"What are these?" he asked resignedly, pointing to a series of circles, each partially shaded in varying degrees. "Phases of the moon perhaps?"
"So it would appear," she agreed. "Just a moment. I have just thought of something." She carried the scroll to the window and held it up to the moonlight. "Look, St. Ives," she whispered.
"Extraordinary!" By the light of the moon's pale glow, he could discern a line of silvery script. "Have you ever seen the like?"
"No," she admitted. "I have only heard of such writing. If only I could decipher it! It looks familiar, but I cannot seem to make it out."
"Half a moment," St. Ives murmured. "Hold still, my dear." Taking up a piece of paper and quill from the cluttered table, he peered at the letters and quickly copied them. When he had finished, he asked, "Have you a looking glass about?"
"Somewhere . ." Hippolyta stepped away from the window and stood looking perplexedly about the disordered room. The bird, which had thus far sat silently, now flapped its wings and hopped from its perch to the table. There it began to pluck papers from a pile and cast them onto the floor.
"Trevalyen!" she exclaimed with annoyance. "If you must be about, do try to be constructive. Have I not enough to do…"
"Hush! Look, Polly." St. Ives pointed to the edge of a small looking glass the bird's efforts had revealed. "What a remarkable evening we seem to be having," he commented amiably.
Taking up the glass in one hand, St. Ives held his copied lines it. Then he smiled, feeling somewhat more useful. "It is exactly as I thought. The script was written backward. It can be read thus in a mirror, though."
Hippolyta adjusted her spectacles and leaned forward to scrutinize the writing. "It is Trevalyen's hand," she said quietly. "I do not understand it at all. That is, I do understand what is to be done, but I do not see how he can possibly have known to write this."
Looking into the mirror, St. Ives frowned as well. " 'When the evil comes!' " he read, " 'hand Julian the flower!' Remarkable."
"Well, 'the evil' seems clear enough—our friend Lord Lothian seems a likely enough candidate. But…" she faltered.
"But how can Trevalyen possibly have intended me in this second part?"
"I wonder," Hippolyta mused as she continued to regard the message. "It must seem incredible to you, I know, but Trevalyen did possess great powers of second sight. What is more, you are the only 'Julian' I have ever known." She looked penetratingly at St. Ives for a moment. "It may indeed be so. There is but one sure way of finding out, however."
Hippolyta crossed to a row of shelves on which a variety of dusty jars were arranged. Most appeared to contain powders and dried herbs, although the baleful eyes of a number of preserved toads peered out as well. She climbed up onto a stepladder and reached for a container high above her head. Taking it in both hands, she passed it down to St. Ives and, gathering up her skirts well above her ankles, descended. Stifling a groan of sheer frustration, St. Ives averted his eyes and carried the burden to the table.
After opening the cover, Hippolyta tipped the container on its side and tapped the bottom carefully until one withered brown bud fell out onto the table. Her face was tense with anticipation.
"Pick it up, St. Ives," she whispered.
Glancing at her quizzically, he stretched out his hand and picked up the wrinkled bud. It seemed quite ordinary at first, but slowly the transformation began. The creases began to smooth and disappear even as the tiny shape began to unfold. Its color slowly altered, as well: dusty brown faded into cream, cream blushed into a deepening rose, and thence to scarlet. A delicate fragrance something like raspberries and lilies floated on the air.
When St. Ives finally looked back to Hippolyta, he saw there were tears sparkling in her eyes. Overwhelmed, he handed her the blossom.
Her smiling lips trembled as she tucked the flower into her cap. "How lovely it is," she said softly, "to know I shall not be alone in this!"
It was all too much: the magic, both the flower's and hers. He gathered her in his arms and pulled her close. "You must know, Polly," he whispered, "I shall always be at your side."
"Yes, I believe I do, St. Ives…"
He cut her off with a kiss. His mind was spinning, intoxicated as she responded with an ardor he could only characterize as generous. No more the reticence she had shown before. Between them, passion mirrored the blossom. The same delicate magic unfolded and transmuted the moment. The musty atmosphere of the laboratory now tingled with enchantment, and a vision of years spent thus greeted his heart.
At last, Hippolyta took his face between her hands and held it away for a moment. "I am more relieved than you can know," she sighed.
Relieved? That was not at all the response he was hoping for.
"It is just so comforting," she went on, "to discover that you are a wizard."
In another wing of the house, Diana peeked cautiously out her chamber door and steeled herself to brave the terrors that might confront her in the darkness beyond. She had spent the greater part of the evening pacing about irritably, frowning and decrying the various injustices of her life, but now she meant to do something to address her woes.
It was entirely clear to her why she had been bundled off to bed in such a hurry. Lord Lothian's preference for her must have been even more marked than she imagined.
Not content with captivating poor Mr. St. Ives, it seemed plain that Aunt Polly now pursued the other gentleman's heart as well—and was making certain no rivals would spoil her game.
Beyond the slightest doubt, Aunt Polly's witchcraft must explain the Honorables' outrageous conduct that evening. Diverting though that episode had been—for the trick did serve the young ladies justly for all their designing ways— Diana could not help but recognize her good fortune at having escaped such tactics herself. Not that she cared a snap of her fingers for the opinions of her eccentric relations or their noisome guests, but how horrid to imagine that she, too, might have been thus disgraced before the incomparable Lord Lothian. Such a beastly calamity was not to be thought of!
True, St. Ives's desertion had at first made her feel quite low, but now that she had seen Lord Lothian, Diana realized her feelings for the former gentleman had been no more than a passing fancy. Mr. St. Ives, pleasant though he was, paled in comparison to the magnificent newcomer as did the stars at the rise of the sun. Her heart had been well and truly lost from the first moment Lord Lothian had turned his dark, flashing eyes on her.
So this was love! She could already picture herself arriving triumphant in Brighton, introducing the commanding Lord Lothian as her betrothed to Lord Dumphrey and that annoying Miss Varney.
She recognized immediately that it would never do to leave her fate in the hands of one so clearly self-serving as her aunt. If only there were a way to accelerate events in such a fashion that Lothian might be prompted to offer for her in the next day or so. A mere inclination would not serve. No, he must fall top over tails in love with her as fast as might be!
Diana paced about nervously, discarding one desperate scheme after another before remembering quite suddenly that the instruments of fortune surrounded her. Magic! Granted, she was not accustomed to considering such methods, nor was she yet as skilled as she hoped someday to be. But still, what a great goosecap she was not to have remembered it before!
After a few moments' thought, Diana settled on the scheme of enchanting the heart of every gentleman in the house, just for good measure. Lord Lothian's attentions she would encourage, of course, but the rest could spend the remainder of their days pining away and writing sonnets in her honor. It was remarkable how much better the notion made her feel!
As she confronted the darkness of the corridor, however, her resolve dwindled. She was certain that once she had gained the library she would be quite safe, but the thought of passing through the Great Hall filled her with dread. Aunt Polly had assured her that the poltergeist had quietened down, but the image of a silent spirit lurking in the darkness was very nearly
as daunting as that of a noisy one. Only the galling memory of the day's travails and humiliations gave her the courage to set one foot in front of the other.
Diana held her trembling candle in front of her and looked cautiously down the hallway in both directions. All appeared to be peaceful. She crossed the fingers of her free hand and, taking a deep breath, began her perilous journey.
The silvery light of a full moon streamed through windows set at intervals along the staircase. It cast an eerie blueness on the stern faces peering down at her from ancient portraits, and gleamed wickedly on the edges of swords and battle-axes wielded by suits of armor.
Wandering the echoing halls with her flickering candle, clad in her long white nightrail, Diana began to feel very much like a spirit herself. Certainly she must resemble one to any who might chance to see her. She shuddered violently at that unnerving thought and fought to maintain her waning courage. Perhaps, she reasoned, any unnatural creature she happened upon would merely take her for one more ghostly denizen and pass her by. She only hoped she might be so fortunate!
After an eternity of creaking floors accompanied by her soundly thumping heart, Diana at last reached the library door. She opened it slowly and peeped inside. Even though the room was deserted, a fire burned merrily on the hearth, almost as if she were expected. Certainly, it did not seem right for it to have been left to burn all night.
However, she reminded herself as she stepped into the room, she ought not expect this house to be run like an ordinary establishment. It suddenly occurred to her, though, that the Hall's poor wandering spirits might find the warmth of the blaze as welcoming as she did. At that alarming thought, she set her candle down and stood for a moment, hands pressed to her cheeks, as she strove to regain her equanimity.
Happily, the volume she had looked into that morning still sat upon the table. Swallowing her fears for the moment, she lifted the tome and ruffled through the pages. As she did so, spellbinding fragments of music drifted on the air, then a lonely rush of wind, followed by a child's distant cry. Sometimes the scent of cinnamon wafted up from the pages, or wild rose or newly mown hay. As each passing page called out its contents, Diana's heart responded with a delicious mixture of delight and apprehension.
At last, her attention was caught by the sound of a pipe playing a hauntingly familiar melody. She held the book open beside her candle. On the page before her, an exceedingly strange creature appeared. From the waist up, it appeared to be a normal man (although his forehead sported horns and he had clearly forgot to don a good deal more than his waistcoat!) His lower quarters, however, appeared to belong to some sort of forest creature—a deer or goat perhaps? He was playing a set of reed pipes most beguilingly.
In the background of the picture, Diana could see several lovely young ladies, dressed in gowns very like those chosen for the Midsummer's festivities, step cautiously from the trees. After a moment, they were joined by a group of handsome young men who danced with them to the accompaniment of the enchanting pipe music. Then words began to form on the page in shimmering letters: Spelle for Luve.
How perfect! The very thing she was looking for. Why, magic seemed to be quite easy. Diana carried the volume to a chair by the fireside and tucked her feet up under her nightrail.
She had just settled herself when, behind her, she heard the library door swing shut. Edward! she thought angrily to herself. She would not be caught again. Quickly, she slipped the volume out of sight on the far side of her chair, taking care to leave it open to the appropriate page. Then, she turned to confront the intruder.
"Good evening, my dear." Lothian's silky voice sent a shudder of excitement up her spine. "So you have come. I imagined you would."
Twelve
"Lord Lothian!" Diana leaped from her chair, her greeting falling midway between a gasp and a shriek. Then she blushed, suddenly remembering herself, and executed a quick curtsey. "Good evening, my lord," she stammered. "Or is it morning?"
The gentleman fixed her with a silent gaze of cold assessment for a moment. Then, his scarlet dressing gown swept the floor with a chilling rustle as he advanced slowly toward her.
"I must tell you," he drawled after a long moment, "how very fetching you look in your virginal white, your curls all tumbled. Rather like a woman who has just been made violent love to."
Diana, who considered herself quite worldly, had never been so shocked in her entire life. She felt her heart race and her cheeks go quite hot as she wracked her brain for a suitable response to such an unsuitable comment. She knew she should give him a firm set down, but hadn't an idea how she might do so.
"But I do not imagine you have been," he continued with a slight smile, "and that is extremely well for me. Come here."
Diana swallowed hard. This was not at all the scene she had envisioned. Where was the delicacy, the deference?
Where were the protestations of a heart ensnared? This confidence, this insufferable arrogance, was beyond anything. Then she shuddered, noting the slow way he licked his lips. Lord Lothian looked a great deal more likely to gobble her up like a choice savory than pay her any pretty compliments.
"I really should not be about at this time of night, but I could not sleep and I thought I might find something to read," she managed with an effort. "However, these volumes are all quite beyond me, I am afraid. I really must go now, my lord."
"You must go?" Lothian cocked his head as if confounded by some odd puzzle. "How exceedingly odd you should say such a thing, my dear, when I have heard your thoughts crying out to me all evening long. You must always tell me the truth, Miss Neysmith. An encounter is what you wished for, is it not?"
When she did not respond beyond a sharp intake of breath, he held out his hand to her.
Diana took a small step back. Lothian's eyes narrowed and an amused smile eased across his face.
"So, it's to be a game, is it? How delightful." He advanced toward her.
Diana felt herself stiffen. Who would have imagined a gentleman could behave in such an untoward manner? The predatory gleam in Lothian's eyes suddenly suggested that perhaps her aunt had not been responsible for the Honorables' strange performance after all. And if that were true, then… Diana felt a tiny whimper creep up her throat. If only she had stayed safe in bed and said her prayers!
As Lothian closed in on her, she was shocked to see that his face was finely wrinkled and silver threads glinted through his black hair. How entirely unsuitable he was, after all!
Her heart raced with fear as the fire behind her flared up and crackled with a distressing merriment. She stepped back once again and found herself against the mantelpiece. Lothian's eyes glowed with smug confidence. When she tried to step sideways, he brought an arm up beside her to block any further evasion.
"So here we are, my dear," he said pleasantly. He lifted her chin with his other hand and stared penetratingly into her eyes. "An exceedingly stubborn child, I see. Well, that will never do."
Lothian reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and drew out the intricately carved onyx fob. "Do you see this trinket?" he asked.
Diana nodded mutely.
"Striking, is it not?" He held up the sparkling chain and spun the fob before her. "You may hold it, if you wish."
Though she would have been unable to articulate the reason, Diana found herself suddenly overcome by an urge to touch the strange ornament. It was so shiny and the carving so delicate, she felt she must hold it, even for a moment. Nothing else seemed to matter.
"That's right," Lothian murmured pleasantly, seemingly able to read her thoughts. "Just take it for a moment."
Diana reached out, and her hand, which had been clenched into a tight fist from sheer agitation, began to unfold like a blossoming flower.
"I, a wizard?" St. Ives held Hippolyta at arm's length.
"Perhaps not quite yet," she explained earnestly, "but it appears you possess quite a potent aptitude for magic, as do Diana and I. This is nothing short of wonderful! Perhaps
between the two of us—I do not think it wise to involve my niece unless it becomes absolutely necessary—we might contrive to concentrate our powers and determine what we must do."
"But are you quite sure, Polly? I mean to say, how can I have gone my entire life without having the slightest clue?"
"You saw the evidence yourself," she reminded him impatiently.
"Perhaps, but you must understand it is only recently that I began to understand such phenomena existed at all." He let her go and began to pace the room agitatedly. "I do not doubt your gifts, Polly, but I find them quite difficult to accept in myself. You see before you a man who has never so much as owned a hare's foot, let alone fancied himself a wizard!"
"I fear there is simply no time for a debate, St. Ives!" Hippolyta exclaimed earnestly. "Can you not simply believe for the moment that this wonder is so, and doubt it later?"
Her demeanor and tone were so full of solemn entreaty that St. Ives, in spite of his misgivings, felt only an outright scoundrel would cavil.
"Ah, my sweet Hippolyta. Your practical side emerges, I see. Very well. If it comforts you, I shall have done with sensible thoughts for the present. One kiss and I am yours to command."
"Truly?" she cried.
"Well and truly."
"The first order of business then," she began as she picked up a quill from the table and made as if to start a list, "is…"
"Ahem." He pulled her firmly into his arms.
"Yes, St. Ives?" She peeked over the tops of her spectacles and gave him a bewildered little smile.
"You seem to have forgot my terms."
She looked at him blankly. "Oh, that!" she exclaimed after a moment.
"Yes. That" A flood of dejection washed over him. "If it is truly such an onerous task," he told her softly as he released her from his embrace, "you need not."
"Oh, St. Ives!" she cried in a stricken voice. "Truly it is not onerous at all. Why, I find I quite like kissing you. Oh, dear!" She clapped her hands to her face in chagrin. "Whatever will you think of me? There, I have gone and said it aloud. You must forgive me, though, if I do not know quite how to act. I fear you will not credit it, but, you see, I have never felt quite this way before, have never…"
A Midsummer's Magic Page 11