The Mystic Marriage (25 page)

It was in greeting the noble guests that she most longed for Barbara’s presence. Barbara knew everyone, with a minuteness of detail that astounded. Margerit more than once found herself scrambling to recall a name or title and falling back on a hurried, “Mesner, welcome to my lecture,” before moving on to the next. She was startled to see Efriturik come through the doors, just before they were set to close. “Baron Razik!” she said. “I’m honored that you chose to come.”

He bowed in that funny foreign way he hadn’t managed to shake—or did he keep it as a charming affectation the way Jeanne cultivated hers? “Maisetra Sovitre, my mother sends her hopes for a successful venture. She wishes me to say—” He paused, as if trying to recall the exact words. “—that she is pleased to see the pleasures of the mind leavening the frivolity of the season. Me,” he added, “I prefer the frivolity.”

“And that makes me the more grateful you came. I didn’t know you were interested in rhetoric.”

He shrugged, looking out over the crowd. “My mother wishes me to find some useful occupation. I don’t have it in me for a scholar. And they won’t let me take up a commission in the cavalry yet. So I look here and there. Perhaps I will make a career in politics.”

Afterward, she couldn’t have said whether the lecture went well or ill. It was all a nervous blur. But the buzz of conversation among the departing audience told her she had accomplished her desired end. Once was a novelty, twice success. And when everyone returned at the end of summer, she’d try a third. After that, the lectures would be considered an institution.

Chapter Nineteen

Jeanne

“Jeanne, what are your plans for the day, other than choosing some new books?” Alenur had met her as they both entered Charner’s library. “Helen says there’s a hill out past the west gate where the snowdrops are already blooming. We’re going out to see if we can find them. Do come along; I’ve hardly seen you since the turning of the year.”

“Snowdrops?” Jeanne asked.

“Any excuse for an outing. The weather’s been so miserable these past few weeks and this will be the third fine day in a row. I have space for you in my carriage. Helen’s is full already and Verneke is bringing her girls and you know how they chatter.”

For a moment Jeanne was swept up in the vision: carriages full of laughing companions, a drive in the crisp bright air, a lighthearted treasure hunt. Someone would bring champagne and then they’d stop at that tavern a mile out on the western road to dine. She shook her head reluctantly. “I’m promised to a friend for luncheon. You couldn’t wait for tomorrow?”

“Pooh! A luncheon? What’s that when the snowdrops might be gone by tomorrow. Your friend will understand.”

“No, but you might offer the place to Tionez. She could use an outing to cheer her up now that her husband’s been posted off to Paris. She’s been languishing, the poor dear.”

* * *

But on arriving at Trez Cherfis, the housekeeper met her at the door with a finger on her lips, saying, “The maisetra said they weren’t to be disturbed until they’re done,” with a jerk of her head toward the closed door to the workroom. And the presence of Margerit’s armin, rising discreetly from the anteroom’s only chair, told her who “they” comprised.

Jeanne tried to keep the dismay from her face. “Ah, I must have mistaken the time,” she whispered and directed Marien to put the basket with the food on the table. It was never any use to try to coax Antuniet out to eat—even to the cookshop on the corner—when there was work to be done. “I can wait here,” she said, settling into the newly vacant chair.

The woman shrugged and disappeared back down the corridor. From the other room came the sound of rhythmic voices, too low to distinguish the words. Silence and footsteps, then a voice again. She could recognize Margerit’s tones this time but couldn’t follow what was said. She tried to envision what actions that rhythm accompanied. What was it that needed such seclusion and took so long? The work Antuniet had shown her in the past had all been physical, more like the work of a kitchen than the churchlike rituals this evoked.

An hour passed. Marien ventured to ask, “Mesnera, perhaps we should leave?”

“No, I’m sure it can’t be much longer.” But it was another hour before the inner door opened with a burst of excited voices.

Antuniet spotted her with a look of almost comical dismay. “Oh, Jeanne, I’m so sorry! I entirely forgot! We had such success yesterday that I couldn’t wait to try the full process. The alignments were going to be perfect and—”

“—and everything else flew out of your mind. I know how well that can happen!” Jeanne brushed away her annoyance and put on a smile as she rose. “I’m afraid the food’s all gone cold, but there’s plenty for three,” she said with a nod to Margerit.

“Oh, no, I’m already late getting back,” Margerit countered. “We’re promised to Lady Marzim for dinner and I’ll need hours to make myself presentable.” She gestured at the grimy smock thrown over her clothes and scrubbed at a smudge on her cheek, only worsening it. “But Antuniet, tomorrow? May I return to see the results?”

“Of course. Jeanne, truly, I am sorry. Can you wait for me to wash up? Anna, bring one of the other chairs out here.”

A little more waiting would scarcely matter, but it was annoying when an elaborate plan went awry. And how long had Margerit been a partner in the alchemy? Jeanne directed Marien to begin laying out the hamper of food. Jealousy was such a pointless thing. And she wasn’t jealous of Margerit, not really. Not even of her fortune—though how differently things might have gone if she herself had been able to stand as Antuniet’s patron last fall! No, it was the work itself that was her rival. And there was no answer to that except to embrace them both. Without that work, the woman she loved wouldn’t exist.

Antuniet showed a gratifying attention to the food. Jeanne chattered of inconsequential things while they ate, but when they’d come to tea and biscuits she asked, “What is it that had you all excited this morning?”

“We finally worked out the process for a batch of the chrysolite. I couldn’t manage it before with just Anna and me. This is a chance to really test the strength of the exaltation. With so many of the properties it’s as bad as looking for signs of miracles from a mystery: did the saints hearken or was it only chance?”

“And why is this one different?” Jeanne asked.

The barest flicker away of Antuniet’s eyes spoke volumes. “It’s…it banishes evil dreams. If it works, I’ll know.”

“The same dream still?”

Antuniet looked confused.

“You had bad dreams that night you spent at my house at the New Year. Something about your mother.” She could tell from Antuniet’s response that it was not a subject she cared to discuss. “No matter,” Jeanne said, dismissing it with a brief touch on her arm. The chance to comfort her wouldn’t be worth the distress. “Tell me what you did this morning.”

It was so easy to listen as Antuniet poured out the details, the plans and the expectations. So easy to be lost in the animation of her eyes. This was the wine she came here to drink. But she tried to take it in more deeply, to ask questions that showed not only interest but understanding. And when Antuniet noted for the third time how much more progress they’d made now that there were more participants for the roles, Jeanne said quietly, “You could have asked me as well.”

Antuniet looked startled. “I didn’t think…it wouldn’t…Jeanne, this isn’t the ceremonies of a mystery guild. It’s dirty work. The roles—they aren’t just symbols. They represent tasks in the processing and enhancement.”

“I suppose I should get myself some sort of gardener’s smock like Margerit’s,” Jeanne said, dismissing the objection. “And gloves, or…would gloves interfere?” She looked down at her hands, preserved against time and weather with such diligent care. Was she mad? But it would always be a barrier between them if she held back.

“Gloves, of course,” Antuniet assured her. “Are you sure? I’d love to have more help, but you’re always so busy.”

“With morning visits and soirées and pleasure drives out to look for elusive snowdrops. I’m sure I can be spared on occasion.”

Antuniet paused in looking over the sweetmeats. “Snowdrops?”

Jeanne launched into the tale, making it both more amusing and less attractive in the telling than it had been in life that morning.

* * *

And the work
was
dirty and sometimes tedious. But then there were times when she was swept up in the excitement of creation. There were parts to learn and roles that sometimes seemed more like a holiday masque than a scientific process. One by one they worked through the formulas that Antuniet had chosen for the demonstration of mastery.

“What came before were only the elements. Oh, I made a few enhanced stones to confirm it was possible, but this is the real work.” She sorted through the piles of notes and diagrams that carefully documented the essential details not elaborated in DeBoodt. “It’ll take years to learn the techniques for every stone and every property he describes and we don’t have the participants for most of them yet. But here’s the list I want to produce before—”

She left the rest unsaid, but Jeanne knew: before she went back to Annek to present her gift. Curiously, she reached over and took up the book. Antuniet had her own copy again now, bound in dark green leather with gilded edges. That had been her own gift—that binding. Too ornate, perhaps, for a working text but she’d been unable to resist. She read through the handlist tucked between the pages. “What about this one? ‘To protect travelers and make the stranger welcome.’ That would be useful.”

Antuniet gave her a rueful glance. “There was a day that would have been more than useful! But it needs someone for the Mars role.” She sighed. “I don’t want to bring in outsiders until we’ve had more practice.”

Margerit looked thoughtful. “Does the role specifically require a man or simply a warrior? I was wondering: might Barbara be able to try it?”

“For that I don’t know. It might be interesting to see, but the baroness hasn’t offered.”

A thread of tension stretched through the room. Had Barbara been asked and refused? Or had she simply washed her hands of her cousin’s life again once the crisis was past? Jeanne skimmed down over the list of formulas, looking for those with no more than four female roles. “I like this one. ‘To ensure that the true worth and beauty of the bearer is seen.’” Her gaze flicked briefly to where Anna was working. How many women could benefit from that power!

Antuniet glanced over at the handlist, then looked through her own papers. “I don’t think we can manage that one at the moment. It requires a mirroring of the
virgo
role. Anna usually takes that one but—”

“Couldn’t Margerit take the second?” Jeanne asked. “After all, it isn’t as if—”

Antuniet cut her off with a gesture and turned to say, “Anna, go fetch water to fill the copper. It will be nice to have it hot for washing up.”

Jeanne watched the girl leave. “Was that necessary?”

“I’m responsible for what she learns under my roof,” Antuniet said briskly. “DeBoodt is fairly explicit in the definitions of the several types of roles. For the
virgo
he says it must be ‘one who has not known carnal embrace.’ And Margerit, I doubt you meet the requirement.”

Margerit turned a pretty shade of pink and said, “Yes, I suppose so. But couldn’t you take it?”

“No,” Antuniet said sharply and pushed away from the table to busy herself with something on the bench.

And what was that about?
Jeanne wondered. The answer had scarcely invited further questions. Antuniet had spent nearly two years wandering the face of Europe alone. It would be no wonder if… Her imagination failed her, not knowing whether it should lead to curiosity or pity.

“I had another thought for the male role,” Margerit offered into the lengthening silence. “I want to explore it further before mentioning names, but it wouldn’t be an outsider. Not exactly.”

Antuniet only shrugged and said, “As you please,” as if she were weary of the conversation.

Jeanne lingered when the others had left, seeking a chance for a question that couldn’t wait, but uncertain of Antuniet’s mood. “Toneke, you’ve disappointed me,” she began at last.

“And what have I done now?” Her voice was tired.

Jeanne knew instantly that the teasing had been a mistake but it was too late to begin again. “You promised that you’d come out with me if you were invited by name. And I know that Margerit asked you to the opening of Fizeir’s new opera. And I know that you refused.”

Antuniet sighed. “Jeanne, I have nothing to wear. Not to the opera. I can’t go on always borrowing your gowns.”

“Which is why I’ve made an appointment for you with my dressmaker tomorrow. I made sure it was in the late afternoon because I know you have work planned in the morning, but she’ll need a week to do her best and that doesn’t leave much time.” She saw Antuniet preparing to refuse and pleaded, “Please let me do this. I know you let Margerit buy you that rock crystal crucible and it must have cost twenty times what a ball gown would.”

And once more she knew she’d managed things badly when Antuniet colored and looked away, mumbling, “That was for the work.”

“I don’t know what’s come over me today; everything I say is wrong!” She reached out to take Antuniet’s hand and said earnestly, “I try to understand. I really do. But I can’t help you the ways that Margerit can. You take so little time for yourself and that’s where I
can
help.” She searched Antuniet’s face, trying to see if she had redeemed herself and finally released her hand when Antuniet stopped trying to pull away. She added more cheerfully, “And I won’t enjoy the opera nearly so much if you aren’t there beside me.”

A war fought itself out in Antuniet’s face but at last she said only, “Thank you. And thank you for asking Margerit to invite me.”

* * *

An opera night always called for more than ordinary care in dressing but it didn’t usually entail the mountain of gowns that had been considered and discarded and lay waiting for Marien to return them to the wardrobe. And it rarely called for more than an hour to be spent over the selection of jewelry and the application of powder and paint. Jeanne brushed at her cheek once more with the haresfoot, then leaned toward the mirror. She pulled at the corner of her mouth, smoothing out an imagined line.
Someday soon I’ll become as ridiculous as an aging roué. Please God, not for a few years yet.