"What makes you tremble so, Lady Polly?" he asked quietly.
She lifted her hands to her face and held them against her cheeks. How could she feel at once so flushed, yet so hideously chilled at the core of her heart? Something was terribly, terribly wrong—or was about to be. She looked into St. Ives's grey eyes, now dark with concern.
"I am terrified," she whispered. "I know I should not say such a thing of a mere stranger, but I have never before encountered any person who seemed so… so patently evil. I vow, it radiated from him in waves."
Without another word, St. Ives's comforting arms came about her. How lovely to know she was not alone. The rough texture of his coat against her face, the undemanding pres-sure of his embrace, made her feel comforted and secure. In the day just past, she had received her first taste of—it must be passion! How extraordinary that she should like it so much!
At last, St. Ives dropped a light kiss on the top of her head and held her for a moment longer before releasing her. "Tell me," he asked softly.
"I knew the hourglass was a bad omen the moment I saw it," she whispered, "but I never imagined how sinister it truly was. I do not know if I shall be equal to such a power. And, Diana! Did you not see her?"
He hesitated. "She seemed somewhat… taken with him."
"Taken! I pray not! Do you not see, St. Ives. The hourglass was in her cup. She is just a foolish child, and I must protect her from whatever menace this Lothian represents."
"I do not quite comprehend these things, as you know quite well. I trust your intuition, though." St. Ives smoothed a stray curl back from her face. "Whatever threat this Lothian represents, know that I shall be at your side, Polly."
"You must help me to concentrate then," she told him in a shaky voice. "My mind has been entirely disarrayed of late, as you know quite well. I cannot afford to let it wander anymore—there is more at stake here than the state of my toilette!"
St. Ives nodded. "Lothian mentioned a long-standing acquaintance with your late husband. What do you know of him?"
"Not a thing." She knit her brow and paced pensively before the fire. "I cannot recall ever having heard the name before. Trevalyen was often wont to regale me with stories of past guests—surely a visit from a person such as this Lothian would have provided him with all sorts of anecdotes."
"Quite singular," St. Ives frowned. "Really, my dear, you should not encourage all and sundry to make free with your home."
"It has always been the custom here, and, after all, St. Ives…" She glanced at him significantly.
"Present company excepted, of course," he told her with a grin. "Do you still have his card?"
"Why, yes…" Hippolyta looked down in dismay at her empty hand. "Why, I could have sworn I had it still. Oh, St. Ives, I do not like this at all. I cannot help feeling that Diana will be in the gravest danger if we do not watch over her closely. And, gracious! I cannot think how I shall explain it to my brother if I were to lose both of his children."
"Ah, yes. There is Bertie's mysterious disappearance as well. Where do you suppose he has got to?"
Hippolyta shrugged absently. "He could be a hundred places, I imagine. This is a lovely house for children to lose themselves in. But, if I know anything about our Bertie, he has merely moved his quarters below stairs to the pantry."
"Bright boy." He paused a moment. "Ought we to depend on such a harmless explanation, though?"
"I suppose not," she sighed. "What a vexatious child he has come to be. He would be well served if the piskies did fetch him away for a century or two. What a very good lesson it would be for him! Perhaps I ought to conjure one up."
"Perhaps you ought indeed," he concurred. "His parents, however, might not like it so very well. Odd creatures, parents."
"Well, I suppose you may be correct. It is a great nuisance, but I must go to the laboratory this evening, then, and see if I cannot devise a locator spell of some sort."
"A thoroughly Hippolytan solution," he smiled. "I do not suppose you would consider anything so mundane as to ask the servants to search for him?"
"Why, St. Ives!" she exclaimed in astonishment. "My staff would surely consider that sort of request excessive in me when I can so easily resort to far less arduous means. I should have out-and-out rebellion on my hands and with Midsummer so soon…" Hippolyta's voice trailed off and she frowned, deep in meditation for some moments. "I wonder if that could be it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Traditionally, Midsummer is an extraordinarily powerful, magical time, and the countryside hereabouts—it seems to amplify those forces. I should have thought of it immediately. I feel certain that this Lothian has chosen this time and place in particular, for a reason that cannot be good."
"You must forgive me—some vestige of my former skepticism has just reared its ugly head. I shall try to put it in its place, however, for I do rely on your instincts, Lady Polly."
"Come, St. Ives," she said, turning. "We had best join the others."
"Half a moment," he said, laying a hand on her arm. "There is something I must tell you."
"Oh, dear," she fretted, stopping in her tracks and straining to look over her shoulder. "Do not tell my gown is to pieces in the back again!"
"No," he returned with a rueful grin. "Nothing of the kind." He took hold of her hand and caressed it gently. "It is just this business with Lothian tonight. You are right. There is something exceedingly unsavory about him. I could not bear to watch him hover over you, but at least his attentions have forced me to know my heart. It has become entirely clear to me now that we must come to some sort of understanding…"
Hippolyta pulled away nervously, avoiding his eyes. "You are quite right, of course. We must devise some sort of plan. After the others have retired for the evening," she whispered, "meet me in my laboratory. I believe I know where to begin."
With that, she hurried away leaving St. Ives to once more gaze after her and puzzle how he might capture the heart of a such a will-o'-the-wispy lady.
As it happened, Lothian did not rejoin the company until some time after dinner. The company were assembled once again in the Chinese Salon and, except for the altogether oblivious Sir Godfrey Mimms and Lady Bristlethwaite, they made the very picture of anxious expectation.
"Forgive my tardiness, Lady Hippolyta," Lothian greeted her as he entered. "It took longer than I imagined to set myself to rights. You see, I have been traveling three full days and nights on horseback."
"An arduous journey!"
"Indeed. What is more, I have only just arrived again in England after extensive travels in the Orient. I did not even hear of Trevalyen's death until two months ago. I have been traveling ever since."
"I do not," she began hesitantly, "recall his having made mention of you. How long did you know him?"
"Longer than memory," he murmured. "There was a time when we were like brothers. We had a sad falling out some ten years ago, however. Several years before your marriage, I collect."
She nodded slowly, although Lothian's explanation did not ring true to her. Trevalyen had been the most affable of men. While Lothian did not strike her as the sort her husband would have chosen for a friend, still less could she accept that Trevalyen had fallen out with anyone. Nothing about this guest seemed quite right.
"Losing Trevalyen's regard quite broke my heart," Lothian continued. "I wish to make amends, if not to him, then to his heirs."
His voice and manner seemed so sincere that Hippolyta almost believed him. "Make amends? And how do you mean to accomplish that end?" she asked.
"I have cherished the hope of building a library in his honor," he replied. "A library which will house not only his own collection, but other volumes I have gathered in my travels."
Hippolyta took care to hide her consternation, to school her voice to a pleasant, conversational tone. "So, it is your intention to remove the contents of the library to another location?"
"There are a host who would benefit from the wisdo
m it contains, but Cornwall is too remote a location for many," he told her virtuously. "Besides, I am certain you will find its removal a relief, Lady Hippolyta. What could there be in all those tedious, dusty volumes to interest one so young and fair as you?"
So that was his plan. With an effort, Hippolyta maintained her amiable facade. It would quite likely be best if Lothian remained ignorant of the range of her abilities or interests, presuming them confined to the harmless study of tea leaves.
"What indeed?" she replied with a cool smile.
Hippolyta was relieved, however, when a stir from the other side of the room claimed their attention. The Honorables, after a hasty, whispered conference, had arisen and made their way toward the pianoforte. Sophia ran her fingers over the keys with a dramatic flourish and Maria, clasping her hands before her, commenced to sing in a sweet, if wavering, soprano:
Sweet, sweet, I call to thee
From beneath the green willow tree.
Know that my heart soars far above
Like the winged turtle dove.
Long I have loved thee, long have I grieved
'Neath this selfsame willow tree.
Deep as the ocean, my love's deep;
Thus shall I e'er my vigil keep.
At Hippolyta's side, Lothian cast a pained look at the pair. "For how long are we thus to be delighted?" he muttered uncivilly.
Hippolyta bit her lower lip. While she could not like the Honorables, she wished them no particular harm. Lothian's glance was edged with danger.
"Last night," she told him carefully, "I believe, they only sang three songs."
"Three!" He reached for his watch fob, a curiously carved piece of jet, and rubbed it several times with his thumb. "Well," he murmured in a low undertone, "we shall just see how they get on tonight."
All at once, Sophia began to play faster, furiously. Maria struggled to keep up with her, stumbling over the words.
Long ere you left me I increased,
Then my tender feelings ceased.
Though you entreat on bended knee,
Gentle lover, pox on thee.
Sophia's mouth hung open in shock, but still her hands swept over the keys. Though Maria's eyes were wide and horrified, still she sang on.
From town to town I journey on,
Give not a fig for the stares of the ton.
I've grown to like this life of sin:
Traded champagne for the taste of gin.
"Maria!" cried Lady Bristlethwaite in horror, her attention at last wrested from Sir Godfrey's conversation. "Sophia! Stop playing at once!"
"I cannot, Stepmama!" she wailed in desperation. "Do you not think I would have before now if I could?"
"Lady Polly!" Lady Bristlethwaite crossed to her friend in some confusion. "Whatever can be the matter here? Possession?"
Hippolyta merely shook her head silently. She cast a glance at St. Ives, but he, too, seemed mystified.
"Quite a singular performance," Lothian smiled lazily as the lyrics became bawdier still. "I cannot think when I have enjoyed myself more thoroughly!"
At last, he raised his hands and applauded. Sophia's hands came down upon the keyboard at once with a crash. Silence reigned as Maria, whose face had gone quite scarlet, fled the room in a great flurry. Her sister, no less agitated, followed quickly on her heels. The room was wreathed in silence.
"I had best go to them," Lady Bristlethwaite said quietly after a long moment had passed.
Hippolyta had felt her horror rising throughout the scene. If this was only the first display of what was to come, she had good reason to tremble. Who was this Lothian and what formidable power had he at his command? What might she do to oppose it? What would Trevalyen have advised her? Her only advantage seemed to rest in Lothian's having mistaken her for a brainless ninny. That role, she knew, she must play to her advantage.
"What extraordinary behavior!" she exclaimed with mock incredulity. "Why, I had not the least idea my guests were so… out of the common way!"
"Indeed," Lothian agreed with an arch smile. "I confess myself astonished as well. Who should have thought such fetching little faces could mask such a shameful lack of decorum?"
Hippolyta caught St. Ives's eye. He blinked in a quick, conspiratorial wink.
"It is quite unlike them, I assure you, Lord Lothian," St. Ives told him blandly. "I should not wonder at it, though. You must have a word with your wine steward, Lady Polly. Did you not see that they were served claret along with the rest of us tonight? They and Miss Neysmith, as well. A good deal stronger than their usual ratafia! I cannot think the young ladies are to be held responsible for their actions."
"What a good thing this did not occur in London," Hippolyta exclaimed, "for then their chances would be quite ruined. Well, they are off to bed it seems, and a very good thing!"
"Do you not think… ?" St. Ives asked, casting a meaningful glance in Diana's direction.
"Indeed I do," Hippolyta replied, grasping his intention. "Diana! Come here, my dear."
Diana tossed her head at Edward who had been trying, unsuccessfully, to engage her attention all evening, and crossed immediately to her aunt. She dropped into a curtsey and smiled engagingly, casting a sidelong glance at Lord Lothian.
"Diana," Hippolyta began, "I think it would be best if you retired early this evening."
Diana's charming smile disappeared forthwith.
"I am being sent to bed?" she asked icily.
"You must be sure to have a good rest tonight, Diana," her aunt explained, taking her by the arm and leading her toward the door. "I had almost forgot that tomorrow is Midsummer's Eve and there will be all manner of excitement. The maidens must arise at first light to gather flowers. You will not look half so pretty with dark circles under your eyes."
Diana's eyes flashed stormily, but, as she was not by nature anything like an early riser, she could find no argument to make. Her mouth set in a rebellious pout, Diana bade the group a terse good night and made her way up the stairs toward her chamber. Midway to this destination, however, she stopped short, and spun around. No one was there. She could have sworn she had heard a ripple of Bertie's teasing laughter.
Eleven
But for the clock's chiming midnight, the halls of Rookeshaven had fallen silent by the time St. Ives emerged stealthily from his chamber and made his silent way down the darkened hallways to the laboratory. There he discovered Lady Polly studying a parchment scroll by the dim illumination of a guttering candle, the raven perched quietly beside her. Even with her copper plaits peeking out from beneath a frilly cap, a canvas apron tied over her voluminous flannel nightrail, and her spectacles slightly askew, she looked quite adorable.
"Come in, St. Ives," she whispered, glancing up from the scroll momentarily. "Shut the door behind you and latch it."
"You are already hard at work?"
"I thought I had best prepare the Midsummer herbs for tomorrow night's festivities," she said, indicating a neat pile of muslin bundles tied up with ribbons. "I came up some time ago."
"You said earlier you had an idea of what to do."
"More like a glimmer, I confess. The image of these scrolls flashed into my mind. There are a number of them that Trevalyen insisted be stored here in the laboratory rather than in the library. Evidently he did not wish for them to be made available for general perusal by his guests."
"The library does seem to figure in all of this," St. Ives commented. "What did you make of this Lothian's announcement?"
"That his magnanimity is supremely suspect! Trevalyen left the library to my protection, but I do not know if my powers are any match for Lothian's. I sense that if I do not appear to follow along with his suggestion docilely, I shall have a battle of daunting proportions on my hands. Considering the ease with which he manipulated this evening's entertainment, I shudder to think what that might mean. However," she went on, "I have found something interesting in this scroll which may help." She held the document up for his inspection.
He carried his candlestick to the table and, setting it down, he leaned over her shoulder to scrutinize the paper. St. Ives frowned: he could make nothing of it. The document appeared to have been written in a strange code of some sort.
"You can decipher this?" he asked, surprised.
She nodded. "Some of it. Trevalyen taught me a number of cryptic systems—this seems to be a variation on one of them. Do you see this character?" she asked, pointing to a figure.
"The one that looks like a profile of the Duke of Wellington?"
"Why, it does!" she exclaimed with an amused laugh. "I wonder whether he would be flattered or take it as an affront?"
"That depends, I suppose, on which of us brought the matter to his attention. I have not the least doubt he would give me a set-down I should not soon forget, while you would doubtless entreat for some small token to wear into battle."
Hippolyta flushed pink and quickly went on. "It would seem to signify a masculine noun. Here," she said, tracing a line with her finger, "it appears in conjunction with the symbol for evil, hence, an evil man."
The fair Hippolyta was all business, St. Ives reflected ruefully. Here they were, each clad in their night clothes safely ensconced behind a latched door, in the middle of a moonlit night no less, and they were talking of cryptography. It seemed his claim to the title of gentleman was not to be tested this evening!
As he observed the signs of strain about Lady Polly's lovely eyes, however, St. Ives felt a rush of guilt. His inclination was simply to marry her, and take her away from this drafty asylum for wayward spirits—magic and libraries be damned. However, he knew if he truly loved her and wished for her love in return, he must make her pursuits and battles his own. The realization made him feel quite powerless. For all his years of study and travel, nothing he had learned would do her the slightest good. He turned his attention back to the scroll.
A Midsummer's Magic Page 10