by Jane Toombs
"You did all you could."
"I should never have agreed to drive the carriage that morning.” Rodgers held out his hands; Justine murmured sympathetically when she saw how gnarled and twisted they were. “Mrs. Baldwin will tolerate no other coachman than myself,” he added, “despite these sorry hands of mine. And so I thank you."
"Anyone would have done the same,” she said.
"That may or may not be.” He bowed, walked to the door as though to leave only to turn to face her once more. “When Mr. Eustace Baldwin, God rest his soul, lay on his deathbed, he beseeched me to look after his widow. Despite my best efforts, Mrs. Baldwin went into a decline soon after his death that has worsened with every passing year until now I fear she will never escape her melancholia."
Rodgers drew a deep breath; Justine saw a tear glisten on his cheek. “I most humbly beg your pardon,” he said in a choked voice, “but I possess a great affection for Mrs. Baldwin."
"If there was anything I could do to help her, I would."
"If you accepted her offer, you would not be receiving charity, you would be dispensing it to an old, distraught woman who in all probability has very few years remaining on this earth. Pray reconsider your decision, Miss Riggs, I most humbly beseech you."
CHAPTER 4
Justine held her breath as Monsieur Lambert, the French emigre employed as a tutor by Mrs. Baldwin to improve Justine's skills in art and music, peered through his quizzing glass at her latest attempt to create an acceptable water color. He placed the painting on an easel, stepped back several paces and, all the while frowning, tilted his head first to the right and then to the left.
"And what exactly does your painting represent, Mademoiselle Riggs?” he wanted to know.
Justine let out her breath with a sigh of defeat. “Ships anchored in the harbor at Gravesend."
"Ah, yes, now I begin to comprehend. Those undulations are meant to portray the waves. Is that not so, mademoiselle?"
Justine nodded. “Do you see any hope for me at all?"
"Monsieur Lambert is always the optimist. With much serious study of technique and after much attempt and mistake, mademoiselle, you might, after the passage of several years, attain a certain competence."
Mrs. Baldwin bustled into the library. “Mercy, such a dreadful, dreadful summer,” she said as she used a lace-edged handkerchief to dab at the perspiration on her forehead. “This sultry weather is much worse than any disease-bearing miasma. If only the rain would commence.” Seeing the painting, she went to the easel, squinting as she leaned forward. “What a lovely scene,” she said to Justine. “One must see many such meadows with their grazing cows in the country near Gravesend."
Should she laugh or should she cry? Justine wondered. Her innate good humor triumphed and she laughed. Mrs. Baldwin, smiling tentatively, looked puzzled.
"I intended my painting to be a harbor scene,” Justine told her.
"I do suffer from rather poor eyesight."
"And I,” Justine admitted ruefully, “suffer from a lack of artistic talent as Monsieur Lambert will be the first to testify."
"Your charming ward, however,” he told Mrs. Baldwin, “does possess a most pleasant singing voice.” Hearing the long clock in the hall chime four times, he said, “The time has arrived for Monsieur Lambert to depart. Until tomorrow.” Bowing right and bowing left, he backed from the room and was gone.
Justine walked to the window where she stood looking out at the gazebo in the rose garden at the rear of the house. The summer afternoon was hot and the air moist, but although clouds had cast a gray shroud over the city for the last several days, the long-threatened rain stubbornly refused to fall.
"My dear,” Mrs. Baldwin said, coming to stand behind her, “you have no reason to despair. The ability to sketch or do watercolors is of little importance."
Justine shook her head. “If only those were the least of my failings. Not only is my artistic ability less than accomplished, Monsieur Lambert must exert all of his tact and power of will not to cover his ears when I sit down at the pianoforte. As for my needlework, the less said the better."
"How unfair to yourself you are! You dance divinely, Justine, you speak French and Italian fluently, and I find you more than amiable. Your presence here has truly been a godsend."
Justine turned and when she impulsively hugged the older woman, she felt a rush of affection when she saw tears glistening in Mrs. Baldwin's eyes.
"I fear that some gentlemen,” Justine said after a moment, thinking of Lord Devon, “would be more inclined to label me waspish rather than amiable. Perhaps what I require is not so much the long-suffering Monsieur Lambert but an alchemist of the social graces to somehow turn my baser qualities into golden ones."
"An alchemist?” After a moment, Mrs. Baldwin's thoughtful frown changed to a smile. “The very thing!” Seeing Justine raise her eyebrows, she hastened to add, “Not an alchemist—I have no knowledge of any alchemists practicing their art in London in this modern day and age—what we must do is consult an astrologer. And none is more gifted in interpreting the influences of the heavens than Mademoiselle Daphne Gauthier."
Now it was Justine's turn to find herself all at sea. “Whyever an astrologer?"
"After my dear Eustace passed over, I had the good fortune to be referred to Mademoiselle Gauthier who was able to reassure me that one day Eustace and I would be together again.” She sighed. “That day, I expect, will arrive sooner rather than later since I was born on the thirtieth of June."
"An unfavorable date?"
"I had the misfortune to be born under the sign of Cancer. As you are undoubtedly aware, we Cancerians are prey to a astonishing variety of ailments.” As she spoke, Mrs. Baldwin unconsciously placed her hand over her heart.
Justine, desiring to turn their conversation to a less distressing subject, said, “Though I happen to be a skeptic, I have no objection to visiting an astrologer."
"As I was myself before meeting Mademoiselle Gauthier.” Mrs. Baldwin sat at the escritoire. “Please ring for Rodgers,” she told Justine, “while I pen an urgent appeal to Mademoiselle Gauthier.” After writing for a few minutes, she looked up. “I really should include the date of your birth."
"March twenty-ninth,” Justine told her.
"And the hour? Do you happen to know the hour?"
"My father told me I was born a few minutes before ten on a Sunday morning. He always said the tolling of church bells announced my arrival into the world."
"Mademoiselle Gauthier will be most pleased with such precise information.” Mrs. Baldwin was sealing the letter when Rodgers entered the library. “Will you deliver this to Mademoiselle Gauthier personally?” she asked him. “We intend to have a consultation with her as soon as possible.” Looking up at Justine, she added, “I always worry so that my letters will go astray."
As soon as Rodgers left with a promise to personally place the letter in Mademoiselle Gauthier's hands within the hour, Mrs. Baldwin said, “Undoubtedly that explains it."
"I fail to understand."
"Being an Aries explains your unexpected refusal to see Lord Devon since an Aries is inclined to be stubborn. Some would even say call them willful."
Had she been willful? Justine wondered. Perhaps she had been unwise as well. John Willoughby had predicted that Devon would drop from sight following her rebuff; he had not. Justine had expected him to return and again offer his apologies; he had not. Instead, Emeline had informed her, Lord Devon had gone about town as though absolutely nothing untoward had occurred, evidently having banished Miss Justine Riggs from his thoughts for good and all.
If only she, in turn, could banish him from hers! Even now she found herself wondering where he was, what he was doing and, she blushed to admit, whether his thoughts ever turned to her.
* * * *
"A Mr. Rodgers is asking for you, milord."
"Ah, good,” Lord Devon said. “Show him in, Allison.” When Rodgers entered the drawing room,
Devon, who was standing behind a drum table, gestured toward a decanter of brandy. “Will you join me?"
Rodgers looked startled, but managed to mumble his thanks.
As Devon poured the liquor into two large snifters, he said, “Damnable weather, this, the sort of dead calm you might expect before a natural catastrophe, a hurricane, an earthquake, or the like.” After handing one of the glasses to Rodgers, he raised his own in a salute to his guest and Rodgers bowed his head in acknowledgment. Both men paused to inhale the aroma of the brandy, both nodded with satisfaction and then sipped in silence.
"I understand,” Lord Devon said once they were seated at the hearth, “that you followed my suggestion concerning Miss Riggs."
"I did indeed, milord."
"And as a result she agreed to accept Mrs. Baldwin's more than gracious offer."
"She did. And now she is being instructed in all of the obligatory feminine graces.” Rodgers swirled the brandy in his glass. “With results I can only describe as mixed."
"And Mrs. Baldwin?"
"Her health, recently so wretched, appears much improved."
"Capital. As I suspected would be the case, our joining forces has resulted in benefits to both of us. Not to mention Mrs. Baldwin and Miss Riggs.” Devon placed his empty glass to one side. “You bring news, I assume."
Rodgers hesitated. “I wish to say, milord, that Mrs. Baldwin and myself find Miss Riggs to be a most warmhearted young lady, amiable and engaging. Mrs. Baldwin, in fact, has referred to her several times as a treasure. In the space of less than a month we have, in short, grown quite fond of the young lady."
"An admirable sentiment that does credit to you both yet hardly an explanation for your presence here today."
"I would not want harm to come to her, milord, as the result of any action of mine."
Devon's face clouded. “You forget yourself, Rodgers,” he said angrily. “Are you suggesting by any chance that I might—"
Rodgers drank the last of his brandy, placed the glass on the table beside his chair, and rose. “I was simply stating facts while suggesting nothing. I wish you good day, Lord Devon."
"Wait.” Devon also rose. “The fault is partly mine,” he admitted, “for seeking your help while supplying no hint of my motives. No harm will befall Miss Riggs, I assure you. I give you my word on that. I merely wish to set matters right between the young lady and myself.” Is that really all you have in mind, Devon? he asked himself. Are your motives of such a high order, are they so completely honorable?
Rodgers hesitated and then gave a nod of satisfaction. “Mrs. Baldwin, intends to accompany Miss Riggs to an astrologer for a consultation. Not only an astrologer, the lady in question reads palms as well.” He touched the pocket of his coat. “I have with me a letter to deliver to Mademoiselle Daphne Gauthier."
"Damme. So Daphne styles herself an astrologer now. If my father's tales about her contained even a scintilla of truth, she has a rather checkered past.” Devon smiled. “At least time has broadened her celestial horizons since when young she was seemed to be under the influence of Venus alone, while now I suppose she must concern herself with the other planets as well. I wonder what your employer expects to accomplish by such a visit."
"I believe, milord, that madam hopes that Mademoiselle Gauthier's knowledge of planetary influences will reveal a suitable attachment for Miss Riggs."
Devon felt a painful stab in the vicinity of his heart. “Balderdash! How absurd. An amateur astronomer placing herself in the hands of an astrologer to provide herself with a suitable mate?” He must, protect this country miss from the well-meaning yet dangerous plans of a benefactor so ill-advised that she intended to rely on a soothsayer for guidance.
"Begging your pardon, milord, but are we qualified to judge?” Rodgers asked. “It has been my observation that we English tend to look askance at whatever we are unable to explain."
"Your mind, Rodgers, would appear to be so open to exotic notions that all manner of rubbish has entered and accumulated there.” Clasping his hands behind him, Devon paced to and fro. “This is not the time for philosophy but for deeds.” He lowered his head and, continuing to pace, muttered to himself as he sought to hit upon a suitable course of action. Finally he stopped dead, faced Rodgers and exclaimed, “Of course, the eclipse! I should have remembered the eclipse as soon as you spoke of an astrologer."
"The eclipse, milord?"
"The almanac reports there will be a partial eclipse of the moon in a fortnight's time."
"Caused, I believe, by our planet Earth passing between the sun and the moon."
"Is there anything in heaven or on earth you stand in ignorance of, Rodgers?"
"Many things, including the use you mean to make of this forthcoming eclipse. I should be greatly obliged if you would tell me."
"This eclipse of the moon provides an excellent excuse for an Eclipse Party, a rollicking ramble into the country for a few weeks, let us say to Mr. Gerard Kinsdale's estate where, far from the smoke of London, Round Hill will afford a panoramic view of the heavens."
"And I presume you, milord, are a friend of this Mr. Kinsdale."
"An acquaintance, yes, as was your employer, Mrs. Baldwin, in bygone days, in better days. Mr. Kinsdale, who has become something of a misanthrope in late years, is best known as the inventor, not of steam engines or large pieces of textile machinery but of gadgetry. Recently, for example, he devised a shade for candles, a device akin to a lamp shade, a clever though rather impractical contrivance."
Rodgers looked thoughtful. “I believe Mrs. Baldwin has mentioned Mr. Kinsdale, but I have, I must admit, never before heard of an Eclipse Party."
"Some five or six years ago, Lady Prescott held an extraordinarily successful Eclipse Party at Medford. One heard of little else for months thereafter."
"How strange. My brother happened to be in service with Lady Prescott at that time, as he is today, and never mentioned such an extraordinary event."
"Must you be so deucedly meticulous, Rodgers? Whether the Eclipse Party occurred five years ago or ten and whether the hostess happened to be Lady Prescott or Lady Jersey or Lady Someone Else Entirely, makes little or no difference. The important thing is that you have now heard of an Eclipse Party given by a lady of Quality; you are therefore now entitled to mention, when discussing the matter with Mrs. Baldwin, having heard of such a party. Do you take my meaning?"
Rodgers sighed. “I fear I do, milord."
"Think about the possibilities of an Eclipse Party if you will, Rodgers. Picture a company of ladies and gentlemen enjoying the balmy night air in the country while they cavort in the soft glow of the moonlight. What better setting could one imagine to further Miss Riggs’ matrimonial prospects? As the poet said,
'The moon shines bright:
In such a night as this
Troilus methinks mounted the Troyan walls,
And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents,
Where Cressid lay that night.'
"Those wondrous lines are from William Shakespeare's As You Like It."
"Much as it distresses me to contradict you, milord, methinks they appear in The Merchant Of Venice."
Devon's brow furrowed in thought as he glared at Rodgers. “Quite right,” he admitted after a moment. He looked Rodgers up and down and suddenly grinned. “If ever you become dissatisfied with your present employment, pray make me aware of the fact for I shall most certainly have a place for you here."
Rodgers made a slight bow. “Thank you, my lord, but I am more than content where I am."
Later, after Rodgers had left to deliver the letter to Mademoiselle Gauthier, Devon stared from the window, congratulating himself on his idea of an Eclipse Party. It would be just the thing.
On the other hand, Miss Riggs’ consultation with an astrologer was less than satisfactory. He had a strong premonition that endless mischief would flow from such an undertaking.
CHAPTER 5
Justine and Prudence Ba
ldwin were greeted at the door by Antonio, Mademoiselle Gauthier's young footman. “Mademoiselle is expecting you,” he told the two visitors in accented English. He led them down a long carpeted corridor, their way dimly lit by candles in elaborately carved sconces placed below alabaster statues set in niches along both walls. As she looked more closely at the statues, Justine drew in her breath in sudden shocked surprise while at the same time, fascinated despite herself, she felt compelled, even as she felt her face glow with a vivid flush, to gaze more closely at the entwined bodies of men and women.
The life-sized figures represented classic Greek and Roman scenes of myth and legend, the men nude, the women either unclothed or revealingly clad in flowing diaphanous gowns, the soft light from the candles glowing from their white breasts and buttocks. To Justine's right, a conquering warrior carried off a desperately struggling woman into the horrors of depraved captivity. There, on the opposite wall, two lovers embraced, their bodies molded one to the other in never-ending yet never-to-be-fulfilled passion.
Justine blinked as the corridor suddenly brightened. Looking away from the statues she realized that Antonio had opened a door and was announcing their arrival. Embarrassed at her dallying, she hurried forward to follow Prudence into a spacious room where her gaze was immediately drawn upward to the opaque glass ceiling decorated with the twelve signs of the Zodiac, from Aries to Pisces, circling as they followed the path of the sun around the Earth.
She breathed in a heady odor, the intoxicating scent of a spicy incense bringing to her mind exotic Eastern pleasure palaces ruled by sultans in turbans and long robes of varied colors where languorous white-skinned, black-eyed women reclined on over-sized pillows as they idled their days away while awaiting—with apprehension? with indifference? with anticipation?—the words that would summon them to the chambers of their lord and master.
By the light of votive candles burning steadily in many-tiered candelabra, she saw that red and green velvet draperies had been drawn across the windows. The tapestries on the walls depicted strange, unsettling scenes—sacrificial virgins mounting the stone steps of an ancient New World temple, Satan in the form of a snake with a man's head enticing Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, dancing Druids circling a huge oak in a medieval English forest, the abduction and rape of the Sabine women, and “Mars and Venus United in Love."