The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

Shirley Kennedy The Blue Pebble

England — 1814

Passengers on the Royal Mail coach to London were surprised when the coach came to a jangling stop on the road not far from the town of Shrewsbury. No houses around. Only a winding driveway could be seen leading up through a heavy growth of trees to an immense Tudor-style mansion that nestled atop a low hill.

«This here’s Chatfield Court, miss,» the coachman shouted. «I’ll toss your luggage down.»

«Thank you kindly, sir.»

While the pretty young woman in her twenties climbed from the coach, the other passengers looked at each other askance. Surely the girl should not have to carry that large portmanteau up the hill by herself. One of the gentlemen passengers stuck his head out the window and called up, «I say, coachman, can’t you take her up the driveway to the entrance? We don’t mind the extra time.»

«Can’t do it, sir. Against the rules.»

«That’s quite all right,» the young woman assured him in a rich Irish brogue. She squared her shoulders. «This isn’t the first heavy load I’ve carried in my life. I’ll be fine.» She picked up the battered portmanteau, smiled, waved a quick goodbye and started trudging up the hill.

The coach started up again, the remaining passengers making clicking noises and shaking their heads. That they were concerned about a passenger they’d known only hours was surprising. She had not uttered more than a few pleasantries, only briefly mentioning she’d been a schoolteacher in Ireland, as had her mother who had recently passed away. Mostly she sat silently gazing out the window; yet despite the paucity of her words, they all recognized an agreeable quality about her and wished her well.

«I liked that girl,» one gentlemen said. «Don’t know exactly why, but she had a certain. I guess you could say, serenity about her.»

«More than that. It was like a special aura that surrounded her,» one of the ladies chimed in. «It was almost as if I felt calmer in her presence.»

«She had a magical quality,» said another.

The gentleman laughed. «Magic? Well, I don’t know as I’d go that far.»

The lady nodded emphatically. «Magic. I felt it. I don’t know what it was, but that girl had a special gift which we all felt, and don’t you tell me otherwise.»

Halfway up the driveway, Evleen O’Fallon had to stop and catch her breath. The heat of the summer day, plus the weight of the heavy portmanteau had done her in. As she rested and wiped her brow, she looked up the hill towards the dark stone mansion called Chatfield Court.

«I’m sure you will like it,» her mother had said on her deathbed. «Lord Beaumont assured me you would.»

Mother’s gone. A tear rolled down Evleen’s cheek. I miss her so. What will I do without her?

At the end, even through her suffering, Mama had thought of Evleen. «All your brothers and sisters have a place to stay, except you. As you know, I have sold the cottage, so you cannot stay here.» She clutched a letter in her fingers, one she had received only the day before. «Some time ago, when I knew I would never leave this bed, I wrote to Lord Beaumont in England.»

«But why?» Evleen was astounded.

«You are aware that Lord Beaumont’s late wife was a cousin of ours. So I wrote and asked if he would take you in.» She’d handed the letter to Evleen. «Here is his reply. Read for yourself.»

With reluctant fingers, Evleen took the letter and began to read.

My Dear Cousin,

I am sorry for your illness and trust you will soon regain your health. In the sad event you do not, rest assured I shall be happy to give a home to your oldest daughter, Evleen. If she’s as gifted as you say, perhaps she can help with the education of my son, Peter, who is seven. Since his mother passed away, he’s been quite precocious and needs a firm hand.

I look forward to meeting Evleen. Rest assured, she will be treated not as a servant but one of the family.

Beaumont

When she finished, Evleen let the letter fall to her lap in dismay. «Leave Ireland? Never! How can I go and live with strange people in a strange land?»

«You will because you must,» Mama answered firmly. «But one warning I must give you.»

«And what is that?» Evleen asked, still numb with shock.

«You must never use the blue pebble in England. In fact, it would be best if you threw it away.»

Evleen touched a small, bright blue pebble, strung by a leather thong around her neck. «But why?»

Mama looked deep into her eyes. «Because the English would never believe a poor girl from Ireland is possessed with magical powers. They would laugh at you — make your life a misery if you even suggested such a thing.»

«All right, I promise,» Evleen readily agreed. «I suspect the pebble would be useless in England anyway. I certainly don’t expect Merlin to follow me.»

«You had best throw it in the creek right now.»

Somehow the thought of throwing the pebble away did not appeal to her. «Perhaps I shall take it along — just as a kind of souvenir.»

«Suit yourself.» Mama reached for her hand and clasped it tight. «Whatever happens, always hold your head high. You must never forget you are an Irish princess, that your father was Ian O’Fallon, son of the Duke of Connaught, who was a direct descendant of one of Ireland’s ancient kings who reigned over one of the earliest Celtic kingdoms.»

«I shall never forget, Mama.»

And she wouldn’t. Now, with a determined nod, Evleen picked up the portmanteau and resumed her trek up the driveway. No, she would never forget, but what good would being an Irish princess do her here in this strange land? Ah well, no matter. Only the future counted now.

I shall be brave. I shall make Mama proud.

«So, Miss O’Fallon, you are from Ireland?»

Seated on a silk upholstered sofa in the grand salon of Chatfield Court, Evleen hid her disappointment. Lord Beaumont had not been there to greet her, although he was expected back from London at any moment. She gazed into the cold grey eyes of Lady Beaumont, Lord Beaumont’s mother. «Indeed I am from Ireland. County Tipperary to be exact. I lived there all my life.»

Lady Beaumont, a stout woman with a large face and snow-white hair, cast an amused glance at the two other occupants of the room: Lydia, her daughter, and a giddy young woman named Bettina, soon to become her daughter-in-law. «Fancy that! I don’t know much about Ireland although I understand they are all quite poor.»

«Don’t they raise sheep and live mainly in hovels?» asked Lydia, a plain young woman in her twenties who appeared to wear a permanent sneer on her lips.

Of the two young women, Bettina, a slender girl of twenty or so, was the prettiest, with creamy white skin and a circle of bouncy blonde ringlets around her forehead. In a giggly voice she asked Evleen, «Isn’t Ireland where the fairies live? And the elves and leprechauns?»

Yes, it is, Evleen thought, but wisely didn’t say. «Not all Irish are poor,» she evenly replied. «As for elves, fairies and leprechauns, I cannot say.»

She’d been invited to the grand salon for tea by these three ladies, who obviously seemed to think she had just arrived from the moon. She knew they were laughing at her. In fact, since the moment she set foot into this huge room with its marble fireplace and plush furnishings, she’d felt acutely uncomfortable. It didn’t help that the outfit she wore — plain wool skirt, wool jacket, simple brimmed hat and high top boots — was acceptable fashion for Ireland, but compared to the elaborate dresses these ladies wore, she might as well be dressed in a gunny sack. And these were just their morning gowns! Already they’d discussed their afternoon gowns, strolling gowns, evening gowns and who-knew-what-else kinds of gowns. Evleen took a sip of tea from her fine china cup, gripping the fragile handle uncomfortably. So different from home, where she drank her tea from a chipped mug and stirred it with a tin spoon.

Lydia was speaking. «So what did you do in Ireland? Is there a ton? Do you have seasons?»

«I taught school until my mother took ill,» Evleen earnestly replied. «This past year I stayed home to take care of her. And yes, we have seasons — winter, spring, summer and autumn, just as you have here.»

For some reason, her reply set up gales of laughter from all three women. «Lydia doesn’t mean that kind of season,» Lady Beaumont explained in a lofty tone. «She means a social season, such as when we go down to London for the parties and balls.»

«Oh, I see.» Evleen could not prevent the blush she felt spreading up her neck and over her cheeks. Such a gaffe she’d made! And she hadn’t been here an hour yet. She would never fit in with these people, nor them with her. I want to go home.

The door opened. A tall, powerfully built man in his early thirties entered, followed by a slender, fair-haired boy of seven or so. «Hello, everyone,» he said in a deep commanding voice. He caught sight of Evleen. «I see our cousin from Ireland has arrived.»

Evleen hadn’t known what she’d expected, but certainly not this devilishly handsome man who stood before her. What gorgeous blue eyes! What a beautiful head of hair, dark, with a slight wave and an unruly lock falling over his forehead. She arose and dipped an unsteady curtsy, hoping she didn’t look too much like a country bumpkin. «I am pleased to meet you, Lord Beaumont.»

Beaumont bowed in return. «Delighted to meet you, Miss O’Fallon. Welcome to England.» He placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. «This is my son, Peter. He’s without a governess right now and I was hoping you might see to his education, at least temporarily. Not as a governess, you understand. I consider you one of the family.»

«That’s very kind of you, sir. I’ll be happy to help any way I can.»

«Very good then,» Beaumont answered. Evleen noted he had yet to smile. She caught an air of unhappiness about him, a certain remoteness. Perhaps he was still grieving over the death of his first wife, Millicent. But still, she noted, he wasn’t grieving so much that he wasn’t planning to marry again.

Bettina arose from her chair and went to greet him, thrusting her arm possessively through his. «Richard, darling, so lovely to have you back.» She cast a quick, unfriendly glance at Evleen, as if she resented his wasting even one moment of time on his poor cousin-by-marriage from Ireland. «Your dear mother and sister have been helping with our wedding plans.»

«How very nice,» Beaumont answered absent-mindedly. Evleen caught a certain indifference in his voice. He ignored Bettina and continued, «We must get you settled in, Miss O’Fallon. There’s a bedchamber on the third floor next to my sister’s. I thought it might please you.»

Lady Beaumont uttered an audible gasp. «Are you sure, Richard? I had thought» —

«Thought what, Mama?»

«A room on the fourth floor would be much more suitable.» Lady Beaumont’s lips had pursed into a tight, disapproving line.

«The servants’ floor? I think not,» Beaumont answered firmly. «Evleen is Millicent’s cousin’s child. As such, she’s a member of the family and will be treated accordingly.»

«But of course,» his mother answered with ill-concealed irritation. She cast stone-cold eyes at Evleen. «We’re so happy to have you, Miss O’Fallon. I trust you’ll be happy here. Dinner is at eight.»

Evleen nodded a thank you and sent a small smile in return. Except for Lord Beaumont himself, she felt as welcome as the plague.

What a beautiful room, Evleen thought when she stepped into her bedchamber. Never had she seen such luxury. With its fine furnishings and lovely view of the rear gardens it was a far cry from the tiny room off the kitchen she had shared with two sisters. Ordinarily, she’d be thrilled, but the chilly reception she’d received in the drawing room made for a heavy heart. She sank to a chair by the window and gazed at the sculptured gardens that lay behind Chatfield Court. Ah, what wouldn’t she give to be home right now! She closed her eyes and pictured her family’s cottage. Built of stone, with lime-washed walls, it nestled in one of County Tipperary’s lush green valleys. The forested slopes of the Galtees, Ireland’s highest mountain range, lay not far beyond.

Next to the cottage were the scattered ruins of Tualetha, an ancient monastery, spread over several acres. As a child, Evleen often visited the ruins. She and her brothers and sisters liked to play hide-and-seek amidst the crumbled remains of stone buildings and huge tombstones, decorated with faded Celtic carvings, which towered over their heads.

Adrift in her memories, Evleen reached to touch the blue pebble that still hung around her neck. Despite her mother’s advice, she could not bear to part with it, although now she always hid it beneath her clothing and had vowed never to use it. As they had countless times before, her thoughts drifted to the day, when she was just eight years old, that she visited the ruins alone. She had brought a book along and was sitting on a flat rock next to an ancient cairn when the persistent cawing of a bird caught her attention. Looking up from her book, she was surprised to see a huge black raven sitting on the low branch of an oak tree. It seemed to be staring at her. Suddenly the bird spread its wings and flew away. As it did so, a small black feather fell from its wing to the ground.

Evleen shut her book, slid off the rock, and went to retrieve the feather. As she bent to pick it up, she saw it had fallen next to a curious looking pebble of bright azure blue. How odd. Never had she seen a pebble of such a colour. While she examined it, she heard the cawing of the raven again. It had flown a short distance away and was now perched on another tree limb, staring at her and flapping its wings. Did it want her to follow him? It would certainly seem so.

Holding the feather and the pebble, Evleen followed the raven to where it sat in the tree. Just as she arrived, it again flew away, heading towards the dense woods close by. When again the bird alighted on a branch and stared at her, she knew for certain it wanted her to follow.

Her curiosity aroused, Evleen followed the raven on a path that led deep into the woods. The bird continued to lead, then stop to wait for her, until she realized she had gone into the woods deeper than she ever had before. She felt no fear, though, and followed the path up the side of a gently sloping mountain to the entrance of a cave with a yawning mouth. Still unafraid, she entered the cave. Finding herself in near-total darkness, she felt her way along the walls of a short, narrow chamber until she emerged into a room with smooth stone walls that shone like crystal. In the centre of the room, an old man with a long white beard, wearing a white robe, stood behind a steaming cauldron. The room was lit, the light seeming to come from everywhere. Finally she realized it emanated from the crystalline walls. At last a shiver of fear ran through her. She turned to run, but before she could, the old man spoke. «I have been waiting for you.»

Astounded, she asked, «Who are you?»

He ignored her and instead waved his hands over the cauldron and intoned, «I call today on the strength of Heaven, Light of the Sun, Radiance of the Moon, Splendour of Fire, Speed of Lightning, Depth of the Sea.»

She stood frozen during his incantation. When he finished, he addressed her again. «I am Merlin the Magician. Surely you have heard of me, Evleen.»

«But how did you know my name?»

The old man smiled. «I have followed your progress since the day you were born.»

«But why?» she asked, her voice trembling.

«You are a direct descendant of Queen Maeve, who reigned as Queen of Ireland back in the days of the Druids. She was a warrior whom I admired tremendously. Maeve was one of the great female figures of Ireland, a most splendid woman. Originally she was a goddess and only later became the queen of mortal men, although she always kept her magical powers.» Merlin sighed. «I would tell you more, but you’re a little girl and can only understand so much. But it’s time you knew that you, too, have been endowed with magical powers.»

Evleen gasped in astonishment. «Me? I cannot believe it!»

«Rub the blue pebble and make a wish.»

She thought for a moment, searching her mind for something simple to request. Where had the raven gone? Rubbing the blue pebble, she said, «I wish to see the raven again.»

In a twinkling, Merlin vanished and the black raven appeared, sitting on a nearby perch glaring at her with its beady bright eyes. «It can’t be!» she cried in alarm.

In another instant, the bird had disappeared and Merlin stood before her again. «Over the years you will find I take many forms and shapes. The raven is only one.»

«Over the years?» she asked

«This is only the beginning. My child, it is time you became aware of your magic powers. You must learn to use them wisely.»

«But how will I always know what is wise?»

«I shall always be there to help.» In another instant, Merlin had disappeared again, replaced by the raven that, in a great show of cawing and flapping of its wings, left her standing there and flew from the cave.

Evleen found her way from the cave and ran home. When she reached her cottage, she burst through the door, crying, «Mama, Mama, wait ’til you hear!» When she finished relating her story about the raven, the cave and Merlin, her mother seemed not the least surprised.

«I have always known there was something special about you, Evleen. Now I know what it is. Bear in mind, you must always use your powers wisely.»

«Just what Merlin said.»

«Then you have been warned. You must never take your powers lightly.»

And Evleen never did. While she grew up, Merlin paid her many visits. Sometimes he taught her such things as the Druidic Symbols of Mastery, or a lesson from the Druid’s Book of the Pherylit. Other times, he let her try out her magic powers. She used them judiciously, casting a spell to heal an animal that was sick, or for a lost item that was soon found.

Only once did Merlin refuse her request. When her mother lay dying, Evleen pleaded, «Please, can’t we heal her?»

In reply, Merlin drew a perfect circle on the ground before her. «Within the perfect symmetry of a circle is held the essential nature of the universe. Strive to learn from it. to reflect that order.»

She understood immediately. She could not interrupt life’s cycle. Even Merlin’s magic had its limits.

Now, in her new bedchamber, Evleen put thoughts of home behind her, turning them instead to her pitiful wardrobe. How she wished she could use her magic powers to replace every shabby piece of clothing she owned. Lady Beaumont had told her dinner was at eight. She must appear suitably dressed, but what could she wear? Nothing she had brought could begin to match the gorgeous gowns she knew the ladies would be wearing.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. Evleen opened it to find a middle-aged, prim-faced woman dressed in a maid’s uniform, with a white satin gown draped over one arm. In a French accent, she announced, «I am Yvette, Lady Beaumont’s lady’s maid. Lord Beaumont sent me. He thought I could be of assistance in dressing you for dinner tonight.» She held up the gown. «This was his wife’s, poor thing. She hardly wore it before the typhoid struck her down. You seem about the same size.»

Yvette proved to be a godsend and, when eight o’clock arrived, Evleen took one final, incredulous look at herself in the mirror. The high-waisted gown fitted perfectly over her slender figure. But it was so low cut! Never in Ireland had so much of her bosom been exposed. «Think nothing of it, miss,» Yvette assured her. «You will find it is quite modest by today’s standards.»

Evleen regarded her thick, dark auburn hair, which Yvette had piled atop her head in a becoming style with soft curls and fastened with a set of pearl combs. Pearl earrings dangled from her ears, matched by a luminous pearl necklace. The result? Never in her life had Evleen looked so. so. the word was beautiful, but modesty prevented her from saying so, or even thinking it to herself. Instead, she exclaimed, «Yvette, you have a wonderful way with both clothes and hair.»

«And here is your fan, miss.» Yvette produced a delicate ivory and white lace fan, which Evleen took reluctantly. Never had she owned such an accessory. A fan was not necessary in Ireland, she thought amusedly, especially when she was scrubbing clothes or cutting peat from the bogs and dragging it home.

«So what do I do with the fan, Yvette?»

«You flutter it, miss, and you flirt with it. The fan has a language all its own. You’ll soon learn it if you’re here long enough.»

When Evleen hurried down the stairs to dinner, she was grateful she looked her best, yet dreaded another confrontation with the hostile ladies who no doubt would have preferred she eat with the servants. She found Lord Beaumont already seated at the head of the table, unsmiling as usual. His eyes opened wide when she sailed, head held high, into the dining room in her lovely gown, daintily holding her fan. «Good evening, Miss O’Fallon,» he said, surprise in his voice. «You look quite lovely this evening.»

«Isn’t that one of Millicent’s old gowns?» Lady Beaumont asked, none too kindly.

Beaumont replied, «There’s no reason why Miss O’Fallon can’t make use of it.»

In a voice edged with sarcasm, his sister, Lydia, said, «How charitable of you, Richard, always lending the poor a helping hand.»

Beaumont replied, «As a matter of fact, I’m sending for a seamstress to refresh Miss O’Fallon’s wardrobe.» Then he nodded towards a balding, thick-lipped man sitting to his right before addressing Evleen. «I don’t believe you have met our cousin, Mr Algernon Kent, who’s just come up from London to stay with us a while.»

A feeling of dislike overtook Evleen but she nodded politely at Beaumont’s cousin. Something about him was repulsive. Maybe it was the lecherous look in his near-lashless eyes when he gazed pointedly at her exposed bosom. She resisted the impulse to tug up the bodice of her gown.

Lord Beaumont spent much of the dinner discussing his son. «You will find he’s extremely bright and never stops asking questions. By the way, Miss O’Fallon, the nursery and classroom are a bit cramped. While the weather is warm, you might find the gazebo at the bottom of the garden more accommodating for the teaching of lessons.»

Evleen gladly thanked him, always happy for the opportunity to be outdoors. Later, after dinner, she became acquainted with a quaint English custom she’d never heard of in Ireland: the women adjourned to the drawing room while the men stayed at the dining table drinking brandy and smoking their cigars.

«Do you play cards, Miss O’Fallon?» Lady Beaumont asked as the ladies settled in the drawing room. Evleen shook her head. Beaumont’s mother feigned a disappointed sigh. «What a pity. Well, I suppose you could stay here and read while we play, but of course if you’re tired you might wish to retire for the night.»

Lady Beaumont so obviously wanted rid of her, Evleen instantly said she was tired and left for her bedchamber. On her way out, she overheard Bettina and Lydia discussing Cousin Algernon.

«I cannot stand that loathsome man,» said Bettina. «He’s such a toad.»

Lydia laughed. «Perhaps we could match him up with our little peasant from Ireland.»

«If we could get rid of her, I’m all for it,» Bettina replied with a giggle.

Evleen quickened her step. She did not want to hear the rest. She’d had quite enough of hurtful remarks for one day. Not that tomorrow would be any better, she sadly realized.

«Tell me about Ireland,» said Peter. «I want to hear.»

Evleen and Peter, both early risers, had eaten an early breakfast before the rest of the house was awake, then found their way to the gazebo at the bottom of the rear gardens. They were accompanied by Peter’s beloved dog, Cromwell, a lively brown and white Border collie who followed Peter wherever he went.

What a lovely spot, Evleen reflected as she gazed at lush green lawns, clipped hedges and bright flowers. She was grateful the friendly little boy had taken to her instantly. She would start his lessons tomorrow, but today they would talk and get acquainted. Cromwell lay down next to his master and went to sleep while she began. «Let’s start at the beginning. Ireland’s earliest dwellers were the Celts, who lived many thousands of years ago. They had many gods and the Druids were their priests.»

Peter listened intently while she went on to tell more of Ireland’s history. Finally the child pointed to the blue pebble that hung from her neck. «What is that?» he asked.

Somehow the pebble had slipped from beneath her jacket. She hastened to conceal it. «It’s a magic pebble,» she replied, knowing one could be perfectly honest with a child of seven who would take such information in his stride. «But you mustn’t tell anyone.»

Peter nodded vigorously. «Oh, I won’t, I promise. But you must show me how it works.»

«It only works when I’m in Ireland, but I’ll show you how it’s done.» Evleen pulled out the pebble and rubbed it with her finger. «It’s as simple as this. Now if I were in Ireland, a raven would appear and then» —

«But there is a raven,» Peter interrupted.

She started to tell him there could not be any such thing when she heard a loud caw from behind her. Surely not! Her heart leaped.

Peter pointed. «It’s behind you on that limb.»

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned her head. The raven gazed down at her — she could swear — with triumphant eyes.

«Dear God in heaven!» She leaped to her feet and called frantically to the bird, «Go away! You are not supposed to be here!»

The raven sat silently, its sharp eyes watching her every move.

«Here comes my father,» Peter said.

Oh, no! In dismay, Evleen spied Lord Beaumont striding through the garden. In seconds he would be here. She turned to the raven. «Please. The English don’t believe in magic. You must go.»

To her relief, the bird cawed softly one time then flew away. By the time Lord Beaumont arrived, Evleen had somewhat composed herself, although her heart still hammered in her chest. «Lord Beaumont.» She dipped a curtsy, fighting to control the tremor in her voice.

Beaumont stepped into the gazebo and seated himself in a wicker chair across from hers. «Do sit down, Miss O’Fallon. I came to see how you were doing.» He glanced fondly at his son. «It appears he’s taken to you.»

«He’s a fine little boy, and very bright. We shall get along fine.»

He spoke to Peter. «Go feed your rabbits, son. I wish to speak to Miss O’Fallon alone.»

After the boy left, followed by the faithful Cromwell, Evleen regarded Beaumont with questioning eyes. «I trust I have not done something wrong.»

«Of course not.» Beaumont leaned back in his chair and casually stretched his long legs in front of him. How handsome he looked, so different from the men she had known in Ireland, whose Sunday best attire could not hold a candle to Beaumont’s elegant cutaway frock coat, perfectly tied cravat, breeches that fitted revealingly tight over his well-muscled calves. And those polished Hessian boots! So very masculine, so very appealing.

Uh-oh, he’s been talking and I haven’t been listening.

He took a long moment to gaze at her. His lip quirked, as if he were amused, but she didn’t know why. «I find you an interesting woman, Miss O’Fallon.»

«Call me Evleen. We’re not nearly so formal at home.»

«In that case, call me Richard.»

She asked, «So why do you find me interesting when I’m only your poor Irish relative?»

«Because there’s something about you.» His forehead creased in a frown. «You surprise me.»

«In what way?»

«I would have thought a woman as attractive as you would be married by now.»

«We Irish don’t marry as young as you do in England.» Modesty prevented her from recounting the number of proposals she’d received over the years, all rejected. «When I do marry, if I ever do, it will be to someone with whom I have fallen madly, passionately in love.»

«So you’ve never been in love?»

«Not yet.» She tipped her head quizzically. «Didn’t you marry for love?»

«No, of course not.» At her look of surprise, he continued, «Many marriages are arranged in England, as was mine. Rank. family background. the size of the dowry are more important considerations than whether one has been struck by Cupid’s arrow. Actually.» He paused, weighing his next words. «I became most fond of my first wife. Millicent was a fine woman whom I greatly admired and respected.»

«What about Bettina?»

She feared she’d asked too bold a question, but he readily answered. «Bettina is the youngest daughter of the Duchess of Derbyshire. Vast fortune. One of England’s oldest families. Extremely generous dowry, of course. My mother’s cup runneth over.»

«But you don’t love her either?»

A half-smile crossed his face. «I was raised to believe honour and duty come first. Thus, for me, love has never been an option.»

How very sad, she thought, but decided not to say. They continued to chat, Beaumont showing no desire to leave. When his son returned, he arose reluctantly. «I have enjoyed our conversation. If you don’t mind, I shall come back from time to time in order to check on Peter’s progress.»

«I wouldn’t mind at all.» And she wouldn’t. Watching him stride away, she found herself admiring his broad shoulders and the easy grace with which he moved. Bettina was a lucky woman. Very lucky indeed.

In the days that followed, Evleen fell into a comfortable routine with Peter. She conducted his lessons in the classroom or, weather permitting, in the gazebo. Either way, Beaumont often joined them. Sometimes he sat quietly and listened; other times he joined in the discussions with a lively give-and-take of English history, or whatever was the topic, helping to answer his inquisitive son’s endless questions. Best of all, she discovered he had a deliciously subtle sense of humour, often revealed when the corners of his mouth quirked into an irresistible little grin.

She welcomed his visits, even looked forward to them with increasing anticipation. But the trouble was, Beaumont’s new-found attention to his son’s education did not go unnoticed by the ladies of the house. Evleen had hoped that in time she could make friends, but now their enmity was even more evident. She overheard Lady Beaumont and Lydia again one day as she stood outside the drawing room.

«There is something very strange about her,» Lady Beaumont was saying. «In fact, poor, dear Millicent once mentioned her Irish side of the family possessed certain mystical powers. At the time, I thought she had taken leave of her senses, but now I’m beginning to wonder.»

Lydia replied, «There’s something unpleasantly mysterious about all the Irish, what with their Celtic culture and those ancient Druids who, I understand, practised all sorts of strange, unholy rites — all quite unacceptable.»

«I cannot imagine why Richard spends so much time with her,» Lady Beaumont went on. «He claims he’s only interested in Peter’s lessons, but quite frankly I don’t trust the woman. What if she casts some sort of spell over him? Well, she had best be careful. If she dares show the least sign of any so-called magical powers, I shall send her packing, and I don’t care what Richard says.»

«At least he’ll be married soon,» replied Lydia. «That should ease our minds.»

«And Bettina’s, too,» Lady Beaumont answered with a caustic laugh.

Evleen’s heart sank as she listened. How unfair! What had she done to deserve such hatred? Her behaviour with Beaumont had been completely beyond reproach. Not only that, she had taken great pains to be pleasant and civil to these difficult women who were bound and determined to dislike her. As for her magic, she stood by her promise. Such a promise wasn’t easy, for often, when she was teaching Peter his lessons in the gazebo, she saw the black raven sitting on a nearby branch. It would stare down at her with a beckoning look in its eye, as if it were telling her that Merlin could hardly wait to reveal himself before her. So tempting! But she had refrained from rubbing the blue pebble. Mama had been very wise indeed to make her promise never to use her magic powers in disbelieving England.

But as much as she missed Merlin and his magic, a deeper sorrow lay heavy on her mind. For the first time in her life, she had fallen madly, passionately in love. Each night, she lay in her bed staring into the darkness, her anguished heart keeping her from sleep. She could see no way out of her constant misery, for the man she had fallen in love with was Lord Beaumont — a man she could never marry; a man hopelessly beyond her reach.

Late one afternoon, after Peter had left, Evleen remained in the gazebo to tidy up. She was pleased with the way the day had gone. Peter continued to be a delightful pupil who absorbed knowledge like a sponge. Also, on a personal note, she was wearing a new gown just completed by the seamstress. Made of a soft blue batiste, it had three satin bands of a darker blue circling the skirt and delicate white lace frills decorating the bodice and sleeves. Never had she owned such a beautiful gown. With her auburn hair contrasting with the blue, she knew she looked her best.

She had almost finished putting the lesson books away when Beaumont appeared. «How did the lessons go today?»

«Very well,» she answered, her heart quickening at sight of him. She searched for something safe to say. «Have you noticed the sunset? It’s quite beautiful.»

He came to stand beside her. Together they watched the setting sun paint puffy clouds with gorgeous streaks of pink and gold. Finally he remarked with a sigh, «It won’t be long now.»

«Your wedding?»

«My wedding,» he replied in a voice totally devoid of enthusiasm.

«You must be very happy.» What else could she say?

«Happy?» he responded sharply. «How can I be happy when I—?» Abruptly he turned to face her. His hands gripped her shoulders, causing her to gasp in surprise. «Ah, Evleen, Evleen. the very thought of marrying Bettina is repugnant to me, not when I.» He drew a deep breath, seeming to attempt to control his emotions. «Do you know how beautiful you look in that blue dress?»

Taken aback by his intensity, she sought to make light of it. «The seamstress did rather a good job, I thought. She» —

He gripped her shoulders even tighter. «I love you, Evleen,» he burst out, his voice breaking with emotion. «With all my heart I have fallen in love with you.» He swung her into the circle of his arms, claiming her lips as he crushed her to him. Stunned, her knees weak, she returned his kiss with a pent-up hunger that spoke of the endless nights she had lain awake imagining herself in his arms. Finally, raising his mouth from hers, he gazed into her eyes. «I want to make love to you, my beautiful Evleen,» he said, his breath coming hard. «I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Day and night my thoughts are full of you — your charming smile, your wit, your lovely Irish laugh, everything about you. Oh, God, I want you so much I»—

He seemed to catch himself. With an oath he thrust her away and strode to the other side of the gazebo. For a time, he stood with his back to her, hands clasped behind him, staring out at the garden. She could hear his breathing return to normal as he slowly composed himself. Finally he turned. «You must forgive me. I had no right to touch you.»

«But I wanted you to,» she replied. «I, too»—

«No! Don’t say any more.» He regarded her with anguished eyes. «I am betrothed. Do you know what that means in England? It means the moment I asked for Bettina’s hand in marriage, my fate was sealed. I cannot simply change my mind. If I did, my family would be in complete disgrace. I, myself, would receive the cut direct.»

«What is that?»

«Just like it sounds. People would not speak to me. If they saw me coming, they would turn their backs.»

«How cruel.»

«Yes, it’s cruel, but that’s the way of it in our society. I could endure it if I had to, but I cannot have my family disgraced. More than that, it’s a matter of honour.» He laughed bitterly. «Oh, yes, I am a man of honour, if nothing else. I shall keep my word. Forget this ever happened, Evleen. It will never happen again.» With an expression of grief, mixed with self-reproach, he abruptly left the gazebo and strode back to the mansion with determined steps.

Evleen sank into a chair, her knees so weak she could not stand. Her thoughts swirled between joy and sorrow. Joy because he loved her. Sorrow because theirs was a love that was utterly hopeless. What should she do now? She could go away, but where? She could never return to Ireland — the cottage had been sold, nothing was left for her there. She could seek a position as a governess somewhere. She hated the thought of it. Horror stories abounded concerning the abysmal treatment of governesses in some of the great mansions.

Worst of all, if she left, what would happen to Peter? The boy had been lagging in his studies before she came, no doubt still grieving for his mother. But since her arrival, he had blossomed, showing a brilliance that must not be allowed to lie fallow again.

That settled it. She would stay even if she must suffer the pain of constantly seeing Richard together with his new bride. For Peter’s sake, she would endure it.

«Ah, Miss O’Fallon, there you are!»

Algernon. A shudder of dislike ran through her. Cousin Algernon had remained at Chatfield Court the whole time she’d been there. Nobody could stand the man. The maids fled at the sight of him. Rumour had it that Lord Beaumont had chastised his cousin more than once, warning him to stop annoying the ladies as well as the female servants. Obviously Algernon had ignored all admonitions. Evleen noted that the spark of lust still gleamed in his eye, and the disgusting I-am-God’s-gift-to-women expression remained on his pasty face.

She scrambled to her feet and began collecting books and papers. «Yes, here I am,» she answered, hardly bothering to conceal the dislike in her voice.

«Here, let me help you.» Algernon reached for the books in her arms, his hand «accidentally» brushing across her bosom.

She abruptly backed away. «I can manage for myself,» she snapped. «I’m not finished here. You had best go back to the house.»

«What a pity,» he replied in his oily voice. «I had thought we might go for a stroll. It’s time we got better acquainted.»

Fury almost choked her. «I am much too busy for a stroll.»

«Perhaps another time then.» Totally unfazed, Algernon bowed and walked away.

To calm herself, Evleen stood for a while looking out over the garden. It wasn’t long before she spied the raven, staring down at her from its perch in the nearby tree. Merlin. She longed to talk to him, especially after a day like this. Well, why not? She wasn’t going to perform any magic, only talk to the magician who had been her mentor since she was eight years old.

She reached to rub the blue pebble hidden beneath her bodice. Instantly the bearded old man appeared before her, his clasped hands nearly concealed by the flowing sleeves. «Why haven’t you called for me?» he asked.

«I have missed you but I must never use my magic in England,» she answered frankly. «They would never understand.»

«What is troubling you, child?» asked Merlin. «I see unhappiness in your eyes.»

«It’s that odious Algernon,» she quickly replied. «I cannot stand the sight of him.»

Merlin slowly shook his head. «It is true the man is odious, but you are quite capable of keeping him in his place. No, the cause of your unhappiness is not Algeron Kent, it’s Lord Beaumont with whom you’ve fallen in love.»

She knew better than to argue. «I should have known you knew. Then you are aware our love is hopeless.»

Merlin pondered a moment. «I could easily cast a spell over your Lord Beaumont, one that would make him decide to end his betrothal to Bettina and marry you.»

«No,» Evleen cried. «Richard is an honourable man. He would never forgive me if I resorted to such a cheap, shoddy trick. And besides, he would be an outcast and would receive the cut direct. I love him too much to put him through such a disgrace. You must promise you won’t.»

«As you wish,» Merlin replied. «Since you’re so insistent, I give you my promise that I shall never cast a spell over Richard Beaumont. Does that satisfy you?»

«Yes, it does,» she replied, greatly relieved.

«But you must call if you need me.»

«I won’t be needing you,» she said. «No magic can help me now.»

«We shall see.» Merlin gave her a nod goodbye. Then, like a puff of dust, he vanished from her sight.

The next morning, when Evleen came down for breakfast, she discovered that Lord Beaumont had left for London at the crack of dawn. He would remain in London for the opening of Parliament and not return until the eve of his wedding, one month hence. Despite her disappointment, Evleen knew his departure was for the best. Having to see him now would be pure torture. She hated the thought of having to witness Beaumont’s wedding to Bettina, but for Peter’s sake, she would.

That afternoon, Peter came to the gazebo alone, without Cromwell. «My dog is sick,» he said, his pale face strained. «He’s awfully sick and I don’t know what to do.»

«Let’s go see him,» said Evleen. Together they walked to the kennel where she found the Border collie lying limp on the ground, panting heavily. Obviously the dog was in great distress. She suspected it did not have long to live.

Peter sank beside him, tears streaming down his cheeks. «Please don’t die, Cromwell,» he cried in a voice that nearly broke her heart. He gazed with pleading eyes at Evleen. «Isn’t there something you can do to save him?»

She thought long and hard. Yes, of course there was something she could do, but she had promised never to use her magic again.

But on the other hand.

What would Peter do without his faithful friend who followed him wherever he went and offered nothing but boundless loyalty and love? The poor little boy had suffered a great loss when his mother died. Now Cromwell, too?

Evleen took the boy’s hand. «Come along, Peter, there’s someone I would like you to meet.»

Peter stood next to her in the gazebo. When she rubbed the blue pebble, Merlin appeared before them. «I see you brought the boy,» he said to Evleen.

Peter gazed in wonder. One moment he’d seen a black raven sitting on a tree limb. The next, a bearded old man seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. «Are you the wizard Merlin who advised King Arthur?» he asked in an awed tone.

«Indeed, I am, son,» Merlin answered. «But I have been around long before King Arthur and his court.»

«Evleen says you can help me.» Peter told the magician how much he loved his dog, Cromwell, and would do anything to save him. When he finished, Merlin smiled down at the boy. «Go back to the kennel, son, and see how Cromwell is faring.»

Evleen watched Peter dart eagerly away. «You have my deepest thanks,» she said to Merlin.

«I am happy to oblige, but do you think it wise to break your promise?»

«It’s never wise to break a promise, nor is it wise to allow a child to suffer needlessly.»

Merlin shook his head in sympathy. «You’re a compassionate woman, Evleen, not deserving of the fate that’s been handed you. Why don’t you allow me to—?»

«No! I broke my promise once, but it’s not likely I shall do it again. As for casting a spell over Lord Beaumont, I absolutely forbid it. I hope you understand.»

«Of course.» The image of Merlin began to fade. «Until we meet again.» The next instant, a black raven spread its wings and silently glided towards the sky.

Evleen heard both a sudden cry and a gasp behind her. Dreading what she would find, she turned. There stood Lydia and Bettina, both staring at her with wide-eyed horror.

With a shaking hand, Bettina pointed to the spot where Merlin had stood. «He. he’s gone! Just disappeared. and the raven was there. I don’t know where he went. It was like magic.»

«It was magic.» Both triumph and scorn blazed in Lydia’s eyes as she addressed Evleen. «You’re a sorceress, just as I suspected all along. Now I have proof of it.»

Evleen stood mute. How could she defend herself when, in essence, what Lydia said was true? Finally she spread her palms wide. «For Peter’s sake, couldn’t you forget what you saw? It will never happen again, I assure you.»

«Absolutely not! As far I am concerned, you will never see Peter again. Come, Bettina.» Lydia took her future sister-in-law’s arm. «We must go tell Mama immediately that my brother has allowed a sorceress to live in our home.»

As they left, a joyous Peter came running through the garden, Cromwell bounding along behind him. It was worth it. Evleen knelt to put her arms around her happy young pupil and receive a lick on the face from an ecstatic Cromwell.

Alone in the drawing room with Lady Beaumont, Evleen sat stiff and straight in her chair, expecting the worst. Her ladyship sat across, lips compressed, nose quivering with suppressed rage. «I am appalled,» she began. «Both Lydia and Bettina saw you engaging in your black magic, or whatever you call it. Were they wrong? What do you have to say for yourself?»

«Not exactly wrong, your ladyship. But you see, I»—

«I shall not tolerate a sorceress in my home!» Lady Beaumont’s anger had turned into scalding fury. She leaped from her chair and started pacing. «I shall wait for my son’s return. He must make the final decision. Meantime, you are relieved of your governess duties.»

Her heart sank. «Not teach Peter? But he’s been making such good progress and I»—

«I don’t want you anywhere near my grandson. To that end, I am moving you to the servants’ floor. You will no longer be welcome in our dining room. You will take your meals in your room. I don’t want to lay eyes on you until Richard returns for his wedding, at which time I shall request he throw you out of this house, which you well deserve.» She pulled herself up, one quivering mass of indignation. «I never wanted you here in the first place. And don’t expect my son will side with you. In this matter he will do as I say.»

Any further explanation would have been useless. Evleen arose from her chair, determined to maintain her dignity if nothing else. «As you wish, Lady Beaumont.» She left the room, head held high, thankful she’d been able to choke back her tears.

In the days before the return of Lord Beaumont, Evleen spent most of her time in her tiny room on the fourth floor. With its lumpy bed, battered chest and cold, bare floor, the room in no way compared with the luxurious bedchamber she’d been forced to vacate. But in her despair she hardly noticed. She spent her time reading, or trying to. How could she concentrate on a book when thoughts of Beaumont’s passionate kiss constantly crept into her mind, when she was full of concern about Peter, who she knew must miss her terribly, just as she missed him? Was he keeping up with his lessons? Had they found a new governess? The servants kept their distance. Not one member of the family talked to her any more, so she had no way of knowing.

As Beaumont’s wedding day approached, the sounds of an increasingly busy household getting ready reached her ears. The wedding itself would take place in the nearby village church. The reception, a glittering affair with 200 expected guests, was to be held at Chatfield Court.

One sound made her cringe: Bettina’s giddy laughter often wafted up to the fourth floor, reminding Evleen that the feather-brained young woman would soon become Beaumont’s bride.

Lord Beaumont returned the day before the wedding. In her tiny room, Evleen was miserably wondering if she would even be allowed to speak to him again when a knock sounded on her door. She thought it must be one of the servants, but to her astonishment, Beaumont stood before her. She drew in her breath. «What are you doing here? I’m sure your mother would not approve.»

«I am not concerned with what Mama thinks,» he answered gruffly, shoving his way past her. «I must talk to you.»

He sat on the room’s one rickety wooden chair. She sat on the bed. «There’s nothing more to say,» she said. «I’m sure your mother has informed you of all you need to know.»

Amusement flickered in his eyes. «Is it true? Are you indeed a sorceress?»

She thought a moment. If she told him the truth, he would doubtless be appalled, as well as angry, thinking she’d deceived him. But her forthright nature decreed she could not do otherwise than be completely honest. She looked him in the eye. «I don’t think of myself as a sorceress, but yes, I have certain magic powers. I have only used them once while here in England and wasn’t planning to use them again. But»—

To her surprise, Richard burst into laughter. «You know magic? But that’s priceless!»

In amazement she asked, «But aren’t you angry? Aren’t you frightened I might cast some sort of evil spell on you?»

«Would you?»

«No, of course not.»

«Well, then, I have nothing to worry about.»

She protested, «But your mother is horrified, and very angry. She can hardly wait to get rid of me.»

Beaumont’s laughter died. He gazed around the tiny room and frowned. «You have been treated abominably. I shall see you are moved immediately.»

«Stop,» she said with a raise of her hand. «Your mother is right. It’s best I leave Chatfield Court as soon as possible. Better for both of us.»

A look of anguish crossed his face. «I love you, Evleen. Those days I spent in London made clear to me how empty my life will be without you.» He stood, pulled her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms. «You don’t have to find another position,» he whispered in her ear. «I could set you up in London. You would never have to want for anything. You could»—

«I will not be a kept woman!» She pushed away from him.

«Of course.» He swallowed hard. «I am so sorry, Evleen. I should have known you would never allow your reputation to be compromised. It’s just. I love you so much. The thought of spending the rest of my life without you is an agony.»

«I feel the same, but what can we do?»

«Nothing. Honour binds us both.» Beaumont took up her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. «Goodbye, my love, my dearest love. I shall remember you always.»

He left then, leaving her to sit in her room and contemplate the lonely years that lay ahead. She knew they’d be lonely because she would never find another man like Richard Beaumont, and she would never settle for less.

The next morning, two piercing screams awoke Evleen from her sleep. They were screams so loud, so terrorizing, she leaped from her bed. Was the house on fire? Had someone been murdered? She flung her robe over her nightgown. Joining the alarmed-looking servants who had also heard the screams, she rushed downstairs to discover bewildered wedding guests, still in their night clothes, milling about, all looking for the source of the curdling shrieks.

When someone said they appeared to have come from the drawing room, Evleen, along with guests and servants, crowded inside, where she saw a strange sight indeed. Bettina’s mother, the renowned Duchess of Derbyshire, lay in a swoon on the sofa, a letter clutched in her hand. A maid held smelling salts under the Duchess’ nose. Lydia knelt beside her, waving a fan. Lady Beaumont looked on, her face so white and drawn Evleen thought she, too, might swoon at any moment.

«What is going on here?» Lord Beaumont, half dressed in breeches and a white shirt open at the throat, entered the room. «Mama, you don’t look well. You had better sit down and tell me what’s happening.»

«What’s going on is beyond belief,» Lady Beaumont said in a voice that rose to near hysteria. She plucked the letter from the Duchess’ fingers and handed it to her son. «It’s a letter from Bettina. Read it.»

With a curious frown Beaumont took the letter and began to read aloud.

Dearest Mama,

It is with deep regret I am cancelling my wedding to Lord Beaumont. I cannot marry him under any circumstances because I have fallen madly, passionately in love with Algernon Kent. Please don’t follow me. By the time you receive this, my dearest Algernon and I will be well on our way to Gretna Green, Scotland, to be married.

Know that I deeply regret the sorrow this must cause you, as well as Lord Beaumont—

Bettina

«Oh, dear God!» Lady Beaumont’s legs buckled. Her son caught her and helped her into a chair. «There won’t be a wedding?» the distraught woman cried. «I cannot believe this is happening!»

«It would appear that it is,» Beaumont equitably replied. He looked over at the Duchess whose eyelids were fluttering. «I shall go after them, of course. Perhaps it’s not too late.»

«Don’t bother. That ungrateful girl!» The Duchess sat up straight, waving the smelling salts away. «The butler told me they left last night. There is no way in the world you could catch them now, nor would I wish you to. Algernon Kent? I cannot believe it!» She exchanged incredulous glances with Lady Beaumont and Lydia. «How could my Bettina fall in love with the most loathsome man in the world? I apologize for my fickle daughter, Lord Beaumont. You must be devastated! Heartbroken!»

Evleen watched, secretly amused, as Beaumont placed a properly sombre expression on his face and make a gracious little bow. «Love works in mysterious ways, your grace. I shall do my best to contain my sorrow. Meanwhile, I want you to know that despite Bettina’s shocking defection, I forgive her and wish her all the happiness in the world.» He caught Evleen’s eye from across the room. In the fleeting moment their eyes met, he sent a message that contained a mixture of astonishment, vast relief, and, best of all, his undying love and joy that at last they could be together.

Her heart full of gratitude, Evleen turned and left. Life was wonderful again! With joyous steps, she climbed the stairs to her room. Richard was not going to marry Bettina. Such a miracle! But how in the world could the silly girl possibly have fallen in love with the likes of Algernon Kent? Hadn’t she said she loathed him?

An astounding thought struck her. Could Merlin possibly have had a hand in this? But no, it wasn’t possible. The wise old wizard had promised he would not cast a spell.

When she stepped into her room, she stopped and gasped. A black feather lay on her pillow. From Merlin? Who else could it be from? Why the feather? What message did it convey?

She picked up the feather and went to her window. For a long time, she stood clutching it in her hand. Finally, as she knew it would, the message came clear. Of course! Merlin had promised he would not cast a spell on Lord Beaumont. And he hadn’t. He had kept his promise. But he had not promised to refrain from putting a spell on poor Bettina.

«Why, Merlin, you old rascal,» she said aloud and started to laugh. «What kind of spell did you use to make a woman fall in love with Algernon? I’d wager it was the strongest spell you had.»

She touched the blue pebble. No more magic from now on. Absolutely not. Tomorrow she would throw the pebble into the nearby creek.

But then again. perhaps she should think about it first. No need to rush.