It would not be until the following Sunday that I would be able to venture into the Library again. My Aunt had made it her singular mission to exhibit me to all the families of note in London like some type of prizewinning show pony. In my recollection those days seem a blur of scrutinizing ladies, weak teas, and being subjected to all the finest gossip London had to offer while I visibly chafed in my chair for any excuse that might allow me to temporarily escape my captors, if only for a moment. The worst, of course, was my one Aunt's calling day for it seemed we had a never ending parade of gawkers come to see the exotic creature newly arrived from the wilds of -shire. And for each it was the same conversation repeated ad nauseam throughout the afternoon with so little variation I found I did not even have to listen to the words so much as wait for the speaking to stop and then supply the answer. I did employ this technique but after the second woman had left my Aunt chastened me for staring out the window instead of maintaining proper eye contact - it was rude to appear bored by the guests. I protested I was bored but apparently that was no excuse for appearing so. Once services had ended I found myself without scheduled occupation and, before my relatives could find me one, I had disappeared into that quiet sanctuary of letters and pages. Certainly a novel would assuage the tiresome activity of the past week.
I ran my fingers slowly across the shelves below the titles. I was in a mood that could only be satisfied by the copious ingestion of French literature. No Dickens or Austen could, today, sate my cravings - only that substantial yet airy taste of Dumas would suffice. Preferably not in it's original language, though - I had suffered far too many headaches this week to focus on translation. My French was far too poor to come effortlessly at my bidding. I carelessly watched the titles slip by above my finger, my eyes trained to recognize only one and thus disregard all others. The sudden shock of empty space followed by a glass case containing a toothy chin caused me to start. In all the bustle I had completely forgotten my ancient friends who grinned their gladness at my presence! "Now is the perfect time to have a proper look at you both." I said to no one in particular. The bleached white skull of the man, being the most immediately striking in all ways, caught my attention first. I had notice a strange marking over the eye on my last visit, but with the men gathered about I had been prevented a proper look - not now! I pulled a stool over and, careful not to fall, I stepped upon it so as to be able to look my subject squarely in his hollow eye. There, on the brow, was a long narrow notch - as though someone had taken a sword and sliced it straight through the height of his eyebrow. On the pate of his brow were other, lighter scratches, but they were scarcely worthy of note. I stood on my tip toes, squinting into that unnatural line. It seemed smooth, even at the deepest part of the wound. That deep a cut would have reached the sponge-looking inner bone. Had it occurred close to the time of his death, but none of it was visible to my eyes - probably he had survived the injury. I wondered what had led to his demise. This question I did not need to ponder long for on the right side of his head was a sizable hole. The edges of the hole seemed deformed, as if they had been sheered unevenly along the natural circular line - to my mind it brought the recollection of the pattern rats left from gnawing hard wood. The cause of this grievous injury mystified me as a strained to get a closer look. My feet, screaming complaint from being strained so long, finally demanded I either stand on them properly or else they should deposit me on the floor. Disappointed, I sunk down. It was then I was able to see what my higher viewpoint had obscured - at the base of the hole was the unmistakable shape of a crescent smiling out at me. "Ah!" I cried, hurrying from my perch to a shelf in the corner I had passed by only minutes before. I deftly removed a book from the shelf and began quickly leafing through it until I found my prize. I hopped back onto the stool and held the book to the skull, comparing the illustration with the unusual notch. "This is it!" I cried out happily. There could be no doubt what had made the wound that had felled this ancient soldier - on the page was a drawing of an ancient battle axe, its curved blade a near perfect match to the indentation at the base of the hollow.
I turned my attention to the other skull, eagerly searching out its secrets. This skull was somewhat different from the first in that it appeared somewhat broader, the lines less sharply defined, the nose narrower, the forehead less pronounced. It struck me as quite unusual that the pair should be so dissimilar even were they from different sexes. There were no obvious signs of injury on the skull like the first had shown. However, there was a very strange, knotty looking growth on the base of the back where the neck attached. The growth had a rim around it. I reached back to press my own neck in that location. I felt the long, thick rope of a muscle that smoothly attached to the very spot. "I wonder..." I mumbled aloud. Could a torn muscle have caused such damage? It would have been quite the muscle for the rimmed area was sizable. I rose again to the tips of my toes, stretching my neck to see the top of the skull. The surface appeared smooth as a bowl, a fine brown patina stain uniformly covering it. Then something caught my eye. It was just a little white chip come loose from the crown of the skull. I stretched closer to obtain a better view. It looked to be a piece of plaster still attached by a thread of the patina that now revealed its true nature as not the work of the soil but of human hands. Below it I could easily discern a thick craggy line, pale from the plaster which filled it. But why go to the trouble to plaster over the line and stain it; particularly when the other had been left untouched? Suddenly the loud click of the door handle being turned startled me from my inquiries. Fearful of being discovered, I snatched a book from the shelf and hurriedly descended to the floor. The door opened and through it walked Mr. Underhill and Lord Norbert embroiled in hushed conversation.
"Oh, Miss Moore!" Lord Norbert exclaimed upon noticing me. "My apologies for interrupting you. We didn't expect this room to be occupied."
"I was just reading." I said, attempting to turn the page nonchalantly, as though I had just completed it as opposed to having just opened to it at random. Mr. Underhill raised an eyebrow.
"Titus Andronicus?" he inquired, sardonically. I looked down at the page to see a very well drawn illustration of a man being murdered, his blood pouring forth into a large bowl.
"Oh! Oh God no!" I exclaimed, hurriedly flinging the book onto the shelf as though it were aflame. "No wonder that play enjoys such a dreadful reputation."
"It is fortunate you didn't actually read it." Lord Norbert observed.
"Oh yes, I am grateful for that." I answered with a hand upon my heart, still overcome by the shock of such an image. I winced at the realization that my attempt at deception had been so readily confessed by my own lips. I felt my face grow hot.
"Don't worry, there is no shame in examining historical artifacts." Quentin said with a reassuring smile.
"I'm sorry, Mother has always scolded me for my interest in those things she deems to be far too morbid for a young lady." I responded, my eyes cast downward in shame.
"Well, you are in the company of a kindred spirit. I have always enjoyed perusing the galleries at the British Museum, myself. I imagine some of the displays there would give your mother cause to faint."
"I am certain of that for she becomes positively light-headed when confronted with the marble gods. I can only imagine how she might react to a sarcophagus."
"I admit, even I find those somewhat unnerving - as though we are gazing upon something that should have been left undisturbed." he replied.
"I regret that it is unlikely I shall be able to visit them to investigate your claim for myself - my Aunt seems determined that I should have no employment other than securing a husband for myself." I gasped, covering my mouth. "Oh dear, I'm sorry! I have spoken far too freely." Quentin placed a comforting hand on mine.
"You need not worry." he smiled. "Once again, I believe we are of the same mind. My father has been intent on my marrying before I take over the parsonage - I daresay he will continue living until he is one hundred, and I in my grave, sheerly out of spite for me were I to remain a bachelor all my days. There is scarcely an event I am brought to where I am not introduced to some eligible young lady of such great accomplishments; who, while she may possess grand talents, is often no more than the sum of those very things. She can paint, and play, and recite all the most impressive poems but those accomplishments are merely gilding on paper moldings - there is no true substance to them. They bend and deform at the slightest pressure and at their core are worthless."
"You are very harsh on the ladies of society, Mr. Underhill." Lord Norbert interjected plaintively. Yet despite his whimpering objection, in his eyes I thought I read for a moment cutting sarcasm.
"No, I believe I do those women justice, Roger. They recite poetry but any they write themselves is merely a pale copy of what they have read - the only originality is from their arrangement of the pilfered lines. The same is true of their art: there is no deviation but that which is blatantly plagiarized from another source. Any thought of their own has long been trained out of them until they are little more than pretty machines unable to hold any conversation beyond the mere practice of manners. And that is when they aim to impress. I am certain Miss Moore could inform you of their unobserved personas."
"I will not defend all those members of my sex - for many your charges against them may even be called generous - but I will defend there are a number who, if unoriginal in thought, are good at heart. And certainly I have had the pleasure of knowing a few who have managed to be all of those things you prize."
"To be sure, I have as well - my sister among them - but exceptions do not disprove a rule by their existence. Though, I do concede that perhaps I am too harsh - it is merely as a result of my own weariness due to overexposure."
"I can forgive you of that; I have been guilty of it myself as of late. Society has never agreed with me and the constant barrage of all its offerings has left me veritably desperate to run for the lonely crags of the moors where a person may be left to their own devices for days at a time."
"Perhaps a fine house near the edge of a cliff where one might look out the window and see before them the whole expanse of creation." Quentin replied with a soft chuckle.
"So, the other night I saw you with Lady Danvers - are the two of you well acquainted?" Lord Norbert asked absentmindedly, poking about the shelves.
"Yes, we have been the closest of friends from my youth."
"My dear, you are still a youth." the older man taunted.
"Well, for many years then, if that will satisfy you. We live in the same region of _shire. Have you ever been?" I asked.
"No, never." he answered, seemingly more concerned with the dimensions of the fireplace than maintaining a conversation.
"Nor have I, but I have heard there are a number of fine Roman ruins still standing in that region. Have you chanced upon any?" Quentin asked.
"Yes, there was a small settlement not terribly far from Greenmoor Commons - it is not unusual to come upon the remains of an ancient villa wall long reclaimed by the forest."
"Do you know much of the Roman occupation of the area?" he asked, almost eagerly.
"Some. But not very much." I replied.
"Please do tell me what you do know. I would be quite interested to hear it." he entreated. And in this pleasant manner we wiled away the hour until the approach of Tea Time. The clock chimed the hour startling us, so absorbed were Mr. Underhill and I in conversation. I had been greatly impressed by the man for he matched me almost point for point - and those areas I was unfamiliar with he readily elucidated for me and, likewise, I him. It was stunning to me to have my opinion and knowledge so well regarded, even sought after, by a man; particularly one who was proving himself to be equal to my own respect. I felt an evermore intoxicating sense of elation brought about by finally being able to have a true discussion with one who could comprehend every word I said. Lord Norbert, having found nothing of interest in his solitary foray about the room, surrendered himself to observing us from a nearby chair. His dark eyes conveyed the irritation with the ever growing length of our visit that his lips refused to acknowledge even when pressed by I or Mr. Underhill.
"Has it really grown so late?" Quentin exclaimed, standing to gain a better view of the clock. "Oh, Dinah must be desperate to be delivered from your Aunt by now!"
"Your sister is here?" I asked.
"Do you think we normally just go about visiting the Libraries of local gentlemen unaccompanied? Of course his sister is with us." Lord Norbert snapped harshly. My eyebrows flew up in shock - this was quite a deviation from the meek, mild-mannered milk-toast I had been accustomed to.
"Roger!" Quentin started.
"I'm sorry Quentin. My apologies, Miss Moore, for my outburst. Sometimes, I suffer from acute indigestion and it rather inflames my temper unpredictably. I do beg your forgiveness." he pleaded in that almost pitiful, imploring whine of his.
"You are forgiven. Miss Moore?"
"I suppose I must forgive you this time." I relented. "Would you gentlemen care to join us for tea?" I inquired.
"No, not this time I think." Quentin replied. "We really must be getting home; but perhaps soon." he continued taking my hand and pressing it gently. "Come now, Roger." Quentin motioned for his friend. "Good Day to you Miss Moore." he said with a slight bow.
"Yes, Good Day." Lord Norbert echoed, not even condescending to look at me before making his way out.
Two days following was a sad day for me as it was the day Millie would be leaving for Greenmoor Commons. I should not see her again until the season had ended. She arrived early that morning. "Oh Millie!" I cried, embracing her. "How shall I ever get on without you here?"
"We will write. Perhaps you shall find other things to occupy your time, other people." she suggested slyly.
"Yes, but none will be as agreeable a companion to me as you!" I proclaimed.
"You can't know that until you have spent more time among them. I have already requested Miss Underhill have you over for Tea one of these days and she has agreed."
"Oh Millie!" I dropped my voice to a low whisper. "I must tell you, I encountered Mr. Underhill and Lord Norbert in the Library just two days past."
"Oh?" she replied sotto voce, her brow raised.
"Yes." I hissed.
"What brought them here, I wonder?" she mused slyly.
"Oh Millie, don't be like that. They were merely accompanying Mr. Underhill's sister." I insisted.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Then have you already met Dinah?"
"No, I was not even aware she was visiting until they were leaving. Unfortunately, I did not even have so much as the chance to be introduced."
"Ah, I see." Millie smiled. "They accompanied their sister, abandoned her, and then occupied their time with you. It appears to me there is nothing 'mere' about their accompaniment. You must tell me all that transpired." she urged. Deciding it prudent to omit the portion of the tale which was spent examining the skulls - for their mysteries would hold no true interest to her (though she would feign it for my sake, I knew she found such things beyond tedious - no matter how enthusiastic and enigmatic I might be, were I to detail my discoveries I could veritably see her fighting to retain consciousness) and I was not ready to tell of the strangeness of the brown skull just yet.
"So they interrupted you while you were reading?" Millie repeated what I had said.
"Well yes, in a manner of speaking. I wasn't especially attending to the content of the book." That was certain! I was sure that horrible image would haunt my nights the rest of my life.
"What happened then?" she pressed, pulling me gently, by the arm, further down the hall and away from the group.
"Mr. Underhill, by way of making pleasant conversation, mentioned the skulls - the two Etruscan ones - you recall them don't you?"
"How could I not? The mere idea of them watching me read alone in that room makes my flesh crawl. What did he have to say about them?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. But he mentioned similar items he had seen at the London Museum and that followed to a discussion of the Roman Ruins of Greenmoor Commons and then, I suppose time slipped away from us for it was past time for him to leave before we knew it." Millie laughed with delight,
"I take it then, our favorite made a good showing!"
"Millie, he's not a show horse!" I protested with a laugh. "And I got the distinct sense that he was not especially interested in making a good showing - I don't believe he wishes to marry."
"And what causes you to make such a claim?"
"Well, he all but said it - I believe he dislikes the concept of being pushed into matrimony even less than I."
"I did not think such a thing possible!" Millie gasped mockingly. "Still - 'all but' is not definitive proof. More likely he simply has not been steered to a woman who would be a match for his taciturn temperament."
"But you believe me such a match." I raised an eyebrow at my Lady's suggestion.
"My belief on the subject is hardly important - you have already proven it fact. Losing track of time... deep in conversation..."
"I don't believe I like your implication."
"Like it or not, I think you fancy him." she smiled impishly.
"I never said anything to imply that." I protested. I could feel the blush rising to my cheeks.
"You're blushing! You fancy him!" she taunted swiping my bonnet from my head. Millie was such a strange creature, changing from a proper lady to a mischievous pixie with no warning at all. This childishness though!
"Now, who does Miss Moore fancy?" Edgar asked, walking over.
"I fancy no one!" I exclaimed snatching my bonnet back. Millie sidled up to her husband,
"Mr. Underhill." she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear, into his ear.
"Oh ho!" Edger laughed. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise."
"I swear if the pair of you do not cease in tormenting me I shall never speak to him or any of his kin again so long as I live." I declared.
"But you so enjoyed talking to him!" Millie teased. I fixed her with a hard look,
"Do not tempt me, Millie." Her grin dropped instantly to a disappointed pout. "Oh don't pout so - you make me question which of us is the elder." At this assertion the corners of her mouth twitched until they finally could be contained no longer and returned to their usual high places.
"You win then, I shan't torment you further." she surrendered. I held my chin high and smirked imperiously,
"Don't I always."
"But if you and he end up walking down the aisle..."
"Then you may torture me to your heart's content." I supplied.
"Mina! I will miss you terribly!" she declared passionately.
"Well, you will not miss me just yet there is still some time before Tea - I was hoping we might take a turn about the gardens."
Millie and I strolled through the gardens in silence. I knew, even without her saying so, the cause of it all. "Millie there never a time when we could speak to each other without the interloping of the subject of gentlemen in our conversations?" Millie gave me a smile,
"I suppose there was, years ago."
"I believe it was only so long as last year and there is so much more to discuss in the world. Nature, the weather, literature, foreign lands! Here we are in the midst of a war and all that seems to be of import in who danced with whom and who encountered the other while walking."
"I know it is frustrating for you."
"Frustrating? Endlessly tedious is more apt. I feel like unto Sisyphus, constantly pushing the boulder of propriety up the grand hill of society. What sin have I committed to deserve this fate?"
"The sin of being born into a good house, I'm afraid." she offered.
"Had I fully understood how dreadful the penalty I should have fled from it years ago. But enough of this talk! Let us move on to pleasanter things." We continued down the path in silence, unsure of what to say.
"Oh! I have a riddle for you - I spent all last evening on it." Millie brightened, she knew I had a weakness for riddles as much as I knew she enjoyed trying to stump me with new ones. "It's far from my best work but I doubt you will get it straight away."
"I would be offended if I did. You would not think so low of me to offer something so instantly apparent. I accept your challenge."
"I begin like magic but end in a trap - what am I?"
"Sounds like "love"" I laughed.
"Oh you are jaded!" she exclaimed. "Now be serious."
"Hmmm..." I hummed, mulling over the clues in my head. "I begin like magic but end in a trap..." I stopped walking as I raised my hand to my chin; the other hand resting just below the elbow of the first, supporting it - a posture I tended to assume whenever deep thought was required. I could not say what power or sorcery the stance held, but the mere assumption of it seemed to clear my mind. Again I replayed the clues. There was the most literal translation - that the thing would begin with either an 'ma' or 'mag' and end in either 'inatrap', 'atrap', or 'trap' alone. However, little evaluation was needed to find no such combination yielded a sensical result. Thus the answer lay in the more abstract interpretation of the lines. I decided to examine the second clue for it had the fewest possible items in relation to it - between wands and wizards the first clue could leave me stymied for days. Millie appeared pleased that her riddle had held me so long. "Let's see..." I murmured. "traps... snare... pit... net... Net! You are a Magnet!" I declared triumphantly.
"That is it!" she affirmed.
"You are right, it's not your best work. But it's very good for something constructed on an evening's whim."
"Thank you." she acceded.
"So, what do you intend to do when you return to The Commons?" I asked.
"Well, it's difficult to say. There are many people I will need to call upon, and, of course, Edgar will want to host a ball at the house - he'll likely invite the whole town and half the next over!"
"And you the other half!" I added with a chuckle.
"Do not doubt me, for I have been so long delinquent in my correspondences a ball seems the only way I will be able to recompense for my extended neglect of our friendships."
"I am sure they will readily forgive you with such an enticement. I have never been one for Balls but yours are an exception - I shall be sorry to miss the festivities."
"I'll be glad when Ingrid is able to finally join us - she'll look so lovely with those pretty little white plaits all about her head. Oh, I wish you could meet her!" Millie sighed.
"Your little goddaughter is never far from your mind." I laughed.
"As she should be, for she is the closest thing to a child I have in the world. And when she comes of age her father has entreated my aid in her debut." she puffed herself up proudly.
"Will her mother not accompany her?" I asked, somewhat perplexed. It seemed strange that the responsibility would not rest upon the slender shoulders of the Countess Mason. I only just could recall the exotically handsome Swedish bride of Count Mason - poised, confident, with features as fines as if they had been chiseled in marble she had been the envy of all who saw her.
"No." Millie replied succinctly. "No, she will not be traveling to England at that time due to health reasons."
"I thought the child was only eight years old?"
"She is." Millie did not elaborate, for there was no need to - lengthy convalescence was a mere euphemism for divorce among those whose position could not condone the practice.
"I am certain she will be in the very best hands with you as her guide. I only wish I had such good fortune."
"Am I to understand it does not go well with your Aunt?" I shook my head.
"No, she barely knows me and she seems more concerned with showing me around like a new feather in her hat than actually speaking to me. All we do is visit her friends and I am introduced and then they talk - sometimes for near an hour - about the most insipid things! Just local gossip really; regarding players I have never met - though to be sure, if my Aunt's friend's are to be believed, they are all the most scandalous villains the world ever birthed. How dare Mrs. Dale wear anything but black only two years after her beloved husband's death! So there I must sit staring into space watching the wallpaper blur and return to focus."
"That does sound tedious."
"Tedious! Millie it is intolerable. I give my oath that before the season is over I shall die of boredom!"
"That shall be most unfortunate. But do not forget, Miss Underhill will soon call - perhaps that may turn the tide in your sea of misery."
"If her brother is any indication of her qualities, I would not doubt it." I replied.
"He certainly must have made quite an impression on you - I have never heard you give such high praise."
"It was quite a pleasant conversation. Millie, we matched each other so well in intellect and opinion - I have never met a man who I felt on equal footing with; most merely regurgitate facts in order that they might sound accomplished, but he was impressively well versed in a multitude of topics - not just those of his profession or those studied to make him appear an intellectual. Did you know he speaks Irish, Millie?"
"Irish? For what reason would any Englishman want to learn such a language?" Millie seemed quite stunned by this information.
"I asked the very same. He answered that as a man of the cloth he was to welcome all his parishioners regardless of wealth or origin (a rather refreshing view from a man whose living would be made more comfortable by selectively discouraging some) and with the growing influx of Irish into the region he wishes to be able to better serve them by learning their language."
"That certainly is admirable."
"But then he went on to tell that he had been quite fascinated to note a number of words were either in-whole or derived from the Romantic languages which, in turn is derived from the Latin. For instance horse, or pony is 'capall' in Irish, which is quite close to the Spanish 'cabello', and both are unmistakably similar to the Latin: Caballus or Caballio. And in all the word 'pasta' is the same!"
"Meaning...?" by the dull look in her eye I could discern Millie's attention to the subject to be wavering - but, God love her, she was trying to humor my passion.
"Meaning the existence of Latin-esque words in the common vernacular of the language shows the influence of the Roman occupation on even that part of the Isles which is all the more interesting when you consider that those of us from England have not kept the same words." I enthused. She laughed,
"Are you finished?"
"Quite." I answered. "I suppose I got a bit carried away; only I found it terrifically fascinating."
"As you would, and few others beside you. With every word I see more and more my favorite confirmed."
"But you would prefer, perhaps, less esoteric words?" I suggested.
"Perhaps, though I cannot confirm it with certainty for I can only conjecture on the meaning of 'esoteric'." she spoke with a laugh.
"He was very interesting, he is a good man if ever there were one."
"Mina! Are you already conceding victory to me?" Millie exclaimed, triumphantly.
"Not yet; but I should not regret it were your instincts to prove correct."
"I imagine with the presence of Lord Norbert, Mr. Underhill could only have shined greater by comparison." she suggested. Instantly those dark, enigmatic eyes filled my mind; those dark windows with curtains drawn tight behind ever concealing their secrets, in all ways so incongruent with those simpering lips.
"Oh yes." I muttered, distracted. "Yes, he was as wishy-washy as ever. As unremarkable a man as ever there was." I managed to collect my thoughts enough to falsify a laugh. I looked to the sky- "Oh dear! Millie, I'm afraid time has slipped away from us! We had better turn back or you may miss your train!"
We hurried back to the house to find Lord Danvers already receiving his coat onto those broad shoulders.
"Did the pair of you have a pleasant visit?" he inquired, tapping his top hat with his cane knowingly.
"Oh yes!" Millie answered. "It was quite as pleasant as I could have hoped." Lord Danvers let loose a hearty laugh,
"Mina, I hope that we may soon see you again at Reis Hall."
"I am counting the days." I answered, not without truth. "I will miss you terribly, both of you!" Lord Danvers enveloped me in an embrace. "Please," I entreated as he released me, I looked him squarely in the eye - "Please watch over Chet while I am gone."
"I will, I know you worry for him." was his solemn answer.
"I do. Thank you, and take good care of my Millie."
"You can be certain of that!" he grinned broadly.
"Oh I will miss you terribly, Mina!" Millie proclaimed as we clasped each other tightly.
"Not half so much as I you!" I replied. We parted still holding onto each other's hands.
"Do remember to write." she entreated.
"I will. Goodbye Millie!"
"Until we meet again." we embraced once more. Then Lord Danvers helped her into the coach, disappeared into it himself, and they were gone.