Free Jack Lark: Rogue by Paul Fraser Collard

from their gin.
    Less agile bodies lined the walls, heads leaning close to one another as they gossiped behind the large fans that were also used to indicate the younger members of the throng cavorting across the room. The noise of their conversation was a constant drone underscoring the music, their catty observations and caustic slights only pausing in the gaps between dances.
    Jack’s eyes followed the movements of one dancer in particular. She was dressed in a complicated array of gossamer-thin silks, wrapped around her in such a way that barely any imagination was needed to picture the pert young body hidden underneath. He felt his breath catch in his throat as she twirled past, a tall young man dressed as some sort of knight looking desperately clumsy as he trailed in her wake. The girl was captivating, her beauty a delicate perfection, and Jack could not help but stare.
    ‘Edmund!’
    Jack started as someone tapped him on the elbow. He turned and looked into the golden mask of an older man dressed in a sumptuous swathe of white fabric decorated with purple edges. He caught a glimpse of the keen blue eyes hidden behind the mask and shivered as his gut churned with a sudden fear.
    ‘Stop staring at that poor girl. You look like a dog on heat.’ The admonition was delivered quickly and quietly. ‘And do not drink so quickly. I don’t want Clemence to have to carry you home like last time, is that clear?’
    Jack managed to get his head to nod. The wine he had drunk settled heavy and sour in his stomach and he wanted to puke. The man speaking to him was clearly Edmund’s father, and Jack was certain he was moments away from being denounced as a fraud and an impostor.
    ‘Caesar! Oh bravo, Sir Humphrey, bravo indeed!’ Another man addressed Edmund’s father. He was dressed as a Highlander, with an enormous bonnet atop a fat face with great ginger whiskers billowing around a plain white mask.
    ‘Good evening, Lord Turner.’ Edmund’s father beamed in welcome, clearly recognising the man badly hidden behind the costume. ‘May I present my son, Edmund.’
    To Jack’s horror, he was ushered forward.
    Lord Turner lifted a huge paw and offered it. For a moment, Jack could do nothing but stare.
    ‘Edmund!’ Sir Humphrey hissed the words, his embarrassment clear as Jack left the hand hanging.
    ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’ Jack blurted the words and shook the sweating hand. He could barely breathe as he waited for Edmund’s father to explode, certain that his attempt to mimic Edmund’s upper-class drawl was about as effective as Jem’s efforts at being a footpad.
    ‘Och, you’re a canny wee fellow.’ Lord Turner laughed at his own dreadful attempt at a Scottish accent. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Edmund, I most borrow your father for a moment. Sir Humphrey, I’d like to speak to you about a little business matter, if I may?’
    Jack stepped back as the two men moved away. His head filled with a roar of triumph as he revelled in his success as a charlatan.
    ‘Ow!’
    He turned, half spilling his wine, as soon as he heard the exclamation of pain.
    ‘You trod on my foot, you great clumsy beast.’
    He was face to face with the beautiful girl he had watched on the dance floor.
    ‘Can you not look where you are going!’ The girl lifted her foot and massaged it in both hands, her movements fluid and balanced.
    ‘I’m sorry.’ A heady mix of wine, success and desire fuelled Jack’s confidence. Edmund had told him to talk to no one unless it was strictly necessary, but he could not help himself. The girl captivated him. He did not think he had ever seen anyone quite so perfectly formed, and he would not forgo what might be his only chance to ever talk to someone like her.
    ‘As well you should be.’ The girl’s mask was nothing more than a thin silk veil that did little to hide her face. ‘Who are you?’ She snapped the words. They were an order rather than a question. She let her foot go and