Silence No More

29. I Have to Play Ball

The preparations for the ball continued apace. By the time I was ready to leave my room (and my beloved vat of icy water), the entire mansion was decorated with colourful lamps and banners. In every corner, one could find a vase full of beautiful flowers filling the air with their sweet, welcoming scent.

The night came. Then the morning. Even more acceptance letters arrived, along with some servants who immediately started to prepare guest rooms for their esteemed lords and ladies. The manor's staff was putting on the finishing touches, polishing mirrors, waxing the ballroom floor and filling the chandeliers with fresh candles. Candles that were soon needed as the sun started to sink beyond the horizon and the evening of the ball arrived.

I stood at the window, gazing out at the sunset, when Mr Rikkard Ambrose stepped up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"It'll be all right, Mrs Ambrose. No need to be nervous."

"Indeed, Sir?"

"Indeed. And no need to climb out of the window with that rope of bedsheets you are hiding under your skirt, either."

Dang!

"Ahaha. Um..." Pulling out the improvised rope, I glanced over my shoulder to send him an innocent smile. "I have no idea how that got there."

He gave me a look. One of those looks. "Of course you haven't. Just like you haven't been trying to bribe the stable boy to provide you with an escape horse."

"Exactly!" Beaming, I nodded energetically and hoped he wouldn't notice my crossed fingers. "I would never do something silly like that just to escape a ball."

"That is adequate to hear." Tightening his grip on my shoulder, he pointed out of the window. "Because they have arrived."

It was only then that I saw them. Bulky, square-shaped shadows emerging out of the distance, silhouetted against the sinking sun. Only a moment later, the clattering of hooves rose to the half-open window. To me, it sounded like the approach of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.

"It is time," my dear husband stated right behind me.

Ah, and there's the devil himself, come to have his way with me.

Though, at the moment, I wouldn't have cared if the literal devil were in the room with me. Because even Satan couldn't compare with the pure evil radiating from the objects Mr Ambrose was holding out to me.

Dancing shoes.

Bloody dancing shoes!

Oh, and a tailcoat and trousers, too, but that was completely irrelevant in the face of the terrifying, dread-inspiring torture instruments that were the dancing shoes!

"No." I shook my head hard.

"Yes," came his reply as the first notes of dance music started down below. He stepped towards me. I took a step back.

"No. No. No."

"Yes." Raising the dancing shoes in his hands, Mr Rikkard Ambrose gave me a stern look. He took another step forward. "Triple yes."

"No. Absolutely not. I'm not going down to..." I wrinkled my face in disgust at having to utter the most horrific curse word I could imagine. "...dance."

"Yes. Yes, you are."

"But I can't! I...I..." Spotting my salvation, I snatched Berty out of his crib and clutched him to my chest. "I have to feed Berty. The poor boy hasn't gotten to eat in hours, he must be frantic with hunger!"

My words were followed by a pointedly peaceful snore coming from my darling boy.

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "Indeed. I can see he is positively ravenous."