The ballroom was chaos incarnate.
Ladies swooned on chairs while footmen fanned them; others whispered behind trembling fans, delighting in the drama. The air buzzed with fear and morbid curiosity. A fewreckless young bucks had even ventured out onto the lawn, craning to glimpse the scene of the crime.
The music had stopped. The dance floor lay empty.
Lord Stanley cut through the crowd like a blade—calm, composed, utterly commanding. Several gentlemen followed him toward the terrace doors to inspect the body.
Lord Bamber, by contrast, looked decidedly less commanding, wringing his hands beside the orchestra dais. ‘Please, everyone, remain calm. I am certain this is a terrible accident!’
‘An accident?’ scoffed a guest. ‘The stable boy said he was stabbed through the heart!’
Lord Bamber opened his mouth, then wisely closed it again.
Lady Bamber stepped in smoothly, her voice carrying above the din. ‘We do not yet know what happened. The stable boy may be mistaken. Lord Stanley has gone to investigate. Until the carriages are released, I must insist everyone remain here.’
‘Well, who gave him the authority?’ A stout man huffed.
Lady Bamber replied nonchalantly, ‘Lord Stanley is the new Chief Magistrate for London—newly appointed. The Bow Street Runners answer to him now. It came about after Sir Nathaniel Conant’s unfortunate death.’
Gradually, the panic subsided to a nervous murmur.
Charlotte hovered at the edge of the crowd, trying to blend in among the wallflowers. From her vantage point, she spotted her mother and sisters near the refreshment table, fanning themselves and gossiping with unholy enthusiasm.
As Charlotte approached cautiously, her mother turned, her gaze sweeping over Charlotte’s makeshift gown. ‘Good heavens. What are you wearing?’
‘I—spilled coffee on my gown,’ Charlotte lied swiftly.
Mrs Walker’s lips thinned. ‘You are the most disobliging, careless child I have ever known. Lord Haverley was eager to dance with you, and you vanished!’
Camelia smirked. ‘Yes, Char. Whatever happened to you?’
Charlotte’s temper flared. ‘I needed to rest. A headache—no thanks to the trick you played on me. Why did you lace my lemonade with strong spirits?’
Both sisters exchanged looks of feigned horror. ‘What nonsense!’ Clara declared, her voice syrupy with innocence. ‘Mama, she accuses us unjustly.’
Mrs Walker clucked her tongue. ‘Charlotte, really. To accuse your sisters after they brought you a drink? You should be ashamed. It was probably overripe.’
Charlotte’s hands balled into fists at her sides. Every nerve screamed to argue, to expose them—but this was neither the time nor the place.
‘Of course, Mama,’ she murmured instead, through gritted teeth.
Satisfied, Mrs Walker turned back to her favourite pastime: speculation. ‘This is precisely why I despise masquerades. Hidden behind masks, anyone could be a murderer. I am sure it was over a gambling debt or a quarrel over a woman.’
Charlotte’s eyes widened. ‘How can you be so sure...?’
Her mother shot her a venomous glare. Charlotte lowered her eyes, resolving to keep her mouth firmly closed.
‘The stable boy claims he saw a woman running from the stables,’ Camelia said brightly. ‘Perhaps a witness to the murder!’
Charlotte gave a silent prayer—thankful she was no longer in the blood-stained gown.
And then she heard the voice that made her skin prickle.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ boomed Lord Stanley, re-entering the room, his tone compelling instant silence, ‘I shall bring inthe stable boy to identify the woman he saw fleeing the stables. Ladies, if you please—remove your masks and line up along the wall.’
A ripple of alarm swept through the crowd as the ladies rearranged themselves.
Charlotte fought to keep her expression composed.
