"They believe that Stonehenge was a celestial observatory," Phoebe explained, "originally constructed by the Druids, in order to more perfectly time their barbaric seasonal rituals."
Titania, who had dallied with Druids in the forest primeval when she was young, was first diverted and then rather bored, but she continued to listen politely. At last Phoebe subsided, and seemed to lapse into a state of intense contemplation.
Left to her own devices, Titania reached into her reticule and drew out a little volume bound in calfskin. The book opened on a familiar page, the beginning of an essay written by one of her Irish cousins, a tract On the Supposed Immortality of Fairies.
It was a controversial bit of writing, and the theories it contained had been hotly debated in Fairy Society for over a decade. Titania herself was not quite certain what she believed.
Because no fairy had ever died of natural causes, it was widely assumed that they were immortal. But in fact, Titania and Oberon were among the oldest fairies still living. All previous generations had died violently, either by accident, or as a result of the feuds and warfare which had once seemed inevitable to their proud and volatile race. Yet the world was changing, men were growing more civilized, and the race of fairies more settled and peaceful. As a result, a number had already survived to a hitherto unthinkable age, and there was much speculation as to what would happen when the first fairies entered their third millennium.
One theory was that they would simply die—prove to be long-lived but not immortal. Another theory, espoused by many, was that immortality itself would prove ultimately fatal, by first driving its victims mad and then to suicide.
Others argued that some incredible transformation would result: Perhaps a metamorphosis into winged beings, as the race had long been pictured in the popular fancy. Or perhaps (and this was rather nasty, based on an ancient superstition) they would dwindle into stinging flies and loathsome insects, and so perish.
I wonder. . . Titania thought as she read . . . what Mr. Merriweather and the Reverend Stukeley would think of all this?
Just then, the coach came to a jolting halt. Titania looked out the window. They had stopped before a pair of imposing iron gates, set into an archway bearing the Biblical commandment:
BE FRUITFUL, MULTIPLY, AND REPLENISH THE EARTH
A lumbering servant came out of the gatehouse and opened the gates; he was a rough-looking fellow with a hump on his back and it seemed that his hands and feet were webbed, yes, actually webbed, just like a fish! But Titania had time to see no more than that because the coach was soon bowling down a long, paved avenue. At last it drew up before a large and imposing residence.
Titania smoothed out her skirts, adjusted her hat and her demi-veil, and prepared to disembark. A silver-haired gentleman in a coat of leaf-green silk stepped forward to help her alight.
"Doctor Prospero, I do believe," said Titania. There was something decidedly familiar in that high-boned face, the tall and graceful figure. He is very distinguished—not to be wondered at, for I believe he was once the Duke of Naples—but why did I not remember how handsome he was?
"You are very welcome, Madam," said Doctor Prospero. "And with your leave, I will escort you and this pretty child into the house."
With many a pleasantry, he led them up the steps, into an immense entry hall, and up a broad flight of marble stairs. "I am afraid you will find us rather short of company," he said. "Two elderly ladies and their even more ancient brother. Hardly the sort of society to which a woman of your stature—and may I say beauty and fashion?—must certainly be accustomed."
"I did not come here seeking society," replied Titania, as they reached the top of the stairs. "I only wish peace and quiet . . . and of course to take the waters."
"Then I believe you will be satisfied," said Doctor Prospero. "And here is Mistress Quickly, my invaluable housekeeper, who will show you to your rooms." He indicated a stout, respectable looking creature in a black gown and a snowy white apron and cap. "Once you have rested and refreshed yourselves, you might wish to join me down in the gardens."
***
When Phoebe emerged from her bedchamber an hour later, it occurred to her that she had no idea where her godmother's rooms were located. "Still," she told herself, "I suppose I can easily find my own way down to the gardens."
She closed her door and proceeded down the corridor. But a curious thing happened as she moved through the house. She had always possessed a keen sense of direction, but she soon discovered that she had lost her way and when she tried to retrace her steps, Phoebe found herself walking instead down an unfamiliar corridor, a narrow ill-lit passageway.
It appeared that while the front of the house was modern, the part at the back was very much older, most likely Elizabethan, for the walls were paneled in worm-eaten oak. Phoebe wandered through long, musty hallways and old-fashioned galleries, past faded portraits done in oils, and rusty suits of armor, but wherever she went she was unable to find a single staircase leading down to the ground floor.
After a time, she began to feel panicky, as though the house itself meant to imprison her. But she was a sensible girl, and dismissed that morbid fancy almost immediately. At last she came to a low doorway. There was a sign upon the lintel, bearing the legend SANCTUM SANCTORUM, written in letters of gold.
Perhaps I will find Doctor Prospero inside, or at least one of his . . . I suppose one ought to call them acolytes, since this place pretends to be a temple, thought Phoebe. Someone, anyway, who can show me the way down to the gardens.
She knocked on the door, but no one answered. As it was not locked, she pushed it open, and discovered an ascending spiral staircase on the other side.
"I suppose there is nothing for it but to mount these stairs," she said, suiting her actions to her words. The stairs led up and up and up, far higher than she had supposed the house extended. "I believe I have entered some ancient tower."
At the top of the steps was another door. Without knocking this time, she pushed it open, and entered a most remarkable room.
The ceiling had been painted with constellations, silver and gold on midnight blue, and the room was ringed with windows. In the middle of the chamber was a long table, piled with books and papers, maps painted on parchment, and all sorts of fascinating brass instruments. By an open casement, a dark-haired man in a plain suit of clothes was fiddling with a long, cylindrical object, which appeared to be some kind of telescope.
"I beg your pardon," said Phoebe, as the man glanced up and started at the sight of her. "I did not wish to intrude, but . . ." Her interest in this unusual room and its occupant got the better of her. "Excuse me, sir, but is this not a place of astronomical observation?"
"It is," he replied with a smile. Though simply dressed, he spoke with an educated accent. And while he was plainly a great deal older than Phoebe, he was still a fine looking man, with an imposing, hawk-like countenance. "Have you lost your way? I hardly think that you meant to come here. Allow me to—"
"No, please," she said, gazing around her with sparkling eyes. "I think this room is fascinating. Would you show me what you are doing? Perhaps I ought to introduce myself: I am Phoebe Merriweather, and my father—"
"Your father is Sir Philip Merriweather, the mathematician. You are very like him," exclaimed the mysterious gentleman, clearly enchanted to make her acquaintance. "Sir Philip and I have been carrying on a delightful correspondence on the orbits and trajectories of comets. Pardon me, my name . . . my name is Septimus Battista, and I am Doctor Prospero's assistant. These astronomical studies are a mere avocation, but one that I find absolutely fascinating."
He abandoned his telescope, crossed the room, and took both of her hands in a cordial grip. He led her gently over to the table. "Perhaps you would like to examine this star-chart, these calculations?"
"Oh, yes," said Phoebe breathlessly, accepting an inky paper scribbled with numbers and planetary symbols. "How very, very kind you are."
***<
br />
The gardens, as Titania soon discovered, were cool and pleasant, with wide lawns of an incredible emerald green, a boxwood maze, marble statues, pillars and fountains, and a golden pavilion covered with flowering vines.
"You do not appear unduly tired after your journey," said a voice behind her. Turning, Titania saw Prospero moving in her direction, strolling down a flagstone walkway with a tricorn hat in one hand, a silver cane in the other. "Indeed, you appear wonderfully fresh, and as vivid as any flower in this garden."
Titania felt a faint heat rising in her face. "These grounds must be very beautiful at night when you light the lanterns." She fell into step beside him, and they continued to walk together, through a dainty arbor, along the edge of a rushy lake.
She felt perfectly easy in his company. A volatile creature of instinct and desire, Titania generally knew at once whether or not she was going to like someone. Doctor Prospero was one of those people whom she liked immediately.
They stopped beside a crystal fountain, and she dipped up water between her hands. It tasted slightly bitter and was full of bubbles that tickled her palate. "It is not unpleasant," she decided. "But is it truly beneficial?"
"Not to you, I think," he answered. "But then, you have not really come here to improve your health. I suppose your young—nephew, was it?—will be along very soon. In the meantime, perhaps, you would like to see what the pavilion contains."
The interior of the pavilion was draped in spangled satin of a deep, rich blue. There was a marble fireplace and a long oak table, on which someone had arranged a light repast: fruit, cheese, and wine; creams, aspics, and lobster patties. All around the walls torches glowed with a weird electrical fire. In the center of the room was a gorgeous piece of furniture, which Titania immediately identified as the Celestial Bed.
It was approximately twelve feet long by nine feet wide, supported by pillars of brilliant glass. Suspended over the bed was a magnificent dome, exquisitely painted with figures of sportive gods and goddesses.
When Prospero touched a switch, a hidden mechanism began to move, causing the bed to revolve in place, and the music of flutes, violins, clarinets, trumpets, and oboes to fill the pavilion. Censers breathed heavy fragrances into the air.
"There is an internal pipe organ within the bed," said Prospero, leading Titania over to the table, pulling out a chair for her. "The bed moves on an axis, as you can see, but can also be converted to an inclined plane."
Titania helped herself to the fruit and the creams. The Doctor poured wine into a jeweled cup and put it into her hand. "The compound magnets and lodestones are also concealed beneath the bed and pour forth their healing influence in a continuous circle."
"How very intriguing," said Titania, and she could not help admiring the brilliance of the man who had invented something so truly remarkable.
"The sheets are the richest and silkiest satins, perfumed in the Oriental manner with spices, odors, and essences," he continued. "The mattress is filled with hair from the tails of English stallions, which are incredibly elastic, and lend the mattress a certain resilience which I believe has never been matched elsewhere."
After the meal, Titania made to rise from her chair, only to discover that her knees were weak and her head distressingly light.
"My dear Doctor," she exclaimed, "I think I am about to swoon. And the wine, it tasted . . . rather odd."
But Prospero was there behind her, putting his arms around her slender waist and lifting her up into a warm embrace. "Not wine," he said, "but the Draught of Venus. Its principle ingredient is a little purple flower, which some call love-in-idleness, and there is a very pretty legend attached to it."
Her head was spinning now; the strength of his supporting arms was entirely welcome. "Allow me to help you, my dear, over to the bed."
***
Titania lay naked beside her lover on the Celestial Bed. The axis revolved, the music played, the air was rich with balmy odors. The compound magnets and artificial lodestones exerted their healing influence. The bed was everything it was reported to be, and the experience as undulating, vibratory, fervent, and penetrating as the handbill had promised.
***
Titania studied her reflection in the mirror over the mantle. From what she could see, her gown of lilac satin was sadly crushed and her hair cascaded over her shoulders in a riot of silver-gilt curls. She decided there was nothing she could do about the gown, and her hair looked rather attractive the way it was, so she contented herself with adjusting the deep lace ruffle on her shoulders and the grasshopper brooch nestling among the lace.
The door of the pavilion opened suddenly and in rushed Gregory Peaseblossom. "I beg your pardon, but what are you—" His glance traveled from Titania to the gentleman standing beside her, in shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and leaf-green breeches. "No, no, I should not have asked. I will come back later."
"My dear Gregory, what has happened to you?" exclaimed Titania. "Your clothes are all over dust, and you look like the victim of a carriage accident."
"I was," said young Peaseblossom, passing a hand over his forehead, where a large purple bruise was forming. "Just outside the gates, my phaeton collided with another carriage. The young lady inside was only a little shaken, but—" He swallowed a deep breath of air. ''Madam, I am quite undone. The most glorious creature, the sweetest smile . . . I knew at once that I would gladly die for her. But what on earth am I to say to Phoebe?"
A tiny frown creased Titania's dainty brow. "This is very sudden. Can you be sure it is love? It might well be a passing infatuation." Who should know better than she the power of infatuation?
Gregory leaned against the doorframe for support. "But that is the problem precisely. Only think of it: in less than a heartbeat I felt exactly the same way about Miss Whiston as I do about Phoebe. It is possible, I suppose, that I am not truly in love with either of them—or else I am madly in love with both of them. That being so, I can hardly marry Phoebe."
"Well," said Titania, giving a final touch to her hair. "That is hardly a problem, since you and Phoebe are not betrothed."
"Yes," he answered miserably, "but I have been such a fool. When Phoebe refused me, I vowed I would wait forever. A single word from her, I said, and we would instantly be married."
"What an impetuous boy you are," said Titania, reaching for her hat and her shawl. "But after all, we have only to find Phoebe, tell her that you have changed your mind, and beg her to release you from your promise.
"Although now that I come to think of it," she added, "I have not seen Phoebe since we arrived here."
"I believe," said Prospero, ''that you will find Phoebe in the Sanctum Sanctorum. You may ask any of the servants to show you the way."
***
Half an hour later, they located Phoebe in the observatory, sitting on a three-legged stool, raptly listening as the astronomer spoke.
"For comets," he was saying, "recruit the expended fuel of the Sun, thereby supplying moisture to the planets. In this way and through this cause, they may also be responsible for deluges and conflagrations."
"From the way that she looks at him," Titania whispered in Gregory's ear, "I think it will be easy to secure your release."
Hearing Titania speak, Phoebe turned around, and greeted them both with a melting smile. "Dear Godmother, I am sorry. Have I kept you waiting? And Gregory, I did not expect to see you here. Let me introduce you to Signor Battista. He is Doctor Prospero's—"
"Madam, I see that it is impossible to deceive you any longer," said the astronomer, coming forward to take Titania's hand. "I must beg your pardon, but the gentleman assured me that it was only a harmless deception. I am—"
Titania felt the blood drain from her face. "You are the real Doctor Prospero. Of course, I recognize you. And the other one, that fiend in human form, the author of this deception, it is easy enough for me to put a name to him."
Her back stiffened, her chin lifted, and the color flooded back into her cheeks. "If you w
ill pardon me, I am going down to the garden, to exchange a few words with the arch-deceiver."
***
He was waiting beside the rushy lake, as arrogant and beautiful as ever, though now he had abandoned his previous disguise—his hair was no longer silver but a rich dark auburn, and his eyes as green as his coat. Titania wondered how she had ever been deceived; aside from his hair and eyes, the shape of his chin, he had not looked so very different pretending to be Doctor Prospero.
"Oberon." She put up her hand to stay his sudden movement in her direction. "I believe you owe me an explanation."
"My affair with Fiona has ended," he said. "I went home intending to beg your forgiveness, only to discover that you and Gregory Peaseblossom had gone off together, presumably destined to consummate your love in the Celestial Bed."
Titania was shocked as well as offended. "Gregory and I? What an appalling idea."
"I beg your pardon," he said. "But Gregory was taken at a late age . . . twelve or thirteen, was he not? In any case, I always suspected your affection for him was less than maternal."
He smiled faintly. "I arrived here, so they tell me, reeking of fire and brimstone, so consuming was my jealousy. When I discovered that Phoebe was also expected, I realized my mistake. But then I could not resist the temptation to woo and win you one more time.
"I am afraid that I rather frightened poor Phoebe, by rearranging the rooms and passages. But I wanted to keep her out of our way. And let this be said in my favor: As you have no doubt discovered, the effect of love-in-idleness is transitory when taken internally."
''To woo and win me . . . or only to make sport of me?" said Titania. "You were always one to amuse yourself at my expense."
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