The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “What an odd criteria, Alita Stanton. I hadn’t considered the matter, but I suppose I have enough wit for the both of us.”

  “And what are Mr. Fairbanks’s interests? If he doesn’t like museums, balloon rides, theatre, and concerts—if he doesn’t appear animated when you speak of such things—I wouldn’t even consider him as a prospective beau.”

  “Museums?” Kristine stared at her friend in obvious disbelief.

  “You know, Krissy, if a gentleman can’t show interest in pleasing you at the outset of the acquaintance, then how devoted to you will he be in twenty years, when he has fewer incentives?” Her friend might appear skeptical, but Alita knew her words had left an impression of the gentleman in question, as well as imparting a simple means of evaluating prospective suitors.

  “Who else shall be at the party? I mean, which girls?” Alita asked.

  “And why might this be of interest to you, Miss Stanton?” Kristine inquired, casting a sly glance.

  “One desires to anticipate one’s competition.” A burst of giggles ensued.

  “I have to invite Veronica Monroe.” Kristine’s expression became somewhat twisted. “So selfish.”

  “No, not selfish. I assure you Veronica’s heart is not unkind. I would say merely lazy.”

  “And is laziness not a fault?” Kristine insisted.

  “It’s what she likes.” Alita shrugged. “This is her lifetime to sit on a pink pillow and eat marshmallows.”

  “It’s what she likes?” Kristine burst into laughter. “Honestly, Alita, you say the most peculiar things. Have you been studying world religions again? We only have one lifetime.”

  “Oh? All the more reason to sit on a pink pillow and eat marshmallows if one can accomplish it.”

  “I never know what shall come out of your mouth.” Kristine shook her head.

  “And I never know what you shall wear. It keeps our friendship fresh.”

  Kristine’s expression was contemptuous, but she quickly steered the conversation to her favorite subject. “Let’s return to the gentlemen, dear Alita. And who is your dream beau? Now it’s your turn. Fair is fair.”

  “I haven’t met him, Krissy, or I assure you that you would know.” Alita smiled wistfully, leaning back into the bench while turning sideways to look at her friend.

  “Of all the young men we know, not one whom you could marry?”

  “No. Not one.”

  “Astonishing.”

  “That is to say…I have a picture of my future husband in my mind.”

  “A vision? Like the clairvoyants have?” Kristine ridiculed.

  “Of c–course not!” She swallowed hard. “I just know. I know exactly what he’ll be like.” In point of fact, she drew a complete blank where she most wanted to see.

  Why can I not see him? I see everything else.

  “Tell me, you foolish girl! Honestly, Alita, why does it take so long for you to say anything?”

  Because I’m afraid I’ll accidently speak the truth.

  “Alright, very well.” Alita sighed. “He’ll be tall and handsome, blond if possible, and a fabulous dancer.”

  “Oh, it’s shallow for me but good enough for you, I see,” drawled Kristine.

  “It’s my lifetime to be shallow,” Alita said.

  Giggles ensued as they leaned back into the bench, smiling at each other.

  “But seriously, Krissy, my beau will be polished, debonair, and charming. A favorite in society. He’ll be cheerful and eager to enjoy himself and others.” She shook her head as a feeling of resolve overtook her. “He won’t be serious, forlorn, or melancholy. I can’t tolerate the Lord Byron types!”

  “I rather like them. They’re so passionate.”

  “Passionately exasperating. You might say the same of Genghis Khan, who was a murderous tyrant.”

  “Ah. So no passion. What else?”

  “Nor will he be hunting or boxing-mad. Athletic, to be sure, but not his horses and swordplay to the exclusion of all else.”

  “So you wish for a scholar like your father?”

  “Oh, that is the worst! Even worse than being a sporting man.” Alita shook her head adamantly. “Smart, but not too smart. I don’t wish to have a husband who speaks incessantly on subjects of no interest to anyone—like ancient history or Latin. Some men get positively obsessed with the most boring subjects imaginable.”

  “I see. So he can’t be an athlete, scholar, or historian.”

  “Decidedly. It would ruin many a pleasant evening. He’ll be able to speak on many topics of interest in conversation—but not too many.” She raised her eyes to the heavens. “Please, please, don’t let him be a scientist or a suffragette!”

  “The list grows longer. Why would you object to the vote for women? Honestly, Alita, you are so old-fashioned. It is 1880, after all! These are very modern times we live in.”

  “Certainly I don’t object. I simply have no need of it,” she sighed. “And no wish to speak of it for hours on end.”

  “Most assuredly,” Kristine agreed. “You’ll be dancing the night away with Prince Charming in the enchanted palace. What need would you have of a voting poll at such a time as that?”

  “Precisely.” The two resumed their giggling.

  Alita Jane Celeste Lawrence Stanton was born in London, England March 19, 1864. Born to privilege, wealth, education, and beauty, Miss Alita Stanton was the Victorian cover girl in search of a titled husband. Alita identified so strongly with the society into which she was born—and desperately wished to be accepted by it—that she might have been a Victorian paper doll except for one inescapable trait: she knew what other people were feeling and thinking.

  It was her gift, and she could no more separate herself from it than she could forget her own name.

  Despite the extraordinary contributions of her exceptional parents, both of whom had stepped outside of the sphere into which they were born, Miss Alita Stanton had no wish to follow suit or to be different from anyone.

  She wanted to be inside the sphere. And she might have been, except for a light that would not be extinguished.

  Alita Stanton had the sight.

  4

  The Queen’s Ball

  The day I have been longing for since I was six years old.

  It is finally here. The day of the ball.

  After two years of preparations, Alita was presented at court to Queen Victoria in the year of our Lord Eighteen hundred and eighty-two.

  The Queen’s Ball was that evening in the State Ballroom of Buckingham Palace.

  Jittery with excitement, Alita fell back on her four-poster canopy bed, sheer wisps of lavender chiffon floating in swags above her head. The movement of the chiffon in the morning breeze tantalized her, bringing to mind couples dancing gracefully across the ballroom.

  As if she could think of anything else. Who will I dance with? What if no one asks me to dance? Will I become tongue-tied when I am introduced to dashing young men instead of the boys I played with and grew up with?

  What would she say? Could she talk and dance at the same time? Heaven forbid she should trip.

  Throwing back her silk bedding, Alita stood up and studied her reflection in the cheval oval mirror, her blonde hair pulled back from her face and flowing over her shoulders in curls.

  Her hairstyle was not at all sophisticated—but that could be fixed. Other things could not. She liked her unusually vivid green eyes, but they were definitely too big for her face. As were her lips.

  Why can’t my lips be thin like the rest of me? How she longed for the thin lips that were the style.

  She turned sideways, frowning at her own reflection. Frightfully thin. Her small bosom contributed to her lack of shape. And yet, she had begun to think she would never have breasts at all and therefore could not help but feel a slight gratitude.

  Even worse were her hips, which required padding. She pursed her lips. In this as in many things I am not my mother’s daughter. Her waist was small as
was the style, but there was little variation with the rest of her—nothing to offset her waist. She had the appearance of one who might be blown over with a feather.

  I am an evil, thankless girl. Alita knew she was among the most fortunate of young women. She also knew her complaints were born of her fears.

  I do not wish to live an eccentric spinster’s life. The source of her anxiety. Sadly, that understanding did not improve the reflection looking back at her.

  Tap-tap. Recognizing a cadence she knew to be her mother’s, Alita forgot her inner criticisms and happily ran to her bedroom door. Opening the door wide, she threw her arms around her mother.

  “You were magnificent, my dear,” Lady Elaina exclaimed as she flung herself into the room.

  Alita smiled wistfully. Whereas she blended into the background, preferring to listen and observe, her mother had the gift of bursting onto the scene in a flame.

  “Honestly, Ma-ma, I amaze myself I was able to move.” Alita blushed, recalling her presentation to the Queen.

  “You’re so thin and lithe, Alita.” Lady Elaina shook her head in wonderment. “Your gown would have weighted down an ocean barge. There was enough material in it to cover all the windows in our home with extravagance.”

  “The dress I could manage—but the headdress. Oh, Ma-ma, I believe I still have a headache…” she murmured, rubbing her head.

  “Now perhaps you will thank me for not allowing you to overdress or to wear a tight corset as so many of your friends do. Follow the fashion if you will, but simplify.”

  “One girl fainted at the presentation from her corset being too tight,” Alita acknowledged.

  “Who could miss her, poor thing. My goodness, she was perfectly slim as it was. What difference would another inch make? Why is beauty always defined as one inch smaller?” Lady Elaina rummaged through the vanity until she found what she was looking for.

  “If that were the case, then I should be the fashion,” murmured Alita.

  “Ridiculous!” Moving to seat herself on the couch, Lady Elaina handed a lavender compress to Alita, commanding her to place it on her eyelids for her headache. “It is a wonder your neck did not snap from the weight. All that was lacking was for you to balance an elephant on your shoulders.”

  “As difficult as it all was, the curtsy was the most challenging,” Alita admitted, holding the compress to the side of her head.

  “I have no doubt. The curtsy was no modest bending of the knees,” Lady Elaina shook her head. “As was required, it was a full court curtsy in which you bent your knee near to the floor.”

  Alita giggled. “I wonder I didn’t topple over! I held my knee just above the floor for interminable seconds—all the while somehow keeping my teetering headdress from tumbling forward into the Queen’s lap!”

  There was another knock on the door delivering the tea service. Lady Elaina dismissed the maid and poured tea for both of them.

  “I was trembling in trepidation that the feathers in my headdress would fly out,” Alita continued, taking a sip of tea. “Or worse, that I would fall.” She wondered herself how she had managed it all.

  She had spent months preparing and practicing. In the end, she had somehow executed her movements without mishap. She was announced, walked across the lengthy Throne Room, and curtsied to the ground before the queen. Her nose might have touched the carpet. Alita then walked backward against the long train—somehow avoiding being tangled up in the dress or in the yards of material comprising the train—and curtsied again, necessitated because one was forbidden from ever turning one’s back to the monarch.

  All the while she balanced the lopsided headdress on her head, miraculously keeping the fan and flowers she was carrying from slipping through her perspiring hands.

  “Well, the worst is over now,” pronounced Lady Elaina.

  “I must admit I expected Queen Victoria’s court would be more the thing, Ma-ma. I imagined standing before royalty in all my finery would be thrilling, riveting ... breathtaking. At the very least, I thought I would feel myself to be in the height of fashion.”

  “And certainly you were, my dear. Quite à la mode.”

  Alita shook her head. “Perhaps. But the experience was not modish—or even entertaining—to be quite honest.”

  “Queen Victoria’s court has never been smart or pleasurable. It is, at best, diverting,” stated Lady Elaina with understanding.

  “I have heard,” Alita said nonchalantly, “Since the closing of Almack’s, the place to see and be seen is in the company of Prince Edward and the Marlborough House set.”

  “That you shall never be, young lady. A very fast crowd indeed.” Lady Elaina raised her eyebrows as she sat up stiffly. “And who informed you of the Marlborough House set? Was it Kristine Tutt?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “See that you don’t.”

  “If not the Marlborough set, it is almost as prestigious to be seen at the exclusive soirées of the political hostesses. You being in the top echelon of that prestigious group, Ma-ma.”

  “That is an even faster crowd,” Lady Elaina pronounced with a sudden twinkle in her eye.

  “Your scandalous opinions are now sought after.” Alita was delighted, and somewhat astonished, that her mother was afforded the freedom to be herself, a rare privilege for a woman.

  I wish I might learn my mother’s secret. Alita had to continuously strive to make appropriate conversation, curbing both her thoughts and her tongue. She tended to say things people didn’t wish to hear. Why is it so difficult for me to stay within bounds?

  “The actions which were used to gain me censure now add to my influence.” Lady Elaina shrugged. “I find it quite disturbing that so many women of my acquaintance have difficulty forming an opinion on anything, instantly changing their words to suit the men’s opinions.”

  “They want to belong, I suppose.” Alita said softly. Desperately.

  “Unfortunately, society’s current fascination with Lady Elaina Stanton cannot finalize your initiation, Alita.” Lady Elaina’s expression was suddenly intensely serious. “All I can do is provide the required sponsorship. You must now earn your place in high society—what we used to call the ton in my day—on your own terms, if indeed you wish such a place, which I do not advise. Society is relentless, unforgiving, and requires the same price from all.”

  “And what is that price?” Alita asked eagerly.

  “One’s soul. Uniformity and assimilation.”

  Alita gently tapped her mother’s hand. “Ma-ma, you never paid that price. You have always been true to yourself.”

  “When I sought approval, I could not have it. Now that I do not wish for or need it, it is freely given.”

  “I do need that approval to fulfill my dreams.”

  “Take care you do not lose something far more important than what you gain,” Lady Elaina said softly.

  “No one must know,” Alita whispered. “No one can ever know.”

  “I know. Your father knows. Your sister knows, though she doesn’t know she knows. Your brother suspects. And we all love you. So much.” Lady Elaina took her hand. “Your mystic talent is part of who you are, Alita. It is your gift. It is not something to be discarded but embraced.”

  “You cannot be serious, Ma-ma. Have you ever thought what might happen?”

  “Currently, there is a great fascination with the psychic world.”

  “My nature threatens everything dear to me.” Alita shook her head. “It is fine for the eccentric widow or the middle classes to purport to have certain talents. But I would lose any chance I have of a respectable marriage were my abilities to be made known.”

  “Society makes all the rules, however inconsistent and illogical”—Lady Elaina nodded reluctantly—“and is completely unforgiving of the slightest deviation. And yet, one cannot always predict society’s reaction. Besides, you don’t have to name your gift to utilize it, as you well know. Be yourself, dear. You are so precious.”


  “I can be myself to a point. I hope I have not misjudged that point.” Alita stood and moved to the window where one of her favorite plants was situated, the bee orchid. Still holding her teacup, she smiled at the little flower which interspersed a note of whimsy into these weighty events shaping her future.

  Turning to her mother again, Alita asked, “But what of your presentation, Ma-ma? Surely it was as challenging?”

  “Oh, yes. In addition to the same acrobatic demands, the emotional stamina required was immense.” Lady Elaina’s expression grew stern as she set down her teacup. “You, my dear, had only to face the Queen of England. I had to stand before the far-more terrifying patronesses of Almack’s.”

  “And await their verdict?”

  “You cannot know their influence and the horror which gripped a young girl’s heart in their presence. You see, they had something to prove while the Queen of England most certainly does not. The patronesses were not above reminding one they could refuse entrance into Almack’s.”

  “And, as a consequence, entrance into London high society,” murmured Alita softly. She touched her finger to her lips, then to her little flower, before returning to sit beside her mother.

  “Precisely, my dear. In a society in which women are disenfranchised, there are those females who enjoy exercising an unnatural amount of power over others. That is why the vote is so important …” She cleared her throat and waved her hand in a circular motion. “The season. Your grandmamma, not to put too fine a point on it, was evaluated by all of the original patronesses—Lady Jersey, Lady Castlereagh, Lady Cowper, Lady Sefton, Princess Esterházy, and Princess Lieven.”

  “All of them?” Alita forgot to breathe as her eyes were glued on her mother, sitting forward on the couch.

  “In one room.” Lady Elaina smiled smugly. “Your grandmamma could have taken on another dozen.”…

  “And she only a vicar’s daughter on her first trip to London.” Alita fell back into the couch, touching her palm to her cheek in obvious amazement.

  “I, on the other hand, was unable to succeed in society.” Lady Elaina’s smile faded slightly.