Secondhand Charm

by Julie Berry

  “Without the papers,” I said slowly, “I can’t go to University. I desperately want to go.”

  “Do you still? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure!”

  She rubbed my back. “Well then, in that case, when I return from my honeymoon as queen, I will decree that you shall have the funds and authorization to go.”

  “But you’ll be gone a month or more,” I said. “My opportunity to enroll may have to wait a full year. Couldn’t you speak to King Leopold on my behalf so I won’t have to wait?”

  “Oh, my love, I would, but you know how busy he is today, with the wedding tomorrow. I don’t think it would do any good, even if I tried.”

  I felt my eyes wanting to fill with tears, and I scowled ferociously in an attempt to prevent them. “Then all my effort to get here, and leave my poor grandfather, has been in vain.”

  “Hush, hush,” she said. “Surely you don’t mean that. Why, we’ve found each other!”

  I had no response to this.

  “Will it really be so bad, staying here at the castle for another year?” she said. “You shall have everything your heart could wish for. Rhoda and Erma and Dorothy will tend to all your needs. You shall read, and swim, and take walks through the park, and visit the city and all the shops, with money to spend. And when I return, we shall be companions and friends, and my sole aim will be your comfort and happiness.”

  I blew out a long breath and tried to calm myself. “You make me feel like a brute for rejecting your offer,” I said, “but I came to Chalcedon to learn to be a doctor. To help sick and injured people. And that’s still what I want to do.”

  She gave me another squeeze. “Then you shall, Evelyn. I promise. Leave it all to me, and trust me. I know this … this temporary inconvenience is upsetting to you, but put your mind at ease. I will take care of everything.” She gave me a friendly little shake. “All I ask in return is that you get me through these next two terrifying days.”

  I wiped my eyes with the handkerchief she offered me. What could two days matter now? It was Friday. The day would be spent in tedious wedding preparations. Tomorrow would be the wedding itself. Like it or not, I was the maid of honor. My only job, for now, was to support and assist the bride. I could push University to the back of my mind for two more days. Even disappointed as I was, I could do that for Annalise’s sake. It was the least I could do after all the kindness she’d shown me.

  That afternoon I wrote to Mrs. Jeremy Thorndike in Hibbardville, enclosing money, more than we’d taken. I kept my promise to tell his wife and son he died thinking of them.

  One duty discharged.

  Then I tried to write a letter to Grandfather. I needed to tell him where I was. I should have done it sooner. He must be worrying about me awfully.

  But the words that came from my pen were lies, and I knew it. There was no way I could overlook my leviathan and be truthful. What should I say? “Dear Grandfather, I regret to inform you that I am an affront to nature, a girl from a foreign land, attached for life to a huge and dreadful sea serpent. Did Father never tell you what kind of woman Mother was? Of course he didn’t. If he had, I know you would have prepared me. In any case, I am now outcast from society, except for the royal palace itself, oddly enough. I will no longer be able to come visit you, but by all means do come and visit me, if you can bear up under the strain of the journey. Your loving granddaughter, Evelyn.”

  The shock would kill him. Maybe it would be better if he thought I’d died.

  What a heartless thing to think!

  I crumpled my paper and tossed it into the fire.

  Later that afternoon, Annalise and I rode back from the cathedral to the castle in her graceful little carriage. We both kicked our slippers off our feet and groaned about the wedding planners. Annalise leaned back in her seat with her arm resting over her eyes, but I, who hadn’t spent much time yet outside the castle walls, watched every sight that passed by. Such a press of people on every street, thronging the shops and the stalls and the vegetable markets! Elegant clothes and rough-spun brown trousers, carriages and milk carts.

  “You’ll be queen of much more than a castle and all its parties,” I observed.

  Annalise opened one eye. “Doesn’t that make it all the more fitting that a serpentina should be queen?” she said. “Someone with extraordinary abilities ought to govern.”

  “Your confidence astounds me,” I said. “I wouldn’t want the job.”

  “And your lack of confidence is what worries me,” she said. “You ought to know that you could rule this or any kingdom.”

  I saw something through the window that made me laugh out loud.

  “It can’t be them!” I cried. “La Commedia dell’Arte!”

  “La what?” Annalise said.

  Sure enough, there, performing on a street corner, their faces painted, still wearing the red suit and the black suit with matching trim, were Rudolpho and Alfonso. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered to watch. Our carriage passed them by, and they vanished from my sight.

  “La Commedia dell’Arte,” I repeated. “A comical pair of brothers, stage performers, whom I met on my journeys here. It appears they decided to come to Chalcedon.”

  “Comical?”

  I laughed. “I should say so. And not always in intended ways. You should bring them on board your honeymoon ship if you really want to be amused.”

  Annalise smiled. “We already have the circus.”

  Then she sat up tall, suddenly more awake again. “But of course! Who wants to see a circus night after night? How many tricks can they do, after all?”

  “Not a month’s worth, I should think.”

  “But dramatic performers have dozens of plays in their repertoire, don’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “It seems probable.”

  Annalise nodded to herself. “The more, the merrier. Of course!” She rapped at the window. “Driver, please turn about.” The carriage turned a corner and began its way back.

  “A favor, Annalise?” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “I … would rather that they not know it is I who pointed them out to you. Perhaps that could be a surprise for after the voyage. I’ll just stay in the carriage.”

  Annalise waved her hand. “As you wish,” she said. “Let the driver make the request.”

  The offer was soon extended. Even inside the carriage we could hear their effusive response. The driver told them to be ready at the docks where The Starlight, King Leopold’s honeymoon ship, would depart by sunset tomorrow. Finally we drove on.

  “Is it really tomorrow that you get married, Annalise?” I said. “Become a wife and a queen, all in one day?”

  She closed her eyes. “I’ll just be glad when it’s all over.”

  “Aren’t you looking forward to your wedding day?”

  Her smile seemed tired. “Very much,” she said. “After tomorrow, my love and I will have each other always. Even so, I’ll be glad when the day is behind me.”

  Chapter 36

  That night I lay on my couch talking silently to my leviathan, who was curled up once more in his favorite spot, next to my ear, half-hidden by my hair.

  Annalise says you and Bijou aren’t allowed to come to the wedding tomorrow, I told him. She wants you to wait in the sea.

  He made a hiss of displeasure. I won’t make a single sound. I won’t cause any trouble.

  That’s what I told Annalise, I said. I don’t want to stand there in that huge cathedral of people without you there.

  What if something goes wrong, or someone tries to hurt you?

  It’s a wedding, not a war, I said. People will be on their best behavior.

  People, as a whole, don’t have any such thing as good behavior, he said, with a self-righteous sniff.

  And you think they’re food, I said. You’re a fine one to talk.

  You must come and fetch me as soon as the wedding is done, Mistress, he said. I’ll be miserab
le until you return.

  Do you need me that badly? I asked. How did you manage all these years?

  He shuddered. I don’t want to talk about it.

  How could I not love something that devoted? I ran my finger down his soft back.

  I made a promise to you this morning, leviathan.

  I remember. I told you not to.

  But I intend to keep my promise, and give you your name, I said.

  Have you found a name?

  I think so. Would you like to hear it?

  He wriggled. Please!

  It is the name of someone very dear to me. Someone I miss.

  Oh?

  Someone who taught me much, just as you have.

  I had the sense he was working very hard to stay still and quiet.

  It also means “clear,” “pale,” and “light,” all of which seem to fit you, my handsome boy.

  He held his jewel-cut head a bit higher.

  My beloved teacher back home, the one who inspired me to become a scholar, was called Sister Claire.

  He tilted his head to one side.

  If we take the “e” off the end—not that you need to worry about spellings—it can be a name for a man.

  He blinked at me.

  May I call you Clair?

  He climbed up onto my neck, which tickled me, and slid over and around my charms and onto my breastbone.

  Clair, he said. Clair.

  I found myself holding my breath, waiting for his verdict.

  His whiskers twitched, and his wise eyes looked into mine.

  Thank you, Mistress. I will be Clair to you.

  I felt shy using the new name, but I made myself try.

  You’re welcome. Clair.

  Chapter 37

  “You look quite nice, Lady Bellinger.”

  We stood in an antechamber to the rear of Saint Bartholemew’s Cathedral, a bridesmaid and I, milling around with the rest of the wedding party, waiting for the ceremony to begin. I was miserable, corseted and powdered and coiffed and swathed in more lace than the entire village of Maundley possessed, but all I could think of was Clair, in the bay, banned from the wedding. I couldn’t hear his thoughts from this far away, and his absence was worse than a headache.

  “Thank you,” I told the bridesmaid, whose name I’d never learned. “You look nice also.”

  She nodded and drifted on, not in the mood for conversation. The feeling was mutual.

  I peeked through an opening in the wall to see thousands of wedding guests, gorgeously dressed and peering through opera glasses at one another, no doubt comparing tailors. All the wealthy and noble of Pylander were gathered there, as well as guests from neighboring kingdoms. The aisle, which seemed long enough during yesterday’s rehearsal, now stretched a hundred miles past those staring eyes to the nave with the altar, where priests prepared bread and wine for the bishop, who would perform the wedding mass. And I, Evie Pomeroy, who until recently was no more than a schoolgirl from Maundley, must walk that lonely aisle in minutes, as the closest attendant to the princess. Soon, queen.

  The orchestra began to play the first processional song.

  “My garters!” Annalise whispered to the other ladies. “I’ve forgotten to wear my wedding garters!”

  The bridesmaids erupted into shocked whispers at this news.

  “I must have my garters before the wedding reception,” she said.

  “I know where they are,” I said. “I’ll get them for you as soon as we’re back.”

  A bridesmaid peered through a gap between the doors, saw the terrifying spectacle I’d just seen, and fainted, tumbling onto the floor and crushing her bouquet. The knights present all offered competing suggestions, while the ladies gasped beautifully.

  How could people be so useless? I dropped my bouquet and rolled the girl over onto her back, straightening out her legs comfortably, and fanning the air in front of her face.

  “Has anyone got smelling salts?” I asked the room at large. Of course no one did. I examined the pink mark on her forehead where she’d hit the floor, and determined that no serious swelling seemed to be taking place. She’d do no worse than bruise, it seemed.

  “I knew I’d seen you before!”

  I was too busy fanning the girl’s face with my hand to pay much attention. It was a man’s voice speaking, but whose, I didn’t have time to find out.

  “You’ll have to tell the orchestra to play another song,” Annalise told someone. “Quickly. We won’t be ready to start.”

  “This girl hasn’t revived yet,” I said to anyone listening. “That should be our first concern.”

  “You’re the healer girl. From … Maundley. Oh, what was her name?” The king was no longer addressing me, but consulting his own memory.

  Oh, no.

  I looked to Annalise for my cue, but her mouth was set in a line. “Darling, which knight could sit out and tend Joan? It won’t do to have an imbalanced number of men and ladies.”

  “Evelyn,” the undistracted king said. “You said your name was Evelyn. I see by your expression that I am right.”

  The fainted girl in my arms took a sudden, noisy breath, and at last I could do the same.

  “What happened?” she said, noting the other bridesmaids glaring at her.

  “You fainted and hit your head,” I said. “You would benefit from some rest. You’d probably better not walk down the aisle.”

  The girl nodded. She wouldn’t need to be told twice.

  “Darling,” the king said to Annalise, who clutched his arm, “you told me she was your cousin Marie, from Merlia. Yet I saw her myself, in the Pylandrian provinces, performing school recitations. One of my own subjects.”

  I dreaded to see Annalise’s face. Her eyes flashed at me with annoyance for just a moment, then she reached up on tiptoe and kissed the king’s cheek.

  “The music has begun, my love,” she said, her voice musical. “I can explain all of this, this harmless little misunderstanding. But pray, let us not keep our royal subjects waiting. In less than an hour, the king of my heart will also be king of my hand and body, and then there will be all the time in the world for explanations.”

  King Leopold looked back and forth between us. A priest appeared, beckoning him and his knights to follow him down the long aisle and take their places at the altar. The king hesitated, then kissed Annalise’s hand and followed the holy father down the aisle. One by one, the bridesmaids began their parade to the altar.

  Annalise blew out a breath, and I ran to her side. I was still stinging from her look at me and eager to make amends, though confused at where my blame lay.

  “I feared this,” I began.

  “Then that fear,” she whispered in strident tones, “should have given you pause before putting on a show of heroics because some giddy bridesmaid has fainted. Think what you jeopardized!”

  I was stung. “How could I not help her? No one else was! It was never my idea to—”

  Annalise lay a finger over my lips. “Hush. There isn’t time. Forgive me, child, I am in error here. It is not I that speaks to you so harshly. It’s the terrors of a wedding morning. And such a wedding as this!” She nodded toward the open doors. “It’s your turn, my love. Have no fear. I will repair everything. Now, go.”

  The last bridesmaid had left. It was time for me to walk into the abyss. I forgave her freely. Of course she was agitated by the wedding. The king’s discovery had rattled me too.

  Through the chapel doors I passed. One step. And step again. Right foot, pause. Then left, pause. I held my head high and straight, as the wedding coach had harangued, and painted on my lips the angelic, modest, maidenly smile we’d practiced. One step. And step again.

  Ten thousand eyes were glued to me for that entire long walk, until I reached the priest, and then Annalise would enter and divert their attention from me.

  The chapel itself was a daunting thing, with a painted ceiling soaring into the heavens and marble columns bearing it up. The walls were
lush with splendid carvings and gilt detail. All of it was so vast, so opulent, as to remind mankind of its small and temporary state, contrasted with the infinite. It surely worked on me that morning.

  Every twenty steps or so I passed a pair of stained glass windows, in which artists had created huge, vivid reconstructions of scripture scenes.

  Jonah being swallowed by the great fish of the deep.

  David slaying Goliath with a stone.

  Moses, holding the tablets of the law, and the rod with the brass serpent, which would heal those bitten by fiery serpents, if they’d only look.

  Abraham, and Isaac, and the altar, and the ram in the thicket.

  Noah, and the ark of animals.

  The creation of the world.

  Adam, and Eve, and the fruit. And the serpent.

  I dared not look at the windows anymore. Instead, I looked back at the faces watching me. Step, pause, and step again.

  I stumbled. There, at the end of an aisle, and dressed in an elegant suit, with smoldering brown eyes with golden centers that bored holes through me, was he.

  The highwayman.

  Chapter 38

  There was never a chance to warn Annalise. The wedding, with its ceremony and its pomp, its incense and songs, stretched on like a waking dream, like a spell being cast. The final incantation of the spell would make Annalise a queen.

  I followed the steps of the ritual we’d practiced the day before, and suddenly it was over. Leopold and Annalise were man and wife, and I was carrying the train of Annalise’s dress down the aisle, and avoiding looking at the highwayman.

  The sun blinded me when we left the cathedral. Welcome fresh air filled my lungs. Mobbing the streets before us, as far as the eye could see, were throngs of waving, cheering people. King Leopold, holding Annalise’s arm, paused to wave to his adoring subjects. He planted a long kiss on Annalise’s mouth, and together they hurried into the golden carriage awaiting them. I climbed into another carriage with several of the bridesmaids and their companion knights, and endured the long, slow ride back.