Chapter 27
***
All eyes were on the famous opera singer, who arrived at just the right time.
Escorted by Count Gounod, Christine Peildon walked in with a straight back and graceful steps.
The rhinestones densely embedded in the hem of her gown sparkled blue as she walked, smooth as water.
Several noblewomen recognized the dress, and they were stunned.
"My goodness, how can she wear the same dress again?"
The ladies themselves looked on in disbelief.
Christine Peildon was wearing the same aqua gown she had worn to the court banquet not long ago.
It made her look so lazy, passive, and unfashionable. If the occasion called for it, she should have changed the lace or tied a different color ribbon around her waist.
"I don't think she ever had a teacher to advise her."
Just because Christine Peildon's appearance was not fresh did not mean it was not beautiful, but the ladies, who expected Count Gounod's mistress to be more flamboyant, were busy looking for something else to criticize.
"And how dare her so blatantly ignore Lady Deimos’s kindness........."
Unable to hide their contempt, the ladies looked to Cecilia.
"I respect Miss Peildon’s choice, for there is nothing wrong with frugality, and it is wise to know one's place. I like the look of it."
Cecilia smiled, not a hint of regret in her voice. It was somewhat expected.
"Well, yes, because there is nothing more ridiculous than commoners who think that wearing Amarine’s clothes makes them equal to us."
As the ladies unfurled their fans to cover their laughter, Count Gounod and Christine Peildon, arm in arm, crossed the hall.
Count Gounod could not have been more affectionate with Christine Peildon. He introduced her to his acquaintances and made sure she was the center of conversation.
In the midst of the gorgeously dressed ladies and gentlemen, she was the only one who stood out.
Cecilia's eyes scanned down the aisle, admiring her.
A dress the color of water, reminiscent of a calm lake on a spring day, and tiny pearl earrings. A pearl-encrusted comb held at an angle in her elegantly framed ebony hair.
The only thing that was excessive in the restraint was her overly beautiful face.
"A witch who mesmerizes people.”
Arthur's voice broke through her thoughts.
She was hoping she'd show up in a red dress, but.......she was surprisingly stubborn.
Cecilia's catlike eyes narrowed. This was not Fiona Bennett. Christine Peildon’s unfriendliness was enough to intrigue her.
When Count Gounod disappeared into the drawing room with his friends, Christine was alone.
A lone figure, but one that commanded attention.
The way she held her head high and the way her eyes scanned the ballroom with a measured gaze gave her an air of authority that no commoner could have.
At last, Cecilia came to a decision and led the group to her.
"I see you again, Miss Peildon."
She snapped to attention.
"..................Hello. Miss Deimos."
Very polite, but not cowardly. Christine bent her knees and bowed her head. Her demeanor was more natural at a court banquet, graceful as if she'd always been a member of society.
"I suppose the dress I recommended was not to Miss Peildon’s liking."
"....."
Cecilia asked with a bright smile.
"I didn't realize Amarine was such an expensive costume shop."
She continued, her voice soft and authoritative.
"I was going to wear the dress you recommended, considering the Count's stature, but I decided it wasn't quite right for me."
Cecilia laughed a little, no longer able to contain herself.
She had hoped the woman was as promiscuous and blinded by greed as the rumors had suggested, as she had felt at the court banquet, but alas, she was transparent. Enough to make her want to stir up the muddy bottom of the clear water with a twig and dirty it.
Arthur must have felt the same way.
It was only natural to be curious about things you don't recognize.
Cecilia understood it, but she still hated it.
Whether it was a fleeting interest or an abysmal infatuation. She couldn't allow Arthur to look at any woman but herself.
“As you all know, Miss Peildon has not officially debuted in society. She is awkward and still doesn’t know much. I hope you all can help her as much as you can.”
Cecilia said charitably, looking around the group. Then she formally introduced Christine to each of them, one by one. It was a very kind gesture.
"His Highness the Crown Prince has not yet arrived, I presume?"
A smooth-skinned, plump lady asked Cecilia, lifting a glass of champagne from a passing servant's tray.
"He gave notice of his attendance, so he should be here soon."
"I think it’s hopeless for the ladies, since His Highness only dances with Miss Deimos."
The smooth-skinned, plump lady who sipped her champagne asked the wistful question. Her eyes were filled with envy. The other ladies' expressions were not much different.
Cecilia smiled her trademark graceful smile.
The Crown Prince was famous for not dancing at balls.
The first dance was with his aunt Princess Charlotte, followed by his cousin Cecilia Deimos. Aside from the order prescribed by etiquette, the Crown Prince never danced with anyone else, so the women clamored for him like thirsty desert travelers.
What it's like to dance with the Crown Prince..............
Amidst the cheerful music, the ladies stared at the entrance to the ballroom, each with a longing look on their faces. Only Christine stared into her bubbling champagne glass with dark, sunken eyes.
If only she hadn't come.
***
Arthur descended the spiral staircase, dimly lit by gas lamps. A scream escaped from the darkness beyond, the damp air stinging his lungs.
The guard, recognizing his face, stood at attention and opened the iron bars of the dungeon, then crouched low until the director and the Crown Prince were out of sight.
Arthur walked toward his destination with an unhurried gait. As he moved, the sweet scent of gardenias wafted from his chest, a scent that seemed out of place in the dreary space. Impeccably dressed in a tailcoat, the Crown Prince looked like he belonged at a fancy ball.
"Has there been any harvest?"
The director of intelligence asked.
"Not wine crates, but upright pianos. Inside the three pianos, we recovered 30 assault rifles and 180 magazines each."
The raid on the South Harbor loading dock hadn't gone too badly. Arthur stopped in front of the epicenter of the faintly audible screams and beatings.
The iron door to the torture chamber swung open.
"Did the Duke of Deimos have anything to do with this?"
An Intelligence Service agent in black leather gloves was tugging at a handcuffed man's hair, snarling.
When he stopped, the agent saluted the Crown Prince. Arthur nodded briefly, then turned his gaze to the man breathing raggedly. His face was covered in bruises, his lips and eye sockets were busted and bleeding. The air smelled like copper.
"Nothing?”
"I'm sorry, sir.”
The agent bowed his head at the director's question. Apparently, the captive hadn't told them the source of the money that had been funneled to the Welsh Republic's army for his horrific demise. All the torturer could find out was that the man was no mere stevedore, but a supplier to the Welsh Republican Army.
Speculation that the Provisional Welsh Republican Army might be armed again was now a foregone conclusion. The nightmare of twenty years ago was about to be replayed. The time had come to sweep the impure away.
Arthur sat back in his seat and crossed his legs leisurely. His spotless black dress shoes glistened in the light of the gas lamp overhead.
"Would you like a cigarette?"
"Long live Wales!"
At Arthur's question, the man spat out a gurgling, bloody spit.
Coincidentally, the spit landed on the Crown Prince's shoe. Panicked agents rushed in, but the aide had already dropped to one knee. He calmly removed the filth and inspected the shoe's shine. Meanwhile, Arthur lit a cigarette and blew out a slow stream of smoke.
When the aide stepped back, Arthur slowly pushed himself to his feet.
"Independence."
With the cigarette between his lips, Arthur's graceful hand slammed the man's face hard against the iron table with a bang.
The man's face contorted with a short scream. His bloodshot eyes bulged until they threatened to pop out.
***
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