"You do not seem to appreciate the seriousness of your own situation," said Skelbrooke reprovingly, as she followed him down the corridor. "Indeed, if Marella knew that you had been in that chamber, she might be very angry. If you wish to avoid an uncomfortable scene, you will not mention to anyone that you were in the museum, or that you and I met anywhere in the vicinity. "
Sera had heard rumors before this that Francis Skelbrooke and the Duchess were lovers. That he actually had access to chambers in the ducal mansion where nobody else was allowed to go—that he even carried the keys about with him—only served to confirm those rumors. Though I am sure I don't know why I should care, when the Duke himself always countenances these affairs of hers. How splendid it must be to be a Duchess and able to flout convention!
Nevertheless, Sera was deeply uncomfortable contemplating his intimacy with the Duchess. Was that what made her feel so keenly resentful, or merely his mountebank's trick with the mask?
Whatever the reason, she was mightily vexed—so disturbed, indeed, that hours would pass before she began to wonder why on Earth Lord Skelbrooke should have gone looking for her in a suite of rooms which he had every reason to suppose would be locked and inaccessible.
CHAPTER 15
In which the Reader makes the Acquaintance of two new characters.
It was the afternoon of the last day of the season of Flowers. At Master Ule's bottle factory, Polydore Figg and his three young clerks were all bent over their desks, hard at work.
Tomorrow was the Festival of the Harvest and an intercalary day, when all the shops and businesses in Thornburg closed their doors and the Guildsmen paraded through the streets in their splendid ceremonial robes flaunting medals and orders with mysterious-sounding names like "The Order of the Western Horizon" and "Master of the Temple of the Star." Plays, processions, feasts, balls, and other entertainments would be the order of the day. Moreover, the moon had been shrinking for four days now, and the combination of a holiday on the morrow and a so-called safe night meant that festivities would begin before dusk this evening and outdoor revelry would continue well past midnight.
In the glasshouse, Master Ule and his men abandoned their trade for the day, to prepare for the official events of the morrow. They were building a great wicker effigy in one of the storerooms and adorning it with gaily colored ribbons and dried flowers. They intended to carry it down to the river and tip it into the water, shortly after daybreak.
But in the counting-house, work continued on as usual—perhaps a little more industriously than usual—for to the scribes and clerks of the town, the advent of a new triad of seasons meant more than an opportunity for celebration. As on the last day of any season, there were accounts to be rendered, bills to be paid, wages to be calculated—more than enough to keep Polydore and the other two dwarves in a fever of activity all morning long and well into the afternoon. Meanwhile, Jedidiah sat at a makeshift desk in a corner of the room, attending to the more usual correspondence of the firm.
Copying letters was careful, painstaking work. If Jed made a mistake, he had to take a clean sheet of paper and begin all over again, because blots and smears reflected unfavorably on his employer. But it was a sight more interesting than doing ledgers, which were all just names and figures, and Jed felt proud that Polydore had entrusted him with such a meticulous task.
To Messers Willibald, Wibblingen, and Wolfenbuttel, Jed wrote, in the firm, clear, old-fashioned hand that Jenk the bookseller had taken such pains to teach him, the knack of which Jed was slowly regaining, along with the rudiments of grammar old Jenk had dinned into him. In answer to your letter of the twenty-first . . .
There was a great deal more, all very formal and correct—for all that Willibald, Wibblingen, and Wolfenbuttel were half a year behind in paying for a consignment of black bottles—right down to the punctilious: Yours respectfully, I remain &c., which Jed finished off with a dramatic flourish and took to Polydore Figg to be signed.
The other clerks were already clearing their desks. But Polydore stopped long enough to sign his name, sand the letter to set the ink, and hand it back to Jed. "Don't trouble the boy—you can deliver this yourself, on your way to dinner."
"Sir?" said Jed, under the impression he had missed something.
Figg readjusted the spectacles on the end of his nose. In most ways, he was a younger, rounder version of Master Ule, but he was somewhat short-sighted and he lacked the older dwarf's penetrating gaze. "You were not told? You are to dine with my uncle at two. It is half past one now, so you may as well tidy your desk and fetch your hat."
Jed went back to his desk and slipped the letter into an envelope. Then he closed his inkpot, cleaned his pen, rearranged the papers on his desk, and put on his shiny new tricorn. By that time, Polydore and the other clerks had departed, leaving the street door unlocked behind them. Jed picked up the key. He was half way across the room when the door opened and an elderly dwarf, a tall young man dressed in black like a doctor or a clergyman, and a dandified gentleman in grey velvet walked into the counting-house.
"Beg your pardon, we're closed for the day," said Jed.
"We are here to see Master Ule on a personal matter, and we are expected," said the dwarf, with an amiable nod of his head. He wore a purple coat and a full-bottomed wig—suitable to a dwarf of his years and dignity—and he carried a hat with a round brim under one arm. "Perhaps you would be good enough to fetch him?"
"Yes, sir," said Jed. "What name shall I say?"
"Mr. Christopher Owlfeather, Mr. Hermes Budge, and a gentleman they wish to present," replied the dwarf, with another half bow. "And you, if I am not mistaken, will be Jedidiah Braun."
"Yes, sir," Jed answered, wondering why this distinguished dwarf should know his name.
He went off in search of Master Ule and found him in the other storeroom putting a few last-minute touches on the wicker man. "Mr. Owlfeather and Mr. Budge is here, sir."
"Very good," said Master Ule, removing his leather apron and reaching for his coat and hat.
The walk to Master Ule's took longer than any of them had anticipated, for the streets were already crowded with early revelers: morris dancers in flower-bedecked hats and strings of chiming bells, gnomes with their horns and their claws painted gold for the holiday, dwarf children and human children in masks and fancy dress—all jostling about with the usual peddlers and street vendors.
The bird girls were selling cabbages now, cabbages and braided onions, and crickets in little straw houses. And the foreigners hawked sweetmeats and silver horns. On some streets it became impossible to move at all; the crowd formed so effective a barrier that Master Ule and his party had to take a circuitous route. This gave Jed ample time to become acquainted with Master Ule's friends. He was a bit dazzled to find himself in such distinguished company.
Christopher Owlfeather was a prosperous and highly respected merchant—an honest businessman as well as a shrewd one—and he was related to all the better dwarf families. Mr. Hermes Budge was the tall man—not a doctor or a clergyman as he appeared, but tutor to the Owlfeather children. And the dandy in mouse-colored velvet and exquisite point lace was Francis Love Skelbrooke.
"Lord Skelbrooke, I should say," Mr. Budge amended himself, as he presented his friend to Jed and Master Ule. "Francis and I attended the University of Lundy together, but he was not so exalted in those days, and I have some difficulty remembering his present consequence."
"If my consequence was less, yet I was a better man in those days," Skelbrooke replied. "For I had then, as I recall, an idea that I might yet be of some real use in the world. Whereas now, I am as you see me: a mere ornament to Society.
"But I am very much obliged to meet you, Master Ule, Mr. Braun," he added, with a bow. "You look to be an honest fellow, Mr. Braun, and you have, moreover, the air of a man of great practical utility."
"I hope that Master Ule finds me so," Jed replied, bowing in return. "But I believe I know you from somewheres, my lord, t
hough it don't—doesn't seem likely we've met."
"I think not," said Lord Skelbrooke. "For I have an excellent memory for faces and I am certain that I have never seen yours."
Finding the way blocked on one street, they turned down another. Master Ule fell into step beside Lord Skelbrooke. "I believe, sir, that you are a member of our lodge."
His lordship inclined his head. "I have that honor."
"Lord Skelbrooke is too modest to acknowledge his services to our Brotherhood," said Mr. Owlfeather. "It was he who brought a certain document to my attention, a document which caused no little excitement when I presented it to the Council. If I were to tell you how—and from whom—Lord Skelbrooke obtained it, I believe you would be favorably impressed by his enterprise and daring."
"You do me too much honor," said Skelbrooke, with a suggestion of a smile. "The circumstances surrounding my acquisition of the document were not so much dangerous as they were awkward. In short: I was forced to disappoint a lady."
Mr. Owlfeather laughed heartily. "A noble sacrifice on your part, I do not doubt. Let us hope it's one you are not forced to make again."
"I hope not indeed," said Skelbrooke. "For I have formed a strong impression that the Gracious Lady in question might prove to be a formidable enemy. Particularly if she imagined that I was more interested in her . . . epistolary talents . . . than in her considerable personal attractions."
Mr. Budge nodded solemnly. "I have heard a rumor of fairy blood, in particular, a connection with the Fees. I would tread carefully, in your place, Francis, and not give any offense if I could help it. They say that the Fees are constitutionally incapable of forgiving an insult, and their revenge can be terrible."
Jed had ceased to pay close attention to the conversation some while back. "The Duchess of Zar-Wildungen,'" he interjected suddenly, and wondered what he had done to cause such a sensation. Skelbrooke gave a visible start and the others all turned to stare at Jed as if he had uttered something particularly disconcerting. He hoped that he had not inadvertently offended one of them.
"When you said 'Gracious Lady,' milord, that put me in mind of the little Duchess, and I finally remembered where it was I seen—I saw you before. It was on a Sunday after church, walking in Solingen Park with the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen and the Misses Elsie and Sera Vorder."
The others cheerfully accepted this explanation—though Skelbrooke, who had been pale a moment before, now turned faintly pink. "You are acquainted, Mr. Braun, with the Misses Vorder?"
"Yes, sir," said Jed. "That is, not well acquainted with Miss Elsie, but I grew up with Sera in a manner of speaking, and she don't—doesn't forget old friends."
"Indeed, you do not surprise me," said his lordship. "For my judgement of Miss Sera Vorder is that she is a lady likely to prove steadfast in her affections. But speaking for yourself, Mr. Braun, does Miss Vorder inspire a similar loyalty on your part?"
"I guess so!" replied Jed. "As dear to me as my own sisters, meaning no disrespect to a lady of her position. There isn't much I wouldn't do for Sera, milord, supposing she was inclined to ask."
"Why then," said Lord Skelbrooke, "I am more obliged than ever, and I think, Mr. Braun, that you and I would both do well to further our acquaintance."
CHAPTER 16
Wherein the Duchess learns Something to her Advantage.
At that very moment, Sera was climbing the steps to the Vorder residence, after a morning call on her grandfather. A footman in blue and gold livery admitted her into the lower hall, where she removed her hat and her gloves and inquired whether the other ladies of the household were planning to dine at home.
"They was dressed to go out at noon, but Miss Elsie, she took another bad turn, and they decided to stay in. "
Sera felt a clutch of fear at her heart. "Elsie suffered another attack? But how is she now? Where can I find her?"
A light, aristocratic voice answered her: "She is nearly recovered and she is resting in her mother's sitting room," and Sera looked up to see the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen standing at the top of the long oak staircase to the second floor.
"I ought to have been with her—oh, I wish that I had been!" Sera dropped her hat and gloves on an octagonal table by the door and started up the steps.
"There was nothing you might have done either to prevent or to alleviate poor Elsie's fit," the Duchess replied soothingly. "Fortunately, Clothilde had the good sense to send for Jarl Skogsrå immediately. Elsie began to improve as soon as he arrived."
"I ought to have been here," Sera repeated, as she followed the Duchess into Mistress Vorder's sitting room.
There they found Elsie, still looking pale and shaken, half reclining on a rose-colored sofa, with her hand clasped tightly in the hand of Jarl Skogsrå, who sat on a little gilded stool drawn up at her feet. Cousin Clothilde sat in a chair by a window over-looking the street, fortifying herself with sherry and sugar cakes. From the level of the wine in the decanter, it appeared she had been strengthening herself in the same manner for quite some time—or else the Vorders had entertained a great many morning callers.
"You have nothing to fear," Skogsrå was saying in honeyed tones, just as Sera entered. "Never anything to fear, my heart's dearest, so long as I am with you."
Sera scowled at the Jarl. "I thought you had been called in to treat Elsie's disorder—not to trouble her with sentimental nonsense." She bent to kiss Elsie on the forehead.
"But he has treated my disorder," said Elsie. "Oh, Sera, I was absolutely terrified, I thought I should die of terror! But as soon as Haakon—that is the Jarl—came to me and spoke a few words, I knew just how foolish I had been and that I had nothing to fear. Now or ever," she finished, with a tender glance at Skogsrå.
"And we are very grateful, my dear sir," put in Elsie's mother. "It was exceedingly kind in you to abandon your own amusements—on the eve of the holiday, too!—and come here to tend my poor ailing child."
Sera sat down at the foot of the sofa, took Elsie's other hand, and stroked it comfortingly. "These attacks of panic, they are a new symptom," she told Skogsrå. "Elsie was not prone to these unreasoning fits of terror before you began dosing and magnetizing her. I suspect it is something in the medicine you give her, or an unexpected effect of the magnetic treatments."
"My dear Miss Vorder," said the Duchess, "I fear that the blame is entirely mine—though indeed, I meant all for the best. Elsie's visits to Dr. Mirabolo were so upsetting to her, I believe that her nerves were seriously weakened, and these attacks are the unfortunate result."
"You do yourself an injustice," said Skogsrå, with a smile that was more a baring of his teeth. " The explanation is simple: our poor Elsie's body is undergoing a—how should I say it?—a kind of revolution, as the disease is conquered and expelled through the pores of her skin. At the present time, her blood is full of violent humours which bring on visions and palpitations—a temporary effect and easily treated, as we have seen. And not too high a price to pay (I think you must agree) for the total restoration of this poor child's health."
"It is true," said Elsie. "Except for these attacks, I am so much improved I can scarcely believe it. Come, Sera, you know it is so. I am never dizzy now, my appetite has improved, the numbness and the tingling in my hands and my feet no longer plague me . . ."
"None of which were symptoms of the original disease—whatever that may have been—but effects of the medicine you were taking before. I was and am convinced of that—and no, Cousin Clothilde, I will not be silenced." Sera continued on bravely despite Mistress Vorder's intimidating glare. "What we have now is merely a case of a new medicine and a new set of symptoms, and where is the benefit in that?"
"Always so skeptical," said the Jarl, with another toothy smile. "Always so much wiser than any of the rest of us, so unwilling to entertain any opinions but her own!"
"My dear Jarl—my dear Miss Vorder—you must not quarrel," said the Duchess, with a warning glance at Skogsrå and a melting smile for Sera. "As
you are both motivated by nothing less than a deep concern for Elsie's welfare, surely you can cry peace between you, and each continue to do for Elsie what he or she thinks best."
"That scarcely seems possible . . . so opposed as we are in our viewpoints," said the Jarl, continuing to smile that same fixed smile.
Sera said nothing, only sat there clasping Elsie's damp little hand in both of hers, scowling at Skogsrå more fiercely than before. The Duchess released an exasperated sigh.
"I wonder, Miss Vorder, if you would care for a stroll through the gardens below. The weather is delightful. And I have something particular I should like to discuss with you, though I doubt I would ever find the courage to say a single word, while you and the Jarl continue to gaze at one another so ferociously."
"Yes, do go with her, Sera," Elsie urged. "I don't need you now. And you look so . . . overheated . . . I believe that a walk in the garden would do you good."
"My dear Miss Vorder," began the Duchess, when the two of them had donned their hats and descended to the garden. "I know that you want only what is best for Elsie—as indeed, we all do—but have you considered: these arguments over her course of treatment can only do dear Elsie harm."
But Sera was not ready to retract her hasty words. "I have thought, and I do think—and indeed, I try very hard to avoid any appearance of a quarrel when Elsie is present. If you only knew how often I have longed to speak—how many, many times—and yet kept silent for Elsie's sake! But when I balance the harm I may do by speaking out, against that I may countenance by remaining silent . . . I take leave to tell you, Gracious Lady, that I do not know where Elsie's best interest truly lies."
The Duchess stopped by a rose bush and bent to inhale the perfume of a pale blossom with a golden heart. She looked very small, very frail this afternoon, her gown of pale blue satin enhancing her porcelain fairness, the fragility of her hands and wrists. It amazed Sera that a woman so delicate in appearance as the Duchess should always enjoy such excellent health.
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