Chapter 8

The Final Idea

 

On her knees, she absorbed burnt blood on the planking, for what could ink be but the charred fluid of some innocent plant? I discerned no smell of cooking from this material, however, only a soil odor as though it had been drawn from the ground—but what satanic niche of Earth could issue springs so black? But I had greater concerns in learning the ways of ink. Primarily, I had to retain the stuff within its well and not go spilling it upon Miss Elsie’s floor, for with a dedication fit to build a cathedral she now scoured the smooth lumber. When I offered my assistance, Mrs. Natwich rejected my amends with a lecture on Miss Elsie’s becoming a destitute heathen eating cheese rinds on the street if I usurped her chores; and under no circumstance was an English lady to be found upon her knees.

Becoming more contained in my use of writing materials, I was pleased to gain the ability to settle my words upon a lasting sheet. Less satisfying were the words of my lessons; for whereas Rathel allowed me to reject the intrusion of Latin into my education, I nonetheless had to write poetry and Bible verses and historical dates instead of words of my own imagining. But what loss here when I had nothing to write but descriptions of leching men and nightmares of dead family?

Amanda allowed me a certain influence over my schooling. Music would not be a part of my curriculum after I heard Natwich blow into a hollow tree limb while attempting to insert her fingers into holes bored along the stick’s length. Pleased was Elsie to hear this beaked flute; and, yes, it did sound like a duck having fingers crammed into its orifices. By no coincidence working in the library whenever Natwich and I were present, Elsie was told by the witch that she would be on the streets eating cheese rinds if again she usurped my job as student; and under no circumstances would this evolving lady be found sucking sticks.

Numerals were not to my liking, and the very concept of separating existence into packets of time seemed pointless when the general moment was ever available. Philosophy I appreciated because its purveyors raved on endlessly with their entire vocabulary, but why read these sinners’ phrases when the witch had her own lexicon, her own ranting? Politics I considered the mediocre work of Satan, and my posture I hurled to Hell whenever the topic was broached.

Geography I found entrancing, the forthcoming lady an attentive pupil to learn of the world’s great mountains and equivalent ditches called canyons, of multiple oceans, of dry beaches called deserts. Herein I learned the value of art, in that Natwich brought for my perusal etchings of the landforms of Asia and the Americas. I made these lessons useful by pulling myself away from Africa and again to England. Of this area called London: where are the nearest lands wild enough to discourage cities but not so dead as to reject animals? Thus, I was shown maps, seeing London as a drawing, and Man’s Isle, the Irish Sea I had crossed, crossed in my sleep, the River Thames, which I refused to cross, though this traversal was unavoidable certain nights. I was shown textures representing marshes, angled lines symbolizing hills, and was told of Wales. Perhaps Rathel might convey me there once I proved her notions foolish, once I let her victim grasp my fundament and leer at my face as though it were meat for consumption, his hands and mouth molesting me, eating me….

Rathel’s opinion of my murderous capacity seemed less foolish in light of that sub-navel smell of males. Less foolish, but no more accurate, though I knew that disproving her theories would revolt me, for contact with a sinning male would be required. And again I saw Gosdale’s leer, which seemed fundamental to him. Rathel’s response was even less comforting.

“Your cooperation so pleases me that I shall offer my own,” she professed. “Since the parishioners last Sunday proved how men are drawn to you, we shall proceed to manifest that factor. I am arranging for your introduction to Edward Denton’s son. When Eric comes near you, he will not be able to look away. The more interest you return, the more he will desire my ward and nothing else.”

“No fine liar am I, mistress,” I returned. “How convincing can I be in displaying a false interest when sinning men disgust me? If your God be the same as mine, you understand His appall upon hearing lies from His created folk.”

“You were liar enough to feign illness upon departing St. Nicholas in accord with my suggesting that your health be poor. Surely, God understands how your dishonesty aided in removing you from a difficulty. He will also understand that further pretense will send you to a compatible land. But with all your learning in geography, Alba, please do not select another continent. As for convincing the male, you should speak only after Eric speaks. Conversation shall be your only activity, for even sexual affairs begin socially. But do not batter the young man with your massive sentences. Philosophy, Alba, is not romantic.”

“Neither are witches,” I mumbled, an assertion that I would soon have opportunity to prove.

• • •

I could be no happy subject for Elsie the day I was appointed to seduce the Denton boy. The diligent servant remained delighted, wrapping me with fabrics and securing the laces; for I demanded a corset to conceal my pervasive fundament, and a bit of chain mail for a vest, if you please.

Though gratified to find herself correct regarding my attire, Elsie would have preferred a mannequin to a lass in order to dress it constantly without complaints of her squashing and smashing the tender parts. Humming like the tutor’s flute, she found extreme pleasure in piling my hair upon my skull as though building a cathedral, the purple hat attached like a ceiling vault. A golden brooch of Rathel’s I reluctantly accepted against my bodice; but not the first necklace will be strangling me, miss, for the smell of silver so near my face makes my mouth dry, and wet it shall become when I vomit upon the brocade and show it to the beau with you to blame.

Pleased I was to quash Elsie’s obnoxious purring. Her silence did not last, however, for there she was applying spittle to my shoes’ dullness only to babble about how deeply I would impress the Dentons; and what a thing to happen considering that the mistress was to have married into that family. If only these elders could forget their past and allow the youths their future….

“Miss Elsie, what are you raving about, with a marriage for Amanda and Mr. Denton?”

“And I’m telling you, lass, how improper it is to be talking about other folk and things between them gone for years.”

“And I am telling you, miss, of my accurate awareness that part of the duty of people in London is to gossip about one another, an activity you undertake as though a craft. And since the person in question is our beloved mistress, I shall only benefit to learn more of the dear superior. Therefore, why did Rathel not wed this Denton, and what became of the man she had previously wed?”

“Ah, lass, Lord Franklin passed away to God from a long illness that finally took him to be with Jesus.”

“Praise God for providing Christian folk with Heaven. Were you present at the time, miss, and was the disease contagious? Were you ill yourself? Is this the sickness to have made you what you are?”

“Ill I was not, lass, except for my poor feeling at Lord Franklin’s own. A fine master he was, and so friendly to me that I was pleased to be caring for him to aid his doctor. Aye, and God works His wonders in most circular ways, child, for the doctor was the same gent caring for him years before, when he was first taken by the fever, one known to return, though seldom murderously.”

“But why should Amanda wish to marry Edward after Franklin’s death? Was he immune to the realm of fever and thus a more permanent mate?”

“The men you’re speaking of, lass, were in that same business of building things. Thick they were, so when the master took ill, Mr. Denton promised to be looking after this family should the worst occur.”

“The worst, presumably, was Franklin Rathel’s death.”

“Aye, it was, lass, praise Jesus to comfort his soul.”

“But if Mr. Denton’s vow was to wed Amanda, why did the two refrain?”

“Well, lass, marrying was not the vow he truly intended. His meaning was only to be caring for the lady’s financial things.”

“The misconception is surprising, in that Lady Amanda selects her words with care. How is it she so misunderstood Mr. Denton?”

“Ah, miss, ’twas no misunderstanding, but a change, and I’ll be saying no more.”

“But her current position seems fine,” I remarked. “And Mr. Denton is wed with children, so his life is likely as he desires. Therefore, wherein lies the continued discomfort?”

“And less it is, miss, with you here, for it deals with children.”

“Am I correct in assuming that Amanda has never born children, or did she spew out dozens, all of whom sensibly ran away to the wilds?”

“No, she’s having not a one, lass, and that is her misfortune, for more than anything was she wishing a child of her own.”

“She had none because her womb is as barren as her heart?”

“Ah, child, and Master Franklin was ever insisting it be the wife’s womb that’s barren.”

“Miss Elsie, I smell imperfect accuracy in Franklin’s assertion.”

The servant ceased buffing my shoes to look toward me with concern.

“And how is it you’re thinking you know this, lass?”

“I can sense it by your manner of speaking, Elsie,” I confessed. “And I offer to aid in your distress. If you suffer remorse from having gossiped about your employers, I shall pray with you to help alleviate your shame.”

“And I’ve no shame within me, child,” she returned firmly. “I was not the one bringing the man a fever to make him barren.”

Elsie then sighed, reeking of foolishness for her lax speaking.

“Oh, Elsie, since you had no part in the disease, you should feel no remorse, though I do wonder how you learned of this illness.”

“And it’s the very the doctor who’s telling me.”

“You beseeched him?”

“Ah, and lass, he’s telling me because of his own part in it, I’m saying.”

“He caused the fever?”

“Of course not, child,” Elsie scoffed. “But he’s following his patient’s order and not revealing to the mistress that the lack of children was no fault of her own, as the husband had her believe, God forgive his own shameful soul.”

“Did Amanda eventually learn?”

“Aye, and she did, in that the doctor was feeling his own remorse for allowing the deception, and would have the wife know before her husband passed away.”

“And though the physician was relieved from this revelation, the mistress became distraught.”

“That she was, girl, but the truth will sometimes cause this.”

“Praise God for truthful people, Elsie, in that lies would ruin us all. And what of Lord Franklin regarding this major revelation?”

“Ah, I’m thinking he never knew, for he passed away thereabouts, though it did seem that he was finally recovering. But finally, Jesus bless him, he did not.”

“After Lord Franklin went to his rest with Jesus, Amanda was to marry Mr. Denton as per his vow, but did not in that something had changed. Am I to guess the modification, Miss Elsie? I think it easy. It must have something to do with Lord Franklin’s impotence.”

“Not so wise you are as you’re believing, child, for it had naught to do with the lord’s, but the lady’s.”

Then Elsie sighed and reeked of foolishness for her lax disclosure.

“But, miss, do I not denote contradiction? I thought the lack of children in the family was due to the man, but now you say the woman was causal. Both persons were incapable, you tell me?”

“Both it was not, miss, until the lady took ill herself.”

“Ah hah! Amanda contracted her husband’s fever, becoming barren herself, and therefore is the person she is today.”

“No, and wrong you’re guessing again, lass, in your too-young wisdom. The lady’s barrenness was from a different sickness all together. And a queer one it was, girl, with her talking endlessly and losing her hair…. Uh, I say, Miss Alba? And it’s a strange look you’re taking, girl, as though you were as cold inside as your skin. Lass, are you feeling poorly now yourself?”

“Oh, and…and I was for a moment, Elsie. A…a quick chill come and gone. A…but a bit of dizziness. I’m fine now, miss…. Fine again.”

But I was not fine. I was ill, too ill to hear further gossip. My life had suffered another painful loss, my reduced ignorance of the Rathel’s expertise in witches. And the reverse.

I departed without hearing Elsie’s ending comments of the Dentons’ history. Again she had a massive smile at the young miss’s going for her first bout of romance with the handsome Eric. Then I sat with Amanda in a rolling box, a container repulsive to any witch, especially one longing to begin the process of abandoning society’s encasements.

• • •

East and south seemed somehow different in the city. Though not exactly lost, I misconstrued the names of streets, and was in no state to learn. And though our travel was brief, was the duration a witch’s moment or sinners’ minutes? When all directions and durations became the same for me, would I still be a witch, or pass as a sinner even to God?

The entry seemed on the wrong side of the building. Because the Dentons’ townhouse was situated differently from Rathel’s, it seemed improper, as though misplaced. But why this false impression? Why did I find strangeness where not truly extant, as though enough queerness did not express itself toward me without my active search?

Though the city’s queerest person, I failed to comprehend how severe and strange was Rathel’s unbeckoned visit to a household whose master had ruined her life. The chamberlain explained. This smiling servant left us in the foyer to return with a strained inflection requiring no witch to interpret. The Dentons were in, but only the master would be able to greet us, since the mistress was ill, the witch yet unaware that the lady who had usurped Amanda’s place would in no way on God’s Earth or in Satan’s London consent to see the woman to have cursed her, especially considering that she had brought her curse along.

We were led to the master’s office, a colder locale than one’s library or den, a place of business instead of friendship. No casual remarks regarding the handsome decor had Lady Amanda, seemingly businesslike herself, but smelling excited. The next oddity I found was the subpopulace of secondary creatures known as servants scurrying about foyer and furniture like bugs around a tree stump. These servants included men, typical of London households except those with witches.

Male or not, the servants were concerned with Rathel’s presence, not mine. The first person to stare at me was the sick mistress herself. Pale and smelling of illness as alleged, a well-attired woman stepped from a doorway escorted by a chambermaid. After a glimpse at Rathel, Mrs. Denton looked fearfully toward me. And I could read her thoughts as though specially tutored: She has found a weapon so powerful? Then she spoke to Rathel, her words as pained as her thinking.

“How admirable is your courage, Amanda, for you to enter my house when before you only sent misguided pain. But I can be no company due to a genuine illness that came through no coincidence. You will forgive me, then, to the extent you are capable of forgiveness; and how ready this should be when I have caused you no offense. But agree or not, I know you shall understand, for a lack of intelligence has never been a weakness on your part. Adieu, Amanda, and may you gain peace from God instead of those sources you’ve been petitioning.”

As Mr. Denton turned away, Lady Amanda replied, “I pray, Hanna, that your health improves. As for your emotions, do not fear my presence beyond this introduction of my daughter to your household. Not again shall I intrude upon your health. Here, however, is a person you might be fortunate to see often.”

Sinners have no measure for the brevity of Mrs. Denton’s glimpse to me. How could such intense emotion be contained by an instantaneous moment? Then Hanna with a bent gait retired on the arm of her servant, who cooed reassuringly. My only thoughts were for Rathel, that I would not likely return to a household whose members were sickened by visitors.

As the chamberlain led us onward, I recalled Elsie’s words of refused marriage. What was marriage but another sinning business pact whose failure affected the heart—and was not failed marriage Rathel’s intent for me? At this failure, she could reasonably succeed, having practiced with the identical family. Next she would practice with me. I then found that my exposure to this household had been too lengthy, for I was ill. Before me I saw the faces of Georges Gosdale and Hanna. Beside me, Rathel was perfectly normal, stinking of success. I was also normal, dejected and confused, certain that every upcoming step would lead me not to the wilds of England, but to the evil of sinners wherever they might be.

Our personal bug deposited us at a doorway beyond which stood a man seen previously, at his site of construction. Within his home, he seemed less the lord, having scant control over intruding guests. Though smelling of concern, even fear, Edward would remain polite; for English gentlemen respond graciously to ladies, as is supposedly their due. Apart from this position mandated by society, I could sense that Mr. Denton wished to hide, wished to oust the invaders from his kingdom. My mistress, however, was not to be thwarted by another person’s fearful discomfort, for fear was one of her commodities.

“Lady Amanda Rathel and her new Miss Alba,” was our introduction from the household insect. Though aware of the stress in this home, the chamberlain desired to witness the composition developing. Perhaps in their own social way, these servants were an inferior race of crawlies.

I was uncertain how handsome or impressive Edward Denton should be considered. He was the same age as them all, and sturdy, but even a witch unfamiliar with sinners could sense that he was containing his emotions. Smiling was a chore as he bowed toward Lady Amanda and spoke her name. Rathel, however, seemed completely genuine as she called him “Dear Edward,” producing a pleased visage rarely provided members of her own household. Simultaneously, Rathel reached with both arms, Mr. Denton having to touch her fingers, a brief grasp, then gone.

“Dear Edward, how wonderful you appear,” Rathel stated as her host retreated a step.

“You as well, Amanda,” he replied. “I trust you’ve been well.”

“Especially well since gaining a new member of my household,” she offered, and turned to me. “This youth is Alba, to be known as Rathel. I have taken her in to rear as a lady, one whose place in society might equal her appearance.”

“A great pleasure, Alba,” Edward professed, his smile no more comfortable or comforting than before. Then he kissed my hand.

He did not have to. The tenets of British society did not mandate such an exchange when the subject was too young to wed. I could not judge Edward’s motives in considering me so mature. Perhaps he sought to smell my danger.

Though aware of his intent in bending with stretched arm, I had never suffered such contact. Being an educated lady, however, I knew to lift my arm and allow my hand to be taken; and suave was Edward’s shock to touch my frozen knuckles.

Grateful to God I was for Denton’s having none of Gosdale’s odor. Praise God again that he touched me with only his breath. But the act was so useless as to strike me, and I felt that he had bit me, bit my senses. After a hesitation that might have embarrassed someone, I managed to curtsy, and Edward’s mouth was gone.

I hoped they would battle. Since their quarrel stemmed from mating, the butting of heads as though deer in rut would be proper. Then their problems would be resolved, and I could depart. But Rathel and Edward were emotional enemies, and as such would continue to dredge up unreal pleasantries to lay falsely at each other’s positions.

Edward was not the only Denton in this chamber. Another man had risen from his chair as the guests entered, Edward now turning to him. Perhaps this older man was affected by the liquor whose glass he set upon a sideboard, in that his visage and smell were cordial and unstrained.

They began speaking. Of course, Lady Amanda was well-acquainted with Edward’s father, Lord Andrew. Then he kissed her hand, which seemed normal in being between sinners. I was the witch, and strange I found the friendly father’s approaching me after Rathel’s introduction to surround my shoulders with both arms. He then stood away to look down at my face while squeezing my elbows, testing my fiber.

“And what a beautiful belle you have acquired, Amanda,” Andrew declared, looking between Rathel and her charge. “More of London’s superior meals in her and she will be quite the lady, for heretofore she has the poise. And so lovely she is that I must laugh with pleasure,” he professed, and blurted a loud sound to startle me. Rathel then smiled enough to split her cheeks, I hoped.

Andrew was so active that my passivity was acceptable, but why was I not more offended by that smell of liquor so near? Why had this sinner’s torso against mine not been a greater threat? I found the answer in his basic smell, for beneath the alcohol was a scent of innocence, a strange trait for a sinner, but as real as his son’s distress. Unfortunately, that innocence seemed less than influential, and therefore could scarcely relieve me of the ambient anxiety.

My sinners were superior. Those within Rathel’s abode offered no danger from their upcoming moves. Mistaken I had been to wish Rathel’s vengeance begun to thereby reach conclusion. I now desired only to be within that known house again, and to exit London not through cooperation, but flight.

Andrew turned sharply to his son after releasing my shoulders to announce a brilliant notion. And though I was less than terrified of the elder Denton, I moved one subtle step away as he spoke.

“Why, Edward, we must bring Eric down to meet London’s newest lady. Here’s a wonderful new peer to perhaps strengthen the friendship between our families that somehow has grown slack, which I’ve scant been able to comprehend.”

“Why, I…I don’t believe that Eric is in the household, Father,” Edward maintained while blanching.

“Oh, and of course he is. A moment past I saw him examining your hunting knives to the point—I say—of nearly losing a finger.”

“No…, I, I am certain he left thereafter,” Edward said, his voice unconvincing.

Failing again to comprehend, Andrew stepped to the doorway, ordering an unseen servant upstairs to retrieve Master Eric.

Further talking transpired, though none by Edward. Remain for tea, of course. I would love, but no, though the two youths’ meeting would be grand. Yes, a new generation of friendship in our families, even as with Franklin—God rest his soul—and Edward.

A young male soon entered, unescorted, a person as common as his father, but not nearly so apprehensive. As Eric and I shared a safe, average introduction—no kissing required by this youth, praise God—I managed some bland pleasantry that would have pleased my tutor. But my thoughts were with Edward, not his son. Rathel was the sinner most corrupted by drama, but Edward remained the most distraught. On this household stage, the sinners improvised lines they had to live, not learn, their composition having entrapped me. Unfortunately, in this current scene I was feeling, not thinking, and improvised my own composing poorly.

The youths were seated on the same divan, though between us was enough air for flying, Eric becoming nervous upon discovering that he was facing not a lady, but a girl. His first embarrassment was from Rathel, who commented on how manly he had grown. His next embarrassment was from the witch. As though tutored by Satan, I asked him:

“Are you the male I am to kill with love?”

How appropriate this question seemed in being humorous yet insane, for was madness not the nature of our households? Though misplaced and in consternation, had I not learned to relate like sinners?

The three Denton males reacted immediately to my words. Eric gained an uncertain countenance as he looked to me, then to his grandfather, who had burst into the loud, unfettered laughter heard before. Edward, the architect, was a building himself, static as a mortared wall and equally opaque, staring at me with no revealed emotion.

“A lass with your Alba’s appearance, Amanda, could surely kill with her love, so intense is her comeliness,” Lord Andrew laughed.

Rathel, whose smile was as false as Andrew’s was genuine, did not smell comical as she replied.

“Ah, London’s current youth, always with commentary to make themselves seem so important. We thus see that unimpeachable beauty must be more than artifice. But perhaps I know the greater factor weighing poorly against Alba’s behavior. The girl was reared on Man’s Isle away from true society. This might be the cause of her minor humor for which we both apologize. With further exposure to London’s superior etiquette, however, I am certain she will conversationally become the lady that she now appears.”

“With God’s grace and the influence of her new mistress,” Andrew replied, “no doubt this fine lass can only improve, though she should never lose her humor.”

I agreed. Understanding that we were now deeply immersed in theater, I began speaking with compositional fluency. Though my inner disposition was similar to silent Edward’s, our responses were disparate; for whereas Edward found himself in hiding, I found myself in battle.

“My truest apologies,” I offered, “to all the Messrs. Denton. But with Mistress Rathel’s expertise in demonology, I sometimes feel the witch myself.”

Mad humor remains humor. I remained somewhat mad from my foolish response, while Andrew remained sane as he responded with the perfect humor of his laugh. Edward then responded with words Rathel and I heard perfectly above the chuckling. He stared at me, having gained some controlled emotion I could not interpret, could not avoid, and displayed the passion allowing him to envision cathedrals.

“How fine your humor is, Alba, though you might ask your mistress to guide you toward an area less dangerous to womenfolk. Inquire of her colleague, London’s Magistrate Naylor, who has his own way with witches; for even as the lady’s is being aware of them, the magistrate’s is killing them.”

And the theater ended. With that final phrase, the play and playing became unacceptable to a witch most expert in stench, the unique odor of blackened family. After a pause to accept Edward’s ending words, I turned from the man and looked toward the floor, seeing no true ground of God’s, but deceptive planking precise yet sourced in destruction. I could smell his fear, and sensed danger within him, but the danger was not for me. This awareness saved me from fainting when thoughts of loved ones burned black filled me again; for I knew that Edward’s fear of death included no desire for my own demise, only a plea to God for any death to come other than his son’s.

Again the moderating mistress seemed to be aiding me in education.

“Certainly, Mr. Denton is correct, Alba, in that neither dying nor witches are comical matters with godly folk.”

Edward looked away after contemplating my wordless response, after examining my shame or sensitivity. Neither of us wished to view the deathly state between us, a theme to be reinforced if again we were to view each other. Being two persons whose preference was the living world, Edward and I looked away.

“Now, enough of dying and social chastisement,” Andrew ordered all present. “Let us speak of the fond future, not the unpleasant past.” And he chuckled mildly at his own, unaffected humor. He and Rathel then discussed my upbringing, schooling, church and social activities, and similar regarding Eric. Not a word in this conversation was emitted by Edward, who sat solidly behind his desk, chin lodged on his fist. Sane again, I said nothing. Eric, however, soon found his own cue for entering this evolving theater.

While glimpsing his betters, the boy spoke to me in a manner he considered surreptitious.

“You know of witches?” he asked, his tone of profound gravity.

Though I had seen sinners scarcely older than this person wed with children, the boy was so commonly youthful as to be enthusiastic about an unreal realm he considered dangerous. I then felt a lack of justice in my life for never having known a witch my age, for only having met sinning youths scarcely recognizable as human.

“I know sinners,” I said quietly. My reply was unkind because I inspired Eric to seek resolution of that mysterious word.

“We are all sinners in the eyes of God,” he stated, a comment that seemed a question, Eric wondering if he had grasped my meaning.

“And some are well appreciated in the eyes of Satan,” I told him.

“Such as witches,” he returned thoughtfully, “for they cause plagues and steal the breath from babes.”

“Cats in strange imagination cause the latter and rats in actuality the former,” I declared. “Your fantasies seem misarranged.”

Andrew and Amanda continued to chat in their social manner, Edward necessarily joining when asked to respond. Upon noting that the young persons were speaking between themselves, the architect stepped to a window to be near the youths, listening while looking elsewhere.

Seeking to draw more of my sinister familiarity by impressing me with his own, Eric announced, “Oh, of course, witches curse good folk with heinous potions.”

This pronouncement, however, was too aligned with true aspects of my life for me to respond facetiously.

“Clearly, sir, we have seen today that even good Londoners curse one another. What potion could be worse than hatred?”

From the certainty of my idea as well as my loud voice, the seniors in the chamber noted my comment, though Andrew and Amanda continued with their speaking. Edward’s reaction was to wander. Literally moved by my speaking, he sidled from one window to another. And though he settled, unseen, behind the children, the witch could smell his interest.

In reply to Eric’s concern that witches in their increasing influence might draw us from God with the raw intensity of their evil, I noted that such active passion was a product of politicians, and therefore endemic to the realm of parliament, not potions. Thereafter, the young sinner in his maleness began smelling as odd as he spoke, a mild version of that odor indigenous to his gender laid forth in the air between us along with equally undesirable words. Eric stated that I was not unpretty. On the subject of new smells and their inspirational pulchritude, I remained without response. Eric, however, received a most direct reply from his father, who ran to the boy as though attacking him, as though displaying the intensity required for a man to invent breathtaking cathedrals. He took his son’s breath by taking his body, snatching the lad of nearly adult size to his feet, hollering as he slapped the boy’s midsection with a punishing hand.

“Your foul thinking in your mother’s house!” Edward shouted, and slapped again at an odd projection of Eric’s clothing, as though the boy had dropped a stick into his pants front. The problem here was unfamiliar to me, and one I would not peruse. Then the child-man was forcefully removed from the room by a father revealing the strength required to procure from within himself the design of hard constructions able to soften even death-ridden hearts.

With the departure of these persons, Lady Amanda determined that our own exit was due, and here I had no argument. After an especially rich farewell between the older folk, Lord Andrew conveyed his sorrow for that regretful ending event, then turned to the young semi-lady to convey his pleasure at our meeting.

More moving than his words was his nature, Andrew’s consistent removal during histrionics from the play’s poorer aspects. Of all those amongst us, Lord Andrew had never emphasized pain by recognition, avoiding the emotion not from ignorance, but amity.

“…a superlative lass I am so proud to have met,” he remarked in ending. “I wish your life to be as fine as your appearance.”

His last remark was so clearly based on genuine goodwill that I could no longer be the firm witch set in her survival against sinners. I became the same human as he, providing Lord Andrew an emotional comment no less genuine than his own.

“God bless you, sir, and all your household that you might live happily as decent people deserve.”

“Exactly as they deserve,” Rathel concluded to Andrew with a smile, the lady as was her life’s insistence having the final idea.