glad, dear Lucy.”

  He asked her nothing more.

  Faye and Josiah were saying farewell to each other in the far end of the salon where the trio had been. Both were unmasked, dressed, and still giddy from their adventures outdoors. They had each drunk warming cups of coffee before preparing to leave. Faye carried both her and Lucy’s masks in a small velvet bag that Terrance had brought at Randolph’s request.

  Lucy stood in front of Randolph, now a little awkward. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

  “Your company is such a pleasure, Lucy. If I send you an invitation, will you please come? Or will you need to be your parents’ daughter?”

  She saw in his eyes that he already knew the answer.

  “I’ll always be my parents’ daughter, but I can’t forever be their little girl.”

  In the hall, Randolph offered them the use of his carriage.

  “No. On bicycles we arrived, and on bicycles we’ll depart!” Faye smiled at Randolph. “Thank you for a lovely party.”

  “You are most welcome.” Randolph kissed Faye’s hand.

  Faye nodded sweetly, as if she had her hand kissed every day, and gave a quick smile to Josiah, who looked charmingly forlorn, as though he feared he might never see her again. She and Lucy started for the door.

  Lucy! You will return to us, Lucy. Clever Lucy!

  Hearing her name, Lucy paused, but the rest of the group continued on. She looked up at the two figures standing at the gallery railing.

  It was the tall, blond woman from the portrait: Amelia. The dour little girl beside her was surely Randolph’s dead daughter.

  Lucy caught her breath, and the figures disappeared.

  “Are you all right?” Randolph touched her elbow, concerned.

  “Of course,” she said, with more conviction than she felt. She hurried after Faye.

  Chapter 4

  KIKU

  August 1878

  Kiku was fifteen years old, and though it was 1878, and she had traveled halfway across the world in her young life, she had never been on a train until that morning. The luxurious sleeping car in which they sat was no longer moving, having been unhooked from the train that had brought them to Philadelphia, but
she was nervous, and her stomach was upset. She could never let the man sitting beside her know how she was feeling. As his Japanese concubine, her temporary discomfort was not his concern.

  “If someone sees you’re a girl, they’ll think you’re a witch. Or a freak. You don’t know what these country people are like. They’ll put you in a menagerie.” Randolph Bliss laughed, squeezing Kiku’s knee as though expecting her to laugh along with him. “It’s a neat trick in the first place for anyone who’s seen you to think you’re a servant boy. But I should probably have put you in a second-class carriage. Goddamn New York conductor looked at me like he thought I might bugger you right there on the platform.”

  Kiku smiled automatically. At the brothel in New York City, Madame Jewel had trained her in appropriate responses. She spoke enough English to understand what he had just said, but she didn’t actually see anything funny in it. When he had said the word menagerie, she thought of the animals in their cages in Central Park. Virginia—the place they were going—was foreign enough to her that she could believe the people there might put her in a cage.

  The air in the train car was close, and she wanted to ask him to open more windows. But she hadn’t yet asked him for anything, and wanted to spend her requests carefully.

  The stiff, masculine collar abraded her neck, and the wool vest and breeches were making her sweat. He’d let her take off the itchy cap the minute the porter had closed the door of the private car behind them, but told her she needed to keep the clothes on until it was time for bed, in case they were disturbed. She fingered the bottom edge of her black, blunt-trimmed hair, and imagined how sad the strands must be, with the rest of themselves back at Madame Jewel’s. She had wept—silently—as Madame Jewel cut them away, careful to band the hanks together and not let them get lost on the floor. Kiku (whom Madame Jewel called “Jade”) knew better than to ask if she might keep it. The other girls had told her that Madame Jewel cut off as much hair as she dared from the girls, saying it kept the head lice under control. But they all knew that she sold it to the wigmaker, and told Kiku that she would get a very good price for Kiku’s fine black hair.