by Jane Toombs
Prudence, seemingly oblivious to the sensuousness of her surroundings, hurried across the room to give a most cordial greeting to the woman rising from her chaise longue. Turning to Justine, she said with obvious pride, “This is Daphne Gauthier."
Mademoiselle Gauthier, a petite blue-eyed woman of a certain age, had curly hair whose ash blondness, Justine could not fail to observe, owed more to artifice than to nature just as her vivid cheeks gave evidence of a liberal use of rouge rather than of robust health.
"Do sit beside me,” Mademoiselle Gauthier purred. When Justine joined her on the chaise longue, Mademoiselle Gauthier took her right hand and studied it intently. The three women were silent as the reader traced the lines on Justine's palm with the tip of her finger. “This palm shows the outer person, the left palm reveals the inner.” When she had finished studying both of Justine's hands she said, “Exactly as I suspected."
Prudence leaned forward eagerly. “What do you see, Daphne? Tell me, I beseech you."
"Justine—even though we have never met before, I feel I know you so well already that I must take the liberty of calling you by your given name—I see you as a bright, lively young lady of great hidden warmth, of sudden violent enthusiasms, one who shows affection readily, perhaps too readily since you constantly risk disappointment.” Mademoiselle Gauthier paused as though seeking confirmation of her reading, but Justine said nothing.
"You tend to be impatient with those who are slow to make up their minds,” Mademoiselle Gauthier went on. “You crave more challenge than is offered by the normal domestic duties of a woman, a craving which, in our day and age, may very well lead you to suffer much unhappiness and frustration."
From the corner of her eye, Justine noted that Prudence was nodding in agreement while smiling as if more than satisfied by this display of Mademoiselle Gauthier's talents. Justine herself could not quarrel with Mademoiselle Gauthier's description of her personal traits.
"When I look into your past,” the astrologer went on, “I perceive a time of great happiness when you were very young.” She frowned. “This happiness, unfortunately, was followed by a terrible tragedy when you were a girl of eight or nine—” She stopped when Justine caught her breath in surprise, then, taking her hand once more, said, “Notice this interruption in your life line."
There was, Justine saw, a decided break in the line on her palm.
"This tragedy,” Mademoiselle Gauthier said, “caused you many years of sorrow and distress. And now, though for the most part recovered from your loss, you are fated to face a year of uncertainty, a year of great danger and yet one of extraordinary opportunity."
"How remarkable,” Prudence said.
There was nothing at all remarkable in any of this, Justine assured herself while denying that she was in any way shaken by the accuracy of the astrologer's revelations. The woman could easily have discovered a great deal about her by merely asking a few questions. Prudence, in fact, could have told her of Justine's past without realizing how much she was revealing.
"I suspect,” Mademoiselle Gauthier said, “that our young friend fails to find my reading of her palm at all remarkable."
Justine felt herself blushing. “The future ... are you able to tell me what my future holds other than the uncertainty we all face?"
"Especially,” Prudence put in, “with regard to possible affairs of the heart. Though she has never said as much, I presume that Justine, like all unattached young ladies, must often tire of her state of single blessedness."
"For mere mortals such as ourselves,” Mademoiselle Gauthier said softly, “is always hidden behind a veil. Even when the veil lifts for a moment, we see through a glass darkly. There are so many possible paths one may follow, so many unexpected twists and turnings along the way."
"You must make the attempt,” Prudence said. “I so rely on your guidance in making plans for Justine."
"For you, my dear friend, I shall do my best.” The astrologer closed her eyes, raising her head heavenward. “Ah,” she said after a few moments, her eyes still closed, “I do see a man, a man of pleasing countenance, a gentleman held in high regard by the ton."
"Wonderful!” Prudence cried. “And does he possess feelings of tenderness for Justine?"
"I could tell you more if only I were better acquainted with both Justine and the gentleman. He shows an interest in Justine, of that I am confident, an interest that may one day, possibly soon, blossom into true affection. And yet there are obstacles in the path of this romantic attachment, many obstacles, not the least of which is a disparity in social standing."
Justine could do nothing to still the rapid beating of her heart since Mademoiselle Gauthier could be describing only one person. Was it possible he did care for her? She sighed. Of course not, the woman meant to dangle tempting possibilities before Prudence and herself; no more able to see into the future than Justine was.
Mademoiselle Gauthier opened her eyes to peer closely at Justine. “Another obstacle is your own nature, my dear. An Aries such as yourself is apt to love most unwisely, an Aries tends to love with a strong, fiery passion, a passion that consumes all in its path and leaves you with nothing but cold ashes."
"You must tell us who this mysterious gentleman is,” Prudence begged. “You have me all in a dither.” She put her hand to her breast. “My poor heart!"
My poor heart, Justine echoed to herself. Was she indeed to be left with nothing more than ashes? Not if she could prevent such an unhappy fate! And yet, if he did care for her...
Mademoiselle Gauthier smiled. “He is,” she said, her voice rising in an excited spiral as she spoke, “a gentleman of the ton, a handsome young man that many mothers have dangled for to no avail. Are you unable to guess?"
Both Justine and Prudence shook their heads.
"He is,” Mademoiselle Gauthier said, raising both hands triumphantly, “none other than Mr. John Willoughby!"
* * * *
With a light Chinese shawl over her nightgown, Justine opened the French doors of her bed chamber and stepped out onto the room's small balcony. The night seemed even hotter than the day had been, the air heavy and suffocating. Clouds huddled low over the city while in the east lightning flickered just above the horizon, but no breeze came to stir the drooping branches of the weeping willow in the garden.
"John Willoughby.” Justine shook her head as she murmured the name. She considered her distant cousin, as she had told Prudence on their drive home from Mademoiselle Gauthier's, a pleasant young man who seemed to better fill the role of a brother rather than a lover.
"Time not only mends the worst of wounds,” Prudence had replied, “but often illuminates the shadowed recesses of our hearts as well, revealing love where once only friendship dwelled. We must be patient, we must wait and see what the excursion to the country for the Eclipse Party brings."
An Eclipse Party; what an unusual yet delightfully appealing notion. And to think that Rodgers had suggested the idea. An extremely clever man, Rodgers; a true paragon. She quite enjoyed their frequent conversations. If Gerard Kinsdale consented to act as their host for a stay of a few weeks in the country, and Prudence seemed certain he would consent, John Willoughby would be present. Prudence also intended to invite John's sister, his uncle, and Lord Alton, as well as several other gentlemen and ladies.
But what of Lord Devon? Justine sighed; his name had not been mentioned.
Leaving the doors to the balcony open in the hope of encouraging at least the hint of a breeze, Justine returned to her chamber, removed her shawl and drew the coverlet off the four-poster bed. She lay on her back on the sheet and closed her eyes.
When thoughts and images insisted on roiling in her mind, she pictured, as she often did to hasten sleep, the vast vault of the limitless and silent heavens, the clusters of sun-stars whirling through space, the planets orbiting our sun, the moons circling the planets...
Clothed in a long flowing silk dressing gown and nothing more, she was led by two m
en, looming dark shadows in the gloom, down a long dank corridor with water dripping from overhead. No, not a corridor, the harsh damp rock beneath her bare feet told her she was in a cavern far beneath the earth. A light glinted ahead of her, and as she neared the candle flame she saw a statue of lovers, both unclothed, in a niche in the cave wall.
As she passed the niche she gasped, looking back over her shoulder to stare in horrified fascination. Surely the man had moved. Yes, he had, even now his hand was sliding along the smooth curve of the woman's back. They were not plaster, not marble, but alive, as surely flesh and blood as she herself.
A hand gripped her arm, hurrying her on and the two lovers were swallowed by the darkness of the cave.
Another light appeared ahead of her and she saw that she was approaching another niche. At first she looked steadfastly away but then, in spite of herself, she glanced into the niche. This was a statue, she thought with a relieved sigh, a depiction of two men holding a struggling, naked woman aloft between them.
As Justine looked away, she heard a woman scream. She turned and saw, before she was forced onward, her pulses racing, the naked woman screaming in terror as she was borne to the ground.
Glaring sunlight blinded her. Squinting into the light, she realized that a door had been opened just ahead of her. When her vision cleared, she stared up at massive stone steps rising into a bright blue sky. Her two captors gripped her arms, forcing her to mount the steps between them, the stone cloyingly wet under her feet from, she thought at first, water. When she glanced down, she saw what she had imagined to be water was in fact the dull red of partially congealed blood. Her senses reeled.
She was half-prodded, half-carried to the vast flat top of the pyramid. A darkly stained stone block reared precisely in the center of the expanse. She cringed away in fear as she was led not to the block but to a curtained enclosure at the edge of the pyramid.
One of her captors threw back the curtain to reveal a tall, imposing man standing within, arms folded over his chest. He was dressed in a robe of scarlet and orange, wore a circular headdress concealing his hair and a grotesque black mask covering his face. Justine knew without being told that he was the high priest.
Her two captors led her to the priest, stopping abruptly when they were an arm's length away. At a signal from the priest, they forced her to her knees in front of him. Slowly the priest raised his hands and started to lift the mask from his face...
She woke and sat up in bed, her body damp with perspiration, eerily unsettled by her dream while at the same time aware of being awakened by a harsh sound without being certain what had caused it. Leaving her bed, she walked through the door unto the balcony. Lightning flashed above the chimney pots; a rumble of thunder followed almost immediately. Had thunder wakened her or had it been a sound close to the house, in the street, perhaps, or closer still, in the garden or, and she glanced about her apprehensively at the thought, in the house itself?
Justine peered into the darkness of the garden below her, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Evidently, she assured herself with a sigh of relief, the sound had been either the thunder or a phantom sound from her dream.
After she returned to her bed, fragments of her disquieting dream came back, causing her to shake her head as if by so doing so she could banish the feverish memories of desire and danger. But to no avail for the dream-images remained to haunt her as she turned from side to side seeking sleep.
A noise startled her, a sound coming from her chamber, the sound of stealthy movement. She shivered with apprehension. Something ... no, not something ... someone, an intruder, must be in the room with her. Lightning flashed nearby; she saw a figure silhouetted in the darkness, the figure of a man crouched at the foot of her bed. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came, she was frozen with fear, totally unable to move or to cry out.
The intruder drew nearer, now he was at the side of her bed, now he knelt on the edge of the bed itself. His hand reached toward her cringing body, his fingers touched the flesh of her bare arm. She screamed.
And came awake to a vivid flash. A thunderous roar reverberated through the room. She stared about her in confusion. Again lightning flashed, revealing an empty chamber, again thunder rumbled, and she realized with a surge of relief she had dreamed not once but twice.
With a hissing rush, the rain began, a heavy rain that drummed on the roof. Justine swung from her bed and when, in the flicker of the lightning, she saw the rain slant beneath the balcony roof and into her room, she hurried to the French doors, intending to close them, only to pause when a wave of cool, invigorating air swept over her.
After a moment of hesitation, she left the doors open and stepped out onto the balcony into the long-awaited rain, the cooling, cleansing, life-giving rain. She raised her arms, lifted her head toward the sky, feeling the insistent beat of the rain as the water soaked her hair, streamed down her cheeks and molded her thin gown to her body.
"Yes,” she murmured, welcoming the rain and the change in the weather. “Yes, yes,” she said aloud, anticipating the adventure of her new life in London, embracing life and all it offered. “Yes, yes, yes."
CHAPTER 6
"Years ago,” Prudence said as their carriage left the high road and started the last leg of their journey to Gerard Kinsdale's estate, “we always caught our first glimpse of the chimneys of Kinsdale Manor from here. Now you can see nothing but the trees."
"Did you visit the Manor often when you were young?” Justine asked.
"On many, many occasions. Oh, I shall never forget the routs, the balls, the gay parties, all the wonderful times we had.” Prudence closed her eyes as she recalled those long ago days. “How very handsome Gerard was, how extraordinarily charming, how inconstant. I think we all must have been in love with him at one time or another, and he with us; I know I was, or thought I was until I met Eustace. Gerard loved all of us, one this week, another the next, while Eustace loved only me."
"How sad that Mr. Kinsdale never married."
"Oh, but he did, I thought you knew he married. His bride was Fanny Ryder, the Fanny Ryder, one of Mr. Romney's favorite subjects—he must have painted her portrait five times or more. When she passed on to a better world after being married less than a year—the Ryders have always been notorious for their weak lungs—Gerard abandoned London to live in the country. We all expected him to return to town after his year of mourning ended, but he never did. I suspect he mourns poor Fanny even after all these many years."
Prudence shook her head as if to admonish herself. “We should be looking forward to the Eclipse Party and your opportunity to become better acquainted with Mr. John Willoughby rather than reminiscing.” She nodded to her right. “Those are the Manor gates, the house is almost a mile further on.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “How ill-kept the grounds are."
Glimpsing sunlight sparkling from the waters of a stream, Justine drew in an uneasy breath, disquieted but unsure of the reason. And then she remembered. Closing her eyes, picturing a rowboat, she was whisked back to her childhood.
She had been seven when, though forbidden by her father to brave the river alone, she had pushed the rowboat from the muddy bank and clambered aboard. Struggling with the heavy oars, she made little progress at first, but then was drawn farther and farther from shore by the inexorable current. Too proud to cry out for help, she watched in helpless terror as the small boat was swept toward the falls. Somehow, though fear blurred the details, her father had rescued her.
Now, as they drove along the approach to the Manor, she felt the disquieting sensation of again being swept away from the safety of the shore toward the unknown. And she no longer had a father to save her.
As they entered the park, three mongrel dogs ran from the trees to yap at the horses’ hooves, retreating at the flick of Rodgers’ whip, but returning to run beside one of the rear wheels, barking incessantly. Only when Rodgers guided the carriage into the sweep leading to the mansion did the dogs draw
back, still barking, and then reluctantly loped away to disappear amidst the trees.
"How sad,” Prudence murmured.
For a moment Justine thought she referred to the stray dogs, but she quickly saw that her friend's gaze was on the topiary garden in the center of the sweep. The garden's shrubs, once meticulously fashioned in the form of birds and animals, had been allowed to sprout in unpruned abandon until they were now only vaguely recognizable.
Sad? Justine could not agree with Prudence and so she said nothing. In fact, she felt a certain kinship with the shrubs since in the last few weeks she had found herself being pruned and trimmed to change her into a different person, one she had difficulty recognizing as Justine Riggs. Those exuberantly sprouting shrubs might not please the eye, but at least they more closely resembled nature's intention of what a shrub should be.
"My heart aches,” Prudence said, “to find the mansion in such a sorry state of disrepair."
Justine noted that bricks had fallen from the chimneys, slates were missing from the roof and the ivy climbing the walls had spread unchecked until the leafy vines covered many of the windows.
"The Manor,” Prudence went on with a sigh, “reminds me of an old, old man grown too tired or too forgetful to care about his appearance. I wonder if Gerard—” She shook her head and sighed once more.
When their carriage stopped beneath the porte cochere, Justine noticed that weeds had invaded the cracks between the stones of the steps leading to the entrance. When no one came from the house to meet them, Rodgers sent a footman scurrying to the bell pull beside the front door while he swung to the ground to help Prudence and Justine alight from the carriage.