Gene of Isis mt-1

by Traci Harding

  I wanted to cry, but crying would not change the inevitable.

  In the following weeks, I spent much of my time in the library—when I was not practising dance and being drilled on social etiquette. My hunt for every scrap of information relating to nature spirits often kept me up until the wee hours, and it was only the strain of reading by candlelight that would force me to give in and go to bed. Lady Charlotte was gracious enough not to insist that I get my beauty sleep, for she knew how dearly I would miss the library and how the late hours afforded me uninterrupted time to study.

  As the day of our leaving for the Midlands drew close, I began to fear that I would never find the information that was eluding me.

  Two days before we were to depart Dumfries I happened across a book entitled Aradia—the Gospel of Witches, an Italian text which referred to the ‘la vecchia religione’—the old religion. Although prominent in northern Italy today, its origins dated back to the time of the Roman Empire, or perhaps even further back to the Etruscan era.

  Apart from its references to the Etruscan gods and their mythology, of which Diana is the goddess, and her daughter Aradia (or Herodius) the Messiah, it also contained invocations to the likes of Bacchus, Jupiter, Venus and Mercury. It also explained how to prepare amulets over which spells could be uttered, and amongst these I was most excited to find ‘the charm of the ringstone’.

  The text explained that to find a round stone with a hole in it was a special sign of favour from Diana (the Great Mother of creation). The lower orders of her otherworldly dominions could then, by invocation, be urged to attach themselves to the stone and render service to the bearer. There was also a caution attached to the possession of such an amulet—it should never be given away, because the receiver would acquire the good luck attached to it and some disaster would befall the giver.

  The spirits of nature will no longer be able to ignore me, I thought, well content with my discovery. I had only to find such a stone as was described and they would be compelled to aid me.

  Given my psychic abilities, you might wonder what aid I sought to gain from the spirits of nature?

  I wanted protection.

  The nature kingdoms were said to have as many sub-races as humanity, if not more, although they were no longer connected to humanity’s evolution. A cataclysmic event in some bygone and ancient era had caused a portion of the human soul group to split apart from humanity’s evolution and develop via an entirely different evolutionary process, on an entirely different plane of existence. The lower orders of these kingdoms could be broken down into four basic races, according to which of the four elements they served: gnomes were connected to the earth and the accumulation of wealth, power and position; undines were spirits of the water and could be employed to help with matters connected with emotion; salamanders related to fire and could assist with artistic and creative endeavour, for they were the very essence of inspiration; the nature spirits of the air were sylphs, the most highly evolved of all. Sylphs brought with them the gifts of ease of travel and communication, and insight into the higher mysteries.

  My experience with Dr Rosen still haunted me, and very soon the safety of the Cavandish family would cease to surround me. Therefore, I took it upon myself to find a means of diverting any calamity that might lie in wait in the future.

  I spent a good part of the night copying the lengthy invocation into my latest diary, in both the original Italian dialect, and then translating it into English.

  I would not be left to the mercy of the fates, for I was determined to have a hand in shaping my own destiny.

  Lady Charlotte’s health took a turn for the worse and prevented her from accompanying Susan and myself to Hartsford Park, Lord Cavandish’s estate in Derby. I didn’t like leaving my mentor at such a time, and despite her brave face I knew she was in much poorer health than she let on. A dark murky shadow encompassed her spirit-body around her chest and heart. I feared that there was a psychological reason for her ailment; that deep down she felt her usefulness in this life would come to a close with our departure from Dumfries. I attempted to tell her how much I would miss her guidance and let her know I would be writing often to obtain the benefit of her wisdom. The countess saw straight through my tactics, I fear, and assured me that she would cherish the time to herself to pursue her own courses of study. I put on a happy face, so as not to stress Susan, and wept on the inside.

  Nanny Beat and Susan’s personal maidservants were in a second carriage, and both carriages carried the luggage. The journey from Dumfries to Derby took the better part of a week to complete, for we stopped overnight at various towns along the way, the first stop having been in Northumberland.

  The countryside was very lovely to view from the landau carriage Lady Charlotte had given us for the journey. The wild terrain of the north was casting off winter frosts and was beginning to be coloured by the promise of spring.

  The excitement produced at the thought of the forthcoming social events made Susan a very unsettled travelling companion, but I managed to calm her nerves with a talent I possessed, Susan being the only other person to know about it.

  ‘Tell me a story, Ashlee,’ she prompted, ‘to drive away my boredom.’

  ‘And where shall we go?’ I asked.

  ‘Let us be mediaeval princesses!’ She clapped her hands excitedly.

  I screwed my nose up at the suggestion. ‘The church rule of that era bores me,’ I protested in fun. ‘How about we venture into the world of the learned courtesans of Ancient Rome?’ I appealed to her.

  Susan gasped. ‘What a frightful suggestion,’ she giggled, inwardly intrigued by the idea. ‘Do you think we should? After all, they were pagans.’

  ‘Well, I personally would love to have been adviser and confidante to the likes of Plato or Aristotle,’ I put forward in my defence.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you would,’ she scoffed. ‘Still, I prefer tales of the tournaments of brave knights than the spectacle of gladiators.’ Her big blue eyes appealed. ‘Please.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ I caved in. ‘Mediaeval princesses it is.’

  I managed to make a tale of courtly love and religious oppression last for the entire journey and, as the story concluded, we were but a half-mile from our destination.

  ‘Here.’ I handed Susan my handkerchief, as hers was soggy with tears. ‘Your parents will be wondering what on Earth I have been doing to you.’

  ‘I just can’t stand the thought that you were burned at the stake,’ she blew her nose, ‘and that my prince was too late to prevent it…‘tis so sad.’

  ‘But he did drive the Inquisition out of the kingdom, and you lived happily ever after.’ I tried to console her before we both got into strife.

  ‘I know,’ she sniffled, ‘but the fact that we named our first child after you really got to me.’ She wiped her tears away, although more followed in their wake.

  ‘It was just a story,’ I said, worried that she would be in tears when we arrived at Hartsford Manor.

  ‘But why can’t you marry and live happily ever after?’ she asked plaintively.

  ‘Because I would rather burn at the stake,’ I replied in jest, but Susan did not laugh.

  ‘Don’t say that. Of course you wouldn’t.’ Her expression begged me to retract my words.

  ‘Well, we can’t all have a happy ending, or there would be no drama in the tale.’

  ‘Yes, we can.’ Susan knew I wasn’t just talking about the story any more. ‘Say we can, Ashlee,’ she urged, her tears threatening to flood anew.

  ‘Of course we will.’ I smiled to reassure her. Anything to appease her before our arrival. ‘I promise you that we shall both find the greatest happiness.’

  Susan’s smile returned. ‘Yes, of course we will. After all, we are two of the most eligible brides in England.’

  I suppressed a sigh, as her point was no exaggeration. ‘Yes, indeed…there shall be no lack of suitors for us.’ I returned my attention to the landscape to hide
my dread of the fact.

  The sun had penetrated the clouds and shone brightly upon Hartsford Manor as our coach pulled up at the entrance stairs. We were aided from the coach by Lord Cavandish and his son, Lord Simon Cavandish, the Viscount of Neith Manor—the earl’s estate in Dumfries. The earl’s heir would employ this title until he inherited the Cavandish estates and titles in full from his father, when he would, of course, become earl.

  ‘How wonderful you both appear,’ commented the earl, as we came to stand before him and curtseyed.

  ‘You are too kind, Lord Derby.’ I rose, and then turned and curtseyed to his son and heir, who was breaking from an embrace with Susan. ‘Viscount Neith…‘tis wonderful to see you again.’

  ‘Miss Granville.’ He bowed dutifully, then laughed to break the formality of the moment and embraced me as a close relative would. ‘Dearest sister, how I have missed your company and intrigues.’

  Thus was the Cavandishs’ affection for me; I had always been regarded as part of the family. ‘I hear that congratulations are in order for your impending marriage, lord?’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ Simon smiled broadly, obviously delighted with the arrangement. ‘I can hardly wait for you both to meet Lady Catherine Devere of Berwick. I expect her to be arriving with her two older brothers in the next few days, who are very eligible bachelors themselves. I have taken the liberty of telling them all about my charming sisters.’ He winked at us both, whereby Susan giggled.

  ‘I have heard that the Earl of Oxford and his brother are very handsome.’ Susan was delighted by the news and I forced a pleasant smile, so as not to appear a bad sport. ‘What if we both caught the heart of one of the brothers’ Devere, then we really would be sisters!’ Susan’s imagination immediately went off the deep end.

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ agreed Simon, as he offered me his arm to lead me into the grand manor house. ‘Why not keep the entire family fortune in the family, if at all possible?’

  As the weather was far more accommodating in Derby than it had been for my last few days in Scotland, I rose early to take a stroll before I took breakfast with the family.

  A blustery wind swept across the craggy peaks of the grassy terrain, stinging my nose with its chill, although after ten years in Dumfries I was no stranger to the cold. I delighted in the wild atmosphere, electric with the promise of a storm, as I headed toward one of the numerous streams that flowed through the estate. My eyes were glued to the ground in search of the amulet I needed for my experiment.

  The nature spirits of the earth were far fewer in number here than they had been in the rich woods of Dumfries, or in the lovely cared-for gardens of the estate through which I’d passed to reach the wilds. The sylphs of the air, however, were in full force and seemed to be urging my speed toward the babbling brook that hosted a few scattered trees and bushes along its banks.

  There were stones aplenty washed up along the watercourse and I searched for some time for my prize, in vain. ‘Surely there is one stone the like of which I seek,’ I grumbled, close to giving up and returning to the house. I didn’t wish to offend my hosts by being late for the morning meal. What’s more, I was hungry and the chilly wind had seeped through my layers of clothes and into my bones.

  Just as I’d decided to relinquish the hunt, the turbulent clouds above parted, allowing the sun’s rays to fall upon the water and illuminate the rocky bed of the stream. As I admired the fish in the crystal clear water, I spied a round stone that was very dark in the centre. I strained my eyes to make out whether the dark patch was indeed a hole, or just a darker colour in the rock that gave the illusion of a hole.

  ‘There’s only one way I shall know,’ I decided, as I dispensed with my gloves to unlace and remove my

  muddy boots. The water only looked a foot or so deep, so I hoisted up my chemise and frock and gathered them into the firm hold of my left hand to spare them from a drenching.

  No sooner had my toes hit the water than they recoiled just as quickly—it was absolutely freezing. ‘All in the name of research!’ I steadied myself against the shock, and as my feet entered the water it felt as though nature was using them as pincushions. I made for the stone as quickly as my freezing appendages would allow, and upon holding it in my hand I was thrilled to discover I had struck it lucky. ‘Oh, thank you, Great Mother!’ I said in joy, my eyes raised to the clouds, that had again closed over to conceal the sun. A gust of wind suddenly swept my loosely-tied bonnet from my head and off across the fields. The impulse to grab for my bonnet caused me to lose hold of my skirts, which became soaked to the knees. ‘Oh no,’ I whined, wading my way back to the edge, whereupon it came to my attention that there was a gentleman on horseback atop a nearby rise, watching my predicament with some amusement.

  ‘Might I be of some assistance?’ he asked in a jovial tone.

  I was too embarrassed to reply, and as I had not been introduced to the gentleman, it was hardly proper that I respond. I forgot my wayward bonnet and grabbing up my boots and gloves, I raced as fast as I was able back to the house.

  I employed the servants’ entrance and stairs at the back of the house to avoid being seen by the family in my wretched state.

  ‘Mistress!’ Nanny exclaimed in shock as I entered my room with dripping skirts, although I had attempted to wring them out before entering the house.

  ‘Look what I found.’ I showed my treasure, which did not impress her greatly. She was far more worried about my muddy attire.

  ‘Quickly.’ She motioned me closer. ‘Out of those wet things before you catch your death.’ She began to unbutton my frock. ‘Miss Cavandish has been looking for you, as has—’

  ‘I saw footprints.’ Susan entered and was immediately perturbed by my appearance. ‘Oh, Ashlee, what have you been doing? Oh, never mind.’ She waved away a response and broke into a huge smile. ‘The Earl of Oxford and his party have arrived early and shall be on our doorstep at any moment!’

  ‘For joy,’ I replied, clearly not as thrilled as she. Now that I had an amulet, I planned to spend the afternoon trying my summons, but I would be expected to stay with the family and entertain their guests.

  ‘I really do not understand you at times.’ Susan placed both hands on her hips, while I shimmied into clean, dry clothing. ‘Why are you not excited? I realise that only the eldest brother is titled, but the younger, Mr Devere, still receives the mighty sum of ten thousand pounds a year, which is hardly anything to be scoffed at.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ I drolly accepted her point. ‘I’ll be down as soon as I am presentable.’

  ‘And you will be charming,’ Susan stated, making me promise before exiting.

  ‘Of course,’ I assured her.

  ‘And you will give me your otherworldly summation of the whole family? I must be sure that Miss Devere will be a good wife to my dear brother.’

  ‘You may count on a full report.’ Susan clapped her hands, blew me a kiss and urged me to hurry as she departed.

  I had missed the grand entrance of the Earl of Oxford and his company. By the time I made it downstairs the steward informed me that the family and their guests were in the drawing room, and that breakfast would be served in the dining room presently.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Miss Granville.’ Simon came forward as soon as I arrived to lead me into the drawing room and introduce me to his guests. ‘May I present Lord Devere…’ He began with the earl, who was tall, dark, slender and handsome, and from all appearances an appealing fellow. His smile was dazzling, as were his eyes of deep blue.

  ‘Miss Granville.’ He bowed his head in greeting. ‘It is a great pleasure to finally meet the ladies we have constantly heard our dear friend speak of with such high regard.’

  ‘The pleasure is all mine, Lord Devere.’ I curtseyed politely.

  Next, Simon introduced me to his bride-to-be, who was stunningly fair in comparison to her eldest brother, but the lovely blue eyes and slender, tall form were the same.

  ‘And last, but by
no means least, I present to you Mr Devere.’ Simon led me in the gentleman’s direction.

  The man in question had been at the window admiring the view when I entered, but upon closer inspection I realised that this was the gentleman I had shamed myself in front of this morning. I caught my gasp of surprise in my throat and curtseyed to him, praying that he did not expose my earlier indiscretion.

  ‘A delight it is to meet you, Miss Granville.’ His smile disclosed his knowledge to me only.

  Like his sister, Mr Devere was very fair and his hair was combed neatly back from his face, where it sat in tight natural curls at the nape of his neck. His eyes were of a paler shade of blue than his relatives’, but they sparkled just as brightly.

  ‘Mr Devere rode down on horseback,’ Simon informed me, ‘and has just been telling us how beautiful he found the wilds beyond the manor on approach.’

  ‘Indeed.’ I tried not to blush as panic rose from my heart into my throat. ‘Hartsford Manor is truly blessed by its breathtaking surrounds.’

  ‘Yes,’ the fellow agreed, ‘breathtaking is just the word to describe the scenery, despite the chill I detected in the air this morning. Still, I trust that with the spring the atmosphere will be far more accommodating.’

  I understood his implication well enough.

  ‘The hunting is very fine too,’ Simon said, thankfully sparing me from having to respond. ‘Miss Granville is quite a fine shot herself, although she refuses to aim at anything living.’

  The gentlemen had a laugh at my expense.

  ‘It is a woman’s nature to create and not destroy, is it not?’ I piped up in my own defence.

  ‘Then why learn to shoot at all?’ Lord Devere inquired, curious as to my motive.

  ‘One never knows when one might be faced with an animal that can shoot back,’ I replied winningly. ‘Better to have some skill with a gun or a bow and arrow than to leave oneself defenceless and in need of saving.’