A Midsummer's Magic

by Mary Chase Comstock

  "Polly!" he exclaimed, taking her hands in his. "Do you mean to say… ?"

  "I do not know what I mean to say," she replied, looking down. She wanted so very much for things to be comfortable between them, but still, her mind overruled her heart and counseled flight. "I have not had time to think. These romantical notions are exceedingly vexing. You must not distract me further, St. Ives! I vow I cannot keep my mind on anything. Here it is, almost Midsummer's Eve, and everything is at sixes and sevens! What with evil intruders, headstrong girls, foolish family retainers…"

  "Polly!"

  "Oh, very well, St. Ives!" She rewarded him with a hasty kiss before going on, "To say nothing of Curses on Mimmses and missing nephews!"

  St. Ives dug his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown and frowned. "I confess, I had quite forgot about poor little Bertie," he muttered abashedly. "You are quite right, I suppose, but dash it, Polly! I do not know from one minute to the next whether you return my regard or have taken me in disgust. What is more, you have not given me the least opportunity to declare myself. I have been on the brink of it so long… I see, however, I still must wait. I give you fair warning, though: When all of this strange business is tidied up, I intend to devote myself to you most assiduously. I want you to become quite comfortable with being kissed—by me, that is."

  "Forgive me, St. Ives. I know I must be quite difficult. I hope," she continued, blushing slightly, "I shall prove an apt pupil."

  "I have not the least doubt of it, Polly," he said. He made as if to take her into his arms once more, but stopped himself at her admonishing expression. Instead, he delivered one chaste kiss to her forehead.

  She smiled up at him. "To business, then?"

  "Very well," St. Ives returned her smile ruefully. "To business. Show me what it is to be a wizard."

  "I suppose I had best discover Bertie's whereabouts first, if only to keep Jane from wailing about me when I have so much to do. It will be a fairly difficult process, or I am very much mistaken. I do wish the child had chosen a more appropriate time to be troublesome."

  "Such is the nature of small boys. We shall go along much better, though, if we can be sure he is safe at the very least."

  "What a wonderful idea! I cannot think why I had not thought of it before!"

  He looked at her blankly. "I am afraid you have lost me, Polly."

  "Well, it is just that I can ascertain his well-being quite easily without actually going to the trouble of locating him."

  "How very convenient!"

  "Indeed—for while I do not wish the lad harm, I certainly do not wish him underfoot. If he is safe and entertaining himself, so much the better. Let me see. I shall need my crystal—it is about here somewhere. You will have to procure your own eventually, St. Ives, but for the present…"

  "So you see me taking up wizardry as a profession, then?"

  "The opposite rather—it will take you up. Or so I am given to understand. Ah! Here it is! Now, if you will hold the crystal, I believe we shall give you your first try at magic. I shall place my fingers on it and concentrate on Bertie. You tell me what you see."

  St. Ives swallowed the protest that automatically rose to his lips and peered into the depths of the crystal, hoping he would see something besides his own reflection. He was not nearly as convinced as Lady Polly that he could claim any magical talents, but still, he did not wish to disappoint her. It seemed unlikely in the extreme that he should have had no clue of it. Just then the glass before him cleared and he could see… Now, why on earth should he see something like that?

  "What is it, St. Ives?" she whispered.

  "Of all the nonsensical… I do not understand this at all."

  "I should have warned you the crystal speaks in symbols, St. Ives. Tell me what you see."

  "I am afraid this will be of no help at all, but… I seem to see a goat."

  "A goat?"

  "And a dashed troublesome one at that. It seems to be eating a cherry tart."

  Hippolyta burst out laughing. "It would seem all is well."

  "I see a goat eating a tart and you proclaim that all is well. I fear divination will take me some time to master!"

  "It is quite simple, really, although I have the advantage of you, for I am aware that Bertie's birth sign is Capricornus."

  "Ah, the goat," he said, nodding.

  "Exactly. And by your description it seems quite a healthy goat."

  "I should say! Jove! There goes another tart."

  "It is just as I imagined. Bertie is up to some mischief or other, but I think we can forget about him for the present. There are more pressing matters."

  "Before you go on, there is something troubling me," he said, setting the crystal down with more respect than he had taken it up. "If this Lothian should be as dangerous as you suspect, Polly, would it not be disastrous if our troublesome Bertie should make a target of him or if Diana continues her flirtation?"

  Hippolyta sighed ruefully. "You are quite right, St. Ives. How beastly you must think me to forget about such things. I am certain such behavior would prompt devastating consequences, for the poor Honorables ventured but to sing and we have seen the sorry result of that evening's entertainment!"

  "Exactly, and if Bertie were to take it into his head to sabotage his lordship's bed with twigs and thistles, say…"

  "I might very well find myself with a toad for a nephew," Hippolyta concluded. "I should not like for his mother to take him in disgust when he returns home—she might take it into her head to send him back to me! Let me think a moment. Charm bags would be best, but we would have to take the time to find Bertie so that he could wear one. And, Diana—I do not believe she trusts me well enough to believe my good intent. The look she gave me when I sent her off to bed tonight nearly undid me! It may not be quite so effective, but if I can find some amber about, perhaps I can contrive something."

  "Amber?"

  "It is quite a potent protection against evil," Hippolyta told him, pulling open several drawers and sorting through their diverse contents. Brass censers, exotic feathers, clay figures were shuffled about until at last she came upon a jar of various crystalline stones and poured them out onto the table.

  From among the variegated pile of blue, green, and violet, she selected two stones the color of strong tea and set them aside. Taking up a quill pen, she wrote out Bertie and Diana's full names on a piece of vellum. Then she set the amber stones on them.

  "There!" she exclaimed with satisfaction. "That should keep harm at bay—for the present."

  Thirteen

  At the very moment her aunt had completed the charm at the other end of the house, Diana felt as if she had suddenly been shaken awake. Lothian was still towering over her, still spinning the fob, but now she discovered she had not the least desire to touch it. All she wanted was to get away. She took a deep breath and swiftly ducked under his arm, hoisted the skirt of her nightrail and raced across the library. She glanced back over her shoulder only once to discover that she had left behind an exceedingly astonished Lord Lothian.

  She had also left behind her candle. Her first dash carried her out onto the cool marble floors of the Great Hall and now she seemed swallowed up by its chilly silence and deep shadows.

  Which way to go? Tears of panic pricked at her eyes. Unused to the sudden darkness, she could not clearly make out a path to the staircase. She knew it lay ahead somewhere, but the likelihood of blundering into one of the many suits of armor standing sentry (and thereby awakening the household) held her back.

  She stood hesitating, unsure which direction promised safety, her heart thumping wildly. All at once, she felt a hand clapped firmly over her mouth. Terrified, she lashed out with her arms.

  "Stop struggling, you little fool!" came a furious whisper from between clenched teeth. An arm wrapped forcefully around her waist and she felt herself half dragged, half carried away from the Great Hall and down an even darker corridor. After a few moments, her captor came to a stop a
nd pushed a door open. Then she was flung without the least ceremony onto a chair.

  "Half a moment," a familiar voice muttered, "and I shall have a light for us."

  "Edward!" she cried indignantly.

  "Keep your voice down, for pity's sake!" he complained. "Do you want to rouse the entire house?"

  Diana's mouth shut with a snap. She folded her arms and waited silently, caught between anger at being treated like a sack of turnips and relief at having been abducted by no more sinister a personage than her stepcousin. Not, of course, that she meant to thank him for his interference. It was just one more example of his high-handedness and ill breeding.

  "What, may I ask," she hissed when he had kindled his lamp, "have you to say for yourself?"

  "I might well ask the same of you," he snapped, his eyes flashing angrily at her. "How do you suppose it looks for a young lady to be found—dressed thus, I might add— well past midnight and unchaperoned with that… that Lothario!"

  "As if it were any of your business!" she fumed, her voice shaking perilously. "What did you think you were doing, lurking about in the darkness and scaring the life out of me?"

  "You should be thankful it was I!" he returned indignantly. "Anyone else might have called down the house, and a fine mess you would have been in then—unless, of course, you fancy the idea of being forced to marry a man old enough to be your father, and a damned loose fish at that, it seems."

  Diana suppressed a shudder. She had not considered that possibility, and yet how close she had come! Suddenly she remembered Aunt Polly's reading of her tea leaves. She had seen the shape of a fan and warned Diana against flirtations. How appropriate that warning had been, she realized with an eerie shiver. Even now she could see Lothian's burning face rising up in her memory, his eyes glowing with a strange inner fire.

  "Besides," Edward went on, "you are not the only one who would have suffered. I have not the least desire to see my stepmother disgraced by your conduct."

  "Enough, Edward!" Diana cried wretchedly. "Do you not think I have been sufficiently terrified this evening without being bullied as well." With that she put her face in her hands and succumbed to the tears which had been threatening for the last half hour.

  "Oh, Diana!" Edward's manner became immediately remorseful. He patted her tentatively on her trembling shoulders. "What a villain you must think me, and so I am. Please forgive me. I know you did not mean anything by it. It is just that, when I saw you there—with him—I lost all reason."

  "I do not like to say it of your guest, Edward, but he is a very bad man." She sniffled noisily and wiped at her streaming eyes. "Vile and beastly and wicked and… presumptuous!"

  Edward's face hardened. "If he has dared to touch you," he whispered dangerously, "I shall make him exceedingly sorry."

  "There is no need for that," she said quickly, placing a hand on his arm. "He frightened me, but nothing more. All I want is to go upstairs to bed now—only I fear I shall not sleep a wink."

  "I have the cure for that," he smiled, tucking her hand under his arm. "Shall we seek out the kitchen and see what good Mrs. Bannock has in the larder? It would be quite like old times. Do you think you could manage to eat a cherry tart or two? I happen to know that Mrs. Bannock put up a tray of them this afternoon."

  "I suppose I could, perhaps," she answered plaintively, fluttering her pretty eyelashes up at him, "although you must know that young ladies are not supposed to have appetites."

  "What rubbish! Shall I tell you a secret?" he whispered, his eyes shining with mischief. "Every evening before dinner, Mrs. Bannock sends a huge tray up to the Honorables and they eat like horses then so they can nibble daintily later."

  "Truly?" Diana exclaimed, much heartened by this revelation.

  "Yes, at least two or three chops each and all the trimmings. They think they are so sly, but I confess, I can scarce keep myself from laughing aloud when I hear them exclaim they cannot eat another morsel. I should think they could not!"

  "Well," she smiled at him, "perhaps I shall be able to eat a small tart in good conscience!"

  "That's the spirit, my girl!" He picked up his light, but paused for a moment before leading the way to the kitchen. "There is something else I must tell you, Diana. That is to say…"

  She looked at him expectantly.

  "I want to apologize for… for kissing you earlier. That is," he went on quickly, his cheeks flushing furiously, "I am not actually sorry. I liked kissing you immensely, if you must know the truth. Only I know I should not have done so. If you had not become so dashed pretty, Diana, I would never have thought of it. A fellow cannot always be expected to rein himself in, you know."

  "Why, Edward," she faltered, quite unable to meet his eye. "I do not know quite what to say."

  "Then say nothing." He placed his hand hesitantly on her arm. "Only say you do not hate me."

  "Why, Edward," she said sweetly, "I stopped hating you a good ten minutes ago!"

  For the first several hours of his adventure, Bertie had quite liked being invisible. It had been easy, too, for the spell book he had found showed him quite clearly what to do to effect this remarkable change. He had made himself nearly—but not quite—sick on tarts and sweetmeats, plagued the servants by hiding feather dusters and disordering previously tidied rooms, eavesdropped on conversations, "haunted" Jane throughout the day, and witnessed the Honorables' astonishing performance before the new visitor. Diana's being sent to bed early while he roamed freely was an unlooked-for treat. At last, his head abuzz with ideas for the morrow, he had dropped off to sleep on a curtained window seat in the library.

  His rest was not to be uninterrupted, however, for he awakened to the sound of voices just as the clock tolled midnight. He rubbed his eyes slowly and peeped through the curtains. How interesting! There stood Diana who had clearly sneaked out of bed and that dashing Lord Lothian who had arrived earlier in the evening. He crawled out of the window seat, stretched for a moment, and walked right up to them without the least fear of discovery.

  What the pair were talking about he could not clearly say, for almost immediately he spotted his spell book on the other side of the chair. Now that was odd. He could have sworn he had left it on the table. A servant might have placed it back on a shelf, but he doubted anyone would have stashed it behind a piece of furniture unless… unless they were trying to hide it!

  He stooped down to pick it up and noticed it was open to a page which showed courting couples walking arm in arm, whispering, stealing kisses. He almost snorted in disgust, but caught himself just in time. It looked like the very sort of illustration Diana might sigh over.

  Diana! Maybe that was it, he decided. He peered at the page once more and saw glowing letters begin to form: Spelle for Luve, he read slowly. So Diana hoped to catch herself a beau, did she? He thought for a moment. She might well find one, he decided with a grin, but perhaps not the one she had in mind.

  St. Ives and Hippolyta continued their work throughout the night. Once Hippolyta had completed her improvised spell for Diana's and Bertie's safety, they turned to the remaining scrolls in hopes of finding more clues to Lothian's possible intentions. Only one other revealed the mirror script when held up to moonlight, and its message was highly enigmatic.

  "Minerva: twelve tea," St. Ives read. "I hope you have a notion of what that might mean, Polly, for I am quite at sea."

  Hippolyta shook her head and frowned. "Who might this Minerva be, I wonder?"

  "What was the name of Trevalyen's first wife?"

  "Augusta. No hints there, I am afraid. Minerva: twelve tea," she repeated. "It sounds more like instructions to the kitchen than a message of dire import. What can he have meant by it?"

  "Let's try to be methodical, shall we? What do the words suggest?"

  Hippolyta knit her brow. "I do not believe I have ever encountered a 'Minerva' outside of literature."

  St. Ives sighed resignedly, "Then that is where we must begin."

  "The first t
hat comes immediately to mind," Hippolyta told him with a shrug, "is a heroine named Minerva in a little novel I was fond of as a girl, but I cannot think how that might help us."

  "Do not dismiss it yet," he cautioned. "Go on. What other associations does the name bring to mind?"

  "The obvious, I suppose—Minerva of mythological fame."

  St. Ives nodded. "The Roman equivalent of Athena, was she not?"

  "Yes. The goddess of wisdom."

  "Hence, a wise woman?" St. Ives suggested. "Might that be it?"

  "I suppose it might, but I cannot see why Trevalyen would have written that. I do not like to boast, but the only wise woman in this district—if we use the traditional definition of a woman skilled in herb lore—is myself. I believe Trevalyen would have found some more easily identifiable appellation had he intended me. It must be something else."

  "Perhaps we had best address ourselves to the rest of the message. Twelve tea. That is cryptic enough. What do you make of it?"

  "Not a thing, I am afraid," she sighed wearily. "I cannot help but think the clue is meant to be taken as a whole. Minerva: twelve tea,"

  "I bow to your intuition. Do you think it might be part of some established code?"

  "I suppose it could," she allowed. "It does not seem familiar, but I did not study them all. There are a number of books in the library on the subject."

  "Give me directions to them and I shall carry them up. Perhaps it is best if you and I are not seen wandering about the halls in our night dress together."

  "It is good of you to attend to such details, St. Ives," she told him with a smile. "You have clearly learned I am not to be trusted when my mind is otherwise occupied. I do not think any of our guests would remark on it, but perhaps it is best I stay here and see what else I can puzzle out. The cryptography books are arranged to the left of the fireplace, on the second bank of shelves."