Jane thought of Beth’s remarks that Mr. Vincent was passionate only about his art, and reflected that, with such passion, he did not need a human muse to drive him. With these thoughts, she accompanied him and her mother to the drawing room. They presented themselves to Lady FitzCameron, who looked as if she had almost forgotten her request. Jane had a split sensation of relief that she might be released from this burden, and indignation that they had practiced solely for the pleasure of the Viscountess, who did not care. She had no time for more than that, as Lady FitzCameron remarked, “I am most grateful to you.”

As Jane and Mr. Vincent took their place in the door of the drawing room, planning to use its great doors as a curtain while they prepared the tableau vivant, Jane looked about for Beth and Captain Livingston.

Beth was engaged in conversation with Mr. Dunkirk. On the opposite side of the room, Captain Livingston’s attention was captured by a game of cards. Jane pushed their relationship away from her mind as something to concern her later. First she must get through this ordeal of public spectacle.

Jane gathered the folds around herself and created the towering Beast above and around her own form, giving his form all the power of Madame de Beaumont’s story. Beside her, Mr. Vincent gave Beauty’s dress the style of an older period and put a rose in her hand. When they were ready, a servant flung the doors open and stepped quickly out of the way.

As Mrs. Ellsworth predicted, one or two of the ladies, including Jane’s mother herself, screamed at the sight of the Beast. Mr. Ellsworth patted his wife’s hand distractedly while she leaned back in her chair fanning herself, even though she, at least, should have been accustomed to the beast by now. Jane blessed the obscuring glamour of the Beast, for it allowed her to smile behind her mask at her mother’s silliness.

Then a second shriek, followed by a welter of excitement, echoed through the room. Mr. Dunkirk rushed toward Jane, his face dark with concern and his eyes fixed on the ground beside her. Jane turned and dropped her folds.

Mr. Vincent lay prostrate on the ground, twitching.

Thirteen

The Beast Upset

Mr. Vincent’s collapse caused the room to overturn itself in a chaos of emotion. Ladies who had pretended to fright when they saw the Beast conjured from glamour now sank, senseless, under the conviction that Mr. Vincent was dying. Lady FitzCameron fell back in her chair, face as pale as Mr. Vincent’s, unable to speak for the horror.

Mr. Dunkirk knelt by the ailing glamourist and held his shoulders firmly against the tremors that quaked through his body. He looked up and his eyes found Jane. “What do we do?”

At his words, those closest turned to her. With horror, Jane realized that she was the most experienced glamourist in the room. “A surgeon. Someone must fetch a surgeon.”