Timeless: Through Time - Garcy

The Capture of Benedict Arnold (2)

Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds
Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you
Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads
Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you

Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies
Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you

-Andrew Lloyd Webber, Masquerade

Leaves crunched under the feet of the morose band as they trudged to Rittenhouse's mansion. They had opted to travel the rest of the distance by foot in order to case the building out and mark escape routes beforehand - and with Arnold's insistence, they left a disgruntled Rufus behind. David Rittenhouse, apparently, wasn't the warmest to minorities. What a surprise.
Lucy and Arnold walked side by side, unspeaking, with Flynn and Wyatt vigilantly guarding the front and rear. Flynn came to a sudden stop at the edge of the forest.

"That's it," Arnold declared, pointing his cane to a gap in the thick trees.
Lucy squinted to see the impressively large manor. It was part of a row of stately homes, but that didn't diminish its grandeur - it was perhaps one of the most beautiful houses she had ever seen.

"Hey, wait," Wyatt pointed to the open door, where she could make out a steady stream of people walking into the building.

"It's a party," Lucy realized, noting the fancy dresses and excited chatter.

"There were parties in the 1700s?" He raised an eyebrow. "Wild."

Lucy rolled her eyes.
"Well, balls, mostly. Dancing is huge in England, so it's huge in America too. Look, they're all wearing masks."

"You're telling me Rittenhouse is just throwing a masquerade for, what, the hell of it?"

"Pretty much. Dances were for political and social reasons too, though. And impressing or intimidating guests."

"My money's on that."

"How do we get in now?" Lucy sighed. They had been banking on an empty house.

"We blend in." Flynn shrugged.

"How?" She turned but froze suspiciously, following Flynn's mischievous stare to a neighbouring mansion.

"Of course." She muttered.

"Let's go steal some clothes."
Flynn set off with a tired smile. Lucy made to follow, but Wyatt skipped ahead.

"Someone needs to stay with Arnold," he looked down at her pointedly.

"Oh," she blinked. "Okay."

They set off together without another word. She was left bewildered. As the historian, she was clearly the best choice to go - they hadn't the first clue about what to wear. She suspected Wyatt was still sore about her and Flynn's secret meetings. She supposed she couldn't blame him - if he had developed a sudden closeness with Flynn, she would be suspicious too - but, really, Lucy thought, he needn't go to such measures to keep them apart. Their relationship, if you could even call it that, was linked only by a common need. That need was simply to get home to their families. And then they could part ways.

Lucy was very careful to ignore the emptiness that washed through her at that thought. She didn't want to admit that somehow, during all this madness, Flynn had become a crutch to fall back on. It didn't even make sense to her. In many ways, she still believed he was mad, and technically her enemy, but at the very least he was consistent through and through.

Lucy couldn't see them ever truly being on the same side as he insisted they would be, but a tentative, if not fragile, friendship seemed within the realms of possibility. So she leaned back and trusted them to go, watching them break into the mansion through a ground-level window and vanish out of sight.