Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 71

“There, will that do?” said Victoria, clearly pleased with the results of her handicraft.

“Oh, yes,” Milli replied with a happy sigh. She only wished the wound on her wrist did not itch so beneath the bandage concealed by her long, white glove. The bandage she had been careful to hide from her sister. Emma would only raise a breeze and cluck at her like an old hen. What if their parents were told and Mother ordered Milli back to Little rotting Snoring? No, indeed, she was right to keep this from her sister. Faugh! She was no longer a child to be coddled or chided.

Nicholas had been nothing but solicitous since that dreadful incident in the garden, so she could not very well lament the night altogether, nor could she regret following him outside in the first place despite Skinner’s warning. Despite all that had transpired. Nicholas had played the gallant physician ever since and sought her out each day to attend to her bandaged wrist himself. It was their little secret.

These romantic assiduities of his could mean only one thing. Any day now, she was quite certain, Nicholas would declare his love and make an offer of marriage. The thought was so thrilling that her cheeks flamed just to think of it. Perhaps she would even be married before Emma and Lord Winterly. How jealous her friends would be! What if she and Nicholas were married right here at Winterthurse—a winter wedding and she all in silver and diamonds.

Milli dragged her nails firmly along her inner wrist, endeavoring and failing to banish the itch. All the while she admired her gown shimmering in the lamplight. Victoria was wearing an elegant strip of gilt gauze over her eyes and, now that Milli was done twirling, came to stand behind her again, holding out a blue Venetian mask. It was framed by a spray of matching feathers and sported a dignified little beak. Only Milli’s mouth would remain undisguised.

“Shall I put it on for you?” Victoria asked, eyes twinkling.

“Yes, please!” Milli could feel herself vibrating with anticipation as the mask was fitted into place. At last, she was ready.

She turned to face Victoria and caught a strange look in the woman’s eye—something of tenderness. But it was gone all too soon and replaced by a cool smile.

Arm in arm, the two women left Victoria’s gaudy boudoir of baroque furnishings and garish dark colors and made their way down the hallway.

“Do you think Nic—Mr. Valko will recognize me?”

With a knowing grin, Victoria gave her arm a playful tap. “Even if you wore a mute mask we would all know you instantly.”

“Well, I hope I shall know him when I see him.”

“I’m afraid you shall find my cousin wears his disguise well tonight.” There was something unsettling in Victoria’s tone that momentarily quelled Milli’s enthusiasm.

Rather than allow herself to be troubled by what was likely some private jest, Milli distracted herself by studying the pale, disembodied heads watching as she and Victoria passed beneath them. Every inch of wall space was covered in dusty portraits framed in faded gilt, their wardrobes capturing the zeitgeist of their respective eras. It was uncanny how much the Winterlys resembled their ancestors—they were almost exact replicas of one another. If not for the anachronous wardrobes and outdated coiffures, she’d have sworn she was looking at the living and not the ghosts of the past. Why, Milli could almost imagine it was Victoria herself, replete with a powdered wig of towering curls and ornaments. The woman’s face gazed down at passers-by with Victoria’s elegant mien of frozen apathy and unchanging beauty. Emma and Winterly’s progeny, Milli decided, would almost certainly favor Winterly in looks and coloring, seeing as the features of his bloodline were so manifestly dominant.

With her sister now foremost in her mind, Milli was reminded that Emma was likely still hiding away from Lord Winterly. Thus she and Victoria would first stop to retrieve her hen-hearted sister before continuing downstairs. However, it was only Boudicca that occupied Emma’s chamber when the two women entered moments later. Bemused, Milli turned to leave, or would have done so had not a vicious yowl suddenly erupted from her cat.

Startled, Milli spun around to see Boudicca’s back arched and her fur bristling with rage. But it was not Milli to whom the cat’s blazing eyes were transfixed, it was Victoria. The cat hissed and spat, its little face contorted in a hateful rictus. It gave another sharp complaint before bolting under Emma’s bed. Victoria’s dark brows twitched in annoyance.

“Feckless cat,” said Milli, wagging her finger at Boudicca who could still be heard hissing under the bed.

Victoria gave a sniff. “Dreadful creatures, cats. I much prefer the company of canines.”

“Not I,” replied Milli with a troubled frown. She closed the door with one last admonishment for the cat and then bent her course towards the foyer.

The scene that greeted Milli below was one of fanciful splendor and dark mystery that instantly banished all thoughts of Boudicca’s abominable discourtesy. The walls and floor were dressed in eerie gossamer, glowing lamps, crystal vases, and monochrome sprays of tall roses. Such strange decor leant a surreality to what was otherwise an intimidating entrance hall.

On a sort of small podium in the ballroom sat a mysterious harpist in her blank mask and ornate gown. The music was like a mass for the dead, yet beautiful withal. Milli found herself staring, rapt, at the graceful movements of the woman’s delicate hands. Soon another woman joined her, almost identical except that her mask covered only the upper half of her face. She seemed to float up onto the platform and as she did so she began to sing. Her nightingale voice complimented the harp exactly, the heart-rending beauty of her soprano echoing softly around the room and filtering through the glass doors.

When Milli finally blinked the enchantment from her eyes, it was to find Victoria had