Although I had been promised that Miss Underhill would call in the near future, it was rather I who was destined to visit her. Only four days following Millie's departure I received a letter from Dinah Underhill inviting me to join her for tea that Friday. I quickly penned my acceptance and was ferrying the miniature epistle to Dale, the Butler, when my Aunt intercepted me.
"My dear what is that you have in your hand?" she entreated.
"It is only a letter to Miss Underhill, Aunt Mabel. She has requested my presence for tea on Friday." I answered. Aunt Mabel looked horrified at my presumption,
"You haven't already consented without consulting me?" I had honestly never even considered that I should consult her in the matter - perhaps this oversight was merely from my lax upbringing; my parents had never once objected to my accepting any invitation extended my way (likely as a result of the extreme rarity of such events) and as such I had become quite accustomed to doing as I pleased insofar as my social obligations.
"I did intend to - is there a reason I should decline her?"
"I had planned to introduce you to Lady Brightmore that day - she was very impressed by you at church on Sunday and implored me that I should bring you along to visit." (Ah yes, the infamous Lady Brightmore who was so very concerned with the whims of fashion she made herself to look ridiculous with her heavily feathered turbans and narrow skirts - at least this is what was said about her amongst her most intimate friends) I suppose my countenance must have unconsciously revealed my disappointment for my Aunt seemed to waiver. She sighed heavily, "Perhaps we might call on her on Tuesday instead, though I shall have to miss my weekly meeting with Mrs. Harrowfield." It is my guess that she wished for me to object that she should not alter her plans on my account, but I remained silent. "Then it shall be done. But in the future please advise me of any invitation you receive before you accept."
"Yes, Aunt Mabel, I will endeavor to be more conscientious of your generous efforts towards me in the future." I apologized though I felt no compunction for my crime - to be certain I felt a delightful satisfaction in knowing that I should be putting my Aunt out. It was wrong to take joy from such a thing, I was sure, yet I could not help myself. I handed the missal to Dale with a glorious sense of triumph, regardless how small the scope of my victory.
I arrived at the parsonage just before tea. It was a quaint, well-appointed and fastidiously maintained abode, if diminutive in size, situated just three miles South of my Uncle's house beside the river. I could not help but note that nary a spider nor dust mite dared inhabit even the outermost crevices of the home - a condition I attributed to the severe nature of its master for all things about the facade stood in a state of such order they recalled those soldiers who stand at attention before an especially harsh general who might just as soon cast them out than correct them. The walls were scrubbed, the paint smooth and fresh gleamed brightly in the sun - it brought to my mind the white-washed tomb. I rapt at the door delicately, not wishing to risk disturbing the paint. 'What must it be like to grow up in such a place!' I marveled. A portly old maid with jolly face and a mop of curls under her bonnet answered the door - her demeanor was so in contrast with the exterior of the house I scarce knew what to make of her - it was as though she had simply appeared from the air for no cross house could produce such a pleasing little provincial as she! "You must be Miss Moore." she proclaimed, her face wreathed with a warm smile. I blinked twice, far too stunned to formulate a polite response. "Well, come in, Miss Underhill is in the parlor - please, follow me." she waived that I should follow her through the portal into whatever realm she had been born from. I followed and stood in wonder at the interior - certainly it was just as tidy yet it had an open, friendly air about it. Golden oaks gleamed all about from the casements to the high polished floors. The servant led me to the nearest shining doorway. Peering through I saw, standing, staring longingly out a window at the river, what I could only describe as the most lovely woman I have ever beheld. Her porcelain skin, only just hinting pink on the cheeks, was beautifully framed by long ebony hair. Her frame was slender, graceful in its form and length (for she was near as tall as I yet she had none of my ill-proportioned gauntness). Her dress was a flowing pale blue that draped from her as water. Yet it was her forlorn eyes which most arrested my attention. Those great dark eyes that gazed so sadly at the outside world yet without truly seeing it. "Miss, Miss Moore is come to see you." the servant announced timidly, as though she hated to tear her mistress from her haunted vigil.
"Oh yes," the apparition spoke softly without turning. "Please show her in."
"I am sorry, if I have come at a bad time..." I offered, not eager to pull her from her task.
"No," she answered, turning from the river, a gentle smile upon her face. "I am glad you have come, Millie speaks so highly of you." she motioned to the table. "Mrs. Stuart, if you would be so kind as to bring us tea." the plump woman nodded and bustled off toward what I expected was the kitchen. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to be rude, I intended to call earlier but I have lately been ill and I am sorry to say that it has left me rather easily tired." she explained, sinking into her seat.
"Not at all, my Aunt has kept me so preoccupied these past weeks I doubt there would have been any time until just now." I replied with a forced smile. "Millie tells me that you two came out together?"
"Yes, we met the night before we were presented. I was far too nervous to sleep and so I contented myself by walking the corridors of the hotel when I came upon a young woman, as visibly nervous as I was feeling, practicing her bow again and again and each time losing her balance causing her to topple over onto the rug until finally she surrendered to her fate, beating down the delicate folds of her dress to the carpet impotently with her fists. I suppose I thought if I could help her (and that help I was certain I could accomplish for the bow was about the only thing I held any confidence in) I might be able to conquer my own nerves; so I offered her my hand and we practiced bowing before the queen until the wee hours of the night laughing and chatting as though we had known each other all our lives. I suppose she was my first real friend outside of my own family." she recalled wistfully.
"That would be my Millie, she could make a friend of even St. Anthony of Egypt if she had a mind to."
"That poor man would be unequal to her perseverance." Miss Underhill laughed - it was a strange sound, as though unused to being employed. By this time Mrs. Stuart had returned with the tea service and was merrily doling out plates of sweet cakes and sandwiches. Miss Underhill raised her hand declining the sugar offered her - this seemed to discomfit the servant but Mrs. Stuart made no protest, gladly she added a spoonful of sugar to my own cup. I supposed she must be a grandmother for they are never more glad then to see their grandchildren spoilt, in my experience, from the way she fussed about Miss Underhill I expect she considered the ebony haired woman as a part of her brood. As Mrs. Stuart left the room we lapsed into silence. Finally Miss Underhill cleared her throat.
"Quentin tells me you are interested in Roman history." she ventured.
"Yes, yes I am, though I daresay I am not nearly so well versed in it as he. Is he your older brother?" I asked. She took a sip of tea before answering,
"No, I am the elder but only by a handful of minutes."
"Then you are twins!" I smiled, guessing her meaning.
"Yes, we were something of a sensation when we were small - we were quite inseparable; even now Quentin is my closest confidante." In my mind I imagined the small featured brown haired boy clasping hands with his snowy skinned dark haired sister as they stood with their father near the door of the church. The image seemed at once so natural that it seemed it had always been so. "He seems to be a very devoted brother." I observed.
"Yes, he is." she answered abstractly, her attention once again being drawn toward the window. I attempted to glance covertly to see what was the thing that held her mesmerized by its power, but all I saw was the river with only a few boats floating on it - nothing so special as to demand the gaze. As she stared her right hand was drawn to the left, rolling an object across the base of the third finger. I had not noticed it before, the gold band embracing her ring finger - I watched as her fingers obfuscated, then, by turns, revealed each stone. The second was clear, squarish - a beryl I guessed. The fourth was one I did not recognize; a glittering green of such otherworldly quality I found it hard to tear my eyes from it. The first was also green but of that opaque foggy shade characteristic of Jade and the third I knew as a Diamond. Two clear white stones encased by green: a very unique setting that could only be by special intent. While it was possible the colors were meaningful, in their way, the fact that none of the stones were of a kind led me to suspect that the symmetry was more or less incidental. More likely, as with the common Regard rings, the name of the stone was more significant than its shade. I sat, trying to puzzle out their meaning but found the missing piece of the identity of the fourth stone to be quite troublesome. Jade, Beryl, Diamond - JBD - it could not be a word or an explicit name (I cannot even imagine how such an arrangement would be pronounced) but perhaps a phrase or initials. Finally I could bear my curiosity no longer,
"I'm sorry, I was just noticing the green stone on your ring - I've never seen anything quite like it! What is it called?" Surprised, Dinah looked down at her hands as though she had forgotten she was even wearing the ring - so long it must have been a part of her wardrobe - self conscious, she covered it with her hand, fully obscuring the thing from my view.
"It is called Uvarovite, and it is quite rare." she replied. And that was it: U! JBDU! Now there could be no doubt of the intentionality in the choice of stones - something so rare would not be sought without reason. DU must be Dinah Underhill and, while I could not begin to guess at their exact meaning, there was not doubt in my mind that JB stood as the first and last initials of the man who gave her the ring. It was sensible that such a woman should have a suitor yet none had been mentioned by either Millie or Quentin.
"I was unaware you were engaged." I prattled. "When will the wedding be?" Only stony silence answered me. She stared at me with a mixture of hurt and contempt - it was as if she were accusing me of intentionally wounding her. Abruptly putting her napkin on the table she stood and strode from the room without a further word. I sat immobile, staring at the doorway, stunned.
I quickly abandoned the parlor and was just about to see myself to the door when a familiar voice called to me from across the main room,
"Miss Moore, I was unaware you would be calling on us today." Quentin greeted me, still on one knee before the bookshelf adjacent to the window.
"Yes," I answered, still terribly disconcerted by my host's sudden exit. "Your sister invited me for tea, but..." I hesitated. Quentin raised his eyebrows as if to signify that I should continue. I felt the words tumble from my lips, "I don't know what I said wrong but it must have been something unforgivably offensive because she left me without warning or word." Tears of frustration stung my eyes, "I had hoped so much to make a good impression! Oh how shall I ever tell Millie!" I confessed, my tears now flowing freely down my face carrying with them every pent up frustration of the past few weeks. My cheeks burned with shame under their cool steams - how could I allow such an outburst in front of this man, a veritable stranger!
"Now, it can't be as bad as all that. Dinah is a good woman but she can be somewhat difficult. Tell me what you said and I'll see if we can get it sorted." his voice gentle, consoling. I choked back a sob, my humiliation in no great way assuaged by his assuring smile.
"I asked about her ring and when I asked her about the wedding she- she left without a word." I ejaculated more than spoke the words. Quentin's face fell.
"That is serious." he said. "But I do understand, there was no way you could have known."
"Has the man passed?" I asked.
"I cannot say with any certainty. No one has heard from him or seen him in over three months. It's not that he's not prone to lengthy absences due to his profession, but he has never been away for this long without some form of contact. But this last time he said he was coming home to stay - he promised my sister that they would be married before May." I looked at my feet, May was already near past.
"Did he..." I started, unable to form the final words of that most unforgivable question.
"Jilt her?" he finished as though he had read my thoughts. "I doubt it, no man was ever more ardent in love than James. He has adored Dinah from the first moment he saw her in church three years ago - since then there has never been another."
"Did you know him well?"
"Yes, we were quite good friends - in many ways he was like a brother to me. I am worried for him, though not nearly so much as Dinah is." Quentin explained. "I fear some harm may have befallen him." Poor Dinah! I felt dreadful for what I had said - even if it was done in ignorance.
"I am so sorry, please beg my apologies to your sister." I requested.
"I will talk to her; do not be too disheartened, I am certain she will forgive you."
"Thank you." I said, dabbing the last bit of moisture from my cheeks. "... and thank you." I repeated.
"You are not accustomed to London society or its demands; add to that the separation from your loved ones and familiar surroundings and it is only surprising you managed to keep your composure for this long. I am not the curate of this parish yet but do not hesitate to come to me if you should ever need to seek solace." he smiled that gentle smile at me. I felt my face redden and took some comfort in knowing that my tears had likely rouged my cheeks enough that the blush would not be distinguishable. I managed to return his smile and we bid goodbye as friends.
At the house I flung myself onto the sofa in the Library, desperately seeking refuge from my humiliation and the regret of having so deeply wounded Miss Underhill which seemed to have congealed from an ephemeral emotion into a heavy leaden ball in my gut. I had thought myself so very clever in deciphering the riddle of her ring, like a child I had sought her praise for my prowess without any care for discretion and in my reckless seeking I had done her harm. I buried my face against the course fabric of the sofa but found no peace for my troubled mind. It seemed as though the shame had diseased my brain: it burned with sudden thoughts just as quickly lost and ever returning to Miss Underhill's face, made stern by the concealment of long-bourne pain. I tossed and turned restlessly, unable to find any comfort. My eyes flew open of their own accord, staring blankly at the shelves before me until they found their desired goal, those wide grinning pale visages beckoning me to join them. 'The house is empty.' they seem to whisper. 'There is no one to discover you. Come look at us, we have so much more to tell.'
My gaze followed the craggy line along the crown of the white skull. I knew my Uncle would be infuriated were he to find me about this macabre activity but such thoughts were only just barely able to permeate my consciousness in my excitement. I had never handled a skull before this time, I had only seen them in books or at a distance. It felt dry, smooth in my hands as I gingerly turned it this way and that, careful to avoid the hole in the side. The line was thin as a thread; it faded and disappeared at points, only to reappear again. I traced the long line that traversed the entire skull from the bridge of the nose to the very tip of the back where it branched off into two lines leading to the hole in the base. I was only scarcely able to make out a faded round curving line around each ear. I took the skull and looked at it straight on - its empty sockets staring into my own hazel eyes. I turned it over, the teeth were wide and straight, well-formed, the tops worn but otherwise enviable to any Britain. I carefully replaced the skull on its stand, gently fitting the jaw under it. Eagerly I reached for the brown skull. This one would require more care for any further chipping of the plaster would reveal me. I carefully placed my fingers around it as one might a ball and instantly drew back - it felt slick, as though someone had greased it! I stared at it: I hadn't noticed how the light glistened off of it where it just fell upon the other. Perhaps it was merely a result of the stain used... yet this explanation struck me as mere wishful thinking - I could not wholly ignore the nagging sense that the grease was seeping through from the bone. I steeled myself, repeating the mantra that the grease was only from the stain to ease the lurch in my stomach as I felt the oily substance beneath my fingers, (I had never known myself to suffer from a weak constitution when confronted with bodily fluids but something about the idea of bone grease settled poorly with me) and lifted the skull from its perch. Instantly I saw the reason for the high setting - the plaster coating was thin, uneven, and poorly applied - to anyone observing the skull at eye level the alterations would have been unmistakable. I supposed my Uncle must have been so greatly seduced by the romance of the skulls' tale and the impressive wounds on the one that he neglected the quality of the other. Turning the piece so as to face the forehead to myself I felt the uneven roughness of the tear at the rear on my fingers. A shiver shot down my spine - to think this had once been a person! Someone who had lay on the grass and felt the sunlight upon their face, who had loved and been loved, a person who had once had a family around them; was its near companion the only family it now knew? Was all that was left to record the events in its life the leavings of an injury? Even obfuscated by the staining and plaster I was able to discern the lines. They seemed thicker, deeper than those of its neighbor; each was clearly visible from crown to crest with no breaks or fading. "What does this mean?" I mused aloud. Perhaps the plaster had been applied merely as a protective measure for a fragile artifact stained to cover the shoddy workmanship; yet it seemed solid in my hands with no sense of weakness. I recalled the work of Cheselden, that dear forbidden book eventually stolen from me entirely at my Mother's urging and shut up in my Father's bedroom, the thick, open lines of the child's skull when compared with the adult's. I wondered... perhaps this skull was not, in fact from someone in middle age but a younger person? But what would possess someone to alter the skull to appear as though it were older? Was the tale of a husband and wife separated by death but reunited at last so very profitable a prospect as to compel the seller to alter the skull? The sound of hoofbeats on stone broke my concentration. I hurried to return the relic to its proper resting place and in doing so accidentally knocked the jaw, which had until now sat loose on the shelf, from the ledge of the shelf. The world before me went black a moment as my heart stopped. I heard it hit the rug below my feet. Taking a deep breath I forced myself to look down to the floor where I was certain the shattered remains of the ancient bone lay. "Praise the good Lord in Heaven!" I mouthed - it had not been damaged by the fall in the slightest! Quickly I plucked it from the carpet and was placing it underneath the head when I noticed it - a tooth was missing in the back. Panic began to set in: I had not seen the tooth on the floor! Could it have rolled beneath something? I heard the steps of the Butler traverse the Foyer. I held the jaw, looking at the blank space when I noticed something - there was a gap but no hole where the tooth would have nested. Whatever tooth had once been there it had been long gone well before death. Looking closely at the horseshoe shaped bone revealed a number of cavities in the teeth though little wear when compared with the other. The door opened and the voice of the Butler greeting my Uncle met my ears.
"Has Philomena returned from the Parsonage yet?" the muffled voice of my Uncle inquired.
"Yes, I believe she is in the Library." Dale answered. I hurriedly replaced the jaw and rushed to the sofa just before the doorknob turned to admit the mustachioed face of my Uncle Richard. He hefty his portly girth through the portal with an air of grand importance.
"Ah, Philomena, I must speak with you."
"Yes, Uncle?" I replied innocently.
"I have been to see Mr. Martin today - you recall he and his wife from the Supper two weeks past?"
"Yes, Uncle."
"His son, Nicholas, has requested permission to call on you next week - assuming your duties do not prevent it."
"Not as far as I am aware, though Aunt Mabel would be the one to ask regarding my responsibilities." Uncle Richard allowed the right corner of his mouth to twitch ever so slightly upward at this. "However, I am not certain I wish to be called upon." He released a deep sigh.
"Philomena," he said, taking his place in the easy chair at angle from me. "I am not blind to your reticence to participate in the London season. It was at your Father's insistence that we agreed to have you - he has long labored under the delusion that you might be coax into becoming a woman of high society were you merely to see it in all its grandeur - but I have known you from your youth and though the seeds of your class were oft sown the field itself was fallow." I opened my mouth to object to these insults but he held a hand to stop me. "Do not think me unkind in my assessment; but I know your do not wish to be here and I cannot fault you for it - balls and supper parties and calls were never in your nature."
"This is true." He leaned forward, leveling his eyes with mine.
"As I recall you enjoyed your time with Nicholas Martin, and he is a fine young man if a bit passionate in his opinions - but that is a fault a young man might be forgiven."
"I have no objection to the man."
"Philomena," his mein was serious now. "Don't reject this man just to spite your father."
"It is not only that."
"Than what more is there?"
"I... I do not wish to lead him on. I do not desire to marry and it would be cruel to pretend I might alter my wishes and thus waste the time he could be spending with more amenable company."
"It is a greater cruelty not to at least grant him the chance. It is his time and if he wishes to waste it - as you say - on your company than there is no need for you to try to protect him from his decision. I ask that you allow him to call this one time; then you may refuse him all you wish."
"It would only distract him from more suitable women!" I objected again, clinging to my final argument as though it were a life raft on shifting seas.
"Philomena, there are no other women! Nicholas has never once showed interest in any other - you have impressed him and that is a high compliment. I ask again that you simply allow him to call." he implored. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. I had never considered myself to be in any manner impressive to anyone, let alone so much so that I, alone, might be sought after. My chest tightened with the thought of being so chosen by that intriguing young firebrand. I swallowed.
"He may call."