Lord of the Masquerade by Erica Ridley

Chapter 2

Dust motes danced in the bright sunlight streaming through the narrow windows as Unity Thorne stepped back to admire her work.

“Good God, Mabel,” Rhoda breathed in awe. “You look hideous.”

“Don’t respond,” Unity warned Mabel. “Your prosthetic chin needs time to set.”

The King’s Theatre wouldn’t open to the public for another hour, but there was much to do before the afternoon performance of Macbeth. All of the actresses each had her own beautification toilette, but Unity was in charge of turning them into someone else entirely.

Unity moved Mabel a few feet to the right to make room for her next charge. The grand salon for the audience brimmed with luxury and excess, but the cramped little room where Unity performed her magic with cosmetics was barely large enough to house four stools and a mirror. She needed natural light to do her job well.

She also needed fresh air in order to do her job comfortably, but the windows were nailed shut... either to bar thieves from entering, or to deter the theatre’s property from walking out.

Not that a few nails stopped the actresses from borrowing an unneeded gown or a fine pair of gloves from time to time.

“Gladys, you’re next.” Unity arranged the second stool where the light was best and motioned for the actress to take her seat.

Gladys cast a dubious look at Mabel. “I don’t know about these prosthetics. Mabel does look hideous.”

“You’re the three witches of Macbeth,” Unity reminded her.

“But we weren’t this hideous yesterday,” Gladys insisted. “You can’t even tell who we are beneath the noses and the chins and the black wigs.”

“Oh, sit,” Rhoda said in exasperation. “We’ll look like witches today and be more memorable than ever.” She lowered her voice, despite only the four of them fitting in the small room. “Gladys is between protectors at the moment. She’s worried about what the gentlemen might think.”

Ah. A valid concern.

“The gentlemen don’t make their offers during the show,” Unity reminded Gladys. “I will personally redo your cosmetics after the last bow, faster than the audience can vacate their seats. By the time wealthy would-be lovers reach backstage, you’ll be the most beautiful actress in the theatre.”

“Oy!” Mabel smacked Unity’s hip. “Mrrph blerfle!”

“Don’t talk,” Unity reminded her. “Five more minutes until the glue sets.”

“How do you think of such clever things?” Rhoda said with admiration.

Unity shrugged. She couldn’t help but think of things. Her brain never stopped churning out new ideas.

Gladys shook her head indulgently and took her place on the stool. “You’re out of control, Unity.”

“Who wants to be controlled?” she replied pertly. “No, thank you. I politely decline.”

“You should have declined this position, too,” Gladys said. “You barely earn more than the maids who clean the chamber pots.”

“Which is an equally important post,” Unity pointed out. “How many rich nobs would find themselves in an amorous mood if the theatre smelt of—”

“Mrrgle fergle!” said Mabel.

“She’s right.” Rhoda leaned over Unity’s shoulder to watch her attach the first prosthetics to Gladys’s face. “You’re far cleverer than you are paid to be. Every day, I expect to hear that you’ve found a better position and we shall all be forced to work with some chit who wouldn’t know kohl from a cockerel.”

Unity reached for her glue instead of answering. If only acquiring a well-paid position was as simple as having the talent for it!

She would rather own a theatre than be in charge of face powder in one. Unity dreamed of having her own building, her own business, her own life to direct as she saw fit. She wished she didn’t need the two guineas a month from the theatre. It was barely enough coins to clink together.

Worst of all, she shouldn’t need the theatre! Unity had twice turned someone else’s unprofitable disaster into an outrageous success, and all she had to show for it were the scars of betrayal.

Her fingers shook and she forced herself to take a calming breath. She would claw her way to financial independence. Someday. Somehow.

And she wouldn’t trust anyone but herself to get her there.

“I wish you could be an actress,” Rhoda said with a sigh. “We don’t get paid much more than you, but it’s something.”

“I’m a dreadful actress,” Unity said, though they all knew her lack of acting skills wasn’t the main impediment. Talentless beauties with a powerful enough “sponsor” were given fabulous roles every day.

People like Unity were rarely invited onstage. Not for the big parts. The theatre managers would rather paint up a white actor than give one with brown skin a starring role under the lights.

Women of mixed race, like Unity, often received preferential treatment for their lighter skin. But the most compassionate act the theatre had ever performed for her was to “allow” Unity to apprentice the previous cosmetics artist for a year and a half without pay, until she became skilled enough to replace a higher-earning employee for half of the salary.

Not that top billing was the primary benefit of playing a starring role. The more popular the actress, the wealthier her private patron, but any woman with brains between her ears could find a man willing to pay for her company. For many women, it was the only way to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.

Unity liked being some stranger’s momentary possession even less than living in her minuscule private room with its squeaky cot and wobbly wooden chair. It was hers. And it was temporary.

She would find a way out.

“All right, Mabel. You can talk.”

“Thank God,” Rhoda said. “I am dying to hear all about the masquerade last night.”

Unity held a false nose to Gladys’s face. “Mabel attended the Duke of Lambley’s masquerade ball?”

She would have saved Mabel’s prosthetics until last, if she’d known. Lambley’s hedonistic fêtes were legendary. Unity longed to see what went on inside.

“Not me,” Mabel said. “Helene.”

Ah. Mabel’s sister Helene was Lady Macbeth, the lead actress. She’d paid for Mabel’s rented rooms for an entire year with the sale of a single trinket her protector had purchased for her. There had even been money left over for new boots and a fine coat.

All of the other actresses—and, yes, Unity as well—dreamed of asking Helene for an introduction, an invitation, anything. Even one minute inside that glittering world. But such invitations were either too dear to acquire for friends, or Helene simply didn’t wish to share the stage... even with her own sister.

“She said it was unspeakably decadent.” Mabel eyed her new face in a looking-glass. “It was only her second time to attend, but the footmen remembered her favorite refreshments from the first time and were always on hand with silver trays at the exact moment she craved fresh champagne or fine chocolate.”

“But if everyone is masked the entire time, how did they know who she was?” Rhoda asked.

Mabel shrugged. “It’s part of the magic. Lambley himself isn’t masked. They say he can see right through the masks of others. Perhaps his servants have the same power.”

It sounded fanciful to Unity. “Is he really as attractive as they say?”

“Helene says more so.” Mabel gave a fluttery sigh. “Not that we’ll ever meet him.”

That was true enough. Most unmarried gentlemen of the ton took mistresses, but the duke scarcely needed to bother. The most beautiful women in London presented themselves to him every Saturday. There was no need to go shopping when the samples brought themselves to one’s door.

“They say his hazel eyes emanate unimaginable heat,” said Rhoda.

“They also say he can be unspeakably cold,” Unity reminded her.

“Lambley could bark like a dog and still be lusted after,” Mabel said. “But he’s a sworn bachelor. As untrappable by the ton as he is by the likes of us.”

Rhoda shook her head. “He might be sowing his wild oats now, but he’s a duke, and by all accounts a good one. He may not be in a hurry, but he’ll marry some fancy debutante one day.”

Mabel snorted. “She’ll never guess about the parties. Ton misses are impossibly sheltered. They wouldn’t know what to do with a cock if it sprang up in front of them.”

Gladys affected a wholesome voice and widened her eyes. “‘Oh dear, whatever could that be? We must summon a surgeon at once, Your Grace! It’s swelling at an alarming rate!’”

Laughter filled the tiny room.

“Don’t move,” Unity scolded Gladys, still grinning. “I’m almost done with your chin. Besides, it’s not true and you know it. The reason Lambley’s parties are so scandalous is because ladies of the ton do attend.”

“Maybe that’s the kind of woman he wants,” Mabel said with a sigh. “A lady on the outside and a harlot on the inside.”

“That’s what they all want.” Gladys’s blue eyes twinkled merrily. “We might not personify both roles, but we can offer the best half of the bargain.”

“In fact,” Mabel said, “after yesterday’s show, I met a man who…”

Unity stopped listening to her friends in order to concentrate on applying their cosmetics. Hers wasn’t a glamorous post, but it was all that she had and she needed to keep it. For now.

She’d helped others become rich. If she was half as clever as others claimed, she could find a way to do the same for herself.

Oh, not diamonds-and-fur wealthy. Where would she wear such fripperies, anyway? Unity aspired to be just rich enough that she need not worry about money ever again.

The next business she built would be hers to keep. Every brick. Every penny.

Hers, and hers alone.