Pip watched from a first-floor window as carriages stopped along the road, let out their passengers with their umbrellas up, and rode off.
This ball was open to any of the Westcott's friends, despite Mr. Colton's argument that they ought to have only allowed the wealthiest patrons in Europe, as the Lady Westcott had tended to do.
"Don't be ridiculous," Miss Bradley had said. "This ball is supposed to be fun, and I think our friends ought to come instead of those haughty strangers. Right, Isolde?"
To which Miss Westcott had not responded, looking nervously between Mr. Colton and Miss Bradley. Pip had pressed his lips tightly together, all too grateful when Lord Westcott decided to return to his chambers.
He knew why Miss Westcott was staying silent, but he couldn't help but be frustrated with her. If she didn't want to marry Mr. Colton, then why would she? Couldn't she see that she wasn't only hurting herself, but the rest of the household as well? No one wanted that man to stay here, least of all her, so why wouldn't she do something about it?
Perhaps there was still time to warn Oliver. Perhaps he could have someone else fetch him so that Mr. Colton wouldn't grow suspicious.
Pip was woken from his thoughts as he heard nervous muttering behind him. He looked to find Emily.
"Emily, good, there you are," he said. "I need your help with something."
"O-Oh," she blushed. "Sorry, Pip, can it wait? I—I have to go give Miss Westcott her dinner, you see. She's hardly eaten anything all day."
Pip sighed. "That doesn't surprise me. D'you know where Charles is, then?"
Her frown deepened, and she looked to her right and left before leaning in. She whispered. "Mr. Colton has him in the ballroom with Sebastian and Rosie and Garrett. Everyone is to be working the ball tonight."
Emily seemed to realize she was standing far too close to Pip, and leapt back with a squeak, straightening her dress and patting down her hair, her eyes on the carpet and her face red. "A-At any rate, Mr. Colton seems to be in awfully good spirits, doesn't he? That bodes well, at least."
And she scurried off.
"Yes," muttered Pip, looking back to the many carriages as they arrived. It should've excited him to see all of his friends from town, from Messrs Everly to the Lindsey family, to the End women . . . but all he felt was dread.
Jane had been looking for him all morning, according to Mrs. Mary, and Mr. Colton was glaring daggers at him and cornering him in corridors, warning him to keep quiet—"Or else it will be Oliver who suffers for it"—as though Pip hadn't already known that. And Oliver. . . . Pip's body sagged at the thought of his Oliver, drunk and angry and glaring at him.
Pip remembered their conversation just that morning, the way his frown had turned a little less furious and a little more lost and afraid when Lord Westcott had left the room. The way he'd leaned into Pip's touch as Pip came up to him with his arms outstretched. He'd reeked of rum, and his words had been slurred, and still, he asked Pip why.
Why was Pip ignoring him? Why did Pip seem eager to get away? And try as he might, Pip could not convince him that it wasn't true, that he never wanted to leave Oliver's side at all.
And Oliver's voice had cracked and his grip had tightened and he'd pressed his face to Pip's shoulder. A sob escaped Pip's lips, and he quickly wiped his eyes with his forearm before any more tears could fall.
He pressed his forehead to the window and closed his eyes, letting the chill of the cold glass pass through his body. As though he weren't uncomfortable enough.
"Philip?" Lord Westcott appeared behind him. He huffed, exasperated. "I've been looking for you, where have you been?"
"Here," said Pip, slowly opening his eyes to the visitors again. The sky was black now and lamps lit as rain poured, golden orbs in the night. It was quiet in this area of the manor, the only light being the faint gold of the outside, casting Pip and Lord Westcott into dark shadows.
Lord Westcott followed Pip's gaze out the window and leaned against the wall with a sigh, crossing his arms. "Not the whole of Europe, but I never liked crowds anyway. What're you doing here?"
"Pretending I was somewhere else," muttered Pip.
"Escaping, were you?" he scoffed, watching the carriages pull up himself. "Abandoning me to the vultures?"
Pip allowed himself to watch him. The light of the lamps cast a faint gold sheen across his black suit and trousers, his white undershirt, the swirling engravings along his waistcoat, his coat. His cheekbones were prominent, his black locks curled perfectly, his dark eyes and long lashes calm and patient. His cheeks turned a faint pink.
"Do you always stare at people like this?" he said suddenly, and Pip looked away, blushing.
"No," he said. "I don't stare. And you shouldn't call them vultures, the people of Devon are actually very kind. You'd like them."
He hummed. "Is that why you're hiding?"
Pip's shoulders sagged again. "I didn't realize you cared so much."
"I do if it's my servant," said Lord Westcott. "I do expect you at my side, after all."
"And . . . Oliver?"
A pause. "What about him?"
"Do you care for him as well?"
"Of course I do. He's my brother." He chuckled. "Though I suppose he thinks otherwise?"
"He said you pretend to care," said Pip quietly, "but in the end you'll abandon them."
Lord Westcott said nothing for a long while as he stared ahead. Finally, he nodded. "He's right."
Pip considered him. "It's a shame," he finally said.
"What is?"
"How alike you and Oliver can be, and yet you do not see it in one another," said Pip. "Or perhaps you do, and that is why you do not get along. He thinks poorly of himself as well."
Lord Westcott nodded. "He always has. It's ridiculous, of course, and completely untrue."
"I agree," said Pip, defiant. "You, for example, are not as heartless as you pretend to seem."
His smiled dimmed. "You sound sure."
"I . . ." Pip shook his head. "Nothing about you makes any sense to me. But there a few things I feel I do know for sure."
"I feel the same way about you," he said, his eyes piercing Pip's own. "But I suppose that's how it is with us. Don't you think so?"
Pip looked back out the window. "I . . . suppose."
A minute passed. Two. Then—
"Lord Westcott."
"Hm?"
"Can't we just stay here?"
Lord Westcott looked up. "For the entirety of the ball?" Pip nodded. "Certainly. What would we do?"
He shrugged. "Stare at the wall?"
Lord Westcott laughed. "That desperate to get away, are you?"
"I don't think this party's a good idea," confessed Pip.
He straightened. "Oh? And why not?"
"I . . ." Not much longer now. Pip shook his head, pressing the bottoms of his palms into his eyes.
He felt Lord Westcott take his wrists, his grip strong and warm, and he pulled Pip's hands down. Pip was met with dark eyes piercing his own.
"I wouldn't let anyone harm you, Philip," he said. His grip tightened on Pip's wrists. "I know Andrew told you something, I know he's threatening you. Why? What do you know that's frightening him so terribly?"
"Y-You know?"
"Tell me," he encouraged. "It's all right, no harm will come to you."
Pip's lower lip trembled. Lord Westcott's thumb brushed the sensitive skin of his wrist, and it made it hard for Pip to think. He was going to cry again.
How he wanted to confess the truth right then. But Oliver . . . Oliver would never forgive him. He turned his hands, gripping Lord Westcott's fingers desperately. Could he understand him? If Pip wanted him to see the truth, would he be able to read Pip's mind?
"It's not me who I fear will be harmed," he said quietly.
Whether or not Lord Westcott understood, Pip did not know. But he frowned, something in his eyes softening as he searched Pip's face.
"Oh, Pip . . ."
"Lord Westcott!" they heard suddenly, and stepped apart from one another. Pip's fingers still tingled where he had held Lord Westcott's, and the cold that struck him when he'd let go was more uncomfortable than any cold the glass had left.
They both turned at once to see Mrs. Mary at the end of the corridor, huffing her way to them.
"Oh, my lord," she said. "Oh, where have you been? Miss Westcott's been looking for you, even Mr. Reed's asked for you! And you, Pip, you can't escape this ball either!"
Pip and Lord Westcott shared a glance and looked away. Lord Westcott straightened his coat.
"Very well," he said. "Come along, Philip. It seems we're needed."
The ballroom was beautiful. The gold railings gleamed, the windows and doors to the balconies were wide open, the storm quiet as it surrounded them. There were white tables with gold carvings along the walls where trays and trays of colourful food sat. People were filling their plates, dancing to the quartet's music, standing about in groups and chattering with glasses of wine.
Pip stood behind Lord Westcott. He squeezed his palm behind his back, looking around for Mr. Colton, but he was at the far end of the ball, laughing with a group of men, a cigar between his fingers.
Lord Westcott kept glancing over his shoulder at him, and Pip met his eyes and looked away with heated cheeks every time.
"My, my, what a handsome face," one elderly woman said as Lord Westcott kissed her hand. She glanced at Pip. "And a handsome man you have here as well. How long have you two been together, darling?"
Pip's eyes widened and he looked down.
"Er—" Lord Westcott cleared his throat. "Not long, ma'am. Isolde? Where are you?" He smiled politely. "Have you spoken to my sister, ma'am? She's a very lovely soul."
But Miss Westcott did not seem the least bit eager to speak to anyone. She stood beside a table, staring at the food, though Pip had the feeling she was trying only to avoid being pulled into conversation.
Jane was at her side, looking up worriedly into her face. Emily was beside them as well, holding a tray of finger sandwiches, urging her to eat something. Miss Bradley watched her from across the ball where she was held hostage by a group of more people.
She finally managed to excuse herself, and made her way to Miss Westcott's side only for Miss Westcott to mutter an excuse to Emily and hurry away, losing herself in the crowd. Then it was Miss Bradley's turn to be consoled.
Pip rubbed his face with one hand. What a disaster.
"All right, you two?" Oliver said with his own glass in hand, nearly empty now. "This is a party, and all eyes are on you! You should be enjoying yourselves!"
Lord Westcott subtly reached up and covered Oliver's hand on his glass with his own. "I think you've had enough of this," he muttered.
Oliver didn't relent, his gaze hardening. "And I think you ought to let me go before I make a scene, brother. And then all eyes really will be on you."
That seemed to be enough of a threat to force Lord Westcott's hand back down.
"Philip," he said. "Bring my brother a glass of water, will you?"
"I already said," Oliver grit his teeth, "that I won't let him serve me."
"My, what a good man you are," said Lord Westcott.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means Philip is clearly worried for you," he said, lowering his voice. Pip's heart leapt into his throat. "The least you could do is stop drinking. For his peace of mind."
Oliver glanced at Pip, but his eyes did not soften. He moved closer to his brother, and smirked bitterly. Pip's heart fell again into his stomach. He knew that look.
"And what do I care for some servant's peace of mind?"
Pip clenched his jaw. It's not real, he told himself. It's not real. None of it is real. He's only pretending. He . . .
Oh, blast pretending. Pip was worried, he couldn't help that. He wished Oliver would put aside his anger, as fair as it was, for Pip's sake if not for his own. Pip knew Oliver couldn't betray his care for him, but what need was there for this stubborn dismissal of his concerns?
Then Pip spotted Jane in her pale blue dress, the ribbon curled around her silky blonde hair, stomping across the ballroom towards him. He swallowed.
"Lord Westcott," he said. "Do you want more water? Perhaps some food?" Anything to get me away from here.
"No," said Lord Westcott. "I want you to stay beside me."
Oliver scoffed, still staring at his brother. "Can't pick up your own plate, eh? It's become that difficult to function without a servant?"
"Move away from me," he said, "before I shove you back."
"Why don't you?" Oliver dared him. "Afraid people will see the kind of man you really are?"
"You're clearly not thinking straight," said Lord Westcott, though even Pip could hear the slight tremble in his voice. It seemed Oliver had struck a nerve.
Jane appeared at Pip's side, tugging his sleeve down so that he would be forced to crouch.
"You haven't talked to him yet?" demanded Jane. "Will you talk to him now?"
"Er—"
"Oliver, go have some food and calm yourself," Lord Westcott tried to put his hands on Oliver's shoulders, but his brother shrugged him off.
"Don't touch me, I'm fine," he said. "I don't need to calm myself."
"You have to, Pip," pleaded Jane.
"Jane, please—"
"I heard Andrew say there was a toast coming soon," she said, glancing at her sister. "You have to tell him now!"
"Oliver –"
"Ah, Robert." A tall man in a thin moustache approached them, his silver hair streaked with auburn. His wife, a woman just as tall and thin as he, had a fur scarf around her shoulders. She let it fall slightly at the sight of Lord Westcott.
"Lord Hewitt," Lord Westcott greeted them with a nod and an edge in his voice, though the guests didn't seem to notice. "Lady Hewitt. Pleasure to see you."
"A pleasure, a pleasure," he said deeply, glanced at Oliver, and looked away with a slight scrunch of his nose. "I wanted to come see you in person after receiving your letter. Unfortunately, I won't be able to stay tonight as I have family here in Devon who'd been awaiting my visit. You know how it is to have . . . obligations to family members, do you not?"
He said this with a clear glance at Oliver. Immediately, Pip hated him. Oliver's smirk twitched as he moved to stand beside his brother.
"Lord Hewitt," he said with a mock bow. He grinned dangerously at the wife. "Esmeralda."
Lady Hewitt seemed taken aback, but as Oliver's lips touched her hand, she flushed, her blue eyes glued to him as opposed to Lord Westcott. Pip squirmed, uncomfortable. Oliver wouldn't even look at Pip in public, but he had no trouble smiling at others.
It's not real, he told himself again, a weariness in his mind's voice as he thought it. He's just pretending. Not much longer now.
"Enchanted," said Lord Hewitt distastefully, glaring at his wife out of the corner of his eye until she seemed to remember he was there. "As I was saying, Robert," he went on, angling his body so that he could completely ignore Oliver, "I would be delighted to accept your invitation tomorrow, perhaps around midday?"
Pip refrained a scoff. The only thing it seemed Lord Hewitt would ever be delighted in doing was stabbing his enemies in the neck.
As though hearing Pip, Lord Hewitt's eyes fell on him and they narrowed. "Servant, isn't he?" he said.
"Yes," said Lord Westcott. "His name is—"
"Oh, never mind," Lord Hewitt said at once with a wave of his long cigar. "I wouldn't remember anyway, dreadful with names, you see."
"Pip," Jane hissed. "Pip, come on, you have to tell him!"
"Jane," Pip guided her a few steps away. "Listen to me, I—I don't want to lie to you. All right? And if I tell you the truth, you'll hate me."
Her brows furrowed. She glanced back at Mr. Colton and Miss Westcott, making sure they were apart. "What're you talking about? Pip, you have to tell Robbie what we know!"
"He's not going to listen to me," said Pip firmly. "I know you think he will, but he won't."
"But—"
"No," he said. "Enough. I'm sorry, Jane, but this isn't any of your concern. Your sister is an adult, and she can make her own decisions. We—We mustn't get involved."
"No!" she cried, and people began to look over at them. "No, Pip, Andrew's forcing her to do it! You have to believe me, he's forcing her!" She shook her head. "D-Don't you care about her? About me? About any of us? Don't you want to help me stop this?"
Mr. Colton looked over as well. He caught Pip's eyes. Pip glanced back at Oliver who was sulking at his brother's side, unaware of what was happening.
"I . . ."
"I told you," said Jane. "This party's just a trick. And you promised you would try. If you don't tell Robbie the truth, then—then Andrew and Isolde are going to announce their betrothal! We can't let that happen!"
Glass shattered. Pip and Jane looked around, as did most of the ballroom's occupants. Mr. Colton had been halfway through the chamber when he stopped as well. Lord Westcott's eyes narrowed, as did Oliver's, and even Miss Westcott looked troubled.
It was Miss Bradley. She was staring directly at Pip and Jane, and beside her feet lay her glass of champagne, shattered across the floor. She looked as though she might fall. Emily stood beside her, her arm outstretched with furrowed brows as though ready to catch her.
Pip was fortunate the music was still playing and the ballroom was too large for everyone to have noticed the accident.
Pip took Jane's arm and muttered, "Stay with Miss Westcott."
Bewildered and concerned, Jane nodded. "R-Right."
Meanwhile, Pip took Miss Bradley by the arms and led her to the door. "It's all right," he muttered to the guests as they passed. "She's all right, merely stumbled."
Already, other servants had gone to clean the mess Miss Bradley had left, but Pip had taken her out of the ballroom and upstairs.
"Come along," he urged. "One foot in front of the other, there you are."
He led her into a freezing guestroom where they were sure not to be interrupted, closed the window against the storm, and lit a candle. He sat her down on a chair and knelt in front of her, looking her over for injuries the glass might've left.
"She's . . . announcing her engagement?" muttered Miss Bradley.
"Helen? Are you all right?"
"T-To that . . . that weasel?"
"He's forcing her," tried Pip. "He—He told her she had to—"
"Had to?" Her eyes flared and she stood. "Had to what, Pip? Had to what? Had to marry him? Had to accept him? And does she do whatever she's told no matter who it might harm?"
Pip stood slowly, but he didn't try to calm Miss Bradley again as she paced.
"She'd been at the mercy of that wretched mother of hers for years, and she let it happen! She cared so much about making her proud, and for what? Did she honestly think she would be recognized for her efforts?!"
Miss Bradley grabbed an empty chest on the mantel and threw it across the room.
"She'd sat quietly as Lady Westcott scolded her again and again and again for her imperfections! That woman couldn't see how beautiful her daughter was, but did Isolde ever speak up for herself?! Did she ever fight back like Oliver or Robert?!"
She grabbed a candlestick and threw it as well. Then another. And another.
"She was forced into a betrothal with that terrible inhumane thing, and I thought that was it! I thought she would finally defend what she wanted! But no, not Isolde! Nothing ever mattered to her but her mother's wishes. Not her sanity or her heart—not even me!"
She fell against the wall, hugging herself. Pip slowly went to her side as her shoulders shook and tears fell down her cheeks.
"You . . . love her," said Pip. "Don't you?"
Miss Bradley's lower lip trembled. "How could she do this to me?" she whispered. "To us? Why can't she fight for us?"
Pip thought painfully of Oliver. The truth was that he didn't know. He didn't know why Miss Westcott wouldn't fight for the person she loved, why this family seemed to care more about pleasing the cruel than the ones they claimed to care for.
His hand curled to fists. I'm sorry, Oliver.
He stood. "Don't cry," he said softly to her. "I'm going to make things right."
She hiccupped. "W-Where are you going?"
Pip turned to the exit. "To try to stop this damned engagement."
But before he could leave, Mr. Colton appeared in the doorway.
"Oh, no, you don't," he warned. He was grinning, but there was no hint of satisfaction, of pleasure. He was as unhappy about this turn of events as Pip and Miss Bradley were.
"Andrew?" Miss Bradley stood, frowning. "What're you doing?"
"You two . . ." he chuckled humourlessly. "I tried, and I tried, but you simply don't listen." He pointed something at Pip. A key.
"I warned you, didn't I?" he went on. "I warned you what would happen. Well, consider yourself sacked, Mr. Kensley. And believe me, that is only the beginning to your troubles. Robert may be able to keep your secret safe, but he can't protect you. And so long as I am in this household, you and your family will never know peace. Not for all the trouble you've caused me and the Great Lady Westcott."
Pip was frozen to his spot. Lord Westcott . . . knew? He knew about him and Oliver?
Miss Bradley's eyes were thunderous as she came to stand beside Pip. "What're you going on about, you pathetic git? You can't sack Pip, you can't do anything to him."
"I can when I am running things around here. Oh, didn't you know? It's in the Lady's will!" he grinned. "I am to inherit Westcott manor if I can be married to Isolde by the end of this year. To keep the sacred Westcott memory alive!"
Pip shook his head. "You're raving mad."
"You're EVIL!" Miss Bradley protested. "How could you take advantage of Isolde like that? She's not a key to a manor, she's my love!"
"As I said," Mr. Colton sneered at her. "Love is child's play."
Pip felt hatred for this man like he'd never felt it for anyone before. The Lady Westcott had sold her own daughter for the sake of a cruel legacy! Enough was enough. Pip would just have to place his faith in Oliver.
"I won't let you get away with this."
"We'll see about that, won't we?" he said, and took the knob.
Too late, Pip realized what was happening. "NO!" he screamed, but the door shut, the key turned. They were locked in.
Miss Bradley banged on the door beside him. "LET US OUT! YOU CAN'T MARRY HER, I WON'T LET YOU!"
"SHUT UP, you foolish girl!" he snapped from behind the door. "You should've been gone ages ago! How I detested the sight of you here, filling Isolde's head with NONSENSE! When I am head of this household, you will NOT be allowed back in!"
"When Oliver realizes I'm not there," tried Pip, "he'll come for me. And he'll kill you for what you've done!"
He laughed, and it cut through Pip's chest like a knife. "D'you know what, Mr. Kensley? I'm not too worried about Oliver. And if I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for him."
And, still laughing, he left.