Goblin Moon (25 page)

They had returned to the door by which they had
entered the gallery, but Skelbrooke paused at the threshold. His
eyes were dark with emotion, and it was evident that he was
undergoing some internal struggle. “But all of this quite aside, it
would be impossible for me to fall in love with Marella
because—because my entire devotion has already been bestowed
elsewhere.”

The gallery had suddenly become unbearably warm. Sera
shook out her fan and plied it vigorously. “I suppose—I must
suppose you are speaking of your poetic muse. The Goddess of
Hermeticism, or whoever it is to whom you address your verses.”

“I do not speak of my muse,” said Skelbrooke. Having
arranged his laces, he was now staring down at his shoes. It seemed
that he, too, found something to disturb him in the appearance of
those pastel satin bows. “Far from being the product of any
high-flown fancy, the lady of my affections is indisputably
real.”

Sera fanned herself even more vigorously, “And does
this lady, the object of your devotion, is she aware that you . . .
love her? And if she does, can she possibly approve of your liaison
with the Duchess?”

“I have not dared to address her,” said Skelbrooke,
the troubled frown deepening between those expressive eyes of his.
“As long as the exigencies of my present situation require me to
continue my association with the Duchess, I am not worthy to
approach her.”

“I should think—“ Sera began, then thought better of
what she would say, shook her head, and grew silent.

Lord Skelbrooke looked up at her. “You were about to
say?”

“It is no concern of mine,” Sera replied. “I have
said too much already. I wonder that you have endured my
impertinence so long as you have.”

“But I very much wish to hear what you would say,
Miss Vorder. I beg you, do not think to spare my feelings.”

Sera took a deep breath. “Since you would have it so,
I was about to say that I wondered about the strength of your
affection. For if you really loved . . . this lady . . . I believe
you would be willing to put all considerations of poetry aside and
put an end to whatever relationship you have with the Duchess.”

With a visible effort, his lordship mastered himself.
“Ah, but you see, my situation is very much more complicated than
you may suppose, and there is far more at stake than
poetry.
Were that not so, I would certainly do as
you advise: end my association with the Duchess and lay my heart at
my lady’s feet.

“In truth,” he added, with a wry attempt at gaiety,
“there is no reason to suppose that the lady in question would see
fit to accept my offer of heart and hand. Nevertheless, I do assure
you that no uncertainty on my part would prevent me from making the
offer.”

Sera tried to match his light, bantering tone. “You
were not in love, then, with the lady you speak of when you entered
into your present . . . complicated situation?” Yet she was afraid
that she had betrayed too much, when Skelbrooke instantly grew
sober.

“No,” he said quietly. “I was not. When I came into
Marstadtt, I had no idea of falling in love. Indeed, it was the one
thing of all things that I would have prevented had it been in my
power.

Chapter
20

In which the Duchess lays her Plans.

Count Xebo’s ball was the talk of Thornburg for many
days: how agreeable the music (said those who had attended)—how
bountiful the food—how elegant the gowns of all the ladies, and
witty the discourse of all the gentlemen! The Count’s wax statues
were pronounced perfectly exquisite, the Count and his Countess the
perfect host and hostess. The ball was an unqualified success said
practically everyone, and everyone else agreed.

Yet there were those few—whatever they might have
said—
who failed to view the event in quite
such an amiable light. Sera Vorder was among those few; and (rather
more surprisingly) so was the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen.

Two days after the ball, the Duchess sat at her
dressing table in her gilded boudoir, reviewing the event in her
mind’s eye. It was evident, from her stormy aspect, that the lady
did not find the exercise an entertaining one.

She lifted a filigree hand mirror, frowned at her own
charming reflection. She picked up a haresfoot, rubbed on a dab of
rouge, and carefully applied it to her cheeks. Then she examined
the effect in the mirror. “Bring me my patch box,” she told her
obsequious little maid.

Just then, her butler stalked into the room and
announced Jarl Skogsrå. “Deny me,” said the Duchess, with an
impatient gesture. “My head aches and I feel so dreadfully cross—“
But then, as the dignified dwarf turned to carry out her
instructions, she reconsidered. “After all,” she said, with a sigh,
“you had better admit him.”

The Jarl appeared a few minutes later, in a coat of
scarlet broadcloth, with a riding whip tucked under his arm. “I had
intended to ask you to join me for a ride through Solingen Park,”
he said, bowing low over her hand. “But it appears that the
Gracious Lady has already made other plans.”

Though the Duchess still wore her dressing gown, her
costume for the day lay spread out upon the bed: the heliotrope
satin walking dress and the hat with the ostrich plumes.

“Indeed I have made plans,” she said, withdrawing her
hand before he had quite finished kissing it. “I have so many
demands on my time, so very many obligations, that I can ill afford
to linger here of an afternoon, waiting for
you
to call, or for Lord Skelbrooke to offer to
gallant me.”

From which the Jarl immediately gathered that the
Duchess’s cavalier had again left town without asking leave.

Skogsrå twirled his riding crop, idly wondering
whether Skelbrooke was visiting another rich patroness—in
Mittleheim or Ingeldorf, perhaps—or had he a taste for buxom
country girls, instead? “I cannot, of course, account for Lord
Skelbrooke, but as for myself, I am entirely yours to command.
Surely you are aware of this.”

The Duchess discarded her dressing gown, stood up in
her corset and her ruffled petticoats. She lifted a lacy hem to
examine her feet, which were very prettily shod in lavender kid
with diamond buckles. The effect was a pleasing one, but it did not
improve her temper. “Yes, yes, you are very good. You do everything
that I tell you to,” she said impatiently. “At least . . . you do
so to the best of your somewhat limited ability.”

The maid gathered up the voluminous skirts of the
heliotrope gown and slipped it over the Duchess’s head. The lady
reappeared looking flushed and irritated. She gave the satin skirt
a tug, settled it into place, and the girl arranged the pleats and
folds so that the gown draped to the best advantage.

“You seem to imply some failure on my part,” said the
Jarl. “I wish you would tell me how I have failed to please
you.”

The Duchess pulled up the tight-fitting bodice, slid
her am into the sleeves. “Your wooing of Elsie has been somewhat
desultory,” she said, as the maid circled around to hook her into
the dress. “At fine ardent lover you are, to be sure! Not even the
sense to press the advantage you gained at Count Xebo’s ball—or do
I wrong you? Have you waited these two days to tell me that my
godchild has accepted you, that Elsie has finally consented to be
your wife?”

“Alas, no,” said the Jarl, with a stiff little bow.
“That honor has yet to be mine.”

“Dear me,” said the Duchess. The maid brought her a
pair of long lavender gloves. “I hope you do not mean to tell me
that you were such a fool as to allow the opportunity to slip?” She
donned first one glove and then the other. “You did
ask
Elsie to marry you?”

The Jarl tapped his riding crop against his high
leather boots. “Ask her to marry me? I begged her to be mine, I
entreated her. Believe me, I was the most ardent of lovers! She
only smiled sadly and asked for more time to think the matter over.
For my part, I believe she is much inclined to accept me, but that
she is so very young and fears to make the wrong decision.”

The Duchess shook her head. “I had no idea the girl
was like to prove so prudent. But I suppose it is just a case of
our Miss Sera putting ideas into her head. Either that, my dear
Jarl, or you have bungled things entirely.” She picked up a diamond
bracelet, handed it to Skogsrå, and gracefully extended her arm.
“Oblige me by fastening the clasp.”

The Jarl had smiled at the mention of Sera’s name,
showing his gleaming white teeth. “Miss Sera Vorder is a young
woman of such forceful character, such incomparable spirit, I
sometimes wonder why we bother with the other one at all. If you
would permit me to—“

“You could not do it, “ said the Duchess. “No,
positively you could not—even if I were inclined to permit it—for
you aroused her dislike and her suspicion from the very beginning.
That pleasure you are thinking of, if it is to be enjoyed by
anyone, must be reserved for another: It will never be yours.” She
tied on her plumed bonnet, picked up her fan and her reticule, then
turned back to the Jarl. “I have a call to make, of particular
interest. You may accompany me, if you like—providing you will not
think the pace too slow, and that great horse of yours does not
frighten my sheep.”

“It will be my pleasure,” said Skogsrå. “But the
Gracious Lady has yet to inform me where she is going.”

“I am going to the Hospital of the Celestial Names,
to view a demonstration of natural laws,” said the Duchess, moving
toward the door. “Dear me, you seem rather flustered. Have you
never visited a hospital before? Then by all means, you ought to
accompany me. You are something of a physician yourself, are you
not? So I hardly think that anything you see there will shock or
dismay you.

“Or do you,” she asked, with a sly smile, “do you
fear to find your surroundings a little too . . . attractive?”

The Jarl offered her his arm. “You are pleased to
jest with me,” he said coldly. “But naturally my greatest concern
is for you. A charity hospital hardly seems the proper setting for
a great lady like the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen.”

“You are entirely mistaken,” said the Duchess,
equally cool. “A great lady like the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen can
go where she pleases and do as she likes; it is the advantage of
age and rank. “

They left her rooms and descended the curving marble
staircase to the floor below. “Perhaps you are not acquainted with
my young friend, Mr. Theophilus von Eichstatt? But of course you
must know him—he is so often here,” said the Duchess.

“Von Eichstatt?” The Jarl took a moment to consider.
“But yes, the ugly young man with the awkward manners. I have often
wondered why he was such a favorite.”

The Duchess glared at him. “Yes, he is terribly
plain, and his manners lack polish, but he has been studying
medicine for two years and already promises to become a brilliant
physician—as well as an experimental scientist of some note. He is
not, however, a young man of independent means, and so he is
obliged to seek my financial assistance. It is as his patron that I
attend the demonstration today. I believe that you will find it
fascinating, for it involves the circulation of the blood and the
action of the heart.” The Jarl raised a delicate eyebrow, but he
did not otherwise reply.

In the lower hall, they met one of the Duchess’s
footmen leading the miniature ape on a leash. Skogsrå could not
conceal his disgust as the Duchess took the little creature into
her arms and the ape clasped its hairy blue arms around her dainty
neck. “I suppose it is necessary for the monkey to accompany
us?”

“It pleases me to bring him,” said the Duchess. The
footman had opened the door, so she sailed on through. She paused
at the top of the steps and looked back at Skogsrå. “Why should I
not bring him. He is very well behaved and undoubtedly a novelty.
And he not a monkey, you know. He is an indigo ape, very rare—oh
yes, I assure you, very rare indeed.”

“The creature has a lugubrious look and I have never
seen it but when it was lethargic,” insisted the Jarl, as he
followed her down the front steps to her carriage, then watched her
hand the ape up to her gnome coachman. “I am convinced this animal
is diseased.”

The Duchess allowed the Jarl to assist her in
mounting the scallop-shell carriage. “Nonsense,” she said, settling
herself comfortably on the plush cushions. “Sebastian cherishes a
secret sorrow—and that, as you know, is inclined to depress the
spirits—but otherwise, he enjoys the very best of health.”

Skogsrå sneered; it was not an expression that went
well with the golden lovelocks and the delicately painted eyebrows.
“You speak as though the creature were human.”

The Duchess smiled sweetly. “Surely that is a
distinction, my dear good Jarl, over which the pair of us are
singularly unqualified to quibble.”

The Hospital of the Celestial Names occupied what had
once been a fine large house: a sprawling structure of wood,
plaster, and brick, some three or four centuries old, which was
situated on the outskirts of the town. The Duchess left her
grotesque little pet behind her in the carriage in the charge of
her coachman, and Skogsrå escorted her into the building.

A stench of blood and of unwashed bodies, the sickly
sweet odor of rotting flesh, assailed them as soon as they stepped
through the door. The Jarl pulled a scented handkerchief out of his
sleeve and held it up to his nose. “This place is filthy,” he said,
surveying, with marked disfavor, the dingy entry hall. “It reeks of
contagion.”

An ill-dressed young man, carrying a mere stub of a
lighted candle, shortly appeared to show them the way. He took them
down a tunnel-like corridor, up a narrow, creaking stair, and along
a dark, echoing gallery, passing by many open rooms along the way.
The Duchess stopped in one such doorway, peered inside, then
signaled to the Jarl to do the same. Reluctantly, he complied.