Marigold's Marriages

by Sandra Heath

  “Oh, dear. Must you really?” Marigold envisaged her son being flogged within an inch of his life, like a mutineer upon the high seas.

  The doctor glanced at the maid, who waited nearby, keeping a wary eye on the drake. “That will be all, Bessie.”

  “Yes, sir.” Still watching the mallard, she bobbed a curtsy and hastened thankfully away.

  Dr. Bethel turned then to the two boys. “Your immediate punishment can wait, but you are to return to the scene of devastation above, and clean every inch of it yourselves. Is that clear, sirs?”

  “Yes, sir,” they mumbled in unison.

  “Be off with you then. And take that monstrous duck back where you found it!” With that the doctor turned toward the study door, but as he stretched out to the gleaming brass knob, Bysshe uttered a strangulated warning yelp.

  “No, sir! Don’t touch it!”

  He was too late. Dr. Bethel’s fingers closed upon the knob, and there was a blue flash, accompanied by a crackling sound. The unfortunate doctor shot backward across the hall, and fell to the floor against a table upon which stood a vase of overblown roses. He was showered with petals and water as the vase teetered, but thankfully did not fall.

  Chapter Eight

  The two boys were speechless with dismay as Rowan helped the shaken master to his feet. Marigold hurried over as well. “Have you been hurt, Dr. Bethel?” she asked anxiously, taking out a handkerchief and mopping some water from his black robe.

  “Only my dignity, dear lady, only my dignity,” he replied, retrieving his aplomb in that singular way learned by teachers through the centuries.

  Rowan examined the doorknob, around which a telltale length of copper wire had been wrapped. The wire led to the hinge of the door, then disappeared into the study beyond, where Bysshe or Perry had no doubt arranged the implements necessary to create the new Italian electrical invention known as a voltaic battery. He looked at the boys. “Your handiwork, sirs?”

  Bysshe spoke quickly. “It was me, sir, Perry had nothing to do with it.” The drake made a noise like a sneeze, and shook its head so that its head feathers stood up. Fearing another onslaught of quacking, the boy gripped its bill with his hand.

  Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Well, Master Shelley, it would almost seem you are hell-bent upon explusion.”

  Bysshe gave him an imploring look. “It was just a prank, sir.”

  “A highly dangerous one.”

  “It was meant for Bessie, not Dr. Bethel,” Bysshe protested.

  Rowan was outraged. “Shame on you, sir! What on earth has the poor maid done to warrant such disagreeable attention?”

  Bysshe swallowed. “It—it wasn’t meant to hurt her, sir. She goes into the study at the same time every day to refill Dr. Bethel’s sherry, and I meant to observe from the top of the staircase. Unfortunately, one of my other experiments caught fire, and I couldn’t leave my room. I—I didn’t know the current would be so strong. I just wanted to see if it was true that her hair would stand on end. It—it was another experiment.”

  Rowan eyed him. “What if I were to wonder right now if your delightful curls would stand on end in similar circumstances?”

  “Mine, sir?”

  “Yes. Pray take hold of the doorknob.”

  Bysshe’s eyes widened. “Oh, but—”

  “Come now, sir, where is your backbone? If it is of scientific value when a mere maid touches it, just think how much more weighty and respected the results would be if you were the subject.” Rowan folded his arms. “I’m waiting, Master Shelley.”

  The drake eyed the boy, and quacked with relish, but Bysshe swallowed cravenly. “I—I’d rather not, if you don’t mind, sir.”

  The ghost of a smile played upon Rowan’s lips. “The scientific benefits cease to appeal when yours are the dainty fingers that will suffer, eh, sir?”

  Bysshe hung his head, and Rowan looked at Perry. “Were you party to this?” Guilt was written large upon the face of Marigold’s son as he too hung his head. Rowan drew a long breath. “I think you should both again apologize most humbly to Dr. Bethel, then go to your room to clear up the undoubted mess therein. After that you will do penance to Bessie. Whether or not you are permitted to stay on here, or indeed whether or not you have to face Dr. Keate’s wrath, remains to be seen.”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied together, and then turned to face poor Dr. Bethel, who was still covered with rose petals. Their expressions of regret were very ashamed indeed, and when they ascended the staircase once more, their heads were bowed in remorse. The drake could still be heard long after they had disappeared from view.

  Rowan looked at the unfortunate master. “Sir, is there anything I can say or do which will induce you to be lenient?”

  “I doubt it, sir, I doubt it very much,” came the heartfelt reply.

  Rowan glanced at the door again. “On arriving, I noticed that the window to this room had been left slightly open. With your leave, I will enter by that means, and dismantle the apparatus on the door.”

  “I would be grateful, Lord Avenbury.”

  Rowan turned, and went outside. A minute or so later, the copper wire was pulled from the other side, then the door opened, and Dr. Bethel and Marigold went inside. It was a jumbled room, its walls lined with bookshelves, and there was a huge desk topped with green leather standing in the center.

  Various armchairs were in evidence, as was a rather battered harpsichord, with piles of music sheets and well-worn keys that bore witness to its frequent use. Bysshe’s voltaic battery, which consisted of the copper wire, and a small stack of alternating plates of copper, zinc, and moistened pasteboard, had been carefully dismantled, and replaced in a wooden box, then covered with a crumpled sheet of brown paper.

  Rowan assisted Marigold to a chair, and whispered suddenly to her. “I think I may be able to extricate our two demonic young scientists from this. Would you like me to try?”

  “If you think you can help, I would be most grateful,” she replied, for she felt quite out of place in these peculiarly male circumstances.

  Rowan turned to usher the still-shaken doctor to another chair. After pressing a glass of good sherry into the master’s hand, he went to the harpsichord and played a finger upon several keys. “Tell me, doctor, what would you say to owning an instrument that was once owned by Handel himself?”

  The doctor lowered his glass, and turned to look at him. “By Handel, you say?”

  “Yes. It’s a particularly elegant harpsichord, and has been maintained in the finest order. No one uses it now, which is a great shame, but I am certain you would fully appreciate its qualities.”

  Dr. Bethel surveyed him shrewdly. “And in return for this fine instrument... ?”

  “You could overlook today’s regrettable occurrences.”

  The doctor smiled. “I’m sorely tempted, sir, just as you knew I would be, but may I be so bold as to inquire why you wish to do this? As far as I am aware, you are not connected with either boy.”

  “I have the honor to be Perry’s future stepfather,” Rowan replied.

  The doctor’s jaw dropped. “Indeed?” He looked quickly at Marigold, belatedly recalling her all-too-recent widowhood.

  “Do we have an agreement, sir?” Rowan pressed skillfully.

  The carrot was taken. “We do indeed, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  * * *

  A little later, Marigold walked alone with Perry in the doctor’s garden. Sunlight was dappled through the leaves of a weeping willow overhanging the small stream that formed the garden’s boundary, and at last Marigold reluctantly came to the point of her visit.

  The coming few minutes wouldn’t be at all easy, especially as she feared her news concerning Rowan might stir a dormant sense of honor in her son toward his hitherto intensely disliked sire. She sat down on the grassy bank, where daisies were scattered like tiny white stars. “Perry, there is something I must tell you.”

  He smothered a huge yawn, then said
quickly, “Forgive me, Mama, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t you sleeping well?”

  “I sleep excellently. I really don’t know what’s the matter with me today. Bysshe feels the same. We’re peculiarly tired. I hope it’s the chicken pox.” He leaned back against the willow.

  “You hope it’s the chicken pox?”

  “Yes, because we’ll be sent home to recuperate. Everyone else who’s gone down with it has begun by feeling tired.”

  “You and Bysshe do not seem too tired to indulge in all manner of disagreeable experiments,” she pointed out, aware that she was diverging from the point of her visit.

  He looked down at her a little guiltily. “We didn’t mean any harm.”

  “Nevertheless, harm is what you caused.”

  “I know.”

  “Where is the unfortunate duck now?”

  “Sir Francis?”

  “Sir Francis?” Marigold looked blankly at him.

  Perry tutted, “Oh, come on, Mama! Sir Francis Drake!”

  She had to smile. “How very slow of me.”

  “Indeed. Anyway, we think it’s a good name. He seemed to think so too, because when we told him that’s what he was going to be called, he got quite excited, and kept nodding his head up and down. Anyway, he’s gone. Bysshe took him down to the Thames. He was going to put him on the stream here, but then decided— Oh, no!” Perry straightened and ran out of the shade of the willow to look skyward in dismay as a distant quack carried on the air.

  “What is it?”

  He pointed as a mallard drake flew down to the stream. “It’s Sir Francis, I’d know that quack anywhere!”

  As they watched, the drake swam to the bank, and after clambering ashore to shake its tail and have a short preen, it waddled up through the daisies toward them. To Marigold’s astonishment, it then settled down beside her, quacked once or twice in an amiable tone, rattled its bill a little, then buried its gleaming dark green head under its wing, and went to sleep.

  Perry came over and gave a huge sigh as he looked down at the bird. “What am I going to do? Dr. Bethel will think we didn’t get rid of it!”

  “There’s nothing you can do, short of shooing it away, and that seems a little unkind.” Marigold put out a tentative hand, and touched the drake’s glossy feathers. Sir Francis raised his head, gave her a cross look, then muttered as he pushed his bill under his wing again. She drew her hand back, and then looked up at Perry again. “You really must behave, Perry. Lord Avenbury has extricated both of you this time, but I pray you will not give further cause for concern.”

  “We won’t, truly.” Perry gave her a quick smile, then changed the subject. “Anyway, you said you have something to tell me. Does it concern Lord Avenbury?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I knew something was up the moment you called him by his first name,” he replied knowingly.

  “Before I get to that, I think you should know what happened at the reading of your father’s will. Sit down too,” she urged, removing her gloves and then patting the grass beside her.

  Perry obeyed, and then looked in astonishment at her left hand as he noticed her new ring. “Mama, are you and Lord Avenbury ... ?”

  “To be married? Yes, Perry, we are, but please don’t leap to conclusions, for once you hear about the will, I’m sure you will understand. At least, I hope you will. Will you hear me out?”

  He put his hand quickly on her arm. “Mama, you know how much I love you, and how much I despised my father and all the Arnolds for the way they treated you. Of course I will hear you out, but there is just one thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Isn’t Lord Avenbury connected with ... ? I mean, aren’t he and Aunt Alauda... ?” He colored and fell silent.

  Marigold felt herself go a little pink too. “Well, yes, I believe they are, but that has nothing to do with this.”

  “Aunt Alauda won’t see it that way,” Perry replied shrewdly.

  “No, she probably won’t, but that is Lord Avenbury’s concern, not mine, or yours.”

  “She’s a true Arnold, and therefore not someone to cross. I’m an Arnold too, but not through and through like the rest of them.”

  “I should hope not, for you are my son too,” Marigold replied with a smile.

  He grinned. “Anyway, tell me everything, Mama.”

  Taking a deep breath, she related all that had happened that dreadful day at Castell Arnold. Perry’s eyes at first widened, and then grew steadily more stormy. “I—I am declared illegitimate?” he interrupted, shock widening his eyes and draining his face of color.

  Her hand still rested over his, and she squeezed his fingers in an attempt to reassure. “Yes, I fear that for the moment you are, just as I am branded a fallen woman, but your Uncle Falk admitted to me in private that the will Mr. Crowe read out was not genuine. Lord Avenbury is to instruct his own lawyer to make every possible investigation. If it is possible to prove their villainy, it will be done, I promise you that. In the meantime, my marriage to Lord Avenbury will offer us both protection. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I—I believe so.”

  She went on, but when he learned how she had been forcibly ejected from Castell Arnold, it was too much. He leapt angrily to his feet. “Uncle Falk did that to you? I will call him out! I will make him pay for treating you so foully!” he cried, his hands clenched into furious fists. He startled Sir Francis, who awoke with a surprised quack.

  Marigold put a soothing hand up to her son. She could see how he trembled with emotion, and her heart surged with pride and love. How fine a son he was to want to defend her. “It’s all right, Perry. Please sit down again, so I can tell you how things have arrived at their present situation. Oh, be quiet, you foolish duck!” she added as Sir Francis continued to register protests at being awoken.

  The mallard clacked its bill, but subsided once more into the daisies, and after a moment tucked his head under his wing again. Then Perry resumed his place beside her as well, and she went on with her extraordinary tale. At last she finished. “There, now you know why I am about to become Lady Avenbury,” she said.

  Perry plucked at the daisies. “But you don’t really know why he is entering into it?”

  “No.”

  “Isn’t that a little risky? I mean, you hadn’t even met him before last night, and it seems to me he should be on Falk’s side, not ours.”

  “I wondered that, but I trust him completely.” She did, although when she had stepped over that particular threshold, she really didn’t know.

  “Do you love him?” Perry asked.

  She was aware of hesitating before answering. “No, of course not. How can I possibly love him in so short a time?”

  “So you’re only doing it because of me?” Resolve suddenly blazed in his eyes. “I cannot let that happen! I will leave Eton and provide for us both!”

  She smiled. “Oh, Perry, how fierce you are, but there is no need, for I really want to marry Lord Avenbury.” The words slipped out so naturally that she hardly realized she’d said them. But it was the truth, she did want to marry Rowan. Heaven help her, she wanted it very much indeed.

  Perry was confused. “In spite of Aunt Alauda?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bysshe says—”

  “Perry, I don’t place great faith in Bysshe. With your dubious assistance, he attempts to raise devils,” she said, interrupting quickly in case he was about to mention the Avenbury curse, which she didn’t wish to discuss until she’d had a chance to speak to Rowan.

  Perry flushed. “It wasn’t a devil, it was Taranis,” he corrected.

  “Who or what is Taranis?”

  “The old Celtic god of thunder. Bysshe read about him in that Stukeley book he mentioned.”

  “Who is this Stukeley person? I’ve never heard of him.”

  “He was a famous historian. He—and Aubrey before him—researched and mapped in deta
il all the standing stones in the Salisbury Plain area, including the ones at Avenbury. They called them British druidic temples. Did you know there were standing stones at Avenbury?”

  “No, but go on. Why did you want to raise Taranis?”

  Perry colored a little. “Because there’s a cricket match this evening, and neither of us wants to play. We thought a good thunderstorm would do the trick. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter now, because all we managed to conjure was Sir Francis.”

  “I hardly think you conjured anything,” she replied firmly.

  “I swear it, Mama. We were telling the truth to Dr. Bethel when we said Sir Francis just appeared from nowhere. We didn’t bring him into the house ourselves, truly we didn’t. We made the demonic circle, lit the blue flames, and said the correct incantations, but all we got was this stupid mallard!” The boy looked daggers at the slumbering drake.

  “Oh, that can’t be possible! If you didn’t take him into the house, then he must have flown in through the window,” she declared.

  “If he did, he was very quiet about it. Ducks make a noise when they fly, but one second there was nothing, the next he was on the floor right in the middle of the circle. And he wasn’t in a very good mood, I can tell you. He certainly made a noise after that, quacking at the top of his odious lungs. We were so shocked that we forgot Bysshe’s other experiment, which suddenly burst into flames. Dr. Bethel came to see what was going on, and the rest you know.” Perry plucked at the daisies again. “I won’t be raising Celtic gods again, and that’s a fact.”

  Marigold was hard put to hide her mirth, for it was clear he and Bysshe really believed they had raised a demon duck!

  Perry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Anyway, I’d prefer it if you forgot I told you, Mama. Do you promise?”

  “I, er, yes, I suppose so.”

  He gave her a quick smile. “Bysshe isn’t mad, you know, he’s very clever.”

  “He’s a menace,” she replied.