Ann's pinching her cheeks in vain, hoping to raise color there. "I hope I shall meet someone tonight. Someone kind and noble. The sort who likes to help others. Someone like Tom."
Two angry red welts crisscross near her wrist bone. The marks are new, perhaps a few hours old. She's cut herself again. Ann sees me looking and her freshly pinched cheeks pale. Quickly, she pulls her gloves on, covering the scars.
Felicity leads the way out, greeting a friend of her mother's near the door. I grab Ann's wrist and she winces.
"You promised me you'd stop doing that," I say.
"What do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean," I warn.
Her eyes find mine. She wears a sad little smile."Better that I hurt myself than be hurt by them. It stings less."
"I don't understand."
"It's different for you and Fee," Ann says, nearly crying. "Don't you see? I have no future. There's nothing for me. I'll never be a great lady or marry someone like Tom. I can only pretend. It's horrible, Gemma."
"You don't know what will be," I say, trying to soothe. "No one knows."
Felicity's noticed we're not beside her and comes back for us. "What is the matter?"
"Nothing," I say brightly. "We're coming." I take Ann's hand. "Things can change. Repeat it."
"Things can change," she parrots quietly.
"Do you believe that?"
She shakes her head. Silent tears trickle down her round cheeks. "We'll find a way. I promise. But first, you must promise me you'll stop. Please?"
"I'll try," she says, brushing a gloved hand against her damp face and forcing a smile.
"Here is trouble," Felicity says as we rejoin the throng in the lobby. I see what she means. It's Cecily Temple. She stands beside her mother, craning her neck, looking this way and that in hopes that she will see someone of interest.
Ann's in a panic."I'll be found out! Ruined! It will be the end for me."
"Stop it," Felicity snaps. But she's right, of course. Cecily can bring Ann's story of Russian nobility and distant peerage down like a house of cards.
"We'll avoid her," Felicity says. "Come with me. We shall take the opposite stairs. Gemma, just before intermission. Don't forget."
"For the third time, I shan't," I say testily.
The house lights flicker in warning that the opera is to begin.
"There you are!" Simon says. He has waited for me. My stomach quivers."Did you find Miss Bradshaw's bracelet?" "No. She remembered that she'd left it in her jewelry box after all," I lie.
Simon's family has a private box quite high up that makes me feel as if I am the Queen herself, lording over all my subjects. We take our seats and pretend to read our programs, though no one's really paying any attention to The Mikado. Opera glasses are used to spy covertly on lovers and friends, to see who is wearing what, who has arrived with whom. There is more potential scandal and drama in the audience than there could possibly be onstage. At last, the lights are dimmed, and the curtain rises on a small Japanese village. A trio of sopranos in Oriental dress and black lacquered wigs sings of being three little maids at school. It is my first opera, and I find it delightful. At one point, I catch Simon watching me. Rather than look away, he gives me the most radiant smile, and I can scarcely imagine how I will tear myself away to enter the realms, for this too is magic, and I cannot help feeling resentful that my duty calls me. Just before intermission, I spy Felicity through my opera glasses. She's looking at me impatiently. I whisper in Grandmama's ear that I must excuse myself to the dressing room. Before she can protest, I slip out the curtains that lead to the hall, where I greet Felicity and Ann.
"There is an unused box upstairs," Felicity says, taking my hand. A wistful aria floats through the opera house as we make our way silently upstairs. Ducking low, we push aside the heavy curtains and sit on the floor just inside. I reach for their hands. Eyes shut, we concentrate, and the door of light appears.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE SWEET SMELL OF LILAC GREETS US IN THE GARDEN, but things look different. The trees and grass are a bit wilder, as if they've gone to seed. More toadstools have popped up. They cast long shadows across our faces.
"Why, you look lovely!" Pippa shouts to us from her perch by the river. She races to us, her tattered hem flying in the breeze. The flowers in her crown have gone dry and brittle. "How beautiful! Where have you been in your finery?"
