[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Overhead hovered abreathtaking tiered crystal chandelier.The floor was thick with priceless purple and gold carpets thatflowed out beyond the White Drawing Room into the length of the red-and-gold East Gallery.The Yeoman of the Silver Pantry, who compensated for his lack of height with excessive girth, washelping himself generously, piling his plate high with lobster mousse and goose pâté.Nearby, a tipsybutler with a long and equine countenance was performing the most extraordinary antics before anadmiring audience of pages and porters, balancing empty plates in aspen stacks upon his head and hands.Not unexpectedly, these ceramic towers ultimately descended with a startling crash, causing theunfortunate Yeoman of the Silver Pantry to jump and inadvertently bestow his victuals on the undeservingpurple-and-gold carpets.Thus deprived, he bristled like an indignant boar."You there, Fawcett!" he shouted."Hold yer noise.""Shout till yer hoarse, I'll never heed your noise," came the flippant reply.The Yeoman of the Silver Pantry hitched up his belt and rolled his sleeves to his podgy elbows.Hischeeks purpled like two generous aubergines."'Tis not I who's horse but you, horse-face and yet the face of you compares best with the hinder partsof the noble beast."Sniffing an entertaining discourse, servants gathered around.The Yeoman of the Silver Pantry had struckon an issue sensitive with the butler."If horse I be then I can draw the likes of you after me aye, draw you whithersoever I would chooseto go," sneered Fawcett."Put wheels on and you are a wain you've the build of it!""'Tis a pity he does not wane," interjected the butler's friend waggishly."He waxes more than he wanesmethinks more so than a thousand candles!""Nay, no drawer you, but an artist," shot back the Yeoman of the Silver Pantry, ignoring thisinterruption."An artist in horse manure." Quickly reconsidering, he added, "Had I but a pair of drawerssuch as you, you would be the crotch!"Page 88 The audience, who had been applauding each sally, cheered this barb of wit.Nonetheless, the butlerwas not to be deterred.After a brief deliberation as to whether to interpret the word "crotch" as "fork"and thus allude to his opponent's disgusting eating habits, he decided on a more threatening approach.Both participants were incisively aware of the retribution that would shortly be exacted from them by theMaster of the King's Household in his wrath, as payment for the damage they had occasioned to thecarpets and dishes of the White Drawing Room.Thus they decided that it was as well to be hanged for abuck as a fawn."A crutch you would fain lean upon once I have bested you!""Aye, leaner will they call me an you keep me from my dinner," hotly said the Yeoman of the SilverPantry, who was in fact proud of his bulk."But I'll dine anon, horse-face, while you shall couch upon thecold ground.Then you'll be the leaner, understand me?""Rather do I overstand you, base churl." The butler loomed over the short figure of the pantryman, hislong chin thrust forward."Why then, I'll undermine you!"While the butler was thinking of a reply, the Yeoman of the Silver Pantry tackled him around the kneesand bowled him over.Fists flew.Rohain and many others prudently withdrew to the comparative safety of the Ballroom.Among the crowd that jostled there she briefly noted a tall man with a scarred face, high cheekbones,and startlingly blue eyes one of the footmen.Wearing a gorgeous jacket of sapphire velvet lined withwhite Rimanian bear fur, he was bowing low before a curly-haired chamber-maid, the sixthgranddaughter of the Marquess of Early.The girl took his hand and they began to dance.Their eyesnever left each other."Love knows no boundaries of rank," murmured Rohain to herself.Unfolding the pleated leaves of a carved wooden fan, the chicken-skin parchment of which wasostentatiously painted with a scene from the Legend of the Sleeping Warriors, Viviana edged closer toher mistress's elbow."I dream am I truly wearing my lady's cloth-of-silver gown and topaz girdle?""Go on with you!" said Rohain, smiling."You are a lady tonight.You need not attend me.""Georgiana Griffin attends Dianella ""Nonetheless, I insist!""A thousand thanks, my lady! I cannot wait to join the dance.This will surely be the best night of mylife!"With a quick curtsy, Viviana made haste to join the ladies waiting for partners.Rohain's eyes roved the assembly.She fluttered a lacquered fan of brilliant luster, edged with gilt.At hergirdle hung a small, slender case containing ivory dance-cards.Made of mother-of-pearl, it was overlaidwith gold filigree work and had a matching pencil.Several gentlemen had inscribed its ivory leaves withPage 89their names.Having been plagued with offers to dance, each ardent aspirant producing a white lacehandkerchief and flourishing it under his nose with a bow, Rohain had accepted a few and refused many.She was an inept dancer, having learned the few steps she knew during impromptu lessons fromViviana a fact that none of the gallants who whirled her in their arms had seemed to care a whit about.But not one of her partners could match Thorn.She did not wish to dance anymore, not with anyone buthim.Tired of refusing offers, she had masked her face with a feathered domino borrowed from theDuchess of Roxburgh, dressed herself like a chamber-maid, stuck a large pair of artificial moth's wingson her back, and teased out her black hair in a fright.Dainnan knights were among the crowd in the ballroom, costumed as both aristocrats and servants, butshe could not obtain a clear view from where she stood.It occurred to her that from the elevation of themusicians' gallery, one could be sure of commanding the scene.Eluding a dashing young earl who mayhave penetrated her disguise and was advancing in her direction, Rohain slipped through a service doorand found a narrow stair.As she ascended the stair a chill swept over her.She looked up and flinched.Something barred herway.It was a tall, white object, like a column of pale marble.The flicker of a torch in a sconce showed along dark shadow stretching from the pillar's feet and up the wall.She pushed back her mask to obtain abetter view."Oh! My lord Sargoth!"He said nothing.He simply loomed there, looking down from the added height lent him by the staircase.Torchlight carved shadows out of his unblemished pallor, his luminous marble hair.The long face andbeard matched the utter colorlessness of his wizard's robes.Here was one member of the Imperial Courtnot dressed for Misrule
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]