The Masquerade Party — based on a true story
It was a dark and drizzly night in April but the Whitaker household was filled with light and laughter. The celebration had begun. Guests had started to arrive and the birthday boy, Sir Fergus Whitaker, had already started to drink. Yet his sister was still getting ready.
Lady Beatrice was in her bedroom, staring at her own reflection in the full-length mirror opposite her. She smoothed down the creases of her black party dress for the fourth time and pulled at the ends of the skirt. As she sighed, she raised her eyebrows at her appearance. She picked at the gloopy bits of mascara that were sticking her eyelashes together. Scratching the uneven smudges of lipstick on her chin, she licked her index finger and rubbed the pink away. Her fingertips were covered in makeup. She reached for a baby wipe and began to clean her hands. After she had dropped the wipe in the bin, she lifted her left ankle up and pulled her heels on tighter. She breathed another deep sigh, shaking her arms and releasing the tension in her shoulders. Glancing across at her dressing table, she gazed at the satin red mask that was propped against her clutch bag. Black lace was woven around the eyes and ribbon tied at the two ends. There seemed to be no point in wearing such an elaborate accessory yet she remembered that the invitation was quite clear on its guidelines. She picked up the mask and took another deep breath as she placed it over her face. Once she had tied the ribbon, she took one last look at her reflection before she headed downstairs.
She spotted her brother who seemed to clearly be the centre of attention. “Ah Beatrice! You’re finally here,” Fergus called from across the living room as she was reaching the bottom of the staircase. “I was wondering when you would appear. Come, have a drink. I admit, I have had a few already. But that Madeline woman has been giving me the eye. I tell you what though, anything can happen at a Whitaker party.” He placed his arm around her shoulder and started to pull her towards the kitchen. Beatrice rolled her eyes at her brother. She ducked out from underneath his shoulder and sauntered over to the marble counter. Her eyes flicked between the various bottles of spirits and ales. Reaching for her cider, she popped off the lid and took a large gulp of its contents.
“Beatrice!” This time it was not her brother but Landon, a colleague of hers. “I’ve heard the gossip.” He beamed. His cheeks were round and a faint pinkish colour. But Beatrice’s eyebrows cottoned together. She opened her mouth to respond yet nothing wanted to fall out. His comment seemed to give her more questions than answers. Landon noticed the puzzled look on her face and continued to explain. “I heard along the grape vine that Sir Thomas has been looking for you. Yet, someone else told me that he has his eyes on Lady Madeline. I understand she has deemed the reputation of a tart but I suppose that is quite fitting for his sort of personality.” Landon continued to digress.
Beatrice shook her head in disbelief. “Landon, you shouldn’t listen to such nonsense that is concocted through the rumours that are spread in this town.” She chuckled and took another swig of her drink.
“Ah but Miss, this is true. I shall confirm it all with Lady Suzannah. Suzannah?” He shouted her name across the room. A pretty brunette stuck her head around the corner and smiled. She started to amble her way through the mass of people to reach Landon. “Tell Lady Beatrice here about the story that you heard from the baker’s daughter, about Sir Thomas.” Landon snickered as he brushed his hand on the back of Suzannah’s shoulder.
“Ah it was a terrible story. The baker’s daughter told me that he tried to have his way with the butcher’s sister. In the back of a carriage of all places, whilst it was moving! How dreadful it must have been. She had to shout to the driver to make him stop.” Suzannah placed her hand on her cheek. Suzannah looked at Beatrice with a face full of pity to which Beatrice sighed. She picked up her bottle and started to walk away.
She tried to push past the bumbling drunk men and flirtatious women. She needed to take a second to breath. After apologising on numerous occasions, she endeavoured to make her way to the free space in the corner of the room. She squinted ahead to see where she was aiming for, only to see the very man she had just been speaking about. “This can’t be happening.” She muttered to herself as she looked back down at her stumbling feet. Once she had marched through the crowd, she found herself standing opposite Sir Thomas Winthorpe himself. “Sorry, I was just trying to get out, to get some fresh air.” She attempted to speak over the noise.
“Would I be able to speak to you alone for a minute?” Thomas touched his fingers against Beatrice’s hand. Beatrice glanced down but then back to up to Thomas’ bright blue eyes. Her shoulders tingled and her arm muscles felt numb. For a moment, she had no idea what she was doing — she spaced out. The voices in the room started to merge into one monotone noise. She blinked a couple of times before attempting to utter a couple of words.
“Um- sure.” She conveyed as much as she could muster. With that, she proceeded to follow Sir Thomas around the corner to stand at the bottom of the staircase. “Er what is it that you wanted to-” before she could finish her sentence, Thomas had pressed his lips against hers. Her muscles tightened for a moment, she felt as if she had been frozen to the spot. But her limbs soon softened. She felt her knees start to melt. For a split second she forgot where she was. Before she realised what was happening Thomas had pulled away. “I- the- what was that?” her mouth gaped open. She touched her index finger to her lips. She felt the warmth of the lipstick that had smudged to her chin.
“I’m sorry. That was completely uncalled for.” Thomas stammered in response. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wanted to- I just couldn’t think of the correct vocabulary to introduce myself with.” He smiled at Beatrice. Yet she was still finding her surroundings.
“You what? But Landon said you wanted to sleep with Madeline.” Beatrice blurted out her words without thinking. She covered her mouth with both of her hands. Her cheeks turned a deep scarlet and her skin began to radiate heat. She fiddled with her skirt to distract herself. But when she returned her eyes to Thomas, she was greeted with a defeated look.
“In all honesty, yes. Weeks ago, I found myself wanting the attention of any woman. So, when I received the party invitation, I had the intention of talking to her. But I doubt that I would sleep with her. When I realised she had been flirting with a comrade from home, I gave up. Anything you have heard from Landon is a load of rubbish anyway.” He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke. “I suppose I should tell Sir Nicolas ‘I told you so’ as well. He didn’t believe that I would even speak a word to you tonight.” Thomas chuckled as the toothy grin returned to his face.
“How did you know it was me when I’ve got this mask on? Plus I’ve only seen you around once or twice. I barely know you?” Beatrice rummaged through her thoughts; she was still befuddled. She folded her arms and took a deep breath.
“Would we be able to change that?” Thomas mumbled as he looked down at his hands. Noticing his scepticism to the idea, Beatrice pulled his chin up with her finger and stroked his cheek.
“We shall see.” Her lips curled into a smirk as she swallowed the rest of her cider. She fixed her mask on her eyes then reached for his arm with her free hand. “Come on, let’s show that tart what she’s missing out on. Anything can happen at a Whitaker party.” She shimmied her shoulders as they walked back to join the crowd.
As you can see, fiction and non-fiction seem to go hand in hand. Now, this story may have seemed a tad cheesy. Yet, as the title states, this fiction was based on a true story. But with the freedom of description, I was able to stretch the details and give the tale a more romanticised feel. The characters are not as upper class in real life as the formal titles that I gave them. But the undermining facts of the story are still true. My brother did have a masquerade party. Rumours were spread around during that evening but(as demonstrated by the character Lady Beatrice) I chose to ignore them. I was kissed by a man named Thomas and to this day we are now in a relationship — living happily ever after, the end.
