A Midsummer's Magic

by Mary Chase Comstock

  "What must you think of me?" Hippolyta asked in a hurried, breathless voice. She bit her lower lip, stifling a sudden, unaccountable urge to giggle.

  "I think you need a keeper," he told her, proceeding stoically with his task. The scent of verbena wafted up from the silken folds of her gown and he repressed the urge to speculate on its source.

  "Like the King, you mean?"

  "Something like that," he murmured, finding the notion oddly appealing. "You need not be actually confined, of course. Just watched over to see you do not wander off the edge of that tower of yours. There, my lady. The task is done. Now," he went on, turning her around to face him, "while I have your attention…"

  He took her hands in his and began to draw them close to his lips.

  "Goodness, St. Ives!" she exclaimed shakily. "The time!" She pulled away and all but ran down the corridor toward the front hall. "We really must go in to dinner," she called back over her shoulder. "Whatever will my guests be thinking?"

  He looked after her retreating figure for a moment, then sighed, "In heaven's name, Polly, does it truly matter?" A low rumble echoed sympathetically in the suit of armor nearest him.

  Later that evening in her chamber, Hippolyta shut her eyes and leaned back her aching head, allowing Sadie to brush her hair in long, soothing strokes. The events of the day, culminating in that embarrassing lapse in her toilette, had rattled her to her core. She could not even be absolutely certain of the degree of her exposure. The amount of time St. Ives had dedicated to setting her to rights would indicate her gown had been open all the way down to her— Surely she must be mistaken! The draftiness of the hall must have contributed somewhat to the impression that he could see— Oh, dear! She simply would hot think about it any further.

  Why was it that such days seemed so much longer than others? She wondered fretfully if an extra four or five hours might not possibly steal into one day like uninvited guests, leaving other days quite short of their allotted span.

  Working out a new spell in her laboratory, time passed so quickly she could almost swear the sun's arched progression hurried through a fleeting series of shadows, transforming eight or ten hours into as many minutes. Other times, the days passed with the lingering cadence of a minuet.

  Her marriage, for instance. Comfortable, predictable even, those five years seemed like fifty; tonight, her age felt much nearer that mark than her twenty-seven years.

  There was, she knew, an odd time configuration settled about these ancient and mysterious walls, but generally it was only noticeable at a solstice or equinox.

  Sadie cleared her throat tentatively. "Dorcas and me be wondering, my lady…"

  Hippolyta shook herself from her musings. "Yes, Sadie? What is it?"

  "The young ladies as are visiting… Well, Midsummer's Eve be almost here…"

  Yet another example of fleeting time! "Midsummer so soon, Sadie! How can that be? Are you certain?"

  "Why, the lads be gathering rowan branches in fairies' circle these past three days and more. But there's fair work to be done here if all's to be ready. I hope you don't mind my saying, only…"

  "You are quite right, Sadie. Where has my mind been? I shall see to the herbs myself, of course. But the young ladies, as you say… I wonder if they will wish to take part?"

  "What lass don't want to find the way to love, I ask you?" the girl snorted indignantly. "Or know what power she has in seeking aught?"

  Though she would hardly term herself a "lass," neither did Hippolyta dream of seeking the direction of love. She counted herself fortunate to have found a safe, comfortable affection in her first marriage. From the tales she had heard, the marriage bed was little more than a sacrificial altar. No, she wanted nothing whatever to do with passion! She was quite content with her life the way it was. When Edward finally married—and that, surely, would not be for several years—a quiet life as the dowager countess would suit her admirably. She could putter away in the laboratory, perhaps even compile a volume of her own for the library…

  Just then, the nighttime silence was broken by a peculiar noise out in the corridor. It seemed to be coming closer and closer.

  "I thought I had quieted that wretchedness down!" Hippolyta frowned, exasperated. Really, these spirits ought to know better than to put her into such a fidget. If they were not careful, she would exorcise them—if only she could find that dratted book again. It would not surprise her in the least, she reflected ruefully, to discover it had been spirited away altogether.

  "Sounds more like a cat with a rooster's tail feather in its craw than a wailin' ghoulie, if you ask me," Sadie pronounced.

  As the distressing noise became louder, Hippolyta sighed resignedly, strode to the door, and flung it open. To her surprise, there stood Diana in a voluminous nightrail, her eyes red-rimmed and running with tears as she sneezed uncontrollably.

  "Oh, no! Ah… ah… ah… Aunt Hippolyta… ah… ah… choo!" A look of surprise and trepidation flooded the girl's features.

  Why on earth should the child look so frightened? Hippolyta wondered. And what on earth had she got into to cause this fit of sneezes?

  "Come in, Diana. Please. After all, I am not going to eat you!"

  Looking very little comforted, Diana inched her way into the room, producing three more violent sneezes in rapid succession as she did so. A pungent aroma very like an incense accompanied her. Hippolyta knit her brows. What had the child been up to?

  "Sit down by the fire, my dear. Sadie, fetch that robe and wrap it around Miss Diana."

  When at last the sniffling Diana was ensconced in the silky folds of her aunt's robe and settled by the hearth, Hippolyta turned to Sadie and said, "Fetch me a kettle of hot water. I believe Miss Diana will need a special tisane tonight."

  Sadie bobbed a quick curtsey and withdrew.

  "What is a tis… ah… ah… ah… choo! Tisane?" Diana asked with a sniffle.

  "Just a little brew I know of," her aunt told her absently. Diana's eyes widened. "However, if one remedy is good, two must surely be better, I always say. Best to be certain."

  Without further ado, Hippolyta settled her spectacles atop her head, shut her eyes, and placed the tip of her index finger on the tip of her nose. Then, she assumed an arabesque position and spun in a quick circle. This odd maneuver executed, she opened her eyes, snapped her fingers under the girl's nose, and said, "God bless you!"

  Diana, eyes round as saucers by now, blinked at her aunt. Several seconds passed. She did not sneeze.

  "That seems to have done the trick," Hippolyta pronounced after a moment or two of silence. She had herself suffered from a similar malady since girlhood, and each spring, the budding of trees and flowers produced troublesome sneezing fits such as her niece had just exhibited. This was the first spell her late husband had taught her and Diana's red nose reminded her just how grateful she was.

  Hippolyta pulled up another chair and pushed her spectacles back on her nose. "Now then, tell me what brought this on?"

  Diana looked at her warily, but her mouth remained firmly closed.

  "Let me see," Hippolyta went on, sniffing delicately. "I believe I detect basil… chamomile and… elm bark, is it?"

  Diana bit her lower lip.

  "Jane has been at work, has she?" She cocked her head to one side and studied the girl.

  After a long moment, Diana nodded mutely.

  "I had hoped the vexing creature learned her lesson about protection spells this afternoon. You know, Diana," she went on, a note of sympathy in her voice, "there is nothing in this house that can harm you. True, a few spirits have joined us here—or we have joined them—but they are not malicious, I assure you. Just lost or confused. Unwilling to leave, perhaps, and sometimes mischievous. But quite harmless."

  As Hippolyta met her niece's wide eyes, she was carried back to the days when she had first come to Rookeshaven. Some of the spirits had been somewhat effusive in welcoming the new bride into their midst, sending ethereal orange blosso
ms through the air and setting up a peal of tinkling bells. Their display, however unnerving, had momentarily distracted her from the fear of her loveless, arranged marriage.

  She and her new lord had dined in state under the curious eyes of the staff in a cold, echoing hall of daunting proportions. Hippolyta smiled a little now as she recalled how her hand had trembled so violently, she could scarcely convey her goblet to her mouth. The terrors of the marriage bed which awaited her, embellished beyond all belief in whispered conversations among her friends at school, presented far more grounds for trepidation than the sprites which haunted Rookeshaven.

  After that first dreadful meal had ended, her lord had left her all alone in her chamber for a long while. She remembered sitting rigidly upright in the bed, dressed in a sepulchral nightrail, her nightcap tied securely on, waiting and waiting. When at last the door opened and he joined her…

  "Here be hot water and all, my lady." Sadie's entrance brought Hippolyta whirling back to the present. Diana still huddled before the fire, observing her narrowly through thick lashes.

  "Set it here before the fire and then you may go to bed, Sadie."

  When the maid had left, Hippolyta fetched an intricately carved tea chest and set it on the table. She swung the doors open, revealing several small drawers fitted with brass pulls. Hippolyta stood a moment in thought before choosing a mixture.

  "I believe we could both do with a good night's sleep, Diana, for we have each had a most arduous day. Let me see… chamomile blossoms, certainly. Some spearmint leaves. Tilia flowers…" Hippolyta opened the drawers as she named the herbs, carefully measured them out with a small silver scoop, and dropped them into a humble earthenware pot. "Hawthorne berries," she continued, "and a few rosebuds, I think, to sweeten our dreams."

  Carefully, she steadied the kettle and poured the steaming water into the pot. Soon the room was filled with a soothing fragrance. "We must allow it to steep for just a bit. Now then, Diana, you must tell me how Jane's latest silliness came about. I collect you were composed enough when you went up to bed?"

  Diana nodded fractionally. Her aunt's gaze continued, unwavering. Diana bit her lower lip, wondering how best to proceed. Her aunt seemed the soul of concern just now. She did not, in her heart, believe very much of what Jane told her, but she was far from home, and things were decidedly strange here. Although she was grateful that her sneezes had subsided, her apprehension did not abate quite so easily. If, in addition to benevolent powers, her aunt possessed dreadful ones as well, it was best they were focused on someone other than herself, Diana decided at last.

  "It was Jane, just as you say, Aunt," she concurred. "I told her again and again to leave off her foolish ways, but still she would creep about after I had snuffed my candle and toss great handfuls of witch powder—for so she calls it—on the grate."

  "After you had sent her to bed!" Hippolyta exclaimed.

  Diana hesitated. She did not like to admit that she had at the last moment become fainthearted and insisted the servant share her chamber. Luckily, her aunt already thought so badly of the woman that she did not wait for a response.

  "Silly creature! I hope she will not smoke poor Bertie out as well."

  "I do not think so," Diana told her. "I believe she is afraid to walk the halls at night."

  "Not so brave as you?"

  Diana had the grace not to reply. She had been forced by her coughing and sneezing to flee her rooms, but nothing was equal to her alarm when she found she had mistaken her direction. Her aunt's door was certainly the last place she might have sought sanctuary.

  Hippolyta poured out their tea at last, and Diana was careful to wait until her aunt had drunk from her own cup without evidence of any ill effect before proceeding. The slightly floral fragrance was quite soothing and soon she sipped away contentedly, listening to Hippolyta relate some of the less sensational history of the house.

  "I shall accompany you to your chamber," her aunt told her at last, "and see that the windows are open. But first, shall I read your leaves?"

  "Oh, what fun!" Diana exclaimed with sudden interest. "Caroline Guidham at school used to read our cups, but she only saw that Madame Claude would set up a scold over my copy book and there was nothing wonderful in that. Do look and tell me something singular!"

  Hippolyta had to smile at this exuberance. How long ago it seemed since she had been young. She took Diana's proffered cup and drained the last few drops carefully into the saucer. Then, she turned it this way and that, pondering its depths.

  "Come sit beside me here," she said finally, patting the cushion next to her, "and I shall explain what the symbols mean. First, there is a daisy. See the petals and the stem? There is love and happiness ahead."

  Diana nodded intently. "How far ahead?"

  Hippolyta considered the cup for a moment. "You see where it sits? Not so near the rim as it might be, so it is not immediate; it is not so close to the bottom, though, that you need fear. Let me see… five petals. I should think five months."

  "Oh! But that is a monstrous long time! Could it not be five weeks or five days instead?"

  Hippolyta raised her eyebrows a fraction. "I see you have a talent for interpretation. You must also know it might be five years as well! Ah, there is also a fan!" She went on, turning the cup so Diana might see. "Well, that is a clear enough warning, is it not? You must be very careful not to appear too flirtatious—it could lead to an indiscretion."

  Hippolyta continued to turn the cup.

  "What is this, Aunt Polly?" Diana asked, pointing at another configuration. "An hourglass?"

  A shiver of dread raced through Hippolyta. An hourglass! How had she missed that? Danger, to be sure—but from where?

  "An hourglass must surely mean it is time for bed," Hippolyta dissembled. "Come along now. You have had a very long day."

  Diana arose reluctantly. "Do you suppose you could teach me to read the leaves, Aunt Polly?"

  "Tasseomancy? Perhaps." Not very soon, Hippolyta hoped. It would not do for one of tender years to understand all the symbols in her cup! "There are so many interesting studies, though, you might wish to wait before choosing a specialty."

  Hippolyta picked up a branch of candles and led the way down the long silent corridor to the opposite wing. Outside Diana's chamber, they stopped for a moment. Tentatively, Hippolyta placed a light kiss on her niece's forehead.

  "Aunt Polly…"

  "Yes, Diana?"

  "Is it true you are… a witch?"

  Hippolyta hesitated. "So some would term me, but I believe that would misrepresent what I do. What is important, Diana, is intentions, not titles. I merely try to discover the hidden wisdom in the world about us and use it for good. Other people seek the same knowledge and use it for evil."

  Diana nodded slowly, then dimpled mischievously. "And how might one term Jane's mission?"

  "Oh, dear!" Hippolyta exclaimed with a laugh. "I had not thought of it, I must say, but I suppose there are those who take the wisdom of the ages and translate it all to a great muddle!"

  Hippolyta saw Diana well tucked in and the windows opened wide before returning to her own chamber. There, she made herself comfortable before the fire. She reached for her own teacup, drained the last few drops carefully into he saucer, and examined the patterns in the leaves. Not mother chair! She groaned wearily. Who else was on the way?

  Six

  When Julian St. Ives made his way into the library the next morning, he found it apparently deserted. It was a mysterious room, the dimensions of which never failed to befuddle him. Every other room of the house seemed to conform to the laws of physical science, but not the library. From outside the door it was impossible to guess that one was about to step into a space which rivaled Westminster Abbey. He had one day made his way around Rookeshaven's perimeter, expecting to discover signs of the enormous room jutting out from the Hall's regular lines. Not a sign of it was to be found.

  Lined to its high vaulted ceiling with dark sh
elves and locked cupboards, the library boasted a system of wheeled ladders, three tiers high, from which one might have access to the enormous collection. Each range of shelves was watched over by the marble bust of an ancient deity so that on entering, one was met with the stony stares of a divine audience. From on high, Juno, Jupiter, Mercury, and their cronies kept watch over huge oaken tables piled high with books, illuminated manuscripts, and rolled parchment scrolls.

  St. Ives stood for a moment in the doorway, frowning. Lady Polly was generally to be found here in the mornings, her pretty nose buried deep in a book. Perhaps she was in the laboratory, though. If that were the case, he thought gloomily, it would be a difficult task indeed to gain her attention, and he had promised to lay Sir Godfrey's difficulties before her. He was about to continue his search elsewhere when he recognized her low tones coming from just above his head.

  "Hourglass!" she could be heard to exclaim wretchedly. "It bodes even worse than I imagined. I fear we shall be all to pieces."

  Looking up over his left shoulder, St. Ives was surprised to discover a pair of little kid slippers and exceedingly lovely ankles apparently suspended in thin air. Levitation?

  His gaze followed the provocative line upward from stocking to hem, and he immediately spied the elusive Lady Polly perched high upon a ladder. Her expression was anxious, however, as she perused a dusty volume of enormous proportions balanced somewhat precariously on her knees. He swallowed hard. What teasing fate, he wondered, amused itself by presenting him with such tantalizing glimpses of his inattentive lady love?

  "Good morning, Lady Polly," he called up to her.

  Hippolyta started as the sound of his voice broke into her meditations; immediately the volume slipped from her knees and landed with a resounding crash just at St. Ives's feet.

  "Oh, dear!" she cried out. "St. Ives! Gracious, I might have killed you! Are you all right?"

  "Well enough, my lady," he replied, casting his eyes up in an understandably wary manner. "The toes of my Hessians have escaped damage and that, after all, must be what signifies. Might I request a private word with you? Here, let me help you descend."