Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

Parrish appeared even less inclined to subject himself to Kendall’s society than Darcy. “Billiards is not my forte.”

“No, you excel at other games, don’t you?”

Parrish stared at him a long moment. “Yes, I do,” he said finally.

They left Kendall in the billiards room alone. “My courtship with Juliet is ended,” Parrish said to Darcy as they walked. “I’ve married someone else. I wish Mr. Kendall and his daughter would just reconcile themselves to that.”

Darcy thought of the wrath he himself had incurred when he’d disregarded someone else’s unofficial “understanding” and chosen to marry Elizabeth over his cousin Anne. His aunt, Lady Catherine, was still so affronted that, despite Mr. Collins’s speculations to the contrary, he doubted she’d forgive him to the end of her days.

Hell hath no fury like the parent of a woman scorned.

Elizabeth retraced her steps, trying to recall where she’d left her bonnet. She had brought it with her when she came downstairs that morning in anticipation of taking a walk directly after breakfast. Jane, however, had distracted her by soliciting an opinion of the garland that had just been hung on the staircase in the hall. One end of it drooped drunkenly, its tail dangling to drape a suit of armor in an evergreen boa.

“Is it very noticeable?” Jane had asked. “The servants have been working so hard to put the house back in order. I hate to criticize them about Yuletide decorations.”

“Jane — it’s noticeable.”

Then it had been on to the parlor, where holly hung so thick that its pointed leaves threatened to draw blood from all who entered. “I said I thought a little holly might be nice. ..”

“Apparently, a little more is nicer still. I hope you made no similar suggestion about mistletoe, or we’re all in trouble.”

Jane’s eyes had grown wide. “I have not yet seen the drawing room!”

They had found that room converted into a bower capable of staining even Cupid’s cheek with a blush. Now, as thick clouds gathered and threatened to cut short her walk, Elizabeth headed back there in hopes of finding the door frames clear and her bonnet lying in the only remaining place she could think to look for it.

She heard Professor Randolph’s voice coming from the room and recalled that this was his usual meeting time with Mrs. Parrish and her husband. She opened the door quietly, intending to duck in, retrieve her bonnet, and exit without disturbing them. When she entered the room, however, she stopped suddenly.

Randolph and Caroline were alone. And they were engaged in no ordinary interview.

Caroline lay on the sofa, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted back, eyes closed. Small bluish green leaves were scattered on her forehead. Professor Randolph stood over her, chanting foreign words and pressing some sort of object into her left hand.

From where she stood, Elizabeth could not identify the item. It was small and round, and flashed in the strong late afternoon sunlight penetrating the south windows. Nor could she identify the language he spoke — it sounded like none of the Romance languages she’d heard.

Utterly absorbed in his ritual, Randolph didn’t notice her entrance. He continued his chant, moving the object to Caroline’s chest, her forehead, her lips. His voice, lower than usual, rose and fell in volume like the swell of waves against the sand. All the while, Caroline lay still. Unnaturally still.

A cloud passed over the sun. Goosebumps raced across Elizabeth’s skin. The chant seemed to swirl around her, its cadence dulling the edges of her consciousness. Lethargy took hold of her body; her limbs weighed more than she could lift.

What was happening to her? To Caroline? She forced her jaw to work, her tongue to speak.

“Professor?”

He whirled around. “Mrs. Darcy! I did not hear the door.”

She blinked. Her mind was clear, her body perfectly normal once more. Had she only imagined the previous sensations? Regardless, she had not imagined Randolph’s actions. “What are you doing?”

He palmed the mysterious object and brought his hand to his hip. “Doing? Oh — the song? That was a canticle from ancient times, said to bring peace to troubled minds. A lullaby, if you will. Mrs. Parrish said she has not been sleeping well.”

“It did not sound like a lullaby.”

“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you have found out my secret, Mrs. Darcy.”

Startled by his directness, she held her breath and waited for him to continue. Her heart pounded so hard she thought its beat would drown out his admission.

“I am an exceedingly poor musician.”

And an even worse liar . “Where is Mr. Parrish? Does he not usually join you when you meet with his wife?”

“He was unavailable. I could find no substitute, and the hour grew late.”

She pointedly eyed his hand. “What is that you hold?

“Nothing, madam.” He turned up two empty hands as proof. “What do you think you saw?”

He must have slipped the item into his trouser pocket. “I know not.”

“Perhaps it was a trick of the light.”

She studied his face, a mask of pretended innocence. “Yes — I am certain it was indeed some sort of trick.”

She entered the room further, wanting a better look at Mrs. Parrish. As she approached, she noticed bluish green sprigs on the floor that matched the leaves on Caroline’s forehead. It looked like rue from the herb garden. The sprigs formed a circle around the sofa; another sprig rested in a small bowl of water on a side table. “What is the rue for?”

“Another cure for headaches.” Mumbling something under his breath, the professor knelt to retrieve the sprigs from the floor. When he had gathered them all, he set them on the table. “After last night, I thought Mrs. Parrish needed something stronger than spearmint.”

She removed the leaves from Caroline’s forehead herself. Mrs. Parrish still did not move. Her continued stillness alarmed Elizabeth as much as Randolph’s equivocation. “I have never heard of a physician using rue in this manner.”

“Rue has many uses in folk medicine. It is believed to aid the mind.”

“As I recall, it didn’t do Ophelia any good.” Distrust made her reluctant to return the leaves to him. She instead withdrew her housewife and dropped them inside, watching for his reaction. He said nothing, only met her gaze with a look that indicated he understood her motive perfectly. If only she could comprehend his.

The room grew dimmer as frozen droplets pinged against the glass. The sound captured his attention. He stared through the windows at the incipient storm. “Winter announces its arrival.”

His statement reminded her that it was the twenty-first of December — the winter solstice, a date he had mentioned the last time they had discussed herbalism. What was it he had called the art? A little bit medicine, a little bit magic.

What was this man truly about? As she studied him, his features seemed to shift in the grey light, recasting themselves into something not quite of this world. An overwhelming urge to flee seized her. But before she could act on it, Mrs. Parrish stirred. Caroline winced and brought her hand to her temple; her eyes fluttered open. When her gaze lighted upon Elizabeth and the professor, she bolted upright and swung her legs to the floor.

“What is going on? How came I to be lying here?”

“You nodded off, Mrs. Parrish.” Randolph walked to the wine decanter and poured a draught. “Here — sip this. How do you feel? You complained of a headache earlier.”