Barbara Michaels - The Wizard’s Daughter

Marianne was not looking forward to the dinner party. The presence of one man whom she had tried to slap and another whom she had not only slapped, but struck with her fist, was enough to promise discomfort. Add to them Dr. Gruffstone, who thoroughly disapproved of her, the Duke, the most accomplished little Paul Pry of all time, Lady Annabelle and her cats…

Yet the meeting turned out to be surprisingly successful. Dr. Gruffstone met her kindly, taking her hand and asking with concern how she felt. "Have you been sleeping?" he inquired. "You appear a little pale."

"This is not your consulting room, Horace," the Duchess said with a smile. "You medical men, always seeing symptoms where there are none! Marianne has had a long day in the fresh air and feels splendid, don't you, my love?"

Carlton's greeting, too, was pleasant. "I am happy to report that the lost treasure has been found," he said lightly. "Your hat is being refurbished and will be returned to you by morning, plumes and all."

To be sure, Victor sulked, but he did not dare do it ostentatiously. Marianne thought she was the only one who noticed his reproachful and pleading looks until Carlton said sotto voce, "Have you been forced to put our Irish Frenchman in his place? I trust he did not make rude advances to you."

"How absurd," Marianne said haughtily.

But the big surprise was Lady Annabelle, who appeared on time, without cats, and wearing quite a nice gown from which most of the cat hairs had been removed. It was obvious that the doctor was the cause of her transformation. To say that she fawned on him or flirted with him would be inaccurate; rather, she courted his approval and hung on his pronouncements. There was no denying that the plain, aging man radiated a strong aura of fatherly authority when he chose. Even Henry was on his best behavior.

When the ladies retired to the drawing room, Marianne felt an immediate change in the atmosphere. It originated with the Duchess, who showed signs of increasing agitation as time wore on and the men lingered in the dining room. Marianne offered to play, but was refused, though in a kindly fashion. Lady Annabelle, removed from the doctor's presence, relapsed into a peaceful doze.

Finally a burst of laughter from Carlton heralded the appearance of the gentlemen. They sauntered into the drawing room with the smug sleepy look of men who had drunk quite a quantity of good port.

"What a long time you have been," the Duchess exclaimed. "I hope you were not telling stories – you know the kind I mean – in front of Henry, or that you did not let him drink with you."

"He had a single glass of port," the doctor said, giving Henry a paternal pat on the shoulder. "He must learn to handle his wine like a gentleman, Honoria; he is growing up."

Henry's chest swelled visibly.

"Well and good; but it is time for him to go to bed now," said the Duchess.

"Oh, no, not yet! I'm too old to be sent off to bed like a baby. Besides, I want to see the table turning."

The doctor's face lost its good humor and became thunderous. "Honoria, you gave me your word -"

"I did nothing of the sort! In any event I refuse to discuss it in front of Henry. Monsieur Victor, assert your authority."

"Certainement, madame la duchesse." Said Victor, with a look of utter incompetence. "Henri -"

"No, I won't. I want to stay."

"Off with you, young man," the doctor said. "I intend to test your progress in Latin tomorrow, and I promise you you will need your wits about you."

"But… Oh, very well."

The doctor beamed approval. Marianne was not so sanguine; she had caught a familiar expression on Henry's face and suspected he had some scheme in mind.

He went off quietly, however, with Victor trailing after him. Then Gruffstone turned to the Duchess.

"Honoria, have you been up to your tricks? I told you -"

"You told me and I chose to dismiss what you said. What – am I some dependent of yours, that I must obey your every whim? Are you Socrates or Solon, always right? Either you participate or you remove yourself, Horace. There are no other possibilities."

"I do participate then," said the doctor heavily. "With profound misgivings. I warned you, Honoria."

"So you did. We will adjourn to the other room now. Annabelle, will you join us?"

"Yes, I think so," Lady Annabelle replied, yawning. "That is, if Dr. Gruffstone approves."

"Certainly," the doctor said with a sigh. "The more, the merrier."

The White Room had been prepared. A fire blazed on the hearth and the draperies had been drawn. A screen shielded the firelight.

Marianne's pulse was fast as she took her place, and Carlton must have felt it when he clasped his fingers around her wrist; he gave her a strange look, but said nothing. The circle of hands was formed, Lady Annabelle participating as if this were no new thing for her.

She was the calmest of them all, and for once Marianne found her bovine placidity soothing.

"What is going to happen?" she inquired. "Will David come at last, do you suppose?"

"Perhaps," the Duchess replied.

"Well, if the girl is his daughter -"

"Please, Annabelle. You know the rules. No more talking."

Scarcely had this last request been made when there was a sharp rap, seemingly from under the table. The Duchess's fingers clamped down on Marianne's hand.

"They are strong tonight," she murmured.

"They are," Carlton agreed. "Your Grace, may I suggest that we take the usual precautions to make sure no one is tapping with his, or her, foot? Unconsciously, of course."

The Duchess nodded impatiently and moved so that the sole of her slipper rested lightly on Marianne's left foot. Carlton placed his foot, not so lightly, on her right shoe.

Two more raps echoed. The table lifted and dropped down.

"We will communicate in the usual way," the Duchess said. She began to recite the alphabet, intoning each letter slowly and solemnly, like a litany. When she reached the letter G, another rap sounded. By this means the phrase "Good evening" was spelled out. A snort from the doctor's end of the table greeted this courteous remark.

"Be quiet," the Duchess snapped. "Will the spirit who is present indicate its name?"

This time the alphabetic method produced the letters "puden," and the Duchess exclaimed, "Pudenzia! Is it you?" A vehement rap confirmed this.

"Who the blazes is that?" Lady Annabelle inquired.

"Never mind. This takes too long," the Duchess said. "I trust you skeptics will have no objection to our reverting to written letters so long as we all keep our hands in plain sight?"

No one objected, though it was clear that the men were not in favor of the suggestion. Marianne flexed her fingers. Her left hand had gone quite numb from the pressure of the Duchess's grasp.

From a drawer under the table the Duchess produced a printed list of the letters of the alphabet and an ivory stylus. As she began to run the point of the stylus down the list, Marianne saw the advantage of the process. The stylus could move much more quickly than the voice could pronounce the letters.

After the first few letters had been designated by means of the familiar raps, Marianne lost track of what was being spelled. The affair confounded her; it was so brisk and matter-of-fact, rather like writing out a telegram; yet she could not understand where the raps were coming from. Carlton's suggestion that someone was tapping with a foot was ridiculous. The sounds were too sharp and distinct to have been produced by leather on wood or carpeting.

"Most interesting," the Duchess said, after an interval. "Did the rest of you follow that?"

"No," Carlton said.

"It is as I thought," the Duchess said, repressed excitement coloring her voice. "Pudenzia says she was a Christian maiden in early Rome under Diocletian, to be precise."