Michael drew back, floored by her latest bit of queerness. “Are you telling me that the beast actually has the power of speech and that you understood it?” And here he’d just been thinking that the conversation couldn’t possibly get any more outrageous.
“I didn’t understand him, but Rebecca did. They carried on several conversations. You should have seen them. It was most amazing.”
“How can you be so certain that they were conversations if you couldn’t understand them?” he demanded incredulously.
“By the way the goat responded. It actually followed her commands. I have never seen a goat that would do such a thing. And you should have seen the way it crossed the stream. Like this.” Using her hand as the goat, her center finger extended forward to represent the head and the other four operating as the legs, she demonstrated how it had carefully hopped from stone to stone across the water.
It was all he could do to bridle his snort of cynical disbelief. “Perhaps the beast simply doesn’t like to get wet. Animals will do extraordinary things to avoid situations they find unpleasant. A case in point is a hound I had when I was a boy. It hated wet grass so much that it would run along the top of our stone enclosures to avoid walking in it when it rained.”
She shook her head, stubbornly unconvinced. “That was a hound, Magellan is a goat. Everyone knows that goats aren’t nearly as clever as hounds.”
“True, but it is possible to teach them tricks. I have seen several trained-goat acts at village fairs, some of them quite clever.”
She seemed to consider his argument for several beats, then slowly conceded, “I suppose you could be right. Still—” She shook her head, her expression sweetly wistful. “I could have sworn that they understood each other.” By the forlorn note in her voice, it was apparent that she had very much wished to believe in her fancy and was crushed at having it shattered by his logic.
Suddenly feeling like an ass for spoiling her fun, Michael took the hand that still lay atop his and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Regardless of the case, this Magellan sounds most remarkable, as does—Rebecca, is it?” At her nod, he nodded back, adding, “She must have quite a talent with animals to train him in such a manner.”
“Rebecca has a talent for everything,” she replied, instantly brightening. “Why, you should see her garden! I have never seen such bounty. It is where I got the tansy to make your pudding. I also clipped some calamint, which I am going to decoct to make you a tonic. Rebecca says that calamint is sometimes helpful in preventing seizures. I thought we might try it.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly at her words. “You told her of my condition?” he quizzed, feeling strangely betrayed by the notion that she would gossip about his fits. Not that they were a secret. Still, he’d somehow expected better of her and had thought that she would respect his privacy.
“Of course not,” she retorted, visibly stung by his query. “I have never nor shall I ever speak of your condition to anyone. Not unless you wish me to do so. I know how uncomfortable a subject it is for you.” She shook her head to stress her denial. “Rebecca somehow already knew about it, and it was she who broached the subject of the calamint.”
“I am sorry. I should have known that I could trust your discretion. Still, you must admit it odd that a stranger should know about me,” he murmured, genuinely perplexed. Hmmm. He supposed that one of the servants could have mentioned his spells, though he seriously doubted that to be the case. Not only did Grimshaw and Mrs. McInnis have a strict policy against gossip, he knew everyone in his employ to be completely loyal to him.
“It is strange,” Emily agreed. “Then again, if Rebecca is truly a go-between, as she claims, then it would make perfect sense for her to know.”
Though he hated to do so, sensing that he would receive an outlandish answer, Michael asked, “What exactly is a go-between that my spells would be her business?”
“A go-between is a human emissary between the mortal world and the fairy world. According to Rebecca, such people have been blessed by the fairies, which gives them all sorts of magical powers, like divination, prophecy, and the power to heal. If she is indeed such a being, then she could have divined your condition from my worry for you. I was thinking of you when I became lost.”
Michael opened his mouth to denounce such nonsense out of hand, only to clamp it shut again in the next instant as he suddenly remembered his vow. That day at the ruins, when he’d begged Emily for a chance at friendship, he’d pledged to listen to everything she said thoughtfully and to respond in a civil manner. Since she had more than met his requirement for friendship, he owed her the courtesy of considering her views, no matter how contrary they were to his own. Having thus reminded himself of his promise, he replied with a soft, “Perhaps.”
Apparently his response met her requirement for civility, for she smiled. “I must admit that I was rather taken aback by the notion of Rebecca’s magical powers at first, given what happened the last time I encountered someone with supernatural abilities.”
Remain thoughtful … civil … “I assume that you are referring to the witch who cursed you?” he politely quizzed, feeling exceedingly silly asking such a question. It made him sound as if he actually believed in superstitious twaddle.
She nodded. “Yes. Unlike the witch, however, who was a terribly wicked creature, Rebecca claims to use her magic only for good.” She paused then, eyeing him shyly. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?”
There was something in her voice, a tremulous uncertainty, that made his heart melt into a puddle of tenderness. Squeezing her hand, which he still held, he quietly vowed, “I swear it on both my life and my honor.”
“I believe in Rebecca’s power. I—I felt it … its strength and its goodness. I also enjoyed her company. So much so, that I was wondering … well”—she slanted him another bashful look—“if you have no objections, I would like to visit her again.”
As if he could deny her anything at such a moment. Giving her hand another squeeze, he replied, “If you like her, then by all means visit her. Just make certain that you remember your promise and take Josiah or Abraham with you. You may also ask her to call upon you here, if you so desire.”
“Really? You truly wouldn’t mind if I invited her to come?” she exclaimed, visibly stunned by his concession. “I know how you value your privacy and I wouldn’t wish to do anything that might make you uncomfortable.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he valued her more, but he instead replied, “You may invite anyone you wish to visit. The abbey is your home now and your friends are more than welcome here. Indeed, I would very much like to meet your go-between and her leering goat. Perhaps you could ask them to dine with us some evening.” Oddly enough, he really did wish to meet the unorthodox duo.
She was looking at him as if he had just done something exceedingly noble. “Oh, Michael. I would love that,” she enthused, the radiance of her smile attesting to the truth of her statement. “And I know that Rebecca would enjoy meeting you. Who knows? She might be able to help your spells. If what she says is true, she is blessed with the power to heal.”
“I was rather thinking that she might help you with your curse,” he smoothly countered, not about to submit to magical mumbo-jumbo. Continuing to steer the conversation lest she decide to pursue the notion of a fairy cure, he added, “You have never really told me about your curse. I know that it condemns you to being a plague to any man you love, but you have never told me how it came about.”
The radiance of her smile dimmed, then disappeared completely. Looking positively grave now, she murmured, “Are you certain you wish to hear about it?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” Oddly enough, he did want to know. For though he hardly dared to hope for such a miracle, the day might come when he was well enough to love her, really love her, at which time he would wi
sh her to love him back. In order for her to do so, he must understand and somehow find a way to banish her fear of the curse.
“W-e-l-l.” She drew the word out, her brow furrowing as if she considered how to proceed. Then she slowly began, “It happened when I was just sixteen, at a confectionery shop I used to frequent.”
“A confectionery shop?” Michael echoed in surprise. He’d expected a tale involving cackling crones and bubbling cauldrons, maybe even some newts and toads, but most certainly not a confectionery shop.
She nodded grimly. “It was owned by a mother and daughter who were witches. Of course, I didn’t know they were witches until they cursed me. They seemed so respectable.”
Leave it to Emily to be cursed by a pair of bonbon-baking sorceresses. Suppressing his urge to smile, Michael prompted, “What made them curse you?”
“I fell in love with a gentleman I met at the shop, the son of a prominent banker. When we became engaged several months later, they cursed me. It turned out that the daughter wanted him for herself.”
“Why couldn’t she have just cast a love spell on him and taken him away?” he inquired, more disturbed than he liked by the thought of Emily loving another man. “It seems to me that anyone worthy of the designation of witch would be up to such a trick.”
“A love spell only works when the person the spell is being cast over isn’t in love with someone else. Love spells are powerless to dissolve true love, and ours was true.”
Michael frowned at that last piece of news. Tamping down his jealous urge to grill her about the man she claimed to have truly loved, he more growled than asked, “How did you learn about the spell? Did the witches tell you about it? Or did something happen to make you suspect it?”
“Worse. They cast it when Jonathan and I stopped at the shop for an ice shortly after our engagement was announced. The shop had the best ices in the entire city, and Jonathan adored ices.”
Jonathan, was it? Michael snorted his disdain for the man. If he were ever fortunate enough to find true love with Emily, no witch in the world could keep him from her arms. Not caring if his voice reflected his scorn for the clearly unworthy banker’s son, he retorted, “Do not tell me that Jonathan believed in the curse and abandoned you?”
“Oh, no.” She vigorously shook her head. “He didn’t believe in it at first. Neither did I. I was long past believing in such things. But after what happened”—she shook her head again—“I couldn’t help believing. Neither could Jonathan, poor man.”
Poor man indeed. Refraining from snorting again at what he was certain was her unwarranted sympathy for the fiancé who hadn’t had the pluck to keep her, he quizzed, “What happened?”
“Everything. Every time Jonathan was around me, something awful happened.”
“Such as?”
“Well, it started when our maid tripped and spilled an entire pot of scalding tea in his lap.” She blushed. “Of course I didn’t see his injury, but I was told it was quite bad. So bad that he was unable to leave his house for almost a week after.”
Michael partially revised his opinion of Emily’s sympathy for her ex-fiancé. He truly was a poor man to have been burnt so badly in such a place. Indeed, just thinking about it made him cringe. Nonetheless, it wouldn’t have been enough to have frightened him away from Emily.
“Of course, we all thought the accident nothing more than a strange coincidence,” Emily continued. “Then it happened again, the next time he came to call.”
“He was scalded again?” Michael choked out, genuinely appalled by the thought of being burnt in such a manner twice.
“Oh, no. He was knocked senseless. He was strolling up to our door when a bolt of lightning appeared out of the bright blue sky and struck one of the trees lining our walkway. It so happened that Jon was beneath that very tree when it struck and was clouted over the head by a falling branch. His doctors all said that it was a miracle he survived the blow. It was then that I began to believe in the curse.”
“What of Jonathan?”
She heaved a weighty sigh. “I think that he was beginning to believe in it as well, though he wouldn’t own up to it. It wasn’t until the next disaster that he was finally forced to do so.”
“Which was?” He was too fascinated not to ask.
“The next time we were together was when he escorted me to my father’s warehouse to examine some newly arrived silks. He was standing outside of his gig, waiting to help me down, when the ropes binding a dozen barrels of dried cod snapped. Before he could react, the barrels fell on him, almost crushing him to death.”
“And that was that?”
“Yes. I never saw him again. When he was mended enough to travel, which was several weeks later, his mother took him to Italy to convalesce. While there he met a girl from New York, whom he eventually married. Last I heard they were living in Philadelphia, where he has opened several branches of his father’s bank.”
“Did things go as badly for your other two fiancés?” he gently inquired. He might as well hear the whole harebrained tale if he was to fully understand her fear.
She nodded. “I met my next fiancé almost two years later. Since the witches had left town, I assumed that the curse was no longer in effect. But it was. I had no sooner discovered that I loved Luke and had accepted his proposal when awful things began to happen to him.”
“How many incidents did it take to scare him away?”
“Four. His accidents weren’t as serious as Jonathan’s, but they were bad enough to frighten him away.”
“What finally did in your engagement?” Again, he just had to ask.
“Hogs,” she pronounced in a tragic tone. “We were on a picnic at a friend’s farm just outside of Boston when Luke was assaulted by the beasts. We never found out what provoked them into attacking him, or how they escaped their pen. At any rate, he suffered two broken ribs and a ruined suit. From then on, he went to great pains to avoid me. Though I couldn’t blame him for doing so, it used to hurt me terribly to see him cross the street every time he spied me.”
Michael gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze, though what he longed to do was strangle the cowardly bastard for treating her like a leper. For despite all that she’d told him, he was still no closer to believing in the curse than before. Indeed, to his way of thinking, the accidents were just that, accidents, the causes of which could no doubt have been attributed to the primitive conditions in America had the men squelched their superstition long enough to have fully investigated them.
“As for my third fiancé, Russell,” Emily continued, heaving her heaviest sigh of the evening, “I never wanted to fall in love with him. In truth, I tried my best to avoid doing so, fearing what would happen if I did. But he was so persistent. Why, I could hardly turn around that he wasn’t there, ready to charm me. He quite stole my heart.”
“Hadn’t he heard of the curse?” Michael asked, unable to blame the man for his tenacity. The exertions he would expend to win her should the occasion to do so ever arise would make Russell’s efforts seem petty in comparison.
“Yes, of course. Everyone had. But unlike the other gentlemen in Boston, who no longer dared to court me, Russ refused to believe in the curse.” She looked away from him then to bleakly contemplate the remains of her pudding. “In the end, it was a pincushion that scared him away.”
“What!” He’d never heard anything so absurd in his life.
“No matter where we were, he always ended up sitting on a pincushion full of pins. His backside was pricked progressively worse each time it happened. After a while, he, too, refused to come near me. So you see?” She glanced up again, her face the picture of woe. “I cannot fall in love ever again.”
“What I see is that the curse worries you,” he returned with a gentle smile, “which is why I think you should seek Rebecca’s counsel. If she truly does possess magical powers, she might be
able to help you.”
“Perhaps, though I must confess to being almost afraid to ask. What if it turns out that there is no hope for me?” She couldn’t have looked more distressed.
“If she cannot help you, then I shall comb all of England, the world even, until I find someone who can,” he vowed. And he meant it. He would do anything to restore Emily’s peace of mind. If that meant finding someone who could convince her that she was a witch and was able to lift her curse, then so be it. He would do it.
For several beats she simply stared at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe her ears. Then she smiled one of her stunning smiles. “You would do that?” She more whispered than uttered the words in her breathless wonder.
He smiled back. “Of course I would. You are doing your best to cure my curse, so it is only right that I help you lift yours.”
Chapter 12
It was a delightful day. Not too warm, not too cool, with a steady but gentle wind that swept the rustling leaves from the amber-flecked ground and scattered them across the moors.
St. Martin’s Summer, Mercy had called this early October day as she’d flung the windows wide to admit the balmy, sun-dappled morn. Back in Boston such fine fall weather would have been christened Indian Summer. To Emily, it was simply a perfect day for testing her latest kite.
Standing now on the wide strip of fallow land that formed a border between the lush abbey park and the desolate moor, Emily found herself fully appreciating the beauty of the morning. Though she adored all the seasons, she had always loved autumn best. To her it was a season of boundless riches:—a treasure trove of color when everything in nature appeared dusted with precious metals and dipped in melted jewels. And the way it smelled …
She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled. Earth. The air smelled of earth; of its life, of its death; of its sepia-tinted summer memories now framed by the stark promise of winter. It carried tales of chilled twilights and cozy midnight fires, of countless harvests and the ancient rites that followed. It whispered of the decay beneath the gloriously gilded landscape, a pungent portent of the demise of the aging year.
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