IT WAS A DAY FOR social calls, and Valérie had ordered Nina to don a suitable dress that she might drag her through the city, a process made most unpalatable due to the constricting, uncomfortable shoes the girl was required to wear. Valérie was particular about everything, from the buttons on Nina’s gloves to the size of the heel she should sport, and poor Nina, accustomed to boots that would serve her well on her entomological expeditions in the countryside, tripped more than once as they moved down the boulevard.
“You must be the slowest girl in all of Loisail,” Valérie scolded her. “We’ll be late.”
“It’s not yet three o’clock,” Nina said.
“Keep up,” Valérie replied with a huff.
They reached a narrow, mustard-colored three-story building tucked away on a side street, a relic of primordial Loisail since it was made of wood instead of sturdy stone and time had warped the structure, making it lean to the left.
This was the domain of Mrs. Dompierre. Nina smiled and sat in a corner of the sitting room, which was too warm. The windows were always closed despite the stifling heat, and half a dozen women gathered there, sipping their chocolate—Mrs. Dompierre did not believe in modern teas or the occasional glass of wine.
Nina did not understand why she was summoned to these soirées. Valérie never let her speak. Young girls, she said, had best keep their lips closed and let the elders do the talking.
“And I’m given to understand you went to see a performance by that fellow, Hector Auvray?” Mrs. Dompierre asked.
“It was good,” Nina piped up, but then Valérie stared at her with eyes as sharp as glass and Nina looked down.
“Yes, these days everyone is going to the Royal,” Valérie said dismissively.
“Everyone thinks he’s sensational, it’s that aura of the foreigner he has about him. But I must say, my dear, I prefer the lure of the piano over these new sort of performances.”
Nina sighed; she glanced at the chocolate pot sitting on a silver tray in the middle of a low table. Idly she made it slide slightly to the left with her mind, growing restless. By the window she could hear pigeons cooing and wished nothing more than to crack the shutters open, the chance to feel the breeze.
“I think he seemed somewhat distinguished in the posters we saw around town,” declared Cecilia Gugeno. “Not exactly the rough man you might expect, although in person, who knows. Perhaps he has one of those dreadful provincial accents or the manners of a peasant, they tell me—”
“He is a perfect gentleman and very nice,” Nina said angrily. “And he sounds as eloquent as anyone in this room.”
Nobody interrupted Cecilia Gugeno, and as soon as Nina had spoken, she realized her grievous mistake. Not only did Valérie stare at her, but all the other women turned their heads in Nina’s direction and pursed their lips besides. Nina twitched her fingers and without meaning it, she made the window pop open with a loud bang, the shutter clacking against the wall. At the same time, the chocolate pot and the silver tray slid across the table. Mrs. Dompierre let out a squeak and Cecilia jumped in her seat and a woman spilled her chocolate.
You’d think Nina had shot one of the attendants. The window was closed, the pot returned to its place, the spilled chocolate cleaned up by a solicitous servant; all these actions were conducted in a long, painful silence. Then followed a stilted conversation until Valérie said they must be on their way.
Once they were outside, the woman gripped Nina’s arm. “Are you a complete dolt?”
“Valérie, I didn’t mean—”
“What an embarrassment!”
“Valérie—”
“No!” Valérie said, moving in front of Nina and raising her index finger in the air, as if she could jab the clouds. “You will not come up with another one of your excuses. Every time I take you out, you do a thing like this.”
“That is not true.”
“Not another word.”
Nina clutched her hands into fists and clamped her mouth shut, and she wanted to cry but it was best not to make a bigger mess of things. She doubted Valérie liked her on a good day, and right now she must loathe her. Her sister had assured her Valérie meant well, that she was simply strict, but Nina could not help the feeling she was constantly walking on thin ice with her.
When they returned home, Nina fell back upon the bed and pressed her hands against her face, making the paintings rattle against the wall for a moment. If Valérie heard that, she’d be even angrier, and Nina rubbed her hands together.
Gaetan stopped by later, cautiously sitting on the bed. “Valérie says you had a bad day.”
“Just a mishap or two,” Nina mumbled. Gaetan seldom chided her as Valérie did, but she hated disappointing him.
“Maybe it’s too much,” Gaetan suggested. “We could postpone the dinner with Mr. Auvray. I don’t think we’ve sent out the invitation yet.”
“No, don’t do that,” she said vehemently.
Gaetan raised an eyebrow at her.
Nina’s face felt warm. She tried to school her expression and spoke in a lower tone. “I mean to say there is no need to postpone it.”
“Nina, I know you want to make friends—”
“Then let me make friends. Everyone Valérie introduces me to despises me.”
She strived to do the proper things, to be liked, to fit into the niche of normality and decorum demanded by the city. But Loisail was arrogant; it viewed strangers with a raised eyebrow. She was Gaetan’s cousin, but also one of those people, the country folk who seek to ingratiate themselves with the Beautiful Ones and must be repelled. They might have been more accepting if, perhaps, she’d shown herself meek and solicitous, but Nina, despite a youthful malleability, troubled them. They saw a determined spark lurking behind those hazel eyes that they classified as insolence, a lack of artifice that struck them as boorish, a capacity to remain unimpressed by the bric-a-brac on display that they deemed stupidity. And there was the matter of her talent, which confirmed suspicions Nina was, at best, a “difficult” child.
“Don’t be melodramatic, sweetheart,” Gaetan said.
Nina had every desire to be melodramatic, to give free rein to thoughts and instincts, as in those books where people loved and lived and declared the most beautiful sentiments, but instead she nodded.
Gaetan patted her hand, as if to soften his words. He was indulgent with Nina. They shared a naive optimism, fixating on all that was admirable and pretty in the world, and like any two people whose natures intersect, this drew them close together.
“Now, how about you buy yourself a new dress and we’ll forget anything bad happened today, hmm?” he said.
* * *
NINA HAD NOT VISITED BONIFACE and was astonished to find the streets narrow and unwieldy. It was a network of alleys and bridges, undisturbed by the avenues that cut through other parts of the city. There was no point in taking a carriage here; one must walk, and walk she did through this labyrinth, pausing to ask for directions half a dozen times before she found herself on a quiet street. It was a block from cafés and restaurants and the bustle of merchants, but all of a sudden the noise ceased, giving way to old buildings with pots of geraniums at the windows.
In the middle of the street there stood a statue of a girl holding a bowl in her hands; someone had deposited flowers in it for good luck. Hector’s home was located a couple of paces from this statue, behind a tall, elaborately decorated iron door.
Nina pulled a string, which was connected to a bell. A long time elapsed before an old woman came out. She was the building’s superintendent and seemed suspicious of Nina, eyeing her up and down.
“I’m here to see Hector Auvray,” Nina said. “I am a friend of his. Do you know if he is in?”
“He should be. Upstairs. He has the top floor for himself.”
The top floor was the fifth one, marking him as a man of wealth though one not entirely concerned with fashion, since he lodged in the older quarters.
She knocked twice. When he opened the door, he looked surprised. He startled Nina, too. She had been expecting one of the servants to answer. Perhaps he had no live-in staff, which seemed odd to her. He was dressed rather casually, too, a shirt and an unbuttoned vest. Gaetan never looked this relaxed.
“Miss Beaulieu,” he said. “You are … ah … here.”
“My cousin has invited you to dinner Friday night,” she said, extending her hand, holding a white envelope. “Valérie had intended a courier would bring you the invitation, but I thought I could deliver it personally.”
“And Mrs. Beaulieu agreed with you?” he said, frowning.
“Not exactly,” Nina replied. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
There was a time when a chaperone was indispensable at any gathering of young people, but Loisail nowadays toyed with this convention. It was generally believed that if a family approved of a young man and he had been given permission to court a lady, he could take her for a stroll around the city and engage in a few choice activities. They could visit respectable, educational venues such as museums or walk around the park without anyone frowning. It was also fine for a man to see a lady home in a carriage if he had been her escort to a ball.
There were exceptions. No young girl could attend the theater or the opera alone with a man. Nor could she have dinner with him at a restaurant, although a light refreshment at a respectable tearoom, earlier in the day, might be tolerable. In smaller towns, these conditions were ignored, or others imposed, and the lower classes flouted these strictures.
But to wander onto a man’s doorstep like this? This behavior was not sanctioned. She trod on dangerous ground, the recklessness of youth on display.
“Well. It’s a thoughtful touch to bring the invitation all the way here, though you really shouldn’t have bothered,” he replied, taking the envelope carefully, as if it were made of porcelain and might break.
She vacillated, but only for a second. She’d spent most of the night rehearsing her words and it wasn’t too difficult to repeat the phrases she had memorized.
“The truth of the matter, Mr. Auvray, is that I came because I wanted to speak to you in private. The other night, you said you would tell me the secret with the cards. You could tell me now.”
“Now? In my home, Miss Beaulieu?”
“Valérie won’t ever let us discuss it when she’s around.”
“That may be true, but, Miss Beaulieu … you do realize it is unseemly to have you in my home by yourself?”
Nina stood up straight and looked him in the eye. If she’d come this far, she might as well speak plainly, not blush and be embarrassed by his words. At any rate, now that she had started this line of conversation, the words threaded themselves together and would not be pulled apart.
“Mr. Auvray, I have been warned endlessly about the liberties men may try to take with young women, but I think I’m correct in saying you are a gentleman and therefore above reproach. Also, when last a lad tried to take liberties with me, I soundly slapped him and that solved that problem.”
“You need not slap me, Miss Beaulieu. Come in, then. Voices carry and I’d rather not have the superintendent share every word we speak with the whole building, as she is apt to.”
Nina walked in and was amazed to see he had no formal foyer, the apartment instead extending and opening all around them. Four enormous windows on the east side let in an abundant amount of light. Lustrous armoires and chests and bookcases were set against the west wall. The dominant piece in the room was a table long enough for a dozen people to dine together, though that was impossible at this time since it was covered with papers, boxes, and a myriad of other items.
Paintings hung from the west wall, but others had been left haphazardly piled against a table leg or a chair. A six-panel lacquered dressing screen stood on the other end of the room, dividing it. Beyond it she could glimpse a dark hallway.
It certainly was a large apartment.
“You brought all these things from abroad?” she asked.
“Most of the furniture, except for a couple of pieces. But, yes. A great number of things. You wanted to ask me about my card trick?”
“I wanted you to teach me your card tricks,” Nina said, stopping in front of a wooden cabinet with the most darling hand-painted ceramic knobs.
“Whatever for?”
“I’ve tried it on my own, Mr. Auvray, but I cannot manage it.”
“Yes, but why? A proper lady learns the steps of a dance, not how to spin cards in the air.”
“You sound like Valérie,” Nina said, running a hand along the cabinet. “I thought you might understand.”
“I’m afraid not,” he said.
“I’ve had the ability since I was a baby. The maids claim I’d push dishes off the table without touching them before I had even learned how to speak. In the countryside, they say this means the spirit is restless. Your soul is trying to escape your body. Other times, they say you are a witch.”
She stopped to admire a still life depicting a vase with bright yellow flowers and kept her eyes on the painting as she spoke.
“My father was a modern, educated man. He put everyone in their place, informing them there was a rational and scientific explanation for my ability. But my father was not always around to correct people.”
She turned toward him, her hands behind her back.
“You must not think I am attempting to portray myself as a victim. I do understand their dismay. At times, I have not been able to control it. Everyone remembers that occasion four years ago when I shoved Johaness Meinard off his horse and nearly got him trampled. I didn’t mean it. It happened, though.
“But then I started reading about people like you. And I realized that there are those who have a better grasp on the ability than I do. The other night, you were completely in control. You made mirrors spin and cards fly through the air. It was effortless! I thought maybe you’d tell me how you do it.”
Hector’s face was serious. It reminded her of the statues lining the boulevards.
He digested every single word she had spoken, taking his time to think what he would say.
“It’s not a matter of telling you what to do,” he said. “You don’t tell someone how to dance.”
“You can’t teach it?”
“I can teach it. But it’s not a task you learn from one day to another.”
“I’m a quick study when I put my heart into it. And I’m good with memorizing facts. I can identify hundreds of butterfly and moth species with absolute certainty. You can ask Gaetan or Valérie or anyone,” she said, briskly moving to stand in front of him.
The suddenness of her movements jolted him, and he cleared his throat. “It’s not about memorizing, Miss Beaulieu. The dance metaphor is more apt than you can imagine. I can tell you the steps of the dance and I can even practice the steps with you, but if you have two left feet, I’ll never be able to make a dancer of you.”
“I do not ask that I be able to juggle mirrors onstage. Only that I not shatter them or make pots clang at an inconvenient time,” Nina said. “Besides, you don’t even know if I have two left feet. For all you know, I am more naturally talented than you.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, looking skeptical.
“Let us see what you can do,” he told her, walking toward the table and uncovering a pack of cards that lay hidden under a pile of books.
He grabbed a handful of cards and tossed them on the floor; then he stepped back. “Can you move those, send them in my direction?”
If he’d seemed serious before, now he was amused. Perhaps he expected her to fail in this demonstration. But she had not been called the Witch of Oldhouse for no reason.
Nina looked at the cards, concentrated, and sent them scattering in his direction, as if a strong gust of wind had blown them away.
“Not bad. Do it again.”
She did. Three times. He was more amused than ever, a faint smile on his face.
“Not bad at all,” he declared with a hearty nod. “And you were, what, two years old by the time you were manipulating objects?”
“I’d say so.”
“Does anyone else in your family have the same ability?”
“If they did, they never said.”
“Let’s do it again, but this time I want you to move only the red card,” he said, shifting the cards. There were six black ones upon the floor and a single red one.
Nina concentrated again, fixing the red card in her mind, and pushed it. Unfortunately, she also pushed three black cards. She tried again, shoving four cards across the floor. By the fifth time, she was growing frustrated and unintentionally scattered all the cards.
Nina took a deep breath and another, her fingers curling tight.
“It’s fine, Miss Beaulieu, don’t fret,” Hector said, and as he spoke, the cards returned to their place on the floor in the same pattern they had been before she lost control of them.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to focus on a single one.”
“I know. You need to use your hands.”
“My hands?” she replied.
“Yes. Use your hands to direct the objects, a bit like a conductor with an orchestra,” he said, making a motion with his right arm as he spoke. “The hands don’t do anything per se. It’s your mind. But they help you focus your actions. I don’t always use my hands, because I’ve been doing this for a long time, but in your case it’s different.”
“How should I move my hands?”
He had been observing her, arms crossed, at a distance. Now he moved next to her and held her arm, lightly raising it in the direction of the red card.
“Point.”
Nina extended her index finger. His hand was on her wrist. He moved it in a sweeping arc, left to right and back again, though it accomplished little. He paused, his hand still resting on her wrist.
“When you manipulate an object, what is it like? What do you feel?” he asked.
“It’s strange. It’s like a tug,” she replied.
“The same feeling you get when you walk with your eyes closed and you are about to hit a wall.”
“Or the feeling you have when someone is coming behind you,” she said, turning her head slightly and looking up at him.
“It’s almost like you touch the surface of a still glass of water and there is this slight resistance until your fingers sink in the liquid. But when you move an object, you don’t break through the surface, you are gliding over it.”
“Like the pond skaters, when they walk on water.”
“The what?” he asked, looking down at her.
It was then Nina realized, abruptly, how close they were to each other. She felt an intense animation but did not dare move a muscle.
“You’ve not observed those bugs?” she asked, and managed not to stammer the words, although her nervousness must have been obvious. But he was busy looking at the cards now, which she was ruffling, unthinking.
“It’s not one of my hobbies, no.”
“They do glide on water,” she continued, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from detailing their life cycle. When she was flustered, she tended to go on.
“It’s like that, isn’t it? You have to feel the tension, but you must glide. Too much pressure, you lose control. That is fine for the unexpected shoving of dishes off the table, but not for purposefully manipulating an object. Miss Beaulieu, let’s trace the path you want that card to take and make it glide.”
He moved her arm again, left to right, gently. Nina decided to focus on the task at hand; otherwise, she was going to break into giggles or blush a terrible crimson. She looked at the card, felt the weight of his fingers against her wrist, felt the tug and the pressure he had mentioned. The red card slid across the floor.
“Remember to breathe,” he said.
She did. She breathed in and out, slowly, and the card continued to slide until it hit the frame of a painting left upon the floor. Hector stepped back and she dropped her arm.
“It works,” she said, spinning around to look at him. “It really works.”
She forgot for a split second that she’d been nervous, that he was close to her, that he’d touched her. She simply reveled in her triumph. Hector smiled, full of cheer; his gaze grew deeper. The remoteness he wore upon his shoulders like an ornate mantle had dissipated. He was truly there, not just physically, she thought, but absolutely. Then he appeared to recall something and ran a hand through his hair, glancing down at the floorboards.
“Yes, but the key is practice. You can start with one card, but you should move to two, three. Shuffle them without touching them, things like that,” he said, bringing his hands up. The cards, following his motion, assembled themselves into a neat deck. He retrieved the box from which he’d taken the deck, placed the cards inside, and handed it to her.
“Here,” he said. “You can keep this.”
Nina held the deck tightly, nodding. She had not been nervous when she walked in, but now it was as if a fiery red spark had started burning in her, and he spoke with a voice that was cool, in contrast to her warmth.
“You also need to remain collected. I could see the tension in your body when you failed to do it properly. You need to breathe. You need to calm down. I’m sure your bug does not skate across the water by thrashing around,” he said.
“No, it’s graceful,” she said, dearly wishing to stretch out a hand and touch his arm, but he was spinning around, looking for something on the table.
“You can be graceful, too, Miss Beaulieu,” he said, but he was not looking at her.
She smiled, delighted by his words. Grace was not her strong point. Women like Valérie could glide across the room, as if they were swans, but not Nina.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
A tall grandfather clock chimed, another echoing it somewhere in the vastness of Hector’s home.
He nodded. “I have to head out soon. I have a business lunch.”
“Yes,” Nina said, feeling mortified now that she considered the whole situation. She had barged in on him without caring to ask if he had affairs to attend to. “I’m awful, intruding on you the way I did.”
“Do not worry.”
They walked back toward the entrance. Hector kissed her hand quickly, bidding her good-bye, and Nina turned toward the stairs. She stopped and turned back.
“You won’t forget the invitation?” she asked, wishing to prolong their encounter.
“I’ll remember.”
“And I haven’t upset you, have I? For asking about the card trick.”
“No. It’s not every day I meet a lady who could toss all my glassware onto the floor without touching it,” he replied in a neutral voice.
“You are teasing me,” Nina said, smiling. “I’ll practice. I most definitely don’t have two left feet.”
“I don’t think you do.”
She thought, she hoped, he might edge closer to her. She felt dazed and giddy, and it was a miracle her talent had not manifested and sent a chair scampering across the floor. But it was there, she thought, this feeling, like the scent of the coming rain, all around them.
Hector did not step closer. He held firm by the door, insulated, far away. She guessed this was the gentlemanly, proper attitude a man should have and was disappointed.
“Good-bye, Miss Beaulieu,” he said with a slight inclination of his head.
“Thank you,” she said. “Good-bye.”
He smiled at her, and her disappointment turned to joy because he looked pleased with her, happy.
When the door closed and Nina was alone, she took two steps down, then rested her back against the banister, the box with the cards pressed against her chest. She’d lost her train of thought and remained there for a bit, until she recalled that Valérie might notice her absence. She’d be flayed alive, boiled in hot oil, if Valérie knew she had gone out without a chaperone to visit a man. Nina hurried down the stairs.