by Martha Keyes
As she stirred the heating concoction, she glanced at the dark berries and leaves that remained in the basket. She squeezed her eyes shut. For the life of her, she could not remember what her aunt had said about the berries and when to use them. Or had she said anything about them at all?
Viola was most concerned that Solomon’s portion be strong, for he was obviously the most skeptical, the largest in stature, and the one most in need of the full strength of love’s power.
She drew out some of the elixir on her wooden spoon, blowing on it and bringing it to her mouth for a taste.
Her brows shot up as the warm liquid seeped down her throat and warmed her stomach. She had done a fine job indeed.
She poured three quarters of the pot’s contents into three of the four glasses on the table behind her, then returned the pot to the stove, plopping two berries and one leaf in, which she mashed with the wooden spoon.
The strengthened elixir was certainly a good step towards ensuring that the outcome of this experiment was as it should be, but Viola knew she might also need to give things another little nudge, which she fully intended to do.
And if all else failed, she had the letter.
Deborah insisted upon being the first to take the elixir, and it was also she who insisted it be done privately, with only Viola as witness.
“For I imagine,” Deborah said, “that you have wisdom to impart along with the potion, do you not?”
“Elixir.” Viola held the tray of drinks in hand. “It is an elixir. But yes, I do have a few words to say to each of you individually before you drink the contents of these cups.”
“Lovely,” Deborah said, moving toward the door. “And will it not be most efficacious if drunk near its source? In the ruins, perhaps?”
Viola’s brow wrinkled, but the idea of the elixir being drunk in a place as mystical and beautiful as the ruins was too great a temptation. “Yes, I think so.”
“I suspected as much.” Deborah clasped her hands together in the manner of someone who had taken it upon herself to lead the group. “Well, I shall be first, perhaps followed by”—she raked her eyes over the room, and they landed upon Mr. Coburn—“Frederick, I suppose, then Mercy, followed by Mr. Kennett?”
Viola watched as Mercy and Solomon shared amused smiles. As no one countered Deborah’s suggested order, Viola led her cousin through the large door, onto the veranda, and around the house to the ruins, stepping with great care so as not to spill the potions.
“Now,” said Deborah as they reached one of the stone benches, surrounded by vines and a rose bush, “I must ask you a few things, Viola, for I think you hardly realize how important this is.” She sat down on the edge of the bench, clasping her hands in her lap. “Frederick must—absolutely must—be given a dose of the elixir potent enough to ensure his falling more deeply in love with me than ever before. Can I trust that you will ensure such a thing?”
Viola looked at Deborah severely. “I believe you have misunderstood, Deb. It is not me who controls the effects of the elixir. The elixir is meant to encourage the greatest increase in love among each person who partakes of it, whatever form that takes.”
Deborah’s disappointment could not be overstated, and Viola felt pricked by guilt, knowing that she had every intention of helping the elixir along.
“But I shall do what I can,” she said reluctantly.
Deborah moved to stand. “Well, truthfully, I am in no need of it, for I already know who I love—”
Viola grabbed her hand and shook her head. “You must drink it, Deb. If only Frederick partakes of it, the equilibrium will be upset, and I can take no responsibility at all for what might happen then.”
Viola had learned enough from her aunt to know the importance of such things. There was an order to everything.
Looking alarmed, Deborah sat back down and reached for one of the glasses.
“No!” Viola cried, pushing Deborah’s hand away from the glass meant for Mr. Kennett. She smiled abashedly. “I must feel which glass you are to partake from.”
She hesitated a moment, glancing down at the position of the glasses to commit them to memory, then closed her eyes, waving her hand slowly just above the glasses until she came to a stop above one she knew wasn’t for Mr. Kennett. “This one.”
“That one?” Deborah said skeptically.
“Yes. Decidedly this one.”
Deborah reached for it, but Viola pulled it away from her. “I must first say the words.”
Deborah forced a smile, tapping her foot on the ground impatiently. The sun was melting down the afternoon sky toward the horizon, and based on the clouds, they were in for a beautiful sunset in an hour or two.
“The elixir requires some time to take effect—normally half an hour or so.”
Deborah eyed the glass in Viola’s hand, as if it held the solution to all of her troubles.
“After you have drunk it, you must go to the south side of the house and wait for”—she gripped her lips together—“well, the incantation will inform you what you are to look for.”
Viola took in a large breath and handed the glass to Deborah. “Feel its power.” Viola closed her eyes for a moment.
But it was no use. She could only remember scraps of the true incantation—enough at least that she could fill in the gaps.
“If into love thou wilt repair
Drink thou this glass and heed this prayer:
With him ‘pon whom thine eyes first set
Thy heart shall play endless duet.”
She opened her eyes, quite pleased with the poem, and nodded for Deborah to drink the contents of the glass, which she did speedily.
“Now go,” Viola said. “And remember the words of the incantation.”
Deborah moved to leave. She paused at the ruined wall and turned her head to Viola. “I shall be forever indebted to you, Vi,” she said in a soft voice, “if you can make Frederick love me again.” She lingered for a moment longer, then disappeared around the wall.
Viola pinched her lips together, uncomfortably aware that Deborah would also forever blame her if things came to an end between her and Mr. Coburn.
She took a moment to compose herself before going to fetch Mr. Coburn. She found him biting his nails.
“Have you a potio—pardon me, elixir that inspires one with wisdom and guidance?” he asked as they entered the garden. “It is not my heart that is in need of direction but rather my mind.”
“Heart and mind are inseparably connected.” Viola took her seat before the glasses.
“I am sure you are right.” Mr. Coburn sat and shot a quick glance at the tray. “But I am very much at a loss for how to help Deborah see reason. No matter what I do, she misunderstands me. She somehow doubts my love for her, when all I want is to do what is best for her.”
Viola glanced at the position of the sun in the sky. She needed to hurry if the others were to drink the elixir before night fell. And much as she liked Mr. Coburn, she was most concerned that Solomon drink his portion.
“I think you shall be pleasantly surprised at the results of drinking this glass, Mr. Coburn,” she said, shoving it into his uninjured hand.
He took it from her, nodding somewhat absently.
“Once I have said the necessary words and you have drunk the contents of the glass, you must wait for the elixir to take effect. A simple walk to the south side of the house will be sufficient. Now, listen to the words of the incantation, then drink.”
Chapter Fifteen
Mercy and Solomon were alone once Mr. Coburn followed Viola from the room, a circumstance which left Mercy nervously rubbing her palms on her skirts.
Solomon’s half smile appeared as he stared at the door the two had disappeared through, and he leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. “I am trusting your knowledge of Miss Pawnce, you know.” He shot a significant look at Mercy. “This elixir she has made—will it be palatable? Or am I expected to stomach some vile concoction to spare her
feelings?”
Mercy laughed. “I am afraid so. For I cannot allow you to jeopardize Deborah’s improved mood, which is certainly what would happen if you threw off the supernatural equilibrium by failing to drink the elixir. And you must swallow it,” she said, anticipating the words that were on the tip of his tongue. “Heaven only knows what might happen if you were to spit it out.”
He threw his head back. “More and more I feel as though I am the only one here with his senses still about him! Between Aunt Priscilla’s shocking behavior, Miss Lanaway’s reliance on pansies to rekindle the incomprehensibly forbearing love of Mr. Coburn, and Miss Pawnce’s talk of maintaining magic equilibria”—he shook his head.
Mercy smiled. “I am glad you realize you aren’t the only sensible one here.”
He raised his brows. “What, you?”
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “I did not figure in your list.”
He scoffed. “Only because I was saving the worst for last! It is you who are encouraging all this madness.” His eyes danced as he looked at her, though, and Mercy couldn’t help but smile responsively.
“That isn’t true,” she protested. “I am merely keeping the peace until everyone comes to their senses.”
“Keeping the peace? Hmph. Is that what you call forcing an innocent man to drink what may well be the devil’s own brew?”
“Oh, come,” Mercy said, “Viola is harmless. And if swallowing a few mouthfuls of pansy water is the price of bringing Deborah to her senses, then I shall gladly drink five such glasses.”
“Ah, then I welcome you to drink my share, for I do not share your confidence in your cousin’s abilities.”
Mercy clucked her tongue. “Have you no care at all for the balance of the unseen world? I cringe to think what would become of me for violating the rules so willfully.”
He set a hand over his heart in mock contrition. “Forgive me. I cannot think what came over me to suggest it.”
She nodded with an air of condescension. “You are forgiven.” She couldn’t maintain her composure, though, and a smile broke through her lips just as one appeared on Solomon’s face.
For a moment, time and distance melted away, eradicating all barriers between them and bringing back a wave of love and connection so forceful Mercy’s breath caught in her chest.
But it was gone as soon as it had come. His smile flickered and then faded, and he turned his head away.
Mercy tried to swallow away the emotion that rose in her throat. That short glimpse of what could have been was more painful than anything else that had happened since his return.
But the reality of their situation couldn’t be pushed aside for longer than a moment: Solomon had returned with every intention of marrying Deborah. If not for Deborah’s antics, Solomon would be marrying Mercy’s dearest friend and cousin.
She looked up suddenly. “Why Deborah?” The words escaped her against her will.
Solomon turned his head slowly, a crease forming in his brow as he met her gaze. He remained silent.
“You could surely have any woman you wished for. So why Deborah?”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked toward the windows. “It was an advantageous match.”
“Is that all?” Mercy asked, keeping her eyes on his, willing him to meet her gaze again. She couldn’t believe that a marriage to Deborah Lanaway was the most advantageous match Solomon could find.
“What do you mean?” His jaw hardened as he asked the question, and Mercy sensed a warning.
But she couldn’t stop herself, or she would always wonder. “Surely there are other, better situated families who would jump at the chance for an alliance with you.”
His brow blackened further, the small scar disappearing as his eyebrows drew together. “What are you implying?”
She hesitated, and he filled the silence. “That I intended to marry your cousin out of a desire to have revenge upon you?”
She raised her chin. “Surely it was not the only factor, but it had occurred to me that there might be some element of it in the decision.”
He shot up from his chair, letting out a gush of disgust. “You are unbelievable. You think I have been wearing the willow for you these past two years, biding my time for a chance for vengeance?”
She sat motionless. It did sound terribly arrogant when he said it that way.
He shook his head and began pacing again. “If you think such things of me, it is no wonder that you couldn’t find it in you to marry me.”
Mercy lowered her head. “I could never think ill of you.” And now she couldn’t find it in herself to marry anyone but him.
“Oh, but you did think ill of me, Mercy. You made that abundantly clear when you chose not to believe my promises to take care of you.” He paused, and she could feel his eyes boring into her. “Pray, what other explanations have you found for my intent to marry your cousin?”
There was an alternative explanation, of course. Mercy was terrified of the answer—the thought it might be true gripped her heart like ice—but she needed to know. ”It had occurred to me that you had some special regard for Deborah—one of long standing.” She couldn’t even look at him as she said it, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw him freeze in place.
“Surely you cannot be serious,” he said.
She finally ventured a glance at him, lifting one of her shoulders in a small shrug. “You met her after we had already become engaged. I am sure I would be the last person to blame you if you experienced a change of heart. Deborah has many of the qualities I wish I possessed. She is widely admired.”
Solomon stared at her for a moment, then laughed wryly. “I tell you that I fear I am the only sane person in this group, and you assume that I have been secretly in love with your cousin for two years?”
She met his gaze with a shy smile. “You would hardly be the first gentleman to lose your heart to Deborah.”
He shook his head, and his brows knit. “I believe I made it quite clear at that time what my wishes were.”
At that time. What my wishes were.
There was no mistaking the firm placement of it all in the past.
He looked at her, the set of his jaw severe. “How you have persuaded yourself that this is a situation of my making baffles me completely. You broke off our engagement, Mercy. Not me. I as much as begged you not to. You may have forgotten that—indeed, if your memory is as transitory as your affections, I suppose it is nothing to be wondered at—but I certainly have not forgotten it. And I never shall.”
Mercy’s eyes burned as her heart went cold.
The door opened, and Viola stepped in breathlessly. “Come, Mercy. It is your turn to”—she stopped in her tracks, her gaze shooting back and forth between Mercy and Solomon.
Mercy stood, blinking to dispel the tears, and managed a wavering smile. “I am ready, Vi.”
They walked silently to the ruins, Mercy too consumed with her thoughts and feelings to make conversation. Viola seemed to understand her cousin’s desire for silence and said nothing.
When they sat down, though, Viola put a hand on Mercy’s knee. “Perhaps this shall help mend things,” she said softly.
Mercy’s lip trembled, and she set her own hand atop Viola’s. If only it were true. “I am afraid things are past mending, Vi.”
Viola’s eyes widened. “Mercy, you mustn’t underestimate the power of heartsease. Do you remember its other name?”
Mercy sighed but shook her head.
“Love-in-idleness. The love between you and Solomon is not gone; it has been but idle for these past two years. Now we must spring it to action.”
Mercy hadn’t the heart to argue with Viola—not when she so obviously believed what she was saying.
“You must listen carefully now and obey my directions with exactness.”
Mercy gave a shallow nod, feeling suddenly drained of energy as she listened half-heartedly to Viola’s words.
Solomon sat grim-faced
in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees. The door opened, and he let out a sigh before looking up to Miss Pawnce.
She was regarding him with a hesitant smile. “It is your turn, Mr. Kennett.”
For a moment, he considered refusing to go with her, this strange young woman. The last thing he wished to do was pretend a belief in the mystical properties of whatever she had concocted and then force himself to drink it.
Mercy had asked him to do it, and that alone raised within him a sudden desire not to follow Miss Pawnce.
But, however sour this elixir might be, revenge was more sour, and he was done with revenge. He could never forgive or forget what Mercy had done to him, but he wouldn’t chase that elusive goal of making her regret what she had done—he would be better than the vengeful and pathetic creature she thought him to be.
He stood and followed Miss Pawnce from the room toward the ruins.
On the stone table sat a tray of glasses—two empty but for the remnants of the elixir which coated the sides in a film of grainy purple, one with a mere swallow left, and, of course, his own glass, nearly full to the brim. How could this woman believe that she had brewed liquefied love?
“Now,” Miss Pawnce said, “I am aware that you think me entirely deranged, Mr. Kennett”—she put a hand up to silence his feeble protest—“but it matters little. Of course, this all works much better when accompanied by a belief in its powers, for then they needn’t be wasted in overcoming a stubborn mind—”
Solomon clamped his mouth shut. Any of the well-meaning protests which had risen to his lips evaporated at her words. He did think her somewhat deranged—and he would rather a stubborn mind than a deranged one.
“—but there is belief inside you somewhere. I know it, for it existed there once before. ‘Reason is our soul’s left hand, / Faith her right.’” She smiled at him. “I hope that this shall help you find your soul’s right hand again.” She held his eyes for a moment before continuing. “Once I have said the necessary words and you have drunk the elixir, you shall go to the east side of the house, where you may sit and wait for it to take effect. Do you understand?”