A Sapphire Season

by Lynn Morris

  Acidly Clara had said, “It’s almost impossible to find desirable tenants. Our sort of people are rarely interested in leasing, they either have their own estates or would only wish to purchase one. We should put it back in entailment and close it up until someone in the family needs it.”

  It was not a matter for Clara to decide, of course; in fact, it wasn’t even up to Philip, it was solely a decision to be made by the Marquess of Camarden. Lord Camarden, however, had no strong feelings about it one way or the other, so they had agreed to Clara’s suggestion.

  Mirabella reached the house, and thought it looked forlorn, with all the shutters closed and the front lawn looking straggly and unkempt. Inside it was dark and musty-smelling. Mirabella opened some shutters and windows, and for a moment stood entranced, watching dust motes dancing in the lustrous sunshine pouring in. She wandered around the drawing room, musing that it seemed much smaller than she recalled.

  Furnishings and accessories were sparse, for the general had lived in a Spartan manner, and everything was swathed in ghostly white dust sheets. Mirabella uncovered a tall shape in a corner, and was surprised to find a bust of Socrates, finely modeled, on a graceful Corinthian column stand. I like this…I could use this.

  She hesitated. Her impulse was to explore the entire house and look at all the furnishings, but she resisted, knowing that she was only searching for excuses to delay her difficult task. Resolutely she walked through the drawing room and down a side hall that led to a covered walkway on the east side of the house.

  The oldest and most beautiful part of Reynes Parva was the lady chapel. It was tiny, with only four benches in the nave, and a small chancel and plain altar. But above the altar was a magnificent stained glass window with the Holy Virgin holding the infant Jesus, surrounded by intricately shaped panes of glass of every color. Mirabella knelt at the altar and gazed up at the beautiful window.

  Her mind refused to coalesce into a coherent prayer, so she said the litany that her wise Aunt Tirel had brought to mind the night before.

  Charity suffereth long, and is kind;

  Charity envieth not;

  Charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,

  Doth not behave itself unseemly,

  Seeketh not her own,

  Is not easily provoked,

  Thinketh no evil;

  Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;

  Beareth all things,

  Believeth all things,

  Hopeth all things,

  Endureth all things.

  Mirabella’s mind was clear, and for a moment she knew that rarest of blessings, complete inner silence. Then she began to speak, and was somewhat surprised to find that, in contrast to the formal recitations of her usual prayers, she talked to the Lord in an effortless, even a conversational tone.

  “Dearest Heavenly Father, You know why I’m here. I’m sorry I’ve been fighting this so hard, and for so long. Now I will say it, even though I’m still feeling a little stubborn about it, but of course You know that. If You don’t wish me to marry, then I won’t.”

  She stopped and found herself listening, and realized how ludicrous that was.

  She went on, “I know that with Your grace and blessing, I could live here, or somewhere, by myself, and You would be my home. Thank You so much for all of the many countless blessings You’ve given me, but most of all thank you for sacrificing Yourself so that my sins are forgiven, and I’m clean and whole. I ask now that You will show me Your perfect will for my life, and I’ll do my best to obey. Amen.”

  She stood and gazed up at the window for a long time, still with a vague expectancy that she would immediately know God’s decision concerning her marriage.

  She didn’t hear a voice in her head, much less an audible voice, but perfectly formed and clear the thought came: After all, we don’t have to decide about marriage today.

  She was one of the Lord’s blessed sheep, and the sheep knew His voice. Mirabella smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mirabella didn’t instantly inhabit heavenly realms of complete serenity. Whenever she thought of Giles, which was often, she still keenly felt pain and loss. But she conditioned herself, at these times, to literally change her mind. It was much like mentally turning a sharp corner; she simply made herself ignore the pain and think of something else. The something else was usually either a quick prayer, or a passage of Scripture. Many times a day she thought, Love suffers long, and is kind…

  As the days passed, she found that the best way to describe her state was as one of calm. Sometimes she was sad, when she was happy the vividness of it was diminished, but always she was tranquil.

  Only one thing troubled her: she couldn’t decide what to do about Lord Trevor Brydges. It was true that their relationship was hazy and ill defined, but Mirabella had a strong sense of social responsibility, and she felt that she should sharply delineate to Lord Trevor that now she was not thinking about marriage at all, and had no plans to contemplate it in the near future. Still, there was the old conundrum, that it was strictly forbidden for a young lady to write to a gentleman unless they were betrothed. It was such a strict rule that to break it was considered almost as scandalous as a lady’s visiting a gentleman’s home. She could explain to him when they went to Littlemoor in August, but she felt that was inadequate. In spite of the nebulous nature of their agreement, in London the talk had already begun of the two of them as a couple. Mirabella sincerely didn’t want to cause Lord Trevor such embarrassment as she had caused Lord Southam and Denys Aldington.

  When they returned to Camarden, Mirabella found that this particular problem had been solved, in a peculiar twist of irony, by Lady Jersey. A fat, closely written letter awaited her. Mirabella and Sally corresponded sporadically. Usually Lady Jersey wrote only when she had particularly juicy tittle-tattle to share.

  Mirabella took the long letter up to her bedroom and read it all the way through, and then slowly read it again. Sally wrote much as she talked, with many flourishes and parenthetical phrases and paragraph-long sentences. When she finished, the letter fell through Mirabella’s fingers and fluttered to the floor, unnoticed. She stared unseeing into space.

  Three days previously, at Lady Heathcote’s ball, Lord Byron and Lady Caroline Lamb had met face-to-face for the first time of the Season. Words were exchanged, although even Lady Jersey had not been able to ferret out the exact conversation. Lady Caroline had run headlong upstairs to a lady’s withdrawing room, had broken a crystal wineglass, and had cut herself several times. Lady Melbourne was the only witness to the actual event, but Lady Caroline’s hysterical cries had echoed throughout the house, and a group of people had rushed upstairs, Lady Jersey included. She had seen Lady Caroline covered in blood and fainting. In the hurly-burly Lady Heathcote directed that she be carried down the hall to a guest room, and everyone crowded around Lord Heathcote and followed as he carried her to the bedroom.

  When the door was flung open, they found Lord Trevor Brydges and Rosalind, Lady FitzGeorge. Apparently they were not in such extremity as in the euphemism in flagrante delicto, “in blazing offense,” but this was the longest passage in Sally’s letter, and she described the scene in such vivid terms that Mirabella well understood the couple had been caught in a scandalously compromising position.

  Sally wrote that they all had thought that Lord Trevor and she were virtually betrothed, but now they all knew that they had been sadly mistaken, and she berated Mirabella for being “entirely too much a woman of mystery, for shame, you didn’t confide in your oldest friend that you had added Brydges to the list of men whose hearts you have broken.” All of that was nonsense. Lady Jersey was an amusing, lively acquaintance, but was not really her friend; and Mirabella had broken no one’s heart. All she felt at the news was a sense of relief that she need not worry about her obligation to Lord Trevor Brydges any longer.

  The majority of the letter was about the juicy scandal of Lady Caroline and Byron, but
one other tidbit of gossip, added almost as an afterthought, affected Mirabella deeply. Sally wrote that the vague but all-encompassing “they” were expecting an announcement at any time now about Barbara Smythe and Mirabella’s “best friend,” Sir Giles. Apparently Mrs. Smythe, understanding how much Sir Giles loved shooting, had prevailed upon Mr. Smythe to purchase an estate in Scotland, and was planning a shooting party in August, and Giles was going. Sally wrote, “That awful Mrs. Smythe has invited practically everyone, but of course most of us already had plans, or quickly invented them when her invitation was offered. There are always various sad hangers-on, and here I’m not speaking of Giles, you know I’m crazy for him, who are happy to accept any invitation they can beg, so I understand that they’ve managed to scrape up quite a large party.”

  Although Mirabella no longer entertained any hope for her and Giles, still, this was another blow. It took her all day, and much of the night, to struggle against the depression it caused her. But finally she did manage to overcome it, and the next day she again felt the uncanny serenity she’d known since she had prayed in the lady chapel at Reynes Parva.

  The next day she had intended to work in the conservatory, for she had found that when she was gone for as much as two weeks, it always seemed to look rather straggly and unkempt regardless of the care of the hothouse gardeners. But it was a lovely summer day, and Mirabella longed to go outdoors. She decided to walk to the deer park and picnic. She dressed carelessly in a worn frock, a yellow muslin sprigged with peach-colored roses entwined with green ivy, and wore a poke bonnet with a deep brim to protect her face from the sun. In a leather gardener’s satchel she packed an old faded blue shawl to sit on, some apples and grapes, cheese, and sliced bread, and the book Giles had given her for her birthday, but that she hadn’t yet had time to read, Pride and Prejudice. Startled, she realized she’d forgotten Giles’s birthday, which had been thirteen days ago, on June twenty-fifth. She hadn’t forgotten his birthday since they’d been children. With bittersweet amusement she thought that at least now she wasn’t an “older woman.”

  To add to the delightful prospect of the picnic, Mirabella decided to take the fawn Dolly, who was now a year old and was no longer considered a fawn but was not yet a fully mature doe. She had become as tame as a dog, and a particular favorite of practically everyone on the estate. She followed the stablemen around and contentedly grazed close to the stables when she was let out of her stall. When the gardeners tended the deer park, they would always take Dolly with them. So far she had shown no interest in rejoining the herd. Like a horse who knows when he is on the way home, she always eagerly followed the gardeners back to the stables.

  Mirabella had visited Dolly every day since she had come home, and now she greeted her gladly. “Hello, my lovely,” she said as the doe gently nosed the handful of grapes that Mirabella had brought her. “I’ve missed you. And just look at you, you’re getting plump. I must not be the only one slipping you treats.” Fallow deer were smaller than other breeds of deer, and Dolly now was about three feet tall at the shoulder, with a delicate frame, slender neck, and daintily thin legs. Her summer coat was a rich light tan with white spots, and a snowy white belly. Her brown eyes, like those of all deer, were large and lustrous and angelic. Mirabella was sure, however, that Dolly’s expression was much more alert and intelligent than those of other deer. “Would you like to come picnic with me and visit your cousins? I have some apples I’ll share with you, and if you’re very good, perhaps some more grapes.”

  Dolly apparently agreed, for she readily followed Mirabella out of the stables and walked alongside her for the half mile to the deer park. The gate, seven feet high and made of solid oak, was old and weathered, but the gardeners kept it well hung and oiled, so it swung open easily. Below her the meadow spread out in a small valley, and the deer herd was there, dotted around as picturesquely as if posing for a painting. Far to her right was a thick wood of oak, maple, alder, and elm. On her left was a low hill, crowned by a carefully maintained stand of silver birches. As Mirabella began the climb she watched Dolly. The doe took a few tentative steps out into the meadow and stopped, her ears pricked forward alertly. Some of the deer looked up at her, and then began again unconcernedly grazing. After a few moments Dolly turned and followed Mirabella. “That’s all right, darling,” Mirabella said affectionately. “Just wait three or four more months, you’ll be much more interested in the young gentlemen deer. Like all of us foolish women, you’ll likely fall in love with one of them.”

  At the top of the hill, just inside the sylvan glade, Mirabella spread out her shawl and sat down, contented for a while to simply watch the deer. It was a fairy-tale golden day, with the verdant green meadow spread out below, the virginal white of the daisies shining in the bright cheerful sun. The sky was deep blue, with fat white clouds lazing along. It was almost hot, but not quite, and occasionally light dancing airs of a breeze, wonderfully scented of rich earth and green grass, touched her face and teased the light strawberry-blonde curls that framed her face. She took off her bonnet. Lifting her face to the sun, she closed her eyes. All she was thinking was Thank you, Lord Jesus…thank you…for all of it, for everything…

  Mirabella had a very sensitive nose, and she became aware of a faint aroma, carried on the breeze. The fragrance was unfamiliar and oddly complex: one moment it seemed to be heavily spiced, but she could also detect a tantalizingly sweet scent, and in the next moment the smells were intermingled so completely that she had difficulty sorting them out. Mirabella was intrigued. After standing up and turning this way and that, and pointing her nose into the air and sniffing (Dolly watched these antics curiously), she discerned that the scent was coming from behind her. In the wild, birches grew very close together, but in the deer park the gardeners kept them thinned out enough that they didn’t grow as close as a thicket, and they cleared all underbrush so that underfoot was only grass. Behind her, in the deep of the glade, the trees did grow closer together than in the picnic spot, and far above her the canopy of leaves was so thick that beneath them was almost unbroken shade.

  Mirabella gathered her things and, followed by Dolly, made her way deeper into the sculptured wood. The silvery white of the slender tree trunks, marked with the solemn black “eyes,” the soft carpet of grass underneath her feet, the sunlight playing in the leaves above, turning the light into a magical gold-green, all enchanted Mirabella. As she went farther and farther back, the elusive scents became stronger and more defined. Then she noticed that ahead, instead of the solid grass carpet, she saw gleams of white intermingling with a lighter green.

  Suddenly she stood in a sea of white flowers and lacy lime-green leaves. The aromas now filled her senses, and she knew them. Falling to her knees, she caressed a stalk that had symmetrical rows of tiny bell-shaped blooms. It was lily of the valley, and she wondered now that she hadn’t at first recognized the familiar heavenly sweet scent. Taking one of the nearby fern-like leaves in her hand, she crushed it and held it to her nose. The spicy smell, piquant and strong, was that of wild thyme. Mirabella marveled that either plant was thriving in such deep shade; normally they required lots of sunlight. She noted that both types were smaller than normal, but they didn’t look stunted or sparse. Looking about her, she saw that she was in a clearing, but the green canopy was still thick overhead, and the light occasionally glinted sun-diamonds down through the softly rustling leaves. It was a bright, secret, quiet place. Suddenly and unaccountably, tears filled Mirabella’s eyes.

  It occurred to her that even though she had known such sorrow over Giles, she had never cried; but she was not weeping because of him. What she felt was an almost unbearably poignant love, of this place, of the wonderful day, of her home and family, of her entire life. It was mingled with a gentle bittersweet regret for the things that would never be, but Mirabella felt no remorse, no sorrow, only an understanding that pain must be suffered as a part of life in this wicked old world, but that when she went home with her Lord an
d Savior Jesus Christ, she would eternally know only joy. At last Mirabella was at peace.

  The tears ran down her cheeks, and Mirabella felt that they were somehow cleansing. Dolly nosed her bent knee, and then buried her face in a thick clump of heavily flowered lily of the valley. Abruptly Mirabella came out of her deep reverie, and said sharply, “No, no, Dolly, those are poison!” Before she could pull the doe’s face away, however, Dolly lost interest in the flowers and began to pointedly nudge the satchel lying by Mirabella’s side. Mirabella marveled, thinking that Almighty God, who watched over the humble sparrows, had also lovingly given Dolly such wisdom that she refused to eat even sweetly scented poison. For some reason this made the tears flow even more freely, and Mirabella had the unusual sensation, for perhaps the first time in many years, of crying so hard her nose was running and was undoubtedly red. Lifting her skirt, she wiped her nose on the hem.

  “D’ye know, these little bell flower thingamagums always make me cry, too.”

  Giles walked out of the thick of the wood and came to stand beside her, his arms crossed and looking down at her. Mirabella’s heart stopped beating for a moment, but she took a deep breath and managed to smile. “They’re lily of the valley, as I think you well know, and that’s not why I’m crying. That is, I’m not really crying. Oh, never mind. Hello, I’m surprised to see you, Giles.”

  He helped her to stand, and then took her crumpled shawl and spread it out for them to sit on. “Hello, Dolly, hello, Mirabella, and I’m surprised to finally see you, too, for I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Likely I never would have found you, except I heard you talking to Dolly. I can see why you’re hiding here, though, this is surely an enchanted glade, it looks as if fairies and naiads and dryads and sprites might dance by at any moment. The scents are bewitching, too.”