Diana ushered Sheila to a quiet nook near the ballroom doors and took a few minutes to survey her work one last time. One last touch to a ribbon here and a curl there and she gave a quick nod of satisfaction. "I vow, if Lord Rayner doesn't keep a wary eye out, you'll get stolen away by some other young swain right under his nose."

Sheila's eyes widened in alarm. "M'lady, I don't want another swain. Mother Mary, I knew this was madness..." she turned to rush back, but Diana caught hold of her sash.

"I meant no implication, Miss O'Brien," Diana assured her. "'Twas just my way of saying how well you look. Did you not see your reflection in the mirror?"

"Faith, and I'm still not believin' twas me," Sheila admitted.

Diana grinned and looked over Sheila's costume again. For something that had been assembled from abandoned or scavenged bits and pieces, it was surprisingly beautiful. The hardest part had been convincing Sheila to trade her black bombazine for a simple white muslin frock that most ladies of the ton would have turned up their noses at. After that had been put on, the fun began for Diana who felt as though she were once again raiding her mother's wardrobe to make fanciful costumes as she used to do in Freetown. A light-green silk mask, several pieces of floating tulle, innumerous pale green and blue ribbons, and every plant or flowers she could find had transformed the pretty but undeniably Irish maid into a faerie sprite of incandescent beauty. In this case, her red hair only added to the image of something charming and not quite of this world. "It suits you so well, it's as though you were meant to play one of the fey folk."

A smile tugged at Sheila's lips, "And I'm hopin' I don't offend any of them by doin' so."

Diana chuckled, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." She adjusted the ivy in Sheila's hair one last time, "And speaking of imitation, if you've picked up any tricks for mimicking the way we speak, now would be the time to put that to use."

"Find me any of the help who hasn't tried to imitate lords and ladies," Sheila laughed.

"I highly doubt that Lord Blackmoor would recognize you, but if you do see him approaching, alert me at once and we'll affect a retreat," Diana waited until Sheila nodded. "Very well, then. We have nearly a half-hour before the unmasking. Let's introduce you to Society, shall we?" Then she swept the Irish housemaid down the hall and through the ballroom doors.

He was grateful for Sheila's wisdom in choosing the spot she did. While several couples were out strolling in the garden and a few more had snuck off into some of the denser shrubbery, no one had ventured as far as the garden wall, likely because a gate to the street was nearby. It was far enough away from the lights of the manor that his brilliant white costume did not easily catch the eye and no one bothered him. Even if he hadn't been waiting anxiously for a pretty Irish girl, he would have been happy to spend time here in peaceful surroundings, away from the noise, lights and heat and surrounded by the scent of growing things--one of the things he missed most in the City.

The barest rustle of fabric interrupted his musings and Hank listened hard, hoping to learn the direction it had come from. The rustle came again and he immediately started moving to his right, "Miss O'Brien?" A high-pitched giggle from behind him made him freeze and then spin around. He had barely registered that such a piercing squeal was not likely to come from a lilting Irish voice when a strong arm encircled his neck. Before he could make a sound, a hand covered his nose and mouth with a wet cloth. Drawing a deep breath to yell, Hank instead inhaled a sickly sweet smell that made him dizzy. There was only time for a single, weak tug at the velvet-encased arm before darkness overtook him.

Bobby had been running hither and thither on the simple errands all night and had rarely enjoyed himself so much. Young people were obviously unusual at Kelthorne, and both he and Preston had manners enough that most of the staff had taken a liking to them. So what was constant dashing about when in between errands the footmen would joke with him and Cook would sneak him sweetmeats? True, he had to avoid Mrs. Middlebar, but that was easily done with little effort on his part.

He decided to cut down Green Chapel Street into Kelthorne's back garden to save even more time, but as he approached the gate, he noticed an oddly-shaped figure on the street side of the wall. The lamplight, combined with light from a nearly-full moon cut through the fog enough for Bobby to see glittering white and silver clothing along with pale blond hair. Recognizing Hank and realizing the American was unconscious, he hurried forward to see if there was anything he could do to help his new friend--perhaps the man dragging him needed to find a surgeon or apothecary. Bobby stopped in puzzlement when the man opened the door to a coach himself--for a coachman to remain on the box rather than opening the door was very strange, indeed. With and impatient curse, the man removed the white mask he wore and tossed it into the coach, and Bobby froze.

It was the devil-man who had grabbed him in Covent Garden.

Instinctively, Bobby drew closer to the wall so he was hidden by the shadows and watched as the man shoved Hank's limp form into the coach and climbed in after him. Bobby was torn between running straight for the man to save Hank as Hank had saved him, and rushing into Kelthorne to raise the alarm. Then the coach began moving and the decision was taken out of Bobby's hand. If he let the coach out of his sight, no one would know who the man was or where he had taken Hank. Taking a deep breath, he ran silently after the carriage, and with an ease that came from two years practice, he jumped onto the footman's stand at the back without the slightest jar to the coach.

However, friendliness or no, Sheila knew she did have responsibilities that she should not be risking and that meant under no condition could she be present at the unmasking. She told Diana so, and predictably, Diana tried to argue the point.

"Truly, Miss O'Brien, I don't think Lord Blackmoor or His Grace would recognize you, even without your mask. As you said--you are quite a different creature."

"Aye, and one of your creation," Sheila said with a grateful smile. "But the staff have far sharper eyes than th'quality. Faith, and we have to, don't we? T'would be as much of a dust-up if one of them recognized me for m'self."

"But we haven't found Lord Rayner yet," Diana protested, although her tone indicated that she knew Sheila was right. Her mouth tucked down in disapproval, "I must say, this is most disagreeable of him after being so eager to speak to you."

Sheila's heart warmed at the words. "Sure, and it's a sad thing after all your work. But I thank ye for such a grand adventure, m'lady."

Diana grinned in spite of herself. "You're determined to go back, then?"

"I am."

"Very well. We can go--"

"Oh no, your ladyship!" Sheila shook her head firmly. "Y'must stay for the unmaskin'. Sure, and don't I know this grand house well enough to find my own way?"

"Are you certain?"

"That I am. Ye'd best be findin' Lord Blackmoor. I daresay he's been pinin' for ye the whole time ye've been wi'me." Both young women exchanged mischievous smiles. "My thanks again, Lady Silverbridge."

"My pleasure, Miss O'Brien," Diana returned in the same manner as she had used to greet the Countess of Tardosh.

Years of practice being invisible meant Sheila was easily able to slip through the crowd and out the ballroom doors. Everyone was moving to the ballroom for the unmasking, and Sheila had to rush through several deserted corridors, terrified the entire time she would meet with a footman or another maid. She was nearly running by the time she made it make to the little used chamber Diana had requisitioned and rapidly discarded her faerie costume for her black bombazine.

Within minutes, she was back at her duties as though she had never been gone, except for a twist of green and blue ribbon around her wrist that was neatly hidden by the sleeve of her dress. She knew no one would miss it, and she felt compelled to have a reminder of her "grand adventure."

Finally he spotted the slim figure in the glittering costume, pleased to note that she was nowhere near the doors to the garden. His satisfaction increased when she noticed him and her expression brightened, indicating she had been searching for him as well. As Eric watched, Diana touched the tip of a finger to her closed fan, then took it in her left hand and unfurled it. No young blood of the ton was ever able to keep track of all the signals of a fan, but this one was well-known to mean--"Come over to me, I wish to speak with you." Eric took his leave of the ladies around his as quickly as he could without causing offense and made his way across the ballroom to Diana's side.

"You Masque is a great success," Diana smiled at him as he approached.

"It always is," Eric replied. "The Fates would not dare offend my grandfather by allowing otherwise."

"I wish to ask whether you had seen Lord Rayner recently. He has not left, has he?"

Annoyance that Diana was asking about Hank disappeared under the happy realization that she obviously had not been meeting him in the garden. "I last saw him near half-past eleven," he replied truthfully, although he did not say where.

Diana frowned, "Odd. I last saw him well before that--when we were waltzing."

"Was there something you wished to discuss with him?"

Diana pursed her lips, obviously irritated with the missing viscount. "I'll have any necessary words with him some other time."

Eric raised his eyebrows. That did not bode well for Hank. Now that he was fairly certain that Hank had not met Lady Silverbridge in the garden, he could almost feel sorry Hank and the setting down he would undoubtedly receive.

Almost.

"Then if you are not otherwise engaged, my lady," Eric made a splendid bow. "May I ask for the first unmasked waltz."

Diana decided to put disappointment at the failure of her plan aside for now. "My Lord Blackmoor, I can think of nothing that would raise my spirits better," she smiled as she held out her hand.

Bobby tried to spot anything familiar as the coach rolled through the murky darkness. He didn't know how long they'd been moving before he finally realized they were approaching the Pall Mall. He only had a moment's relief before they'd crossed in and he was once again trying to track strange side streets.

When the coach finally stopped, Bobby glanced around hoping to recognize the street. He didn't, but he did have the notion that Westminster Bridge was nearby and he knew they had driven along St. James Park, which narrowed things down slightly.

Bobby managed to restrain himself as the devil-man took Hank out of the coach. He knew that even if the coachman remained on the box rather than helping again, seeing his employer being attacked--even a pint-sized attack--would prompt him to descend. The coach effectively blocked the devil-man's actions from the street and when he reached his front step, carrying Hank over his shoulder, he turned back to the carriage.

Involuntarily, Bobby shrank further into the shadow provided by the coach's wheel.

"I shall not require you again this evening."

"Aye, m'lord," the coachman grunted.

The coach began rolling again and Bobby jumped off as silently as he'd jumped on. The devil-man had disappeared with Hank into the townhouse, so Bobby was able to crouch near the building as he considered his next action. Initially, he'd planned to run back to Kelthorne Hall and raise the alarm, but they were so far away that he knew Hank could well be dead by the time he reached help.

Bobby decided he'd best return Hank's favour and began inspecting the entire house to find the best way in. He would never have imagined at all the sneaking about the Costers' he'd been forced to do would come in so handy.

"Congratulations, Lord Blackmoor," Diana smiled as Eric escorted her off the dance floor after the completion of the last dance of the night. "I vow, but this ball will be talked about for weeks afterward."

"No doubt," Eric agreed, glancing around at the guests that had thinned out considerably after one a.m. There were still plenty of people, but it was nowhere near the crush it had been early on. "I daresay my grandfather will be gone from London far sooner than talk of this rout will."

"Your grandfather? He is leaving London?"

"He doesn't care for town," Eric explained. "He only comes to plan the Masque and leaves a few days afterward."

"I shall be sorry to see him go," Diana said. "And Lady Wylde even moreso."

"I shall be sorry as well," Eric lied. "But after this, my days shall be my own once again?"

"Is His Grace so terribly strait-laced, then?" Diana teased.

"He has been known to ring a fine peel over me for some of my actions," Eric returned with as much good humor as he could. He wanted to change to subject to something more pleasant and was about to tell Diana that late-hour balls agreed with her when he saw her sink into a graceful curtsey. Turning he saw Lord and Lady Ravenwood had joined them and made his bow, as well.

Once protocol was out of the way, Lord Ravenwood spoke first. "Fine crush, Blackmoor. Lady Silverbridge, I meant to tell you what fine looks you are in this evening, but this is the first I'm managed to speak to you."

"Having the sun shine on one at anytime is most welcome, my lord," Diana returned.

Lady Ravenwood smiled at her, "Have you had the chance to sharpen that fine wit even further on Lord Rayner this evening?"

Diana's eyebrow rose questioningly, but her expression remained pleasant.

"We're about to make our farewells and leave, but I vow, I cannot find Henry anywhere," Lady Ravenwood explained. "Have you seen him?"

Eric and Diana exchanged glances. "I haven't seen him since before midnight," Eric admitted, looking a bit puzzled himself by this revelation.

"Nor I," Diana added, although she looked more miffed that perplexed.

"Most peculiar," Ravenwood frowned. "Usually the lad is quite ready to leave by midnight or one, and here its well after three."

"You don't suppose--" Eric broke off when everyone made their manners again. This time, his grandfather stood behind him.

"An excellent crush, Your Grace," Lady Ravenwood said.

MacArran nodded to acknowledge the compliment. "What's this I hear about you misplacing young Rayner?" he asked, having come to like the young American far more than most of his grandson's friends.

"So it would seem, Your Grace," Diana replied. "Neither myself nor Blackmoor, nor the Earl and Countess have seen Lord Rayner since before midnight."

"Most odd."

"It truly is," Lady Ravenwood agreed. "Especially for Henry who--not to besmirch your fine ball--has never been fond an extreme crush."

"Has he left?" MacArran asked. "Either to another engagement or to return home?"

"No one else plans a ball on the night of your Masque, sir," Lady Ravenwood pointed out with a smile. "He may have gone home, but it is not like him not to tell us."

"Perhaps he could not find you in the crowd," Diana said.

"True enough."

"Shall I have my butler make enquiries of the remaining guests, my lady?" MacArran asked.

"That would be very kind of you, Your Grace. This is most unlike Henry."

"Have a footman or two check some of the rooms," Ravenwood suggested with a chuckle. "At one ball we found him reading in the library."

"Perhaps he's dozed off," MacArran raised his hand to summon Houghton, who appeared at his side immediately. "Ask the staff here and about to see if anyone has seen Lord Rayner."

"At once, Your Grace," Houghton bowed.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Houghton," a footman who was passing with a tray of empty glasses stopped and bowed as well.

"What is it, Charles?" Houghton asked.

"I delivered a message to his lordship--Lord Rayner, that is--from a gentleman in the card room just before midnight. I found his lordship in the corridor outside the ballroom and so gave it to him there."

"Do you know who the sender was?" MacArran asked.

"No, Your Grace, he was wearing his mask. His lordship seemed happy to receive it, though."

"The card room, you say?" Ravenwood mused. "Not like the lad, but maybe he decided to go off for a night of--" he suddenly remember the presence of an unmarried female and coughed slightly. "Well, perhaps they decided to go off to one of the clubs in St. James."

Diana's lips twitched, but she didn't comment.

"Did Lord Rayner send a reply?" Lady Ravenwood asked.

"No, m'lady. He seemed rather eager to be on his way."

"Thank you, Charles," MacArran nodded and waved that Charles could go along. "You may go as well, Houghton, we shall not be needing you after all."

"Very good, Your Grace." Both butler and footman bowed once more and went back to their duties.

"I daresay Henry made some new friends tonight," Lady Ravenwood said with a smile. "Most unusual for him not to leave word with us, but I suppose we shall be able to forgive him. Thank you for your help, Your Grace."

"My pleasure, Lady Ravenwood," MacArran bowed over her hand. "My thanks for adding to the ball with your beauty." He nodded to her husband, "Ravenwood."

Another round of bows and curtsies, and the Ravenwoods left for their waiting coach. MacArran nodded to Diana, "I believe I shall speak once more to Lady Wylde before you and she depart for the evening. Goodnight, Lady Silverbridge."

"Goodnight, Your Grace. I greatly enjoyed my first MacArran Masque."

"We shall endeavor to see it is not your last."

It was only when she was alone with Eric that Diana allowed her pleasant expression to darken into a scowl. "This was unbearably rude of Rayner. To leave without word to anyone."

"He's not exactly familiar with Society," Eric said, wondering if he sounded as insincere as he felt. He was worried that Diana's anger was the result of Hank promising to meet her and then not doing so.

Diana huffed slightly. "I'll not bother with his society much longer unless he has a most excellent apology and explanation for his behaviour."

He met Sheila, someone else he hadn't seen since early in the evening, at the top of the backstairs and smiled tiredly at her. Her eyes widened in alarm. "Faith, lad! Haven't they let ye start back t'Covent Garden?"

"Not tonight," Preston said around another yawn. "Mr. Houghton showed us a room off the kitchen where they've put pallets for us. We are to stop here tonight in case we are needed in the morning."

"And you'll not be in bad with Mr. Kell for it?"

Preston frowned in bewilderment for a moment, having never actually heard Kell referred to as "Mister." When he realized whom she was referring to, he couldn't repress a snort. "That's not likely. And it would be worth it, what with the breakfast Cook is likely to supply us."

Sheila smiled in return. "And Bobby knows of it, then?"

"He was there when Kelthorne told us. I haven't seen him much, but then, they've been keeping him busy. I may be bigger, but he's much quicker on his feet."

"Aye, that he is," Sheila agreed. "We must get back to work then. I'll wish you a good night, Preston."

"And you," Preston smiled, the meeting having given him the pleasant boost necessary to finish his remaining duties with renewed vigor.

By the time the lights in the townhouse were extinguished, Bobby had abandoned his original plan to crawl in through the coal hole. He had gotten a bit big to climb in very easily and there was always the risk of getting stuck. When he spotted a half-open window on the second floor, Bobby decided it would be much easier to climb the intricate iron scroll work that decorated the townhouse's exterior.

He was quite right. With the help of a nearby tree, Bobby went up the side of the townhouse like a monkey. In no time at all, he was sitting on the window ledge, peering into a very dark room. The room was so dark that Bobby had to feel his way inside and make his way slowly across the room in search of a lamp or even just matches. The barest hint of moonlight that trickled in through the window was enough for him to make out that the odd shapes that filled the room were not furniture, but was of little actual help. Finally he came across a flat surface that, wonder of wonders, held a lamp with its own cache of matches built in.

Bobby took a deep breath, praying that the devil-man was out of range, struck the match and lit the lamp. For several long moments, he could only stand, mouth agape, at the tomb he had illuminated. It was several long minutes before Bobby could take in what he was seeing as real. Living in Covent Garden, he was no stranger to death--even multiple deaths, but this was...

This was something more than death.

Light was not supposed to glisten off the skin of the dead. Open eyes were not supposed to glitter. People never died in such poses.

Now he knew for certain this man was a devil. Who else would do what he had done? For young and uneducated though he was, Bobby recognized the room for what it was.

A celebration of Death.

Was this what the devil-man had intended for him? Was this what was intended for Hank?

Bobby didn't realize how badly he was shaking until he tried to take a step away from the desk he'd been leaning on. Stiffening his knees as well as his resolve, he began to cross the room, leaving the lamp behind on the desk for fear of dropping it. He was halfway across the room when a sound from the hall outside the door made him jump. Stumbling across a white ankle, he tipped into several of the bodies.

Dead eyes stared straight at him.

Stiff fingers clutched at his clothes.

Every manner of death-throe expression met his horrified eyes.

Scrambling madly even as the footsteps came ever closer, Bobby forgot about Hank and only knew that he did not want to see what was on the other side of that door. He dove for the window and launched himself through, ignoring the schoolwork ladder in the hopes of catching a tree branch and putting as much distance between himself and the charnel house behind him. He fell some ways before he caught a branch, which bent somewhat before breaking and depositing him painfully on the ground.

Although winded, Bobby was up and running as soon as he got his feet under him. It wasn't until he recognized the familiar surroundings of Covent Garden that he slowed down. In turn, the moment he slowed down and his blind panic lifted, he realized that his right ankle would not support him. He leaned against a filthy brick wall and tried to calm the horrible thoughts that were rushing through his head, grateful for the familiar danger of thieves and pickpockets that currently surrounded him.

He knew making it to Kelthorne Hall now was out of the question, but perhaps...yes, in the morning, if he still could not walk well, he would take money from his precious stash and hire a ride to Kelthorne to alert everyone. All he had to do was rest his ankle a bit first and he would continue on his way.

Bobby looked around for a likely doorway and realized he was close to the window that would let him into Preston's room beneath old Kell's shop. Desperate for somewhere familiar enough to feel safe, Bobby crawled along the broken cobblestones until he was able to get inside. Knowing Preston would not begrudge him the soft bed, Bobby collapsed onto it and waited for his ankle to stopped throbbing so excruciatingly.

With minutes, he had fallen into a deep, deep sleep, exhausted by pain and terror.

He picked up a heavy book and began turning the pages slowly. "But now there is a decision to make," he mused, stopping from time to time to read. "What is the most appropriate death for an angel?"

On to Part VIII
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