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    Masquerade
    Masquerade
    Masquerade
    Ebook319 pages5 hours

    Masquerade

    By Therese A Kraemer

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Monte Bolstridge, the third, last in line to carry on the family name must marry in six months or his father’s
    fortune will go to the servants. Overhead by a butler, he and the other servants plot to keep the young man from
    marrying. Their scheme falls on the shoulders of a servant whose daughter is coming from America. Cynthia Pratt
    travels to London to see her mother. No longer a skinny, ugly duckling but a matured beautiful swan, she’s
    disguised into an overweight, plain Jane. When he discovers her disguise, Monte’s outraged but realizes he
    loved her before discovering her beauty and has to court her into his arms.
    Editors Note:
    Many characters in this book have accents and or different speech patterns. The author has attempted to illustrate this phonically. These are not spelling errors.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSpangaloo Publishing
    Release dateJul 4, 2014
    ISBN9781501466984
    Masquerade
    Author

    Therese A Kraemer

    Because I am dyslexic, I find writing a challenge, but my love of writing has inspired me to write more than sixty children’s stories, over two hundred poems and thirty-seven Romance Novels. I have also illustrated two story books used by primary teachers and students as a part of a vocal hygiene program at University of Arizona’s Department of Speech and Hearing Sciences.My credits also include four stories published by McFadden Publishing Co. in NYC. I wrote, illustrated and published two books of poetry used as fund-raisers by the Leukemia and Multiple Sclerosis organizations. I wrote illustrated and published in one book, forty-two children’s stories.I had an exhibition at the King Center for the Performing Arts in Melbourne, Fl of my pen and ink drawings of animals. Recently, I have had three E-Book Romance Novels and a book of short stories published on the Spangaloo.Com website and another on the Smashwords.Com website. I make my home in Melbourne, Florida where I continue to write and illustrate

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      Book preview

      Masquerade - Therese A Kraemer

      PROLOGUE

      If I’m taken from you to day ...I’ll always be near.

      In someone’s smile... or in someone’s tear.

      London 1869.

      Oh, Monte, it’s so beautiful, but you have already given me a wedding gift. Nanette’s hand automatically touched the emerald and diamond earrings as she admired the matching necklace. Monte smiled and took the gems placing it around her neck.

      My love, this is dull compared to your radiant beauty. Green gems to match the color of your eyes. He lifted a lock of her ash blonde hair and kissed her bare shoulder. Only another week and you’ll be all mine, my darling Nanette.

      She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. I love you so much.

      Likewise, he turned her around and kissed her passionately. I simply adore you, my love.

      Likewise, she mimicked and smiled up at her fiancé. Monte Bolstridge was a handsome marquess an heir to a dukedom who she had been betrothed to since she was a young girl. She believed it was a match made in heaven. Monte pulled a cord and shortly the majordomo appeared at the door, Aye, milord? the servant bowed slightly. Browning, have Lukas bring the coach around to take Mistress Nanette home.

      The servant bowed, Aye, my lord.

      Her fiancé made sure she was safely tucked into his plush coach and kissed her goodnight, Till we meet again, my love.

      I’ll be counting the hours, she replied in a poetic voice making him smile. When the door was closed, a chill of foreboding tingle her backbone, but she shrugged it off as only foolishness. It was just the loneliness of the carriage and missing Monte already.

      The carriage clattered over the rutted road, enveloped in the misty night air. Twenty minutes into the country nearing her father, Lord Princeton’s estate, Nanette dozed. When the vehicle stopped abruptly her head hit the back of the seat. Before she could ask the problem, the door swung open and a hand grabbed her by the arm dragging her out. Petrified, she nearly stumbled but a hooded bandit held her tightly around her waist. She screamed, but he poked a derringer into her ribs silencing her immediately.

      Shut yer trap, missy, or I’ll knock ye senseless like yer driver.

      Her eyes widen with fear, seeing the coachman lying on the ground, holding his head and moaning. Trembling she croaked, asking the obvious What do you want?

      Give me dem jewels!

      She clutched her throat. Never! she cried bravely but foolishly; they were her wedding gifts. Her engagement ring, a large emerald which had been on her finger for a year was an object of Monte’s love and commitment. The gun was jabbed painfully into her side again, but she struggled with the outlaw. Nooo! she wailed, let me go! He slapped her face and she stumbled backwards nearly losing her balance. His hateful sneer didn’t go unnoticed. As she turned to run she was forcefully lifted off her feet and she again struggled with the outlaw.

      This time the gun went off.

      Monte, Nanette whispered her last words before falling dead.

      Loud pounding on the door awoke Monte. He grumbled and lit a candle. Checking his pocket watch that laid on the night stand, he saw it was only midnight. What is it? he rose with a curse. Sorry sir, Browning’s voice spoke from behind the barrier, but ‘tis imperative that I speak with you.

      Naked, Monte swung open the door. This better be important!

      His servant trembled, not the least bit disturbed by his undressed state. Browning’s face was ashen appearing as if he had heard some awful news. This alerted Monte to the fact that something was definitely wrong. What is it man? he snapped impatiently.

      Sir, Lucas returned with the coach and I’m afraid something dreadful happened to Mistress Princeton, she... Before he had a chance to finished Monte grabbed a silk morning jacked and threw it on as he ran down the stairs. The front door slammed off its hinges as he raced outside. Lucas seemed to be in a daze rubbing his temples, mumbling to himself. Monte grabbed him and cried, What happened? The servant looked up at him, his eyes clouded with pain. Sorry, my lord, but Oi could do nothin’ t’ ‘elp.

      He shook Lucas, frustrated. Where is she?

      Lucas nodded towards the couch. Oi put ‘er inside. Oi’m afraid she’s....

      Monte pulled opened the door and his pitiful cry rent the stillness of the night.

      After the funeral, Monte didn’t rest until he found the culprit who killed Nanette. It wasn’t hard, a few pounds here and there, mostly to low life at the waterfront loosened many tongues. Foolish friends of the thief and murderer had no qualms about selling out when a wad of money flashed under their noses. Monte was told the thief had bragged about selling the jewels which he had described.

      Successively visiting half the shops in London, he finally entered one where he had no problem finding the items in a glass case. When the proprietor of the pawn shop walked out from behind a curtain, he asked the owner who had sold them to him. At first the owner claimed he didn’t know, but when Monte lost his temper and grabbed the stunned man by his collar, dragging him across the counter, his memory quickly returned. He told Monte the outlaw had sold him other items claiming they were his dead mother’s jewels. The proprietor said he didn’t believe the shabby looking bloke but he never questioned him.

      Describe the man! growled Monte.

      Beads of sweat ran into the frightened culprit’s eyes as he shook. He’s a big ape completely bald. Has one green eye and one blue eye, very creepy, mind you.

      Monte let the man go so abruptly, he staggered backwards. I’ll give you exactly what you paid for them and not a shilling more. They have blood on them and I’m sure Scotland Yard would be interested in your buying stolen gems.

      Monte returned to the waterfront, the smell of sea air and garbage filling his nostrils. After searching a few taverns, the killer was not hard to find; a man like that stands out in a crowd. No one claimed the badly beaten body found floating in the Thames and Monte vowed never again to fall in love or marry. This saddened his father, Duke Thatcher Bolstridge, who desperately wanted grandchildren since he was the last of the Bolstridge. But Monte was adamant and kept a mistress for his pleasure.

      You may have been taken from me, but you’ll always be near...

      ONE

      It’s said in time all wounds will heal.

      And the heart will once again feel.

      I do not think we should do it! said Glynis. Browning saw his wife fidget, her hands nervously rubbed together. ’Tis not right, she rasped and then she looked around at the others. They were all frowning. Were those looks of disagreement towards her or his suggestion? He had been the butler for most of his life and the organizer of this meeting. He paced, and then squared his aging shoulders.

      Look, if we play our cards right, we will all be wealthy. Blimey, I don’t know ‘bout the rest of you blokes, but I for one am tired of serving and being looked down upon by the snooty and wealthy who think just ‘cause we’re servants we do not have feelings. His grace is dying and that no good rake of a son stands to inherit more money than he can spend in three lifetimes and... He glanced at his wife for a sign of objection but she just shook her head negatively over and over. He grunted in a rude manner.

      How do you know about his will? piped up Rita, who had been sitting quietly in the corner. She was a comely housekeeper and had been working for his lordship, Duke Thatcher Bolstridge most of her life also. Rita looked up suspiciously and tugged at her sleeve nervously. She said her jaw tense. Although Monte is spoiled and arrogant, I like our old employer. But having enough money to retire and live the life in style makes me think twice about your scheme.

      Browning fell into a chair with a disgruntled huff on his thin lips and leaned back as all ears waited for his explanation. He gave it tapping a bonny finger against the table top. I was outside his grace’s bedroom door yesterday and overheard the conversation between him and his solicitor. He cleared his throat, then looked about to make sure Monte Bolstridge, the third, was not about to overhear. He took extra precaution and whispered, causing all to stretch their necks closer. If Monte does not marry in three months or one month after the ol’ man’s demise, whichever comes first, the entire estate, lock stock and barrel is willed to his household servants. After two years of begging his son, his lordship is at his wits end. With his heath failing, he was desperate and needed to think of a way to force his son into marriage.

      All gasped.

      ’Tis you, he pointed to the staff, and me, he pointed to himself.

      But he will inherit his father’s title. ‘Tis not right and I still don’t think ‘tis a good idea or wise to try and stop his son from marrying. Besides, he has a new mistress practically every other month, his wife exaggerated. How do you propose to do this? Her fine brows furrowed in a fierce scowl, wrinkling the olive skin around her dark eyes. I am really against this foolish plan.

      Browning scratched the short hairs on the back of his neck. He grinned before his expression stilled and grew serious. We need to sabotage all the women he brings home.

      Sabotage!? his co-worker’s said in unison, shock written on each countenance.

      How? asked Rita, swallowing hard.

      Browning shrugged. Well, err, I do not rightly know. I have not thought it through, but I’ll think of something. In fact, he had been thinking about nothing else since he overheard the proposal.

      You’re a bloody fool, husband, if you think this will work, Glynis snapped angrily. I want no part of it.

      And what will you do if my foolish idea works, woman? Leave me. Ha! His temper was flaring; patience was not one of his virtues.

      You won’t be so uppity, husband, when the ol’ duke finds out and has you flogged.

      Stop your chatty tongue, wife. Flogged, indeed! Rita remained quiet, and he watched Becky the cook stand to rub the small of her aching back.

      Oi wonder ‘ow they managed to stay married so long? Becky eyed him nudging Rita. Always bickerin’, ‘em two.

      Then the cook then mumbled something about how she wished this babe would come early because it seemed as if she’s been carrying more than eight months. Browning assumed that maybe there was a good reason for her anxiety, this being her sixth pregnancy in eight years. She continued to grumble to herself, If’n me ‘usband, Lester, comes ten feet near me, Oi’ll cut that damn thing o’ his orf. She spoke in an East End dialect but her words were clear enough to hear and a loud gasp echoed through the kitchen by the female staff.

      Like oil and water, he noticed that Rita pressed her lips together managing to keep from smiling at their antics. But they loved one another Becky, just never seemed to agree on anything, Rita elaborated.

      Do yew think she’ll clobber ‘im again? giggled Becky. That comment made Browning stab the cook with a murderous glance. Oh, oh, better keep me mouth shut or Oi’ll get it, Becky ventured another jab; that chit just loved to needle them.

      .Aye, agreed Rita.

      Look, ‘ow beet red ‘is face is, she rubbed her belly again. He sent another threatening glance her way. D’yew ‘pose they’re like this in bed at noight? Hot blooded?

      Browning turned; the pulse in his throat throbbed dangerously fast. If you were not breeding, girl, his hands rose in fists, I’d—-

      Pay her no mind, she only taunting you luv, said Glynis. Hush your mouth Becky. His wife shook a finger at the naughty girl. Browning inhaled deeply. We’ll finish this in our room later, wife!

      In bed, Oi’ll bet, taunted Becky. Shush, hissed Rita you’ve taxed him overmuch. Becky rubbed her swollen belly, again. The girl now appeared sorry for needling him and his wife and apologized, blaming it on her delicate condition.

      Oi need ta be replaced. She was muttering to herself, Rita knew, but Becky appeared very tired. If yew all go thro’ wit this, she continued, waddling to a chair, yew know the young duke is no milksop idiot. A dandy, aye, but ‘ee’ll know we’re all behind the scheme. Oi’m all fer it, mind yew, she interjected without hesitation, an’ Oi want me share, but yew need ta ‘ire a new cook. Then as an afterthought, she said, Whot if yew ‘ire the cook ta do the dirty work. There was a moment of confused silence and then Becky winced saying the baby kicked. Yew best ‘ire someone, yew know, unattractive. Every pretty gel that’s been ‘ired always quits in tears because o’... yew know who, she giggled.

      Becky’s idea had merit, especially the part of hiring an unattractive female. It might just work. You make sense, Rita proclaimed.

      I wonder how many bastards Monte has running ‘round London? commented Glynis.

      Talk ‘bout ‘avin’ that thing cut orf, snickered Becky.

      Where are we going to find a homely girl who’s willing to do our bidding? asked Glynis speculatively. Om, still not ‘appy with the idea.

      I’ve been seriously contemplating the situation, Rita said. My daughter’s coming to visit me in two days. She—-.

      You have a daughter? commented Browning. You never mentioned that fact.

      Rita lifted one small shoulder appearing a little awkward and proclaimed, Never thought the need to. My husband and I separated when she was seven and agreed our daughter would be better off with her father. He was a dentist and he decided to go to America. I had no job then and very little education, so my Cynthia went to the new world. Maybe she’ll do it. She took a deep breath, looking melancholy.

      Browning’s face brightened at the suggestion as he absentmindedly twisted the gold band on his finger. What does she look like? You’re still a comely lady with a fine figure. Ouch! Bloody hell! What was that for? He looked at his wife who was seriously looking at him with a thunderous expression. Are you daft, woman?

      Innit this jus’ ducky, ‘ere we go again, snorted Becky but suppressed a giggle upon seeing the look in his eyes.

      Rita felt herself blush, studying her chipped finger nail. I’ll fess up, I haven’t seen her in sixteen years, but the last time I saw her, she was a skinny, bucked tooth child. She looked more like her dad with dark hair and the blackest eyes that held no emotion in ‘em. A thick, single brow spanned her forehead making her orbs all the more mysterious, but hypnotizing. She sighed, Cynthia’s father died recently and she wrote that she was coming to see me.

      Sounds, perfect. admitted Becky. Do yew think she’ll d’ it?

      Rita’s mind wasn’t on the question and she made no response and inhaled in place of words.

      ’Tis too much to ask of a mother, contradicted Glynis.

      Are you still chewing on that same piece of fat, wife?

      I’ll ask, Rita responded in a small voice. She absentmindedly traced the pattern on the tablecloth. The poor child is still a spinster, so—-

      We’ll tell his grace that she’s your niece, if it makes you feel better, suggested Browning.

      Rita nodded, no longer sure if this was a good idea and spent the remainder of her day mulling over her decision. How could she ask her daughter, almost a stranger to her, to be a part of this foolish plan? But the words she had spoken without seriously thinking were out; she couldn’t take them back, her coworkers were depending on her. Besides, maybe Cynthia might not go along and that would be that.

      I hope my daughter has forgiven me...

      TWO

      Be careful when you’re masquerading a part.

      You could wind up losing your heart.

      Rita watched passengers depart the ship. She bobbed up and down looking for a skinny, young female, hoping she’d recognized her own daughter. The only picture of her was a miniature portrait in a small locket given to Cynthia when she left with her father so many years ago. Rita believed she might not have changed much herself but, there was a chance her daughter lost the locket. She knew she’d never be able to find her daughter in a room of one.

      She had been heart broken when her marriage to Eric Pratt failed. They were married only a year when Cynthia was born and the fighting started. Eric would spend hours with his nose in books reading and hardly working. She had to go out and cook in a pub to earn enough guineas to keep them alive. He would stay home with the babe while she slaved over a hot brick hearth to feed doxies and drunken men every day, and long into the nights. Many times she had to fight off the owner of the pub, who had more arms than an octopus, and he a married man. She’d come home tired and dirty to find Eric with his nose still in a book.

      The only good thing she could say about him was he did take good care of their daughter. After another six years of practicing on friends and people who couldn’t afford a legitimate dentist he declared he knew enough of his self-taught dentistry to start his own business but he wanted to go to America. That was the last straw. She had started drinking the year before, and their fights grew harsher and more dangerous and they were on the brink of killing one another. When he declared he was going abroad, she was so foxed she told him to take their daughter. The next morning, they were gone. At first she didn’t care, but when her money ran out and she lost her job, she sobered and found work at the Bolstridge’s estate. Eric had written to her once stating that he never told Cynthia the truth. Rita answered him apologizing for her terrible conduct and gave him her new employer’s address. After that she never heard from him again.

      When her daughter learned script, she corresponded with her on occasions. She wondered what Cynthia thought of her and if she should tell her the truth, but she decided to let it lie. Time passed and she wondered if Cynthia had changed her mind. Her heart sank. She was looking forward to seeing her daughter, if only to get re-acquainted. She’d wait a few more minutes before returning back to the mansion. Time ticked by and no Cynthia. Rita was about to leave when she spotted a tall woman at the dock; her back was to her. Maybe she knew if a Cynthia Pratt was on the ship. Nervously, she tapped the shoulder.

      Excuse me miss, but.... The woman turned. Rita stood in awe of the beautiful face.

      Mama?

      Rita was speechless.

      Oh, mama, I’d know you anywhere. You’re still so beautiful.

      Rita wished she could have peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth but this young woman was so exquisite, she couldn’t utter a syllable. She found herself in a loving embrace; her breath seemed to have vanished along with her speech.

      When they parted a smile exploded on Cynthia’s face. Mama? Are you all right? She nodded back like a puppet, without speaking and let out a long, audible breath. She definitely had the wind blown out of her sails. Swallowing, she finally managed to say a few words; better yet, croaked them. Sorry, luv, I never expected such a change. She never believed anything else could shock her but she was wrong. Not only did her daughter wear her dark, lovely hair loose, tied only with a ribbon, but she had developed into a very shapely lady. Her thick, busy brows were plucked and shaped so that they heightened her beautiful dark eyes. Her teeth were straight; not protruding like her first set and her complexion was bronzed by the sun, not pale like the women of England. Rita got the impression that her daughter spent many long hours in the sun without the protection of a bonnet or parasol. How did her father raise her? 

      Cindy tightened a hand on her mother’s arm fearing she was about to faint. She was still beautiful, with honey blonde hair, slightly graying at the temples. Cindy might have only been seven, but she still remembered her mother’s face, and also the terrible fights her parents had. Oh, they thought she didn’t know what went on behind closed doors, but she knew. And, she could always smell the liquor on her mother’s breath. She was sad the morning her father woke her and took her away, but she knew her mama was sick and her mother thought this was best for all. Her father never said a mean word against his wife, and Cindy never harbored any ill will either. After a while she began writing to her mother, and this made her feel closer to her. Now, she’d let bygones be bygones. It was in the past, and seeing her mother looking like her beautiful self, she was happy to be home, even if it were for a short time.

      Her mother’s blue eyes were blinking rapidly and Cindy knew she hadn’t expected to see such a change in her. But what did the woman expect? She was now mature, not the same ugly duckling that left here many years ago. Maybe she better have her sit for a spell. Mama, come sit on the depot bench, you’re white as snow.

      And why did her mother have such a strange look on her face? Maybe it was only her nerves.

      Cindy laughed. Oh mama, it’s been a long time and I’ve missed you. I know we have a lot of catching up to do, but I’ll be here awhile. She squeezed her mother’s cold hands reassuringly. We’ll take our time. I can’t wait for you to show me London. I’ve a vague memory of your country, she chimed excitedly as she scanned the area. Is your home far from here? Do you want to call for a carriage? She looked about, put her fingers in her mouth and gave out a shrill whistle that nearly made her mother jump out of her skin, not to mention a few passersby flinch at the piercing sound. But she managed to draw the attention of a hackney. Where to Mama? she asked.  Amusement touched her seeing her mother’s bewilderment. The coachman stood by waiting for instructions. When Rita managed to give them, he shut the door once they seat and he climbed up. One snap of the whip and the vehicle lurched forward. Cindy sat back and smiled, knowing that her mother needed to adjust to her homecoming. They both needed time to adjust. Silent moments passed as the two kept to their own musings. When the estate loomed up, Cindy gasped at the size and beauty of the majestic place. Do you live there? she asked, practically hanging out the window as the coach continued on. So into her disturbing thoughts, Rita hadn’t realized her daughter was speaking to her until she was tapped on her arm. She blinked and Cynthia repeated it.

      Nay, I live in the servant’s quarters in back. Only Browning, the butler and his wife live on the top floor of the house. My employer’s father had his servants live in the basement, where we do most of our work, but the rooms were small and dark, with the only furniture being a bed and a dresser. I tell you, they were most uncomfortable and not very cheerful. I only lived in them a short time because when my employer’s father died he had new quarters built and his servants moved into small cottages. He’s most generous and kind. Believe me I for one was glad to move out of what we called the ‘dungeon’.

      She examined her chipped nails and swallowed. You are going to stay with the cook, Becky, and her family in her cottage until...um, we.... What could she say? How could she explain the plans for Cynthia? She was tormented by confused emotions. Cynthia, we need to talk.

      Cindy! Mama, dad called me Cindy and I would like you to do the same, please. She heard the warmth in her daughter’s voice. She nodded in agreement. But, luv, we need to talk, she insisted in a small voice.

      "Of course, there’s so much to tell you and I know you have much to tell me. But first I

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