"Yes," Lady Bristlethwaite concurred thoughtfully, "a potion is perhaps the best thing after all. I have found an exceedingly helpful volume—"
"We shall talk of that another time," Hippolyta cut in hastily. "Now, here are Sadie and Dorcas come with the gowns. If you are all interested in taking part, Lady Bristlethwaite and I shall help you try them and see what must be done to furbish them up."
As the maids lowered the trunk and drew back its heavy lid, a delicious fragrance of sweet herbs filled the room. With the help of Sadie and Dorcas, the young ladies divested themselves of their gowns and stepped into the filmy robes of Midsummer.
Once appareled, the Honorables stepped forward to look into the glass. They seemed quite intrigued by what they saw there, for it was immediately clear that no matron of the ton would ever approve such scandalous costumes. The gossamer fabric was light and clinging. The hems ended well above their narrow ankles. Their elegant figures showed very much to advantage indeed. Moreover, no one would take them to task for revealing their charms in this way. They were women of the world enough to recognize that what they saw in the glass before them provided a surer way to a man's heart than any spell in any dusty book.
Diana stood likewise transfixed. She was aware that she, too, looked quite charming, but, to be honest, this was something of which she was always conscious. A thrill had raced through her the moment she had stepped into the gown, though. She had an undeniable sense that something of the utmost consequence would take place when she wore it. She could not tell exactly what it was, but, as her pulse quickened, she realized that it would be something terribly momentous. And the comment Lady Bristlethwaite had let drop about love potions. She would make a point of looking into that soon enough. This was turning into a passable day after all.
When the fittings were finally done, Hippolyta was glad to be left to the solitude of her chamber. The flutterings other women evinced when the subject of love arose left her feeling quite at odds with herself. Romantic love had passed her by and she was, to be sure, sincerely grateful. Love could only be a complication in any woman's life.
Give her a comfortable, affectionate friendship any day— pay no heed to what the poets said! Her mind turned again to her wedding night when her lord had entered her chamber and explained how it would be.
When Trevalyen appeared, wearing his dressing gown, a chill of fear had run through her. Her mother had warned her in a fumbling sort of way what to expect, but by then Hippolyta already suspected the worst of it. She would never forget overhearing the painful labor of one of the servants who had got herself with child. The whole process, from the deflowering to childbirth, seemed to be accompanied by suffering and mortification.
In the flickering candlelight, Trevalyen had approached quietly and sat on the edge of her bed for a moment before taking her hand in his. When she summoned the courage to lift her eyes, she could see that he looked at her kindly.
"If you do not mind, I have some explanations to make, my dear," he had said with an apologetic smile.
She gritted her teeth and looked away. The waiting was driving her to distraction. Could he not just get on with it?
"I am afraid this will be very awkward for both of us, but it must be said. I am well aware that you entered this April and December marriage out of obedience to your parents. You do not, however, know my motives. You are sweet and charming, quite lovely in fact, but you are barely eighteen, Hippolyta. I am nearing sixty. I am not in the habit of taking young ladies barely past their girlhood into my bed."
As a sigh of profound relief escaped her lips, Trevalyen had laughed softly. "Poor child. How terrified you must have been. There was no help for it, though. I could hardly make my true intentions known to you or your parents."
At these words, Hippolyta had felt a tremor of a different sort of fear course through her once more. She had already seen that Rookeshaven was an exceedingly strange sort of place to be, but surely there was no dragon to be placated with a virginal sacrifice such as she!
Trevalyen had patted her hand and said, "There, there, my dear. I see there is nothing for it but to begin at the beginning. You may have heard something of my investigations into the occult sciences."
She nodded mutely.
"I am, in fact, a wizard," he went on. "Yes, such persons do exist, although we grow quite rare, I am afraid. I have spent much of my life accumulating such arcane knowledge as the world might one day find beneficial. I have also, to be truthful, devoted as much time to closeting away such knowledge as can do naught but harm. Do not tremble. Those volumes are locked safely away in the library—and elsewhere—to be used for scholarly purposes only."
"Now, as to our marriage, Hippolyta. The long and short of it is that my heir is not in the least interested in any of this. I had held out some hope that he would inherit some of my proclivity, but, alas, it simply is not so. He is as fine a young man as I could hope for, but he is not the person to continue my work. I have known for some time that I must look elsewhere. Now then, I have divined that I shall not live more than another five years. No, do not protest, my dear, I am quite reconciled."
"It has become quite clear, however, that I must find an appropriate apprentice to whom I may pass on my own knowledge, as well as the collection housed downstairs. That is where your role in all of this becomes important. Do you remember the night we met?"
"Of course, my lord," she allowed, by now quite fascinated. "It was at Riswell's."
"Do you also remember we walked that night in the gardens?"
"Of course. It was the Midsummer fete. The paths were lit with colored paper lanterns. It seemed to me like a faerie world."
"Perhaps you will see one day just how like they were to the Faerie demesnes."
"Truly?" she exclaimed. Her anxiety had by now entirely dissolved and she found herself absorbed by her husband's revelations.
"It can be done. You will have no way of telling, however, until it actually comes about. The folk of Faerie choose their company carefully—and you must be likewise careful if you should ever enter it. But more of that another time. Do you recall that on our walk I handed you a flower?"
She nodded.
"You could not have known, but it came not from the Riswell's flower beds, but from my laboratory here at Rookeshaven. You may not recall, but I handed it to you in the shadows. When we emerged into the light, you saw a brilliant red blossom, did you not?"
"Yes, my lord, but I have never seen its like again. Its fragrance defied description."
He smiled at her. "It came from a cutting in Faerie. It was magical, you see. Or rather, a sort of barometer of magic. When I handed it to you in the shadows, it was dry and brown. A moment later it was blooming. I knew immediately that I had found the person I sought. However, the only way to make you my apprentice was to marry you. I hope you do not mind too much."
For all her misgivings, Hippolyta was aware that she ought to have minded very much indeed, but she was so taken with the story she had just heard that she could barely concentrate. After a time, she was able to ask hesitantly, "I believe I comprehend the apprenticeship and I must own I am very much intrigued by the notion. But… what else shall it mean to be your wife?"
He patted her hand again in a fatherly way, "Not the usual, I assure you, my dear. I shall, with your permission, train you in the magic arts, but that is all. I have consulted your chart, just to be certain. I am not the one who is to claim your love. You will be something of a daughter to me, I imagine. Oh, we shall be seen together in the neighborhood from time to time and, well…"
Here he hesitated a moment. "That is, servants talk, you know, and I must occasionally be seen entering or leaving your chamber, I suppose. But that will just be for show, my dear."
"Ahem," he went on, leaving the uncomfortable subject behind, "the contents of my library and laboratory will one day be yours. I shall also charge you to train an apprentice of your own to follow after you. The terms of my will allow
you to live on at Rookeshaven after my death, even when you choose to marry again. Now, my dear, do you suppose we can be comfortable together?"
And they had been. Hippolyta held only fond memories of her late lord: his mischievous sense of humor, their cozy chats before the fire discussing some work of mystic wisdom. As time went on, he would join her in her chamber for morning chocolate and tuck himself under the counterpane to keep the chill off. There they would sit, each looking through a pair of spectacles at various texts and notebooks, for all appearances like any old married couple.
Trevalyen's prediction of his hour of death had been quite accurate. It was neither illness nor accident that carried him off, but a general waning of energies so subtle that Edward was not even called home from school until it was too late.
At the end, Trevalyen warned her briefly of the perils of overextending herself, then took her hand for the last time.
"You have been all that I could wish for, Hippolyta. I know that when the time comes, you will see your duty and discharge it faithfully. However," he continued in a faltering voice, "you must know how I have grown to love you, my dear. My one regret is that we have not been… more to one another. That you were intended for one who is to come…"
His voice had trailed off, leaving unsaid words hanging in the air. She had stayed by his side until he closed his eyes for the last time.
Hippolyta wiped away a small tear. She had loved him as she could and owed him a great deal. Because of him, she had not only become the mistress of a great deal of knowledge, but had also achieved what few women could boast of: independence of fortune, mind, and body. For the present, at any rate.
His strange allusions to her duty, to one who is to come sometimes troubled her. What would tempt a woman to surrender independence for the shackles of marriage? If an opportunity arose, she must remember to ask Lady Bristlethwaite.
In spite of Hippolyta's efforts to repress her niece's fledgling investigations into magic, Diana was well and truly captivated. She must see more of that book! Perhaps she would find one of the love potions Lady Bristlethwaite had mentioned earlier, although such a device might not be necessary after all.
It seemed to her that Mr. St. Ives had been quite particular in his attentions to her. He had, after all, smiled warmly at her this morning and even complemented her on her gown. Why, he might be as much smitten with her as she with him! How wonderful it was to be in love again so soon, with so little effort!
As soon as she had changed her costume, the girl descended once again to the library. As she peered into the shadowy vastness of the now empty room, however, her heart sank a little. She had looked forward to exchanging a few flirtatious words with Mr. St. Ives, but it was probably just as well. It would never do, she told herself sternly, for him to think her fast. Besides, it might be best to take advantage of this opportunity and pursue her studies privately at first.
As she scanned the myriad volumes before her then, Diana realized it would be no easy task to relocate the volume she had explored earlier that day. The tables had been tidied since then and she sighed as she peered up at shelf after enormous shelf. As she did so, the silence was suddenly shattered by an enormous crash.
Still somewhat skittish, Diana started nervously and clasped her hands to her heart. After a moment, she reluctantly turned her eyes in the direction from which the noise had issued. There, on the carpet, lay the volume she sought, open to the very page where she had left off that morning. Even from a distance, the words of the charm seemed burned into the page. Again, she read:
Spelle for Revenge
The names of villains havynge writte
Three times upon them shall ye spitte
Then toss the scrap onto the fyre
To build a pleyefulle vengeance pyre.
Although this circumstance was exceedingly odd and her instincts warned her against the imprudence of testing the spell's capacity, Diana experienced a sudden, overwhelming temptation to try her hand at magic. After all, Aunt Polly used magic and nobody seemed to think the worse of her for it, except Jane. Tedious creature! Besides, the spell probably did not even work beyond a certain range, she told herself, if indeed it worked at all.
She lifted the book to the nearest table. There, she spotted several sheets of vellum, a quill pen, and a pot of ink, conveniently laid out as if expressly for her. She bit her lower lip, and glanced nervously back over her shoulder. She was quite alone. With a trembling hand, then, she took up the pen.
First item, the names of villains. Well, that was certainly easy enough, she decided with a self-righteous sniff. With only a very little qualm, she scrawled out the name, Letitia Varney. Then, hesitating for only the merest of seconds, she added Richard, Lord Dumphrey with a flourish. How very satisfying this felt, she congratulated herself. Checking behind her once more, she pursed her lips. Then she puckered her lips and spit once, twice, thrice onto the sheet.
There! The next step would finish it: the fire. With faltering steps, she turned and approached the grate. A few embers from the morning's fire still glowed there; enough, she imagined, to accomplish the deed. Ought she really to carry through with it, though?
"Ah, Diana! How goes it, Coz?"
Diana immediately felt her cheeks redden as she spied Edward lounging lazily in the doorway. How dared he creep up on her like that! She snatched the sheet behind her guiltily, and eyed him with a distinct loathing.
"Now, what have you there?" he asked in a teasing voice as he approached her. His eyes sparkled mischievously. "Surely it cannot be a billet doux? Come now, my girl, let me see it!"
"Certainly not!" she cried, backing away from him. "Besides, what if it were a note from an admirer? It is nothing at all to do with you!"
Edward made a quick lunge, but Diana immediately sidestepped him, darting hurriedly to put an immense oaken library table between them.
"Aha! So it is a letter, then. I must see how this swain addresses you! Give it here!"
"I shall not, you—you beast!"
"I know well enough how it must be! 'My dearest Aphrodite!' " he extemporized.
"Gudgeon!" she spat back.
" 'Sweet Goddess!' " he went on, clasping his hands to his heart.
"Ninnyhammer!"
" 'Winsome wood nymph from whose footsteps flowers spring!' "
"Nincompoop!"
At that invective, Edward astonished her by leaping up onto the table before her, skidding across its polished surface and coming to a halt directly in front of her. She froze in openmouthed amazement for a mere second before hoisting her skirts and fleeing to the opposite side of the room.
With amazing speed, he dropped to the floor, rolled under the table, and sprang up within only a few steps of her.
"Ha!" he cried, approaching with slow menace. "You will not escape me now, hoyden!"
"Stay away!" she commanded tremulously as he advanced on her. Each retreating step brought her closer and closer to the fireplace. She was not altogether certain it was wise to burn the scrap, but even less wise, it seemed to her, was allowing it to fall into the hands of such a mischief-maker as Edward.
Truly, he had not changed a hair from the last time they had met, for all his titles and airs! She knew from bitter experience with his cruel genius that, once he read what she had written, he would persist until he discovered what the words meant; then he would invent ways to torment her beyond all human patience.
"Now I shall have it," he told her in threatening tones as he backed her within a few inches of the fire. His blue eyes glittered with unholy knavery. Clasping her suddenly by the arm, he reached around her, straining to capture the tantalizing note.
"By heavens, you will not have it!" she cried. In one last, desperate maneuver, she twisted around and cast the paper onto the grate where it was immediately consumed in a flash of blue flame.
"Now look what you have made me do—wretch!" Aglow with sheer annoyance, Diana raised her hand and slapped his face with all her might
. It felt very good. She raised her hand once more to repeat that wholly satisfying gesture, but Edward caught it fast, midswing.
"That, sweet coz," he whispered tightly, "calls for a forfeit!"
Diana braced herself. The last such forfeit, she recalled, had consisted of a sound hair-pulling. The peculiar expression which suffused Edward's features now promised a great deal worse than that.
Her heart began to race as his grip on her arms tightened. Then, amazingly, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her soundly, full on the lips.
Eight
As soon as Diana had stormed out of the library, Bertie peeked out from a curtained window seat where he had spent the morning spying. What a singular holiday he was having. Aside from Jane's seeing that he was fed and put to bed at regular intervals, no one seemed to notice his existence in the least. This treatment had suited him exactly for a while, but he was beginning by now to feel both neglected and bored. The facer Diana landed on their cousin had boded well and he had momentarily hoped there might be a mill, but it had, after all, come to nothing.
He sighed resignedly and sat back on his haunches. The grown-ups ought certainly to know where boredom led. He had been admonished often enough by his nurse and other meddlesome souls that idle hands were made for naught but mischief. Well, mischief it would be then. The scenes and conversations he had been privy to all morning—nothing but disgusting lovey-dovey talk, most of it—seemed a delightful target for his talents.
Bertie gazed about the room. He might not have access to his aunt's laboratory—that day was yet to come—but surely among all these books there must be one in which he might learn a new trick or two. The only difficulty was that the titles all seemed so mysterious, the words so long.
He knew the word he wanted was mischief, but how to even spell it? Who would help him?
A Midsummer's Magic Page 7
