The Absinthe Earl

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  “Please,” he said, reaching for the teapot, “I insist that you not wait.”

  I watched, bemused, as he filled my cup. I’d never been served tea by a man—at least, not outside a restaurant or café. And I had certainly never been served tea by an earl.

  “Blast!” he swore softly, hesitating with the teapot held aloft. “I’ve left you no room for milk. I shouldn’t assume everyone takes tea as I do.” He replaced the pot on the table. “Now you’ll think I’ve done it on purpose, to have your cup.”

  I smiled. “In fact, my lord, you’ve discovered something else we have in common. You’ll have to find other pretense for depriving me.”

  Lord Meath laughed at this and slid the cup and saucer my direction. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Q.”

  Mrs. Maguire appeared at exactly that moment, bearing a tray with another pot and slice of cake. She gave a woeful groan as she approached. “Begging your pardon, Your—Mr. Donoghue. Let me do that for you.”

  “Not at all, madam,” he replied. “I was only urging your lodger not to let her tea get cold on my account.”

  Then Mrs. Maguire’s gaze did flit to my face. She placed another teacup on the table and filled it for her new guest. “I’ve brought you a slice of Cook’s Christmas cake, sir. I’ve never tasted better. Can I bring Your Lordsh—you—anything else? Miss Quicksilver takes a light afternoon tea, but perhaps you’d like a bit of cottage pie? Or a drop of sherry to warm your insides?”

  “Thank you, no,” replied the earl kindly. “Tea is just what I want right now.”

  Mrs. Maguire nodded. “Then I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Donoghue. Ring the bell if you change your mind.”

  As Mrs. Maguire hurried away with her tray, I said quietly, “I don’t think you’ve fooled her about who you are.”

  “You may be right about that.” Smiling wryly, he lifted his cup and sipped the strong Irish brew.

  “You were saying about traveling arrangements, my lord?”

  He nodded. “Can you be ready to go tomorrow afternoon?”

  My hand slipped on the handle of my cup, and it clinked against the saucer and sloshed tea onto Mrs. Maguire’s table.

  Lord Meath was quick with the tea towel and wiped up the drops. “Forgive me.” He laughed. “Perhaps I seem overeager. It’s just that tomorrow is the winter solstice, and as I understand that the day has particular pagan significance, I thought it might be a good day for our visit.”

  “Yes, of course,” I replied, cheeks burning. “How considerate of you.”

  “Unfortunately, the Drogheda tramway did not have seats available until afternoon,” he explained, “so we shall arrive at Newgrange just an hour or so before sunset. But I’ve taken rooms for us in Drogheda, and we’ll be able to return easily to the site the next morning.”

  I was impressed by his attentiveness to scholarly details. Also, accustomed to relying on myself, I was unused to being so well taken care of. “Thank you, my lord,” I said earnestly.

  To all appearances, Lord Meath was almost as eager as I was. Frankly, it all seemed too good to be true, and for all my scholarly leanings, I confess to a superstitious vein running through my character.

  It’s only sensible to be wary. It was time to bring the subject around to a topic that would allow me to continue my observation of his character. But how to segue? Subtlety was not my forte.

  Lord Meath, as it turned out, was prepared to save me the trouble. “Miss Q,” he began, “there is something I’d like to discuss with you before you agree to embark on this journey.”

  “I have already agreed, my lord,” I reminded him, feeling uneasy at his altered tone.

  “So you have, and true to my word, I’m prepared to reveal to you my secret.”

  The tension in the air between us had taken on a more somber quality, and to cover my uneasiness, I took a bite of Cook’s excellent cake. Unfortunately, I had no appetite, and I chewed and swallowed mechanically.

  “You asked me yesterday whether I had ever seen a fairy.”

  His eyes met mine, and I gave a small nod of encouragement.

  “I consider myself a man who looks for a rational explanation of things, and to be very honest, Miss Q, I’m not sure whether I’ve ever considered a belief in fairies to be altogether rational.”

  “You are far from alone in that sentiment, Lord Meath,” I assured him.

  “Perhaps so. But I was also honest yesterday when I said I will not disbelieve a thing I cannot disprove. Moreover, I have some personal evidence that your theory is not a frivolous one.”

  “You have seen something,” I replied, heart beating faster. But I kept my tone dispassionate.

  He nodded. “Until I met you, I considered it no more than hallucination.”

  The pain it caused him to reveal this was apparent in the downward tilt of his brow line and the furrows above.

  “Perhaps you thought you were going mad,” I offered in what I hoped was a gentle tone.

  The lines of his forehead softened minutely. “Just so.”

  “And what is it you’ve seen, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  He threaded his fingers together, folding his hands on the table before him. His skin had a duskiness to it, and the tracing of hair on his fingers was as black as the curls on his head. “What I’m about to tell you is a thing I’ve told no one else,” he replied.

  A warm, fluttering sensation rose in my breast. “I’m honored that you would place your trust in me, sir.”

  “It may seem odd, considering how little we know each other. But I have good instincts when it comes to people, and they’re telling me that you are an honest, good-hearted, and steady young woman.”

  This was high praise from anyone, but from him … I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Lord Meath. I hope you won’t think me obsequious if I say the same of you.”

  “Certainly not, and I thank you. But I have not been entirely frank with you, and I would like to remedy that now.”

  I waited for him to continue. He finished his tea, and I reached for the pot and poured him another cup. I believe, had the offer of a glass of sherry been accepted, he would now have drained the glass.

  “I take absinthe nightly—less for my own enjoyment of the spirit than for the sleep it affords me. Without it, you see, I suffer from nightwalking.”

  At first, I didn’t understand him. “Do you mean that you walk in your sleep, my lord?”

  He nodded, watching the steam rise from his teacup. “The absinthe ensures that I sleep soundly, but it also causes hallucinations. Or what, until yesterday, I had considered to be hallucinations. These visions have a green cast, like the spirit itself, and I’ve found that I can mask them by wearing green-tinted spectacles, though sometimes they will still appear in my peripheral vision, and I can’t always ignore them.”

  “That’s what happened last night, when you took ill.”

  “It is.”

  “Do they ever speak to you, my lord?”

  “They often try to get my attention in some way, whether through speech or by other means. Other times, they take no notice of me.”

  “And the one from last night? Did it try to get your attention?”

  He met my gaze again, and the intensity of his expression almost frightened me. “The one last night was most provoking.”

  I felt a prickling sensation at the nape of my neck. “May I know what species of fairy it was?”

  “Bean sí,” he replied. This literally meant “fairy woman,” but the banshee was a harbinger of death.

  “The keen,” I replied. “I’ve never heard it, but I imagine it to be most distressing. Banshees often attach themselves to noble families. Had you seen one before last night?”

  He nodded but offered no further explanation.

  “I apologize for my questions, my lord. The t
opic is of great interest to me, but I do not wish to cause you pain.”

  “You do not, Miss Q,” he replied, earnestness in his dark expression. “On the contrary, you give me some hope that I’m not going mad. I suspect you’ve heard the rumors about my family.”

  I dropped my gaze to my cup, my composure shaken by the blunt question. “Yes, my lord. But people love to gossip.”

  “True enough. But in this case, they may have some cause. Today, I had another vision, Miss Q, and I wonder what you will make of it.”

  “Please go on, sir,” I encouraged him. “You have all my attention.”

  “You are kind.” A grateful smile touched his lips before giving way again to a pensive frown. “In going about my affairs this afternoon, I saw my cousin.”

  My eyes widened. “Do you mean Queen Isolde?”

  “I do.”

  I pressed my lips together, thinking. “Are you certain it wasn’t the queen herself? She resides in Dublin, does she not?”

  He shook his head. “This time of year, she spends in Connacht—the west of Ireland. The wild and windswept coast suits her mood during these dark, short days. She lodges with our O’Malley cousins, who holiday on Achill Island until the New Year.”

  I knew of the O’Malleys, a seafaring family of old. In the sixteenth century, Grace O’Malley, a chieftain’s daughter, had been both a sea captain and a pirate and was rumored to have been visited by Queen Elizabeth. Historical women of consequence were of particular interest at the Lovelace Academy. In fact, I now recalled a story popular with the Irish: that Elizabeth had fallen in love with an O’Malley on her visit and, months later, returned to bear and abandon an illegitimate daughter. If there was any truth to this tale, Isolde’s ancestry was a volatile blend of Spanish sailor, Irish pirate, and English royalty. Did this vision of Lord Meath’s mean we must add fairy to the mix?

  “Was it like the banshee’s visit, Lord Meath? Did she try to get your attention?”

  “Not at first. She seemed not to notice me. But I called to her, and then she …” Sighing, he ran a hand through his dark hair. “She walked right through me. And she bade me hurry.”

  “Hurry? Did you understand this request?”

  He frowned. “Not at all. I mean to say, I had a sense that she was referring to my inspection of the ruin. But I could see no sense in that. What urgency could there be? And more to the point, was this real, Miss Q, or a hallucination?”

  A connection had formed in my mind that I didn’t think had yet in his. “I don’t wish to alarm you, Lord Meath, but perhaps she was part of the banshee’s warning. If this banshee is connected to your family, might the queen be in some danger?”

  He studied me a moment, and his expression did not change. But behind his eyes, it seemed to me, he was still contending with strong emotions. Finally, he replied, “That had not occurred to me. It’s a keen bit of observation on your part.”

  “Would it not be best for you to go to her?” I asked, hiding my deep disappointment about the loss of Newgrange. But if he could help his cousin, he must.

  He considered this and replied, “It would be two days before I could reach her. The best course would be to send a telegram as soon as I leave you. We’ll make our visit to Newgrange on the morrow, and from there I’ll continue west.”

  He’d been studying his tea leaves as he spoke, so he didn’t notice the selfish relief that I was unable to conceal.

  But now he looked at me. “Perhaps, if you’ve not tired of me by then, you might consider making the journey with me. If you had to choose the region of Ireland most closely connected with the gentlefolk, the west might very well be it. And in particular, the wilds of the ancient kingdom of Connacht, where legend has it the Tuatha De Danaan first landed on Irish soil.” He smiled. “The O’Malley Christmas feast is something to behold.”

  “You’re inviting me to meet the queen?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Well, I don’t imagine you can avoid meeting her if we journey to Achill this time of year. But mostly, I’m taking an interest in your research, and I suspect that you’ll get further with your inquiries if you’re introduced by a native guide.”

  This was much to take in. So much that I sank back in my chair and continued to stare at him with my mouth hanging half open, like a child.

  “I beg you, don’t be scandalized, Miss Q,” he said in a softer tone. “Only think about whether it might suit you. And in the meantime, see how you like passing the time with me. Two days hence, you may find you’ve had quite enough of my company.”

  I rather doubted it. But even that was no excuse for what I said next. “It sounds quite wonderful, Lord Meath. And an opportunity too auspicious to pass up.”

  He gave a full and genuine laugh. “I guess it must be true that ‘faint heart never won fair maiden.’”

  I joined in his laughter but quickly became interested in my Christmas cake to prevent him from noticing my embarrassment at being referred to, even metaphorically, as a fair maiden he had won.

  He was lovely, truly. And perhaps a little mad. But I’d never felt such excitement in the presence of anyone. He seemed so alive, and it didn’t hurt that he had taken such an active interest in my research. If we worked together, mightn’t it ease his suffering? I believed that knowledge was power in cases like his. I could imagine nothing worse than believing that your own mind was slipping away from you.

  From a practical standpoint, he was correct to suggest the benefit of having a “native guide.” While many Dubliners spoke both English and Irish, English would be of limited use in the countryside, and at this point in my career, I was little more than a novice when it came to the Irish language. The Irish had remained wary of the English ever since the failed Norman conquest in the thirteenth century, and I had nothing but friendliness and my nonthreatening appearance to ease my way.

  I had expected to pass Christmas in the only boardinghouse in the Wicklow Mountains that was welcoming tourists this time of year, in the village of Glendalough. It was not far from Dublin, and there was a picturesque churchyard and lake. But the prospect of Christmas without friends was something I hadn’t allowed myself to dwell on. Now I had been invited to Christmas dinner with the queen of Ireland and her cousin, the Earl of Meath, my new Irish friend. None of my schoolmates would believe it. I could scarcely believe it myself.

  Mrs. Maguire chose that moment to bustle in and check on her guests. She entered the room purposefully noisy, so as not to appear to eavesdrop.

  “I’ll just put a brick of turf on the fire, my lord,” said she, apparently having given up pretending not to know who he was. “It’s grown dark and drafty.”

  “Allow me, Mrs. Maguire,” he replied, rising from his seat.

  A meandering, hand-wringing protest issued from the lips of good Mrs. M, and she stood smiling and blushing like a lass half her age as she watched him build up the fire.

  “Will you stay for supper, my lord?” she asked when he’d finished. “We eat simply here, but there will be plenty.”

  I couldn’t help hoping he’d say yes, but he replied, “Thank you, kind madam. I’m sure Miss Quicksilver is by now longing for a respite from my company. And I must away and let her pack her things.”

  “I do hate to see the child head out into the wilds at this time of year,” clucked the good woman. “Perhaps you might persuade her to stay, my lord? At least until Christmas. She hadn’t ought to be among strangers.”

  He would know from this that I had not fully revealed my plans to her, and my face grew warm at being caught in even this small deceit. The fact I had concealed information suggested I thought there was something to be ashamed of in accepting his offer. In truth, I was not sure there wasn’t.

  But the earl took it in stride.

  “I find that independent young ladies like Miss Quicksilver will not be dissuaded from any course
they’ve set their heart on,” he replied with a smile that fairly oozed Irish charm. “But I have faith the lady can look after herself.”

  “Well, I hope you’re right, Your Lordship; that I do.”

  Lord Meath retrieved his hat from a nearby chair. “I’ll come round at one o’clock tomorrow to help you with your things. Will that suit, Miss Q?”

  “Yes, I thank you, sir,” I replied. This drew another quick glance from our hostess.

  The earl left us, and I took my leave of Mrs. Maguire to return to my room and begin packing my things. I felt my landlady’s eyes on my back as I climbed the stairs, and I sensed she had perhaps begun to have a different sort of concern for me. But if even at this late juncture I decided to revoke my acceptance of Lord Meath’s proposal—which I couldn’t very fairly do now that he’d shared his secret with me—it wouldn’t be due to concern over my reputation. My research had ever meant more to me, though I hadn’t exactly been careless before now in my associations with men.

  I suspected that in the course of our journey, we’d draw gazes less filled with kindly concern than Mrs. Maguire’s, but I was used to strangers’ stares.

  Edward

  I had intended to tell Miss Quicksilver the whole truth about the banshee, but when the moment came, I found myself unequal to the task. I could not bear the thought that she might revoke her acceptance of my offer, deem me the danger to her that I very well might be, and send me away. Perhaps she would even leave Ireland, and then I’d never know whether the banshee’s prophecy had been fulfilled. I didn’t think I could live with that.

  So instead, I’d gotten myself in deeper. Thus far, I had at least managed to speak the truth, with only a few details withheld. I did, in fact, intend to telegraph my cousin, though only to alert her I was traveling to County Mayo and bringing a guest. But concealment sooner or later will require the service of lies, and I doubted I would avoid it in the end.

  Most disturbing was that I didn’t feel very much sorry for any of it. I only believed I should be. I wanted to keep the young lady close, which was quite against my character. Since I’d grown old enough to care for myself, I’d never tolerated anyone’s company for very long. I doubted anyone could have long tolerated mine. The nightwalking had started around the time I turned sixteen, and along with it my character had taken a turn toward the morose. A duke’s daughter had once sought my affections, and I broke the poor thing’s heart. She’d been a lovely English rose, all kindness, sweet blushes, and soft manners. Altogether too delicate a creature to endure a lifetime bound to the mad Earl of Meath. My duty to my father required me someday to produce an heir, but I couldn’t even consider such a thing until I could make my bed a safe place for the fairer sex. Perhaps Miss Quicksilver could help me with that. Perhaps that was why I felt so few qualms about endangering her so recklessly.