"Not well at all, I must confess. Quite wretchedly, in fact. I am hard pressed to discover any sort of haunting in the abbeys about here, in spite of my best efforts. Poor monks. Indeed, I should not wonder if the piskies have run them all off."
St. Ives felt his lips begin to twitch and immediately schooled them into a sober line. "Ah! I see. Piskies are noted for such inhospitable behavior then?"
"That and much more!" Sir Godfrey complained with a shudder. "They are heathenish little sprites, you know. Quite uncivilized. They come with the territory, however, so I suppose I must resign myself."
"Is there nothing else to interest you here?" St. Ives asked. He was intrigued to see that the other gentleman blushed scarlet for a moment.
"There are, of course, the spectral incidents at the church in Poundstock," Sir Godfrey went on quickly when he had recovered his equanimity. "I have always favored abbeys for my investigations, but a village church might do as well. There is the matter of the ghost, though. Not a monk at all. A mere clerk."
"Now then, Sir Godfrey," St. Ives chided good-naturedly. "We must have our standards."
"Standards!" the other gentleman exclaimed in surprisingly bitter tones. "Yes, standards. Why, that is exactly what Lady Bristlethwaite tells me. A deuced headache those standards have become!"
He dug his hands into his pockets and frowned with more vehemence than one would have thought the trial occasioned. A silence thick with consternation and dire consequence hung in the air for several moments before Sir Godfrey saw fit to continue. "I hope you will not mind if I unburden myself to you, St. Ives. I am in such a dreadful pother as you cannot believe."
"I am sorry to hear that," St. Ives said, pouring a glass of sherry for his guest. "Sit down, won't you, and tell me about it."
Sir Godfrey took a seat, but continued to brood, staring grimly into the depths of his glass, as if therein he might find the solution to some internal debate. Finally, he straightened his shoulders and looked his friend in the eye.
"It is merely that… I am in love, St. Ives," he whispered with the same gravity one might summon to confess a murder.
"Congratulations! Do you mean to say that Lady Bristlethwaite has captured your heart?"
"Has it been that obvious then?" Crestfallen, Sir Godfrey heaved a great sigh.
"Why, of course not, old fellow. But I simply assumed…"
"Yes, I see. Who else could it be? There is no one else like her."
Privately, St. Ives thought this assessment highly unlikely. Lady Bristlethwaite seemed a pattern card for every other dowdy widow of easy means in the kingdom. Nevertheless, he smiled his agreement at Sir Godfrey. "When may I wish you joy?"
"Never, I am afraid." Sir Godfrey drained off his glass with a dramatic flourish and stared morosely into the fire.
"She has refused you?" St. Ives asked quietly.
Sir Godfrey shook his head. "I have not declared myself, of course."
Now this was a puzzle indeed. The pair seemed perfectly matched in both station and fortune. "Why 'of course'?" he asked.
"Because it would never do," Sir Godfrey declared stoutly. "A gentleman's standards, you see. I cannot allow myself to be tempted by selfish motives. But what I thought…" Here, he hesitated a moment. "That is, I was merely hoping, St. Ives, that in all your studies of healing you might have come across… that is, you might know of some… cure for a broken heart."
Sir Godfrey's tones were so anguished that St. Ives felt his heart might break, too. "Tell me about it," he urged. "Why can you not declare your intentions and be made the happiest of men?"
"It is quite a simple matter, really." Sir Godfrey removed his spectacles and polished them awkwardly for several moments. "You see, St. Ives, it is the Curse of the Mimms."
"The Curse of the Mimms?" St. Ives repeated, schooling his tone carefully.
"About four hundred years ago, one of my forbears, Sir Musgrove Mimms, had the misfortune to insult a witch. Not only a very powerful one, but, as luck would have it, vindictive to boot. If she had merely transformed Sir Musgrove into a bat or toad, it would not have been so bad. After all, what is the use of younger brothers if not for such contingencies? No, the pity of it is that her curse affects only the wife of the eldest son."
"What happens?" St. Ives asked, leaning forward in his chair.
Sir Godfrey shivered eloquently. "On her wedding night, the lady finds herself compelled beyond all reason to leave the bridal chamber and go out into the night. By some mysterious means, she is transformed into a doe and disappears into the woods. Legend has it that about a year after the first such incidence, Sir Musgrove and his eldest son Harold were hunting. One of them shot a doe and before their eyes it turned into Lady Helen, Harold's poor bride who had dashed into the night a year before. Not a stitch on and an arrow straight through her heart."
"Good heavens." St. Ives leaned back in his chair and frowned thoughtfully.
"I have never been able to eat venison," Sir Godfrey added in a confidential tone.
"Small wonder," St. Ives concurred, suppressing a small shudder. "But are you sure it is not simply a legend, Sir Godfrey?"
He shook his head sadly, "Every few generations someone has thought exactly that—to the destruction of several young ladies of good family. My own aunt…" His voice trailed off for a moment. "Most of us eldest sons have remained unwed, of course, and allowed the estate and title to devolve on the offspring of younger siblings. I am myself the son of a younger son, but an only child, you see. What is more, I have no other family. The curse, therefore, stops with me."
St. Ives watched as Sir Godfrey poured himself another sherry. Whether or not he believed his friend's story was immaterial. It was clear that Sir Godfrey did. How ironic, too, that each of them should be tormented by an unrequited love. Unless they took some sort of action, neither would have a moment's happiness. He sat for a time in thought, tapping his fingertips together.
"I wonder if there might not be some sort of solution after all, Sir Godfrey," St. Ives mused. "I should think that somewhere in the expanses of Lady Polly's library we might find something to help you out. An antidote, as it were, to the spell."
Sir Godfrey's expression suddenly brightened. "Do you think it at all possible?"
"I have not the least doubt. What is more," he continued, suddenly inspired, "I promise to help you in this endeavor for as long as it might take."
"I say, that is generous. You do not mind staying on at Rookeshaven?"
"Not in the least, old fellow," St. Ives told him with a smile. "Not in the least."
When the bell summoned Sir Godfrey and St. Ives to dinner a few moments later, they made their way down to the drawing room still discussing their plans in a whispered undertone. There, with the notable exception of their hostess, they found the rest of the company already assembled. Lady Bristlethwaite sat silently studying a tarot spread. Her daughters, looking very much like a pair of sharp-eyed blond kittens, perched on either side of young Lord Trevalyen, each vying tenaciously to engage his sole attention.
"Good evening," St. Ives greeted them affably. "Our hostess is not come downstairs yet?"
"No," Edward replied with a shrug. "She disappeared into her laboratory quite some time ago. It seems I spoke too soon—some new arrivals or other have stirred up the poltergeist in the front hall and she is attempting to find something to pacify it. It won't fadge, though. Father always declared it took three days of incense and silver bells at the very least to make the nuisance peaceable once it was roused."
The Honorable Sophia at once took possession of Edward's arm and cried, "I do not know how I shall have the heart to pass that way tonight, my lord. I am sure I shall go quite faint."
The Honorable Maria gave a brief, condescending laugh.
"Sophie, dear," she drawled, "pray do not show our host how chicken-hearted you are. I do not know what he will think of us."
"You say that to me? Really, Maria," she smiled through clenched
teeth, "I vow I thought you would burn us in our beds last night, for you cried so when I tried to extinguish the light and begged me to let it burn all night."
"Come, girls," their stepmother interrupted, looking up from her cards, "do not tease his lordship so. If you are truly afraid, you may go up by the back stairs tonight and I shall sew you some charm bags tomorrow."
"The back stairs? Really, Stepmama!" Sophia laughed scornfully. "You are so droll!"
Sir Godfrey cast a sulphurous glance in the Honorables' direction and went to stand by their stepmother's side. "Do you see anything interesting in the cards tonight, my lady?" he asked.
"Such an odd combination," Lady Bristlethwaite murmured. "I do not know what to make of it. I am only a novice, though. Perhaps Lady Polly can help me. I cannot imagine why the Two of Cups should show in my spread. Lovers entwining their arms and drinking from one another's cups! Why, I am far too old for that sort of thing. One of the girls, perhaps…"
Sir Godfrey made as if to take her hand, but stopped himself just in time. "Pray, do not make yourself uneasy over it," he murmured.
"Oh, it is not that," she faltered. She caught his eye, blushed, and looked quickly away. "I simply do not like to get the wrong idea into my head."
"And a very pretty head it is, too," he returned, suddenly emboldened. "Peacock feathers are just the thing for that turban."
Julian St. Ives observed his friend's progress with some amusement. He only hoped he could assist the fellow. The Curse of the Mimms sounded like a dreadful burden for one disposed to believe in such things. To be honest, however, his own opinion had undergone quite a change since his arrival at Rookeshaven Hall. It was not a complete conversion, but he had seen sufficient wonders and mysteries to sway even the most hardened of skeptics. The excitement in the front hall earlier this evening had only added to the growing list of unexplained phenomena.
How long, he wondered, would Lady Polly's efforts to subdue the spirits take her? And would she remember her guests at all once she was caught up in her task? He glanced toward the doorway just then and saw a familiar face peek furtively around the corner. The niece. What was her name? He frowned. Daphne? Delia? Ah, Diana! That was it. Poor child looked half petrified. Perhaps he had better offer his assistance.
Quietly, he slipped out of the drawing room and discovered the girl pacing nervously just outside. She was dressed quite charmingly in a much beribboned blue confection, and her dark curls were tied up with little sprays of silk violets.
"Miss Neysmith?"
"Oh, Mr. St. Ives," she cried eagerly when she saw him. She smiled sweetly and fluttered her lashes up at him. "You have come to my rescue."
"Skeletons in armor pursuing you down the corridors, are they?"
Diana's rosy cheeks paled and she glanced hurriedly over her shoulder. "Skeletons, too?"
"I am sorry, Miss Neysmith," he returned, bowing slightly. "I should not treat the unknown so lightly. You must know I was merely funning."
"Oh, I was sure you must be," she blushed, allowing herself a sigh of relief.
"Now, what is the trouble? Why are you pacing out here all by yourself?"
"Well, I have come down to dinner, but… I was a little shy to come into the company unannounced. My aunt is still dressing and at first I did not see you, and I know no one else…"
"Ah, so Lady Polly has remembered to join us after all? Excellent. Well, we are exceedingly informal here," he explained. "Come, I shall introduce you round to the company. But, wait a moment. Surely you must know your stepcousin?"
"Ned!" she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose with profound distaste. "Is he here then?"
"Why, where else should he be?"
"Locked in the nursery with Bertie!" she muttered uncharitably.
"Why, I hardly think that would suit an Earl's dignity," he protested, a trifle surprised.
Diana stifled an uncomplimentary snort just in time and summoned a dimpled smile instead. "I daresay it would not," she agreed sweetly, taking St. Ives's arm.
When they entered the drawing room a moment later, Edward's attention was immediately drawn from the Honorables and riveted on the lovely damsel escorted by Mr. St. Ives. Even though the Honorable Maria was explaining how very much she desired his opinion of her drawing portfolio, he arose and stood rapt for a moment before suddenly stirring himself and approaching the newest guest.
" 'Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!' " he quoted softly, taking up the newcomer's hand awkwardly and bowing over it.
To his immense surprise, the beauty immediately snatched her hand away from his, exclaiming hotly, "What flummery! I pray you will not be such a goosecap, Ned!"
Edward drew himself up and looked full into the lady's face. It was by far the loveliest face he had ever seen. Quite like a fine miniature done on ivory. There was something familiar about it, though. But what? He frowned, trying to think.
St. Ives bit back his amusement. To the room in general he said, "I should like to present Miss Diana Neysmith, Lady Polly's niece."
At once, Edward took an abrupt step backward and whistled in disbelief. "Well, if it is not Miss Bratty! Suppose you tell me what you mean by dressing up like that and passing yourself off as a lady?"
Diana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "The same as you passing yourself off as an Earl, Sir Spotty!"
No sooner had she uttered these ill-chosen words than she appeared suddenly to remember herself, for her cheeks were suffused with a violent shade of pink. She looked about the room. The lady in the feathered turban raised her eyebrows, while the gentleman standing behind her looked embarrassed. The two elegant young ladies sitting on the sofa exchanged an amused, superior glance.
As Edward sputtered in confusion, St. Ives quickly continued with his introductions, thankful for once for the ready formulations of civility. Both young people were embarrassed and he knew from his own youthful faux pas that recovery would be a long time in coming.
"Ah, Diana, there you are." Hippolyta stood in the doorway in a gown of apple-green silk. "Forgive my tardiness, but I have only just quietened the difficulties in the front hallway."
"That was fast work, Lady Polly," Sir Godfrey commented. "You are to be congratulated."
"I hope so, indeed," Hippolyta returned a little uncertainly. "I must own I am a bit uneasy that it should have gone so smoothly—I feel as if I am being humored! Now, I believe dinner is served. Edward, will you take Diana in?"
Edward acknowledged this request a little stiffly but offered his arm to Diana without comment. She could do nothing but take it, although she cast a lingering glance over her shoulder at St. Ives. Not in the least pleased, The Honorables settled for each other's company while Sir Godfrey hovered at their stepmama's side and helped her to gather up her cards.
"My, it is quite chilly tonight," Hippolyta exclaimed with a slight shiver. "St. Ives, would you bring me that shawl?"
He picked up a white silk shawl that lay across the back of a nearby chair and went to place it over her shoulders. As he crossed behind her, she heard him make an odd little noise in his throat. Then, lightly dropping the garment in place, he pressed his hands firmly on Hippolyta's shoulders and whispered, "Do not move for a moment, my lady."
She glanced back at him, puzzled. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"Do go on ahead of us," she told her guests. "I require a private word with Mr. St. Ives."
She waited, smiling but silent, until the company had at last made its way out of the room. "Well—what on earth is it, St. Ives?"
He hesitated. "I do not know quite how to tell you, my lady…"
She glanced back over her shoulder at him expectantly. He had not moved an inch.
"Well," he faltered, "I must be plain… I am afraid… That is to say…"
"Yes?" she prompted, mystified. "Do be plain then."
Suddenly, she felt just the slightest brush of his hand against her bare spine. She froze and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Surely this
should not be!
"I am afraid, Lady Polly," he said at last in a strained voice, "that your gown is not altogether done up in the back!"
Five
Hippolyta immediately underwent the disconcerting sensation of simultaneously shivering and flushing hot with embarrassment as the shock of this revelation registered. How had such a dreadful thing happened? She remembered having rung for Sadie, but, as her gown was already laid out, had not waited for her. She could remember hurrying to change out of her clothes, pin her hair up again, and— that was all. She had suddenly been preoccupied with the notion of… now what had it been? Oh! It hardly mattered now, did it?
"But, St. Ives," she whispered wretchedly, "I cannot think how…"
"Can you not?" he asked with a brief chuckle. "Your powers of concentration are considerable, my lady; however, such mundane concerns as tapes and buttons seem to elude them. Hold still half a moment and I shall try my best to do you up."
"You, St. Ives?" she whispered incredulously. She shifted uneasily, as the panic of yet another wave of uncertainty swept over her. Heavens! She could not even remember which chemise she was wearing—if any!
"Unless you mean to call upon invisible confederates from the spirit realm, I would seem to be your only alternative. But do not worry I shall have you at sixes and sevens, my lady. I must confess to some small experience in these matters," he told her dryly.
He glanced down the hallway for a moment. It was deserted. Quickly, he removed the shawl and slung it over his own shoulder. Immediately, he was rewarded with a display of creamy skin against the shimmering apple-green silk. He sighed raggedly. If ever a man's chivalry were tested, he thought, it was surely now. How lovely it would be to drop even one kiss on that ivory shoulder, encircle that slim waist, draw back the fabric…
Enough! he told himself sternly, trying his best to concentrate on the complexities of tapes and sashes. On those past occasions when the delightful duty of assisting a lady to dress had fallen to him, he had not had to worry about keeping his fingers from touching her skin. More often than not, the endeavor had somehow reversed itself and the gown had slipped to the floor and…
A Midsummer's Magic Page 4