The Angel of an Astronomer

by Sande, Linda Rae

  Her brother had called her Medusa on a number of occasions, but it was usually when they’d been fighting and her coiffure had come undone in a dozen different directions.

  Ben blinked and then did his damnedest to keep a straight face. “Would you like to look at her?” He waved a hand at the eyepiece he had been looking through when Angelica interrupted him.

  Angelica inhaled softly. “May I? I’ve never had the opportunity to look through this type of telescope before.”

  “Of course,” Ben replied, as he returned the chair to its upright position. “You’ve looked through a refracting scope before?” he guessed.

  Not sure what type of telescope was set up in her father’s study, she replied, “My father has one. He let me use it to look at a bird once.” She decided not to add that she had surreptitiously spied on her brother and one of his friends when they were swimming one summer. It was her first and only look at a man’s bare chest. Unimpressed, she hadn’t repeated the endeavor.

  “Here. Let me get it back into alignment,” Ben murmured as he peered through a set of opera glasses. They had been secured to the steel tube with twine.

  Ben moved a few dials. “Now, just, um...” He stepped out of the way and indicated she should sit where he had been perched.

  Angelica took his place and then gazed up at him. “Are those opera glasses?” she whispered.

  “They are,” he acknowledged. “I have a finder scope on order—a smaller version of a telescope that assists with positioning the larger scope—but until it arrives, these do in a pinch.” He leaned down so his cheek was nearly touching hers. “You’ll want to look right here,” he said as he pointed to a small lens.

  “I never thought to look at the skies with opera glasses,” she murmured, realizing she had only ever used a pair when attending the theatre.

  She leaned forward and aimed her attention where he had just been pointing.

  “Close your eye,” Ben instructed. “Ah, the other one,” he added when he saw she had closed the one that should have been looking through the lens. “Very good. Now, do you—?”

  “Oh!” Angelica let out, the breathy exclamation in perfect harmony with how he imagined she might react if they had been somewhere else. Doing something else.

  “You see her?”

  “It’s pale yellow, and a bit... blurry,” she whispered. “It is supposed to look like citrine?” She lifted her head from the lens and added, “I certainly hope so, because I really don’t want to have to wear spectacles at this point in my life—”

  “She is supposed to be like that, yes,” he reassured her, deciding he could allow a grin at hearing her concern about having to wear spectacles. They wouldn’t lessen her beauty one whit. “She’s a very cloudy planet, you see, so there’s no way to see the actual ground beneath all those clouds.” He reached over and turned another dial.

  Angelica stared at him as he made the adjustment. At some point, or perhaps several, he had raked a hand through his dark hair, and some of it stood up from his head in short spikes. His brows, dark slashes made more so in the dim light, framed eyes the color of which she couldn’t discern. She could make out his lips, though. Lips that at the moment were hiding the very finest work of the dental gods.

  When he indicated she should take another look, she did so. The planet was more centered in the eyepiece, although the image had begun to waver. “Will you be doing this often?” she asked in a whisper, just before she stood up so he could have the chair.

  Given the hour, she dared not speak in a normal voice. The domed building might not have been a Greek Orthodox church, but staring at the heavens seemed like a similar sort of worship.

  “All the clear nights, I should think,” he replied. He gave his head a shake when he saw how she seemed to slump. “I know. I realize there won’t be that many, especially during the winter months, but I shall make do with what the weather gods provide.”

  Angelica nodded her understanding, and then remembered to pull the edges of her dressing gown together again.

  “Oh, forgive me. You must be freezing,” he said, just before he doffed his coat and settled it over her shoulders.

  About to put voice to a protest—she wasn’t cold in the least—the warmth of him and his scent suddenly surrounded Angelica. She inhaled slowly before her eyes met his. “But you’ll be cold,” she whispered.

  Ben didn’t know why his guest insisted on whispering, but he found he preferred speaking in hushed tones. On a night such as this, with the clear skies overhead and the new moon just rising in the east, the domed room might have been a sanctuary, and the telescope a sort of altar.

  “I have a blanket,” he whispered, moving to the cot. He shook out the woolen square and quickly wrapped it around his shoulders before moving to sit behind the telescope. He dared a quick glance through the lens and knew the opportunity to view Venus had passed. The planet had slipped below the roof of the townhouse just beyond Worthington House.

  “May I ask as to why you have an easel?” Angelica queried, one hand lifting so a finger could trace the designs in the intricate carvings at the top of it.

  Leaning back in his chair, Ben regarded the blank paper that covered the easel. “I try to document what I see,” he explained. “But I spent too much time gazing and—”

  “And I interrupted you,” Angelica said as she rolled her eyes. “I am so sorry. I should be—”

  “I am not,” he said with a shake of his head. “Truth be told, I rather like having the company.”

  “Still, it’s late,” Angelica murmured at the same moment the air seemed to swirl and the sound of a shutting door made its way to them.

  “Ah, that will be Peters with the tea,” Ben said, just before he allowed a look of concern. “I’ll send him back to the house for another cup,” he whispered.

  Suddenly aware of her scandalous situation—she was dressed in nothing more than night clothes and no chaperone in sight—Angelica gave her head a shake. Her wide-eyed gaze went to the stairs, where the shuffle of quick feet could be heard on the stone steps. “I cannot be seen here,” she whispered in alarm.

  Ben blinked and glanced from the stairs to the cot. He waved her to it, and she quickly moved to take a seat. When she noted how her white dressing gown and night rail were stark against the dark canvas covering the cot, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped the great coat around them.

  “Ah, there you are, Peters. I thought perhaps you had forgotten about me,” Ben said as the butler topped the stairs and then placed the tea tray on the escritoire.

  “Apologies for my late arrival. I thought to add a few more biscuits and a cake in the event your guest might want a snack.” His head jerked in the direction of the cot, but his gaze didn’t waver from his master.

  “That was rather kind of you,” Ben responded, noting there were two teacups on the tray as well as a sugar-pot and a creamer.

  And he didn’t take milk or sugar in his tea.

  “You will, of course, say nothing of my guest to anyone else,” Ben added, his manner firm.

  Peters’ expression took on a look of offense. “Of course not. I hold her ladyship in high regard, my lord,” he replied as he arched a bushy eyebrow.

  “You know her?” Ben asked in a whisper.

  The butler did everything in his power not to roll his eyes. “She has been a resident of Worthington House since before my tenure began here,” he whispered.

  Ben made a mental note to ask the butler more of what he knew about her. “I’ll escort her to her home, of course—”

  “By way of the manner in which she arrived. Through the alley and the back door of Worthington House, of course,” Peters stated, his other bushy eyebrow arching up.

  The thought of both of Peters’ eyebrows arching up at the same time had Ben thinking there would be enough hair there to cover the bald man’s pate. “Noted,” he replied. “You’re dismissed for the day, then. Given the hour, I shouldn’t expect you back
at your post until well after ten.”

  Frowning, as if the suggestion he wouldn’t be at his post bright and early in the morning was somehow an affront to his honor, Peters gave a shake of his head. “Very good, my lord. Do have a good night.”

  With that, Peters made his way back down the stairs, his steps fading to nothing before a slight breeze indicated the door had been opened and closed.

  Well. That wasn’t so bad, Ben thought as he regarded the tea tray and then turned his attention toward the cot. “Would you like some tea?” he whispered hoarsely. He gave a start when Angelica appeared at his elbow.

  “How did Peters know I was here?” she asked in a whisper.

  Ben considered the query for a moment before he said, “I’ve of a mind to tell you he simply knew because he is a butler and it’s his business to know, but I rather imagine it’s because he saw you enter the observatory when he was about to deliver the tea tray the first time.”

  Angelica allowed a long sigh. “Oh, dear.”

  “He assured me he won’t tell a soul,” he murmured. “Would you... do the honors?” he asked as he indicated the tea tray.

  Angelica considered the circumstances. “Of course. It’s the least I can do,” she replied. She moved to the desk. “I take it you like sugar and milk in your tea?”

  “No. Just tea,” Ben replied as he regarded the dome and it’s orientation. “Would you like to look at the moon?”

  Angelica inhaled. “Now?” she asked as her eyes widened. She poured the tea, adding milk and sugar to her own.

  Ben allowed a grin. “I just have to move the dome around so the opening is to the east.” Both of his hands gripped a rod that protruded from one of the seams of the dome. He gave a push and leaned forward, obviously straining in his attempt to get the dome in motion. A slight groan sounded before the dome began to slowly rotate.

  In the distance, a dog barked.

  “Muffin McDuff Paddlepaws,” Angelica said in surprise as she watched the dome move, its opening revealing different portions of the sky as it rotated.

  “Muffin McDuff Paddlepaws?” Ben repeated, his breaths somewhat labored. “Is that some sort of... ladylike curse?” he queried.

  Angelica had to suppress the urge to giggle. She had certainly said it enough when scolding Muffin. Frequently. “Our dog. He never barks, but he did during dinner this evening. And he just barked again.”

  When the sliver of moon appeared in the dome’s opening, Ben ceased pushing and stood back to be sure the telescope and the moon were in alignment with the opening. “He probably took exception to the sound of the dome moving,” he guessed. “I thought it would rotate more easily than this, but it is heavy, and it seems to stick a bit.”

  Angelica stood on tiptoe and studied the seam where the dome’s bottom edge rested on the brick base. The dome seemed to ride inside a continuous metal guide on small wheels, much like the wheels of a train on its tracks. “Have you oiled the wheels?” she asked.

  “They have been greased,” Ben replied, impressed she would know of such things.

  “Perhaps beeswax would work. Just inside the track, I mean.”

  Ben blinked. “Beeswax?” he repeated.

  Color suffused Angelica’s face. “I stick my sewing needles into it when they don’t slide through fabric,” she replied before pointing to the track. “But I also think the wheels are rubbing against the inside of these guides,” she added, realizing he couldn’t see them since his attention was on the opposite side of the dome. “Because of the curve.”

  He moved to join her, his gaze on where she pointed. “Why, I think you’re right. The fit here is a bit tight,” he agreed, moving to stand behind her so he could peer over her shoulder. “I’ll have the man who constructed this take a look,” he added, suddenly aware of how close he was standing to her. He could smell the lemon scent of her shampoo and the remnants of her floral perfume despite the odor of wool and his cologne on the greatcoat.

  For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to have her visit the observatory every night he was working. Given the contents of the missive he had received from her father, he knew he already had the man’s permission to spend time in her company.

  He quickly shook off the thought. There was work to do, and she was merely a distraction. She had already cost him an opportunity to record what he had seen of Venus.

  Ben moved back to the telescope.

  “How long have you been doing this?” Angelica asked as she watched him change the orientation of the telescope as well as the direction it pointed.

  “Just tonight is all.” He fiddled with a couple of knobs before he glanced up. “I mean to say, this is the first night with this particular telescope in place. I was using a smaller one for a few nights while I waited for this one to arrive.” He pointed to a shadowed area where a long tube stood mounted on a tripod, and Angelica recognized a telescope similar to the one her father had in his study.

  “Where did this one come from?”

  “It was assembled up in northern Yorkshire and arrived on the train earlier today,” he replied, tempted to add that she had been on the same train.

  Angelica boggled. “You managed to get this one set up just... just today?”

  Grinning at the surprise in her voice, he said, “I was prepared for it. I just had to mount the telescope once I finished unpacking it from its crate.”

  “It must have been awfully heavy,” she remarked. She handed him a cup of tea.

  “It’s mostly hollow,” he countered, “but the size of its crate made for a tricky trip up the stairs for my footmen.”

  Angelica’s attention went to the stairs. Although they had been relatively easy to climb, she wouldn’t have wanted to be carrying anything but her skirts. When she turned back, she watched as he took a long drink from his cup and then handed the teacup back to her.

  Angelica’s eyes widened when she saw that it was already empty. “Would you like more?”

  “Indeed. A biscuit, too. I must warn you, after all these dark skies, the moon will be rather bright. Almost blinding,” he said as he sat before the telescope and adjusted its position.

  Seeing to pouring more tea and adding a biscuit to his saucer, she returned to stand next to his chair. She watched as he moved dials and turned knobs and made sounds of appreciation.

  When he was satisfied, he stood up, took the cup and saucer from her, and waved to the chair with his free hand. “Take a seat. Have a look.”

  Angelica accepted the invitation without a word, lowering herself onto the chair and then carefully guiding her face until her eye was aligned with the eyepiece. She inhaled sharply as the brilliant white and gray landscape of the moon filled her vision.

  “Are those mountains?” she breathed before she studied an adjacent area that appeared smooth and flat. “Or mole hills?” The harsh contrast of white against the black of space made the curved edge of the moon apparent, but without a sense of scale, she couldn’t be sure of what she was seeing.

  “The edges of a crater, I believe,” Ben replied in a hoarse whisper, a grin appearing when he noted her excitement.

  “Does it change? What we see, I mean?” she asked. The image made its way out of her field of view and she pulled away from the eyepiece in disappointment. “It’s gone.”

  “We’ve moved is all,” he said as Angelica gave up the chair to him. He adjusted the dials and soon the image was re-centered in the eyepiece. “There. It’s back.” He continued to look at the surface of the moon for a moment longer before he remembered her query. “As to what we see, it’s always the same.”

  “So... the moon doesn’t turn around? Like we do?”

  He shook his head. “The moon doesn’t seem to rotate, but rather keeps the same face to us at all times.” He motioned for her to sit, but he didn’t get up from the chair. “Just... sit on my knee and take a look at the other end.”

  Gingerly, Angelica lowered herself onto his thigh and gazed into the eyepiece.
From this angle, she didn’t have to struggle to reach the eyepiece. She could see exactly what he could see, and she inhaled in wonder. “It’s so bright. And the shadows are so... harsh.”

  “There’s no air to soften them,” Ben murmured. He leaned forward to take a look when she straightened.

  With his head so close to the side of her body, Angelica was tempted to wrap an arm around his neck to give him a better vantage. The thought that his head would then be pressed against her side—nay, against the side of one breast—had her resisting the urge, however. A pleasant shiver shot through her body just then, and she inhaled softly.

  Ben sensed the shiver. “Are you cold?”

  “I am quite comfortable, although I would hate to be the cause of your leg falling asleep.” She was about to get up, but his left arm wrapped around her waist, as if to steady her.

  “You’re light as a feather,” he murmured absently. He made an adjustment. “Take a look.”

  She did as she was told, marveling at seeing an entirely different landscape. He had moved the telescope so she was looking at what appeared to be the bottom of the crescent moon. “It’s beautiful. But...” Angelica furrowed a blonde brow as she straightened. “If the moon doesn’t rotate, then am I to believe we don’t know what’s on the other side?” she asked in alarm, the teacup gripped between her palms to provide warmth.

  Ben angled his head and allowed a shrug. “We don’t, actually,” he confirmed. Then he noted how his breath blew out in a white cloud. His gaze went to Angelica’s hands. She wore no gloves. “Forgive me, my lady. You’re probably freezing.”

  “I’m fine, really,” Angelica replied, but a wave of tiredness had settled over her.

  “The air in here is definitely colder.” As if to reinforce his claim, small snowflakes drifted into the observatory from the opening in the dome. “Damnation,” he muttered under his breath. “Pardon me, my lady, but I have to get up.”

  Angelica quickly stood up and stepped to the side. She watched as he rushed to grab a long hook, similar to a shepherd’s staff. He lifted it to a handle on the dome’s door, hooked it, and then slid the door over the opening. Without the white glow from the moon, the room was once again bathed in red light.