Part 10 (1/2)

Rigid, she did so, but started to say, ”Enola, thank you for-”

”Shhh. Make no sound,” I whispered, frantically cutting off long tresses of hair and stowing them in my pockets for lack of any other place to hide them.

Someone, probably Jenkins, tried the door-k.n.o.b, then cried, ”It's locked!”

Yet, as is the case with most people, she continued to agitate the k.n.o.b as if somehow she could thus release the bolt.

”Get out of my way,” commanded either the baroness or the viscountess-they both sounded the same. ”You nitwit, she tricked you.” A series of thumps ensued as if someone had actually pushed the unfortunate Jenkins down the stairs! At the same time the fierce voice exhorted, ”Cecily!”

That shout made the girl flinch; I felt her jump. ”Shhh,” I whispered, still snipping my way from one ear around the back of her neck to the other. ”Pull your front hair down over your face.”

As she did so, the k.n.o.b rattled anew. ”Cecily, open this door and let us in,” shrieked one of the sisters.

”Open up at once!” screeched the other.

They continued thus in counterpoint. ”Cecily! Ungrateful brat!”

”Open this door or I will punish you severely!”

Et cetera.

After a brief time, however, the tenor of their tune changed. ”There must be another key,” one of them declared. ”Jenkins, go find it!”

Oh, dear.

But I was nearly ready. ”There,” I whispered, scissoring a thick swath across Cecily's forehead. ”Finished.” Once more I popped the cap on her head, and a dear little orphan she made indeed, standing a foot shorter than I, in overlarge shoes and clothing too big for her, as if she were expected to grow into it. Her shorn hair, especially the thatch hiding her forehead, made her nearly unrecognisable as Cecily Alistair. ”Splendid!”

She could not answer my smile; her huge eyes remained terrified as they fixed on me for salvation. ”But, Enola, now what? How-”

How, indeed, to effect her escape with the enemy's voices clamouring directly outside the attic?

”Bring men to knock the door down!” shrilled an aunt.

”And be quick!” screeched the other.

”Yes, my lady. Yes, my lady.” Jenkins's voice faded below.

Cecily bit her lip as if to keep from sobbing.

”Trust me,” I told her, scooting over to where the wedding-gown hung. Ripping off its sheet as I s.n.a.t.c.hed it down off its hanger, I plopped it onto myself.

I would not have thought it possible for Cecily's eyes to stretch any farther. But widen yet more they did, and her rosebud mouth formed an O.

”To give you time,” I whispered. ”Here.” Burrowing under the gown to the pocket of my muslin dress, I found the pink paper fan, on which I had pencilled as a contingency, lest all else fail: I instructed Lady Cecily, ”Hide behind the door. When they have all come in, slip out. Go to the gate, show this”-I handed her the fan-”and Mr. Holmes, or one of his friends, should be waiting for you.”

Meanwhile, footsteps pounded up the attic stairs again. ”Here's an extra key, my lady,” cried a shaky voice outside.

There was no time to fasten the myriad pearl b.u.t.tons running up the wedding gown's back. I had just a moment to seize the headdress and plop it into place on myself, covering my face with layers of cloudy veil, as I threw myself into the chair in which Cecily had been sitting.

The key snicked in the lock.

So long as I slouched in the chair, mostly buried in mounds of wedding-gown, they would not see how tall I was, their suspicions would not be aroused-so I hoped, as I hid my stocking feet under yards of white skirt and my hands in my lap, pinning folds of veil between my fingers.

”Cecily!” stormed two harridan voices in unison as the door slammed open. Then, similarly in chorus but quite changed in tone, ”Cecily?”

Through my milky thickness of veil I could not make out their expressions, the two dowagers and the cowed servant, as they walked in and formed a semi-circle, staring at me.

”She's put her gown on,” one of them said in wondering tones.

I could only dimly see them-and behind them, a little orphan girl tiptoeing out of the room to slip down the stairs. In order to keep attention firmly upon myself whilst Cecily made her escape, I began to rock my upper body to and fro in an interestingly demented manner.

”Cecily, stop it.”

”Why have you put your dress on by yourself? You've got it all crooked. Stand up.”

Instead, I feigned a sort of spasm.

”Stop that grotesque twitching, Cecily! What's the matter with you? Let me see you.” One of them tried to lift my veil.

She could not, of course, as I was holding it down. I tried to a.s.sess how far the real Cecily might have got by now. Downstairs, surely, and possibly out the door, crossing the yard?

”Cecily! Let go of that veil!” One of the sisters tried to wrest it from me.

”Don't, Otelia, you'll tear it, and that's the finest tulle in London!”

”You make her let go, then!”

”Cecily!” Aquilla grasped me bruisingly by both upper arms. ”Do as she says.”

Instead, I began to thrash in a truly pitiful manner.

”Cecily!” Both of them grasped me by the shoulders, shaking me, to my satisfaction; let them maul me all they liked. The only difficulty was to remain stubbornly silent while they abused me, so as not to let my voice give me away. The longer they bela-boured me, the better, giving the real Cecily time to escape.

But they were interrupted. ”What's the matter with her?” roared a male voice-unmistakably that of the baron.

Both baroness and viscountess squeaked in well-bred shock at such a masculine invasion, turning on him. ”Dagobert! Bramwell!” squawked, presumably, Aquilla. ”What are you doing here?”

Heaven help me, both of them? Yes, through my veil I could make out two looming forms in fancy dress.

”Jenkins said we needed to break down the door,” replied the baron. ”Is Cecily misbehaving?”

”I think she's gone quite mad!”

It was quite simple for me, in my terror of the baron, to act the part of a lunatic, recommencing to rock to and fro in my chair, but this time allowing myself a number of pathetic moans.

The baroness continued, ”First she fainted, or pretended to, and then she locked us out, and now she's gone and rucked her gown all over herself; just look at her! Nod, nod, nodding like a-”