Lady Anne and the Menacing Mystic

by Victoria Hamilton

  “She’s not pretty enough to tempt the fellows of Bath, I don’t think,” John said, gazing with satisfaction at Lydia, who, with chestnut curls, pale skin, a bow mouth, pink cheeks, and beautiful blue eyes, like a Yorkshire sky in summer, was the portrait of beauty.

  Anne was silent and rose again, readying to go. She would not indulge cruel gossip. Susanna was a friend, as was Lydia; to defend one at the expense of the other would only result in hurt feelings. “I must go.”

  “I’ll walk you out, my lady,” John said, polite as always.

  As they descended to await her grandmother’s carriage, he paced the foyer. He finally turned and examined her with an unusually serious expression. “My lady, may I ask . . . did you notice anything different about Lydia?”

  She was touched; he had noticed and was clearly worried. “She appears nervous, but that’s not unusual for her state,” Anne commented cautiously.

  “I understand that. However, she was anxious but comfortable until one day about two weeks ago. I went out that morning and she was in good humor; when I returned that evening I found her in tears and frightened. She would not tell me what she fears.”

  “Did she have any visitors that day? Someone who may have frightened her with tales of the difficulties of childbirth?” There were women who gloried in frightening expectant mothers, to the point that nothing but a frantic outbreak of tears would suffice.

  “I questioned the housekeeper and maid thoroughly, you may be sure, and there was no one.”

  “And she didn’t go out that day?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Were there any other calls? Not visitors but a seamstress, or milliner, who may have carried worries or unpleasant gossip to poor Lydia?”

  “No one.”

  Anne pondered. “Did she receive a letter from anyone, then? Could she have received bad news?”

  “If she did, she would share it. You know Lydia; she’s not the type to suffer silently.”

  Anne smiled despite the seriousness of their conversation. John had married in haste and now was learning that Lydia, though sweet-natured most of the time, would never suffer alone. If she had a fear or tremor she magnified it, talked it over incessantly, and asked for advice from every person she knew, advice she would be as likely to ignore as take. But this time was different. She had not asked anything of Anne, nor apparently of John. The fact that she had not shared whatever was bothering her was more troubling than the most exaggerated frights expressed eloquently and often. Whatever it was, it must be bad for her to hide it from her husband and friend.

  “I will not pretend, John, this concerns me. Let me think it over. Bring her to St. Swithin Sunday morning; we have the Everingham family box . . . my maternal family side, of course. My cousin, Viscount Everingham, is seldom here—he’s a scholar, and is studying in the Holy Land right now—but is happy for us to invite friends. It will do Lydia well to get out of the house. I’ll try to discover what could be bothering her.”

  He looked relieved to have shared his concern. Her carriage arrived and he accompanied her to the street outside and handed her up into the vehicle. “Thank you, Lady Anne,” he said. “I cannot say enough how you marrying Tony relieves me. Of all the young ladies in the world, you suit him—and our family—best.”

  Anne smiled and touched his hand. “Thank you, John. Take care of Lydia. I’ll see you Sunday morning.”

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Osei visited Anne at her grandmother’s townhome.

  “Osei, how good of you to come!” Anne cried, advancing across the ground-floor reception room to where he stood by the bay window, overlooking the Paragon.

  He turned and bowed. “My lady, how wonderful to see you!”

  Anne stared at his dark face and eyes, behind the glint of his spectacles. Rarely had she met someone with whom she had shared such an instant sympathy. He was intellectual and learned, but also gentle and with great feeling. Even deeper was his connection to her father, who valued Osei’s curious mind and vivid intelligence. Perhaps that was the attraction; he was very much like her father, but united with their similar traits was Osei’s ability to tactfully manage the world around him. He was scholarly but engaged; wise but with his feet firmly planted on the earth. “I’m happy to see you,” she said with profound feeling, taking his proffered hand and squeezing it. “Will you sit and take tea? I can have the maid bring some within minutes.”

  “I think I have shocked your household quite enough for one day. In London I deserve no more than a passing glance, but I am finding Bath a new experience.”

  “It’s a little more parochial, I’ll admit. If I can help smooth your way, let me know.”

  With a faint smile he replied, “I find all I need to do is mention the Marquess of Darkefell’s name. That opens all the doors necessary.”

  “And have you found him a townhome to rent?”

  “I came to see you for that reason. You know this city better than I; I have three areas in mind, with a few leaseholds available in each location. Perhaps you can help me decide? You know the marquess; he will not care which I choose, but it is my business to make him comfortable for the time he is here.” He held out a neatly scribed list.

  “Let us sit.”

  He bowed and sat in one of the dainty chairs, his dark blue coat and dove gray breeches a sober note in an overtly feminine room. She examined the list. He was considering the Crescent, the Circus and a townhome on the Paragon. Her heart thudded in her chest at the thought of Tony being so temptingly close. She swallowed and breathed. “I’m surprised, given the Season, that you have found such a wealth of homes to lease. My friends Mr. and Mrs. Birkenhead have been looking, but Bertie confessed that if he was to take one, it would not be available until next spring.”

  He shifted and looked uncomfortable. “And therein lies a problem; the moment I mention my employer’s name, every place is available. For the marquess, existing leases would be broken to accommodate him.”

  “O-ho, the mighty marquess will unhome others, will he?”

  Osei shook his head, shamefaced. “I’ll admit, my lady, I am at a loss. The estate agent for several of these will not tell me which are actually to let and which have leases he would break for his lordship. I don’t think Lord Darkefell would want to evict others for his comfort. You know him; as long as he has a place to lay his head he’ll be happy. What should I do?”

  “Mr. Boatin, I think this is the first time I have ever seen you at a loss and I’m sorry to tell you that it pleases me.” She smiled to show it was a jest. “Leave this with me. As I said, I have friends who have been looking for a place to move to, and they know what is coming up for lease apart from these addresses. Perhaps Gay Street, or Monmouth. I’ll see them later today.”

  He looked relieved. “Thank you, my lady. May I visit again tomorrow morning?”

  “Join us at church, St. Swithin, up the Paragon from Grandmother’s home. We attend service at eleven.”

  “Will that be appropriate, my lady?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  • • •

  Anne, accompanied by Mary, walked the short distance to Margaret’s Buildings and her cousin’s rooms. Lolly awaited them outside. They strolled down the street and were met by Quin, who emerged carefully from a sedan chair conveyed by two stout carriers. Mary agreed to await them in the foyer on the ground floor, while Lolly, who made fast and immediate friends with Quin, climbed the stairs, huffing and puffing. Quin slowly followed suit and Anne ascended last.

  Quin was pale and trembling from the effort, and Lolly not much better, so both took a moment to catch their breath at the top of the stairs while Anne looked around her with great curiosity. They were in an anteroom of sorts, with a bench set along one papered wall and two chairs on another, both now occupied by Anne’s companions. Portraits by painters of little ability and less imagination adorned the walls, a group of angry strangers forced to share a room, staring at each
other in disdain. The room was lit by sconces every few feet, the candles giving a soft glow to the room and the cheery-patterned—though stained—wallcoverings. They could have been in any home anywhere, for this certainly did not seem the entry into a mystic’s abode.

  “What think you, Quin?” she asked, glancing over at her friend, who had regained what little color he possessed.

  “I think Bertie would be alarmed if he saw me here,” he joked. “My brother would think me mad, and perhaps I am. But this is the most fun I’ve had for a while, I must say. Alethea tells Bertie that he keeps me too bundled up.”

  “And yet she’s the one who is worried that Bertie is expecting too much from you.”

  “My sister-in-law is a dear soul. She wishes to keep Bertie from thinking that I’ll someday magically recover if we find the right physician, or right home, or right circumstance, when she and I both know that I will never recover. There will be good days and bad days, and someday a final day.”

  Anne remained silent. What was there to say to someone who acknowledged so openly his mortality?

  “Is there no treatment, young sir?” Lolly asked.

  “Bertie is convinced that exercise is the cure. He wants me to go nowhere that I do not walk, but Alethea would rather I get out and about even if a footman or sedan chairmen must carry me.” Distressed, he shook his head. “No amount of Bath mineral water is going to cure me, but Bertie still hopes.”

  Lolly put her hand over his where it rested on the chair arm and smiled. “My dear boy, I don’t know you well, but I can see already that your purpose on earth is to teach patience. Perhaps your brother will learn in time.”

  “I rather doubt it. His impatience is with nature, and I observe that once the habit is set, it lasts a lifetime. It is not just my infirmity with which he quarrels, but with the weakness of others’ ideologies, their reliance on signs and portents, and any form of faith in an otherworldly being.”

  “He does not believe in God, then?” Lolly gasped, hand to her heart.

  “Do not judge him harshly, dear lady; Bertie is kindness itself. His belief is in the goodness of people. It is when humanity falls short that he becomes incensed and impatient. Cruelty of any kind wounds him. It is unfortunate, but humanity often falls short of his hopes and expectations.”

  “You must pray for him,” Lolly said, her voice faint.

  “I wouldn’t dare, dear lady. He would consider that an impertinence,” Quin said lightly, and with a smile. “I’ll leave that between my brother and God.”

  They chatted for a few minutes longer, as Anne grew increasingly impatient. Finally a young girl, dressed in a neat maid’s outfit with a snowy apron over top, came out of the interior chamber and curtseyed, not meeting their gaze. “An’ it please you, ladies and gent, come inside to meet Mother Macree.”

  Anne took Quin’s arm and helped him rise. With an effort that etched lines in his brow and tightened his lips, he straightened and together they followed Lolly into the next room. Lolly, having been there before, knew the protocol and led them through that sitting room to the next, quite a distance to a dimmer chamber at the back. Even in midday, the windows were draped in fusty fabric, darkening the room.

  A woman sat huddled by a lace-draped table with three other chairs around it. Anne, Quin and Lolly sat. Mother Macree looked up and surveyed her visitors. Anne wasn’t sure what she expected, but she was let down. The mystic was an average elderly woman gowned in some dark fabric that swallowed the remaining light nearby. She wore a lace-trimmed tucker around her neck, tucked into her bodice, and a lace-trimmed white cap over wiry gray and white hair. She was heavy but not quite corpulent. Her face was unremarkable: a doughy ball with pale eyes set deep in red-rimmed flesh, she seemed almost sleepy. One eye closed more than the other, and one side of her large blue-veined mouth drooped.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Macree,” Lolly said gently. “Thank you for seeing my friends, Lady Anne Addison and Mr. Quin Birkenhead. They have many questions.”

  The woman fastened her gaze on Quin. She eyed him with an unemotional gaze. “What’s wrong with ye?” she said bluntly, her voice raspy.

  Quin, startled, stuttered as he spoke. “I-I don’t quite know. D-doctors have been unable to diagnose it so far. It is some disturbance of the digestion system, they say.” It was clear to anyone with eyes that Quin suffered some disorder, from his hunched back to his odd way of sitting, leaning to one side.

  “And you,” the woman said, slewing her gaze to Anne as she spoke abruptly. “What are you here for?”

  “I have heard of you, of course, and one seeks amusement in Bath. You are said to be amusing.”

  Lolly gave her a startled sideways look. “She jests, of course, Mother Macree. She is interested in her future, as are we all, and your abilities have attracted her.”

  “If she meant that, why didn’t she say it?” the woman said, her words faintly slurred.

  “I do not jest, Lolly,” Anne said. “I’m completely serious, Mother Macree. I am here for amusement.”

  The woman ignored her and focused on Quin, who was watching with fascination. “I see much within ye, young gentleman. It’s misty. You doubt yer mending, but there is much that can help yer heart. Will ye be wanting me to read you, then?”

  “Read me?”

  “Read yer future?”

  He hesitated.

  “Are ye afraid of the future, then? Sore troubled by yer health, as I said.”

  Too easy, Anne thought again. Anyone looking at Quin would say that.

  “But yer brother worries more than ye.”

  The audible gasp, Anne realized, emanated from her. How did the woman know Quin had a brother?

  “You’re right about that,” Quin said. “Bertie has always worried about me.”

  “But ’is wife . . . ye like her very well, don’t ye? Like the sister you never had.” She paused, staring at Quin with her oddly intense glare. “The sister you never ’ad. . . aye, I see ’er! The sister you would ‘ave ’ad, if she’d lived.”

  Anne stared, then looked over at Quin. He blinked, rapidly, and nodded. A tear welled in his eye. “Cordelia would be twenty-five this year,” he said, his words catching on a sob. “She was a delightful child, and I loved her.”

  “I didn’t know you had a sister,” Anne whispered, staring at him.

  “She died when she was three. I took it hard, but Bertie . . . he acted as if she had never lived. It made it doubly hard for me.” He paused and wiped a tear from his eye. “We’ve never spoken of her since.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Anne whispered. Despite her best intentions, she was impressed, and returned her gaze to the seer. This was unexpected and disturbing. She shifted in her chair, uneasy, not knowing quite what to think.

  Mother Macree said, in a hushed, slurred tone, “But ye have never forgotten ’er. She knows this, and loves ye for it. She grew up in ’eaven, you know; aye, they do,” she said, as Quin appeared startled. “Folks think they stay children forever, but ’eaven lets ’em grow up. She forgives yer brother. Though ’e seems hard of heart it’s just that ’e don’t believe in heaven, and don’t think ’e’ll meet her again.”

  “It’s true,” he murmured, his voice choked. “I’ve always thought it.” Quin was breathing hard and staring at the mystic. He was so thin Anne could practically see his heart pounding in his chest under his coat. A vein throbbed at his temple.

  Lolly laid her hand on Quin’s arm. Anne took a deep, steadying breath and looked back to the mystic through narrowed eyes, determined to be rational. How did the woman know all this? She could not have researched Quin beforehand, for Anne hadn’t told Lolly who she was bringing. It must be a trick, a cunning stratagem, else she must begin to believe in seers and the spirit world.

  Mother Macree swiveled her beady gaze to Anne. “You, lady . . . ye have always fancied yerself a woman of reason, but yer heart is befuddled. Ye fear yer future. I see a man . . .a dark man—”

  Lolly
gasped. “Lord Darkefell!” she blurted out. “Anne, it’s Lord Darkefell! She sees him.”

  Anne sighed in exasperation. She had been determined to remain stoic and composed if the seer made any correct guesses concerning her and her life, the better to judge her performance, but Lolly’s outburst made that impossible. She should have known that reserve was impractical with her irrepressible cousin present.

  “Lord Darkefell? I have heard the name,” Quin said.

  “It’s her beau, the Marquess of Darkefell,” Lolly gasped, breathless, hands clasped together. “Such a handsome man he is. So commanding, as Mother Macree said. Fancy that, her seeing Lord Darkefell and describing him so clearly!”

  The mystic swayed in her seat and closed her eyes, moaning and rocking. “Ah, yes! I see it all now. He has asked you to marry ’im.”

  “Lady Anne, how exciting!” Quin said. “You didn’t tell us you were engaged.”

  “She isn’t telling anyone,” Lolly blurted out. “She didn’t tell me, though I had my suspicions. But how amazing that Mother Macree knew it before any of us!”

  “Stop; enough!” Anne said. Annoyed and baffled, she stared at the mystic for a long minute, but the woman looked for all the world as if she was sleeping, her chin sunk on her chest, soft snufflings emanating from her lips. Anne turned to her friend. “Quin, please don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard here today. I never intended . . . that is, I have made no announcement.”

  “But you’ll soon have to, won’t ye?” the woman said with a malicious cackle, lifting her chin and staring at Anne with her odd squint-eyed gaze. “For ’e won’t be toyed with. One so plain as you . . . yer a lucky woman, and you’d best grab onto ’im wiv both hands or ’e’ll move on, won’t ’e?” Her tone bordered on spiteful, her gaze malevolent. “He’ll find a lass more easy.”

  “Nonsense,” Lolly said. “He’s a gentleman, and if he has asked, he is bound.”

  “But she ’asn’t announced and it is the lady’s choice, yes?” She cackled with laughter that ended in a raspy cough, a spray of spittle jetting across the table. The little maid rushed forth with a handkerchief. The seer grabbed the handkerchief then slapped the girl away with a vigorous backhand. The child retreated. “Don’t toy with a man like that or ’e’ll find a prettier maiden to bless ’is bed.” She chortled and ended coughing again.