A Midsummer's Magic

by Mary Chase Comstock

  After a moment, one of them called out, "There it is!" and pointed them in the direction of a birch wood. Diana thought it curious that she had not noticed a forest growing so close to Rookeshaven, but there it was, quite clearly glistening in the early morning light. The maidens ran quickly ahead, holding hands, laughing gaily, their gowns rippling freely in the breeze.

  At first, Diana held back shyly, not knowing quite how to act among such carefree company. She wagered not one of them had ever worried over the angle at which she must hold her chin, how many dances or what sorts of gifts she might accept from a young man—or even whether sharing a midnight glass of cordial in the cook's parlor might signify some loss of virtue. Truly, the more she thought about the peculiar strictures on her life, the more humorous they became.

  As the laughter bubbled up in her throat, she caught Sadie's eye. The other girl smiled, too, and, taking Diana's hand, cried, "Gather up your skirts, Miss! We must run to catch the others or lose the way!"

  This seemed an odd consideration, for Diana could see the woods as plain as anything; still, she shrugged gamely and, taking hold of her skirt, gathered it high above her ankles and ran. It felt deliciously wicked. And how exceedingly glad she was that the Honorables had kept to their beds and had not ruined this outing.

  "What must one do for the ritual?" Diana asked breathlessly as they ran.

  "Do not worry, Miss," Sadie returned, pulling her along. "It will all be clear soon enough."

  Wandering the darkened halls of Rookeshaven throughout the small hours, Bertie had begun to wonder if anyone were going to bed at all that night. Everywhere he went, it seemed there were people about. Not that it mattered much, his being invisible and all, but he worried that the book he was carrying would materialize as soon as he let go of it— which he must eventually do, if he were to gather the ingredients for his spell and stir them up proper.

  He had carried the volume to Aunt Polly's laboratory. There, he suspected, he would be more likely to find such interesting ingredients as magic must demand than in the kitchen. As luck would have it, however, his aunt and Mr. St. Ives were there before him, pacing and prosing about, just as if their tedious business were important! It was a sore trial.

  Bertie curled up in a corner and dozed on and off throughout the night as he waited to have the laboratory to himself. It seemed whenever he awakened, however, that the tiresome pair were either talking or—much worse indeed—kissing one another. It was enough to put a child off growing up! Eventually, though, he awoke to the bright light of day and found both the room and its contents entirely at his disposal.

  Bertie carried his volume to the table and opened it before him to the place he had marked. The figures on the page still cavorted about, pursuing one another and embracing indiscriminately. He grimaced and averted his eyes for a moment. On the face of it, interfering with Diana's goosish plans hardly seemed sufficient reason to expose himself to such revolting scenes. Still, the last time he had seen her—rather, the last time she had seen him!—Diana had given his ears a sound boxing. Perhaps he ought not to shirk his clear duty.

  When he looked back to the page, however, he found it had changed in a most curious way. The prior scene of amorous maidens and their beaux had disappeared entirely. Instead he saw what seemed to be a small replica of Aunt Polly's laboratory. In fact, now that he looked quite closely at the illustration, he could see a drawing of himself in it as well, standing at this very table, the book before him.

  The boy on the page turned to a row of shelves and pointed to a mortar and pestle. Bertie looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there they were behind him. He picked them up and returned to the table. When he looked at the book again, that boy had done the same. Now the illustration selected a vial and two jars. Bertie repeated the action. Step by step, the book patiently showed him just what he must do.

  It was somewhat later in the morning when St. Ives and Hippolyta encountered one another in the breakfast room. Except for themselves, it was quite deserted, and it seemed altogether natural that they should exchange a brief embrace before ever exchanging a word.

  "I have been wondering, Polly," St. Ives began as he poured them each a companionable cup of tea. "Is there a painting of the late Earl about?"

  Hippolyta reached for a locket that hung about her throat. She removed it and handed it to St. Ives. "This miniature is quite a good likeness of him."

  St. Ives opened the locket and examined its contents for a moment. "So it is he," he said softly. "I wondered if perhaps I would not recognize him."

  Hippolyta raised her brows in question.

  "I once knew your Trevalyen as a Mr. Shamming—a name I see now was ironic rather than humorous. He visited with my family from time to time as I grew up. A wonderful, entertaining fellow, I recall. My father knew him from university days. In fact, it was Shamming—Trevalyen, rather—who first interested me in the study of homeopathy. It is odd, though. I remember his telling me he thought I would outgrow the, study."

  "And have you?" Hippolyta asked with a wry smile.

  "I have not perhaps outgrown it," he said slowly, choosing his words with care, "so much as I have never been quite satisfied with what it could tell me to begin with. The sources I consulted always seemed to stop just short of what my curiosity desired. Perhaps that is why I have never finished writing my book. I knew I had not quite hit on what I was looking for."

  They sat in silence for several moments, sipping then-tea, each lost in thought. In spite of great fatigue, Hippolyta had not slept at all well. Although she knew Trevalyen had meant well, had, in fact, merely done his duty according to his notions, it was galling to discover that so little of her marriage—indeed her life—were what she had supposed them to be.

  She had thought herself independent, a woman who might determine her own fate. In fact, she had been merely biding time until Trevalyen's little matchmaking plot had been hatched—for there was little doubt in her mind that was exactly what it had been. She recognized now that she had been not so much an apprentice to one wizard as the preordained mate of one who was to come.

  And yet, what ought she to do? She knew now she loved St. Ives. Whatever she must suffer to become what a woman must for a man, she was willing to undergo for his sake. She was not about to refuse him merely as a matter of pride. But how must he feel? she wondered. His life had been manipulated even more surely than her own. Would he, at the last, decline to make his offer out of wounded pride or righteous anger?

  She closed her eyes and thought of the kaleidoscope again. How else might she view the elements of this recent unfolding of the past? What other patterns might be revealed if she shifted the focus ever so slightly? Her reaction when she had first read the note had been purely emotional. How else might she understand what had transpired?

  "What do you make of these new revelations?" Hippolyta asked at last.

  St. Ives hesitated. "In truth, Polly, I do not know what to think. I have spent recent years marking time. That much has not changed. But I had thought I was waiting for a barony—not, surely, a wizardom, if that is the correct term."

  "Is the barony what you want, then?" she asked quietly.

  St. Ives threw up his hands. "That is not the sort of question we ask in England! It is like asking an acorn if it desires to be an oak. I love you, Polly. There, I have said it. Yet, truly, I do not know where my duty lies, how to separate it from what I desire—or even if I must!"

  "Nor do I," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

  St. Ives looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?"

  In her mind's eye, the pieces of colored glass fell into a new configuration. The same elements. A new and disturbing pattern. St. Ives's declaration of love had sent a searing pain through Hippolyta's heart. Now she knew why. She took a deep breath.

  "Believe me, St. Ives. It is not that I do not love you, for I do with all my heart."

  At once, a flood of sheer happiness suffused his features and he would have
gone to her, but she lifted a restraining hand.

  "There are other considerations, though. While I have neither a title to consider, nor lands I must pass on, Trevalyen left me charge of his library. I could not come freely with you to Blakensly when time comes to assume your title." She laughed regretfully. "With the sun high in the sky, I know it does not seem possible a pile of dusty volumes might be more important than love. The library is more than it seems, however. It holds the power to foil such evil as would shake the world. I cannot abandon my duty here."

  "Perhaps you need not," he answered quickly. "What is there to say that I may not divide my time between the estates?"

  "It is a five-day journey, love. I could not often come with you. Your estate deserves more attention than I could give it. And if there were children, they, too, would be torn…"

  St. Ives dug his hands into his pockets and stared out the window, deep in thought. Hippolyta stirred her cooling tea. It seemed, for the moment, there was little else to say.

  As Diana looked about the wooded glade, it seemed to her she had never seen anything quite so beautiful. Bright flowers grew in a pied carpet of violet, rose, and gold. The sun's slanting beams captured rainbows in the early-morning dewdrops. It seemed a painted scene, so rich were the colors.

  "Do you hear it?" Sadie whispered.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Shhhh. Listen."

  Diana stood still and strained her ears. At first there was nothing, but then she thought she caught a snatch of melody. What was the instrument? A flute? Not quite. Something less… refined. It was lovely, though, she decided.

  "'Tis the airy folk!" Sadie cried excitedly.

  She took Diana's hand and they hastened in the direction of the music. Soon it grew louder, and Diana realized the melody seemed familiar to her. It was quite vexing, but she could not quite place it at first. Sweet and haunting, it seemed she had known it for a long time. All at once, she realized she had heard it in Aunt Polly's library, coming from the pages of that curious book.

  By this time they had made their way along the blossomy paths to a little clearing in the green. The other maidens were there ahead of them, already dancing in a circle. Their cheeks were flushed and the sound of their laughter mingled with the melody. Sadie ran to join them, but Diana found herself inexplicably rooted to the spot.

  Diana's heart began to beat wildly as she tried to move. Unseen hands firmly held her back. Her mind reverberated with an unreasoning sense of injustice: why might she not join the dancers?

  Give it to us, little maid. The voice echoed in her head.

  Diana looked about and saw nothing.

  "Give what?" she whispered, her voice quavering.

  What a naughty thing you are, the voice scolded, to bring such a thing into the green world.

  Tears pricked at her eyes. What had she done? What did the voice mean? If only she knew what it was, she would give it up in a moment.

  "Please," she said softly. "I do not know what you mean. Truly, I do not mean to give offense."

  Do not make her cry! came another, more airy voice. She had no way of knowing what she did. Now be a good little fellow and show yourself to her.

  From the corner of her eye, Diana caught a flash of light and heard a mischievous laugh. She turned her head quickly, but saw nothing. She heard the laughter again behind her and twisted around.

  An exasperated sigh whispered through the trees. Do not try my patience, the soft voice said. Stand in front of her and be still a moment.

  A resigned grumble was immediately followed with the apparition of a stranger creature than Diana had ever thought imaginable. He seemed to be a boy of about Bertie's years, and the unholy twinkle in his eye reminded her a good deal of her little brother. However, the resemblance ended in the green cast of his skin and the tufts of leaves and moss that seemed to have sprouted upon him in lieu of clothing. It was as if a smallish tree or bush had taken on a human form.

  The odd creature said nothing, but pointed meaningfully to her wrist. She looked down. Lothian's chain and fob were still secured there. So that was what this to-do was about. The faerie folk—for such she assumed they were—cared for the horrid gentleman and his trinkets no better than she did. Well, she did not wish to offend the creatures further, for, if she were to follow in her aunt's footsteps, she must know more of this other world. Furthermore, she could think of no one better suited to receive the loathsome object than the mischievous creature before her.

  Quickly, she unwound the chain from her wrist and held it before her. The faerie boy and the trinket disappeared from her hand in a twinkling of green light.

  "Miss Diana!" It was Sadie's voice. "Come join us! It is such fun!"

  Diana found herself quite suddenly free to go. She ran over the soft grass and flowers to the circle which opened up to include her. The music had changed slightly: it was more mad, more merry. As they spun about the circle, aromatic blossoms drifted through the air. Invisible hands wound a chain of flowers through their linked arms, and crowned their heads with floral coronets.

  As they turned in their dizzying dance, Diana gasped to see the blue sky swiftly deepen to a violet spangled with stars. Time was flying! A magnificent gold moon rose like a hot-air balloon and smiled down on them. The woods about them came to life, lit as if by tiny flames darting in and out of branches.

  At last, reeling with magic, the maidens fell onto the fragrant ground, breathless and happy, their arms still entwined with flowery chains. Through the trees in the distance, Diana thought she saw a flickering of an enormous fire.

  "What is that?" she whispered, pointing.

  "Why, it is the bonfire!" Sadie returned. "I told you we would not have time to change our gowns!"

  Seventeen

  Hippolyta had, for the remainder of the day, thrown herself into preparations for the evening's festivities. Midsummer had always been her favorite of the holidays observed at Rookeshaven. In other parts of the countryside, its celebration had devolved into little more than a revel, hung with the trappings of former times. Here, it was different.

  True, the local populace saved ashes from the fire, and read the signs for love and prosperity in the year to come, but it was more than that. Midsummer was the time when the denizens of Rookeshaven and the surrounding hills renewed their pact with the faerie folk: the magic between them gave life to the green world and kept the walls of Rookeshaven from crumbling. Or so the legend went.

  This was another reason she was not at liberty to marry St. Ives, she thought bleakly. Another reason she was not free to follow him to Blakensly Manor when he assumed his title. She had no successor to carry on this ritual after her. Trevalyen had been quite right, as usual: she would do her duty.

  Hippolyta squared her shoulders and consulted her list: all had been made ready for the evening. Now all that remained was to prepare herself. She would not go down to dinner, for she did not feel at all equal to exchanging untruthful pleasantries. Instead, she would take the time before evening fell to drink a soothing tisane, and hope the Midsummer rite would restore her spirits along with her sense of purpose.

  Hippolyta shut the door to the laboratory behind her and wound her way down the tower staircase to the main hallway. She was tired, too, she realized. Little wonder. It seemed as if she'd slept no more than an hour or two in the last twenty-four. A nap might help to rejuvenate her drooping spirits.

  "Hsst! Polly!"

  Hippolyta turned to see Edward beckoning her from his chamber.

  "Do come in for a moment," he whispered urgently, taking her arm. Mystified, she stepped in. As she did so, Edward looked carefully down the hallway in both directions before closing the door.

  "Did Diana join the maidens this morning?" he asked abruptly.

  "Why, yes," Hippolyta told him, puzzled at his interest.

  "Good," he said abruptly. Then he made as if to open the door once again. "I am sorry to have disturbed you on such a busy day."

 
"Half a moment, Edward. I would not ordinarily pry into your private affairs, but I… I feel duty bound to ask why you must know."

  "Well," he began slowly, "it is merely that I caught a glimpse of the Honorables just now and… I was afraid she might have stayed away from this morning's ceremonies as well."

  "Afraid? Why, whatever is the matter, Edward?"

  Edward paced to the window and stood looking out of it for some minutes. "I see I had best come clean," he muttered at last. "It is that fellow Lothian! I have been following him about most of the day. He seems to be searching for something."

  "In the library?" she asked with alarm.

  "Yes," he told her shortly, "but his searches have not been confined there. It is very odd—he is even creeping about on his hands and knees."

  She shrugged. "Perhaps he has mislaid a snuff box or some other small item."

  "That is just what I thought at first, but why would he not simply turn the task over to a servant? His actions seemed suspicious, and… well, I do not like the fellow at all, I must confess, so I followed him upstairs from the library. I could not, of course, stay directly behind him without being discovered, so when he went down the east corridor, I hung back a bit." He paused, looking not at all pleased.

  "Tell me, Edward."

  "The thing of it is," he said wretchedly, "I caught him coming out of Diana's chamber. He told me he had mistaken the way, but I do not believe him."

  Hippolyta felt as if her throat was paralyzed, so difficult was it to form the words of her next question. "Do you mean to say you think—have reason to think—Lothian might have been to her chamber before this?"

  "Well, if indeed he is retracing his steps in order to find something…" His voice trailed off as Hippolyta paled and sank into a chair.

  "Oh, no! Polly, I do not mean that at all." He took a deep breath and knelt beside her. "Please, Polly, I have something I must tell you in the utmost confidence. Something you will not like at all. I would not even venture to bring it up, for Diana will surely kill me, but it is something that cannot be held back."