An Only Pawn

An Only Pawn: A Short Story

A few more words, and then the line pushes me forward, and I am chivvied into the ballroom, nearly decanted into the space and left to follow the flow of jewels and polished boots and trimmed moustaches that twitch above mouths speaking too loud in an effort to be heard. Because there is nothing but noise all around me. I am drowning in it, and so I tip my head back, breathing deep as if I'm about to be submerged entirely.

Yet I cannot do too much to draw attention to myself. I work my way around the room, speaking with those who care to strike up a dialogue, a few people already aware of my name, of the false identity created a few days before. But they talk to me as if they've heard of me for months already, as if they're aware of my purported business acumen, this man who has slipped into their midst by way of money and trading and—the most harrowing of all—work.

The stream of bodies continues its course around the room, and I cling to it, dragged along like so much detritus. There's little call for me to do much more than flirt with a few young ladies and fetch a cup of lemonade. All of this, while I follow Lady Drummond's progress into the ballroom once she's relieved of her duties in the receiving line.

She is the quintessential hostess, doing nothing to outshine her guests. There are other women in the room with greater beauty, finer gowns, hair twisted and pinned into more elaborate styles, but it is only her I watch. And after several minutes pass, I have to push away the suspicion that I would watch her even if she was not the one I'd been sent here to dispatch.

It's almost midnight when I notice her leave the ballroom, slipping away after a footman comes and whispers in her ear. I follow the gold of her gown, my gaze clinging to the gleam of silk as it picks out the play of shadow and light from one room to the next. The corridors, bless them, carry their own amount of traffic. Lady Drummond ignores them all, her head bowed as she leaves behind the portions of the house set aside for her guests and ascends a narrow staircase that twists upwards, her hands grabbing at the folds of her skirt so that I see a pair of slippers, a glimpse of stockings as she moves swiftly to the next floor.

Approaching her here may be my single opportunity. And so I begin to close the distance between us, making as little sound as possible on the narrow strip of rug that ends as she heads for another set of stairs.

We are fully ensconced in the family quarters now, and it is not until she opens a door at the end of the corridor and disappears inside that I realize she has stepped into the nursery.

There is not an abundance of hiding places to let, and so I can do little more than slink into a corner, while sending up a prayer that the shadows and the black of my own hair and clothing will leave me to blend in with the dark panelling of the wall behind me.

"How is he?" Lady Drummond's voice reaches me, the first I've heard her voice this evening.

"He keeps asking for you. The fever's broken, but he's slept so much the last few days, he simply cannot rest."

"Of course, of course." Footsteps, a swish of skirts, and more words, this time spoken on a hushed note not intended for ears such as mine. "I'll be back as quickly as I can, love. Another hour, maybe two, and then I'll plead a headache and come up to read to you. How does that sound, hmm?"

The whispers of a child reply to her, a voice choked with subdued tears. I press my head back against the wall, shutting my eyes as if the shadowed corridor has suddenly become too bright for my sight to bear. This is not the time to allow sentimentality to cloud my original purpose for being here. And so I tense myself, my weight shifting forward onto the balls of my feet while I wait for Lady Drummond to exit the nursery.

But it's another set of footsteps that forces me to retreat again into the corner. A man's tread sounds on the stairs, and then Lord Drummond strides down the hall, his chin jutted forward in a way that makes me realize his posture isn't merely put on for the audience below.