Barbara Michaels - The Wizard’s Daughter

Marianne had no choice but to do as she was asked. For once her good behavior was rewarded. The gentlemen were prompt to join them, and Carlton came at once to the piano.

"Ah, here is one of my favorites," he said, turning over the sheet music. "Do play it for me. I will turn the pages."

The selection was a Chopin polonaise; and Marianne suspected that its chief charm for Carlton was its volume. She played it rather badly, but did full justice to the fortissimo markings, and under cover of its passionate strains Carlton was able to say in a low voice, "He was there, all right. A friend of mine saw him too. No, don't stop! I am convinced the event was pure coincidence."

"But he knows where I am – with whom I am staying!"

"You little fool, that is your surest protection. No man in England would dare attack any dependent of the Duchess's. She has connections in the highest circles. Oh, I don't say that if our friend met you wandering the streets alone at night he might not try to carry you off, but I trust you will do nothing so foolish. So long as you behave properly you could not be safer in a cage."

"I wish you would not use that word," Marianne muttered. She brought all ten fingers down in a crashing chord.

"How interesting that you should feel that way."

The piece was coming to a ragged but resounding conclusion. There was very little time. Marianne said quickly, "The woman I mentioned to you – Maggie – have you found any trace of her?"

"I have not been looking," Carlton replied calmly.

"Then do so!" She did not dare look up from the music, she was playing badly enough with its aid; but she felt his reaction of haughty rejection. "If you do not," she continued rapidly, "I will speak to Her Grace about it. I owe that woman more than my life, and I have been inexcusably remiss in repaying her. She may be ill, she may be dead -"

"Calm yourself," Carlton said harshly. "I will do as you ask if only to prevent what you threaten."

Marianne's hands dropped in a crashing discord.

"Good gracious," the Duchess said gently. "What a strange sort of music that is! Give us something quieter, my dear."

Marianne spun around on the piano stool, ribbons and curls flying. The exchange with Carlton had worked up her courage.

"Duchess, I will play until my fingers drop off if it pleases you. But – forgive me – I am somewhat disturbed in my mind. What is it that you want of me this evening? Surely I can better assist you if I am prepared."

Even as she finished speaking she was afraid she had gone too far. But the Duchess did not appear to be angry.

"You have every right to ask," she said. "Please don't blame me, Marianne. It was at Gruffstone's insistence that I kept silent."

"And mine," Carlton added. "I too felt that if you insist on proceeding with the performance tonight, Miss Ransom should have no chance to prepare herself for it."

Marianne realized that her conjectures had been right. This disturbed her less than she had thought it would. Indeed, in her anger she wished that she were skilled in sleight of hand or some other form of trickery. Not that she would ever stoop to such deceit – but oh, what pleasure it would give her to confound the skeptics, to humiliate them as they wished to shame her. In her mind's eye she saw tables rocking, tambourines and trumpets and other mystic instruments flying through the air, shrouded spirit forms advancing on Carlton, who cringed and cried out in terror.

She tried to think of something profoundly cutting and sarcastic to say, but of course did not succeed. The Duchess said worriedly, "My dear child, I never doubted you. This was not my idea, I was forced into it by that ridiculous Clarabelle Morton. For years she has cherished the absurd notion that she was David's closest friend. She pursued him and bothered him mercilessly when he was in London."

"And," said the lawyer, "she entertained him lavishly when he first arrived. There was a certain gold cigar case, I remember, and a set of diamond studs…"

"He returned those," the Duchess said quickly.

"After you had given him -"

"Enough," the doctor said, with the authoritative manner he could assume when he spoke professionally. "I will not have this unseemly bickering, Roger. No use crying over spilled milk; whatever Lady Morton's methods or reasons, she is coming here tonight, and I suppose we are in for it. I did my best to prevent it, heaven knows."

"You told me yourself that Marianne is in perfect health," the Duchess said.

"It is not her health that concerns me."

"Well, I assure you, mine will suffer more from being thwarted than from anything. Come now, Horace, don't be an old bear. They will be here at any moment -"

"Too late, they are here," Carlton intoned dramatically, as the door burst open. In Lady Morton's usual impetuous manner she had outrun the footman, whose scandalized face appeared behind her.

The two other visitors, who were some distance behind, were among those Marianne had met at the opera – Lord Ronald Limpetry-Theobald, an extremely emaciated old gentleman who looked as if he had scarcely strength enough to hold the quizzing glass through which he stared at her; and the Honorable Miss Ditherson, a lady whose mind had apparently become petrified at the age of seventeen, though her body most certainly had aged since that far-off day. It is no wonder that Marianne had only the vaguest impressions of these two, since neither of them got a chance to say more than three consecutive words all evening.

Lady Morton refused her hostess's offer of refreshment. "No sense in wasting time. We all know what we have come for, so let us get to it at once." The blank white eye and its more mobile companion aimed themselves in Marianne's direction. "Can't see the slightest resemblance myself," Lady Morton said forcibly.

"But her hair," Miss Ditherson exclaimed.

"And her eyes," Lord Ronald whispered.

"Common as dirt," Lady Morton shouted. "You've been taken in again, Honoria; if you had consulted me I could have warned you. But that is just like you; you don't look stubborn, but you are stubborn, and no one knows that better than I. How many times have I -"

"Lady Morton." It was Carlton who spoke, and although his lips retained the faint smile that spoke of his contempt, his eyes were no longer amused. "Should we not, as you suggest, get to the business at hand?" '

"Certainly. That is precisely what I have been saying. You young rascals never pay any attention -"

Carlton grasped her arm and assisted her to rise with such vigor that she staggered. He led her out of the room.

The others followed. Marianne, side by side with the Duchess, could not help but admire Carlton for defending his patroness; but one word Lady Morton had used stuck in her mind. "Again." Again? Was she not, then, the first young girl whom the Duchess had taken in, under the impression that she was the child of her dear departed David? One delusion, based on a certain degree of physical resemblance, may be forgivable eccentricity. A series of such delusions smacked of something far more serious.

She was diverted from these thoughts by the sight of William the footman scampering (if a person of his impressive size could be said to scamper) along the hall, trying to keep ahead of Lady Morton. He just managed it, opening the door before the lady threw herself against it.

The white drawing room sparkled like an ice cavern. A blazing fire burned on the hearth, but its glow was lost in the dazzle of dozens of gas jets reflected from crystal and silver surfaces. No matter what the temperature, Marianne thought, this room would always be cold.

It was clear that all the guests were familiar with the room and the procedure. They took their places; Marianne, directed by the Duchess, took the chair at the lady's right. She did not need to be told that this had been David Holmes's accustomed place.