Goblin Moon (6 page)

She glanced back over her shoulder, at Elsie’s
mother, who, huffing and puffing and leaning heavily on Jarl
Skogsrå’s arm, followed behind them. “As it is, I suppose many of
his patients derive considerable benefit from the exercise.”

Elsie giggled a little breathlessly. “Poor Mama. I
don’t think she had any idea what was in store for her.”

By the time they reached the doctor’s gilded
reception room, Elsie and her mother were both on the point of
collapse, and Jarl Skogsrå’s limp was more pronounced than ever.
Nevertheless (and with an elaborate show of courtesy), he found a
fragile-looking chair for Elsie to sit on, sent a servant after a
sturdier seat to accommodate Mistress Vorder, and pulled up another
frail, gold-painted chair and offered it to Sera.

This unexpected attention on the part of the Jarl,
Sera barely noticed. She was too occupied with Elsie’s fan and vial
of hartshorn as well as trying to attract the eye of a
somber-looking serving man, who was offering tea in shell-like
china cups to a sallow matron in plum-colored satin and her three
spindly, blue-haired daughters.

I wonder if I might be of assistance?” said a quiet
voice behind her, and Sera turned. The voice belonged to a slender
gallant in lilac taffeta with foaming white lace at his throat and
wrists and knots of silver ribbon on either shoulder.

“Lord Skelbrooke,” she said, and suddenly discovered
she was as breathless as Elsie.

“How do you do, Miss Vorder?” Lord Skelbrooke removed
a dove-colored tricorn liberally decorated with ostrich plumes and
silver braid, and bowed over Sera’s limply extended hand.

Francis Skelbrooke did not paint his face as some of
the other dandies did, for he had a fine fresh color of his own. He
elected to wear his own hair, immaculately curled and powdered at
the front, tied back in loose white curls at the back. But he
always wore a tiny black satin patch in the shape of a five-pointed
star high on one cheek, and he made liberal use of the scent
bottle.
I
despise
effeminate men
, thought Sera. Though much to her
annoyance, she felt her heartbeat accelerate and the palms of her
hands grow damp.

Cousin Clothilde spared her the necessity of a
coherent reply. “We’ve been here this age,” said Mistress Vorder,
“and that dreadful serving man has not offered us any tea.”

“Allow me to rectify his neglect.” The young Imbrian
nobleman bowed once more, tucked his hat under his arm, and
strolled off to speak to the servant. Sera sank down into the chair
which the Jarl was still holding for her, and waved her fan
frantically in a futile attempt to cool her face.

Strong tea and dainty white sugar cakes did much to
revive Elsie. “And if you had eaten a decent breakfast as I begged
you to,” Sera whispered over the teacups, “I am convinced you could
have made the climb easily. Dear me . . . I don’t doubt that
I
should have dizzy spells and swooning
fits myself, if I started the day with a half a biscuit and a
draught of vinegar!

“But you know that Mama doesn’t like me to eat before
noon,” replied Elsie. “Dr. Gustenhover told her that a large
breakfast would overheat my blood.”

Sera sniffed disdainfully. “Overheat your blood
indeed! When your hands and your feet are always cold as ice.” She
resolved to smuggle some sausages or boiled eggs up from the
kitchen tomorrow morning and coax Elsie into eating them.
What Cousin Clothilde does not suspect, she
cannot forbid, and if she asks no questions, I shan’t be obliged to
lie.

“You dislike Lord Skelbrooke—I can’t imagine why,”
Elsie was saying. “He is not either kind of man that you described
to me before: neither condescendingly haughty nor insultingly
familiar. There is not a more courteous man in Thornburg.”

Sera herself did not understand it. Proud men and
dissolute men did nothing to ruffle her composure; she could ignore
the discourtesies of the one sort just as coolly as she crushed the
pretensions of the other; therefore, it was a mystery to her (and
the cause of great resentment) why Francis Skelbrooke, with his
soft voice, his faint Imbrian accent, his speaking grey eyes, and
his gravely respectful manner, never failed to discompose her. This
did not, however, prevent her from inventing an excuse for Elsie’s
benefit.

“Francis Love Skelbrooke is a poet . . . and what is
more he is a visionary. To be one or the other is to be no more
foolish than most young men, but the combination of ‘visionary
poet’ is one that any rational being must find positively
intolerable.”

Far from being shocked by her cousin’s vehemence,
Elsie stifled a giggle. “Dear Sera, I do believe that I love you
best when you are being completely unreasonable.”

Lord Skelbrooke reappeared a short time later, this
time escorting the Duchess of Zar-Wildungen. They made a pretty
pastel pair, the Duchess and Francis Skelbrooke: she in grey satin
and cobweb lace, he in lilac and silver, and both of them so small
and neatly made. Sera felt uncomfortably conscious of her extra
inches and her matronly bottle-green gown.

“You see I arrive in good time to accompany you,” the
Duchess said, in her clear, childlike voice, as everyone rose to
greet her. “I cannot conceive how I have gained a reputation for
always arriving late.” And she smiled so irresistibly, gave them
such mischievous, piquant glances, that no one gainsaid her, for
all she had kept them waiting for nearly an hour.

Standing on tiptoe, the Duchess kissed Elsie on the
cheek. “And how fares my godchild today?”

It was another of the Duchess’s affectations to
address Elsie as her godchild—though this, Sera was convinced,
could hardly be true. The usual number of godparents was twelve:
twelve sponsors to appear in church the day an infant was named,
twelve godmothers and godfathers to send gifts every year on her
birthday. Sera could name every one of Elsie’s twelve, and the
Duchess of Zar-Wildungen was not among them—nor had she, as far as
Sera remembered, ever sent any birthday gifts. Still, it seemed a
harmless fiction, and afforded both the Duchess and Elsie
considerable pleasure.

The Duchess had just seated herself, in the chair
Sera vacated, when a servant came to usher their party into the
inner precincts of the temple.

The matron and her three cadaverous daughters
preceded them into the treatment room, and there were other
fashionably attired visitors as well: the men in bag-wigs, sausage
curls, and enormous pigeon-wings, the ladies in large, picturesque
hats. Dr. Mirabolo catered to an exclusive clientele.

The inner sanctum was decorated in a rich foreign
style, with potted palm trees in every corner and brass statues of
sphinxes, griffons, and winged lions to either side of the door and
between the floor-length windows. In the center of the room stood a
large covered vat, oval in shape, encircled by more of the gilded
chairs.

The doctor was a short, spidery, lively little fellow
in a curly dark wig, a black suit, and a pair of gold-rimmed blue
spectacles. He greeted the Duchess with effusive deference. “Always
a pleasure, Gracious Lady, always a pleasure and an honor. And so
you have brought this precious child to see me?”

He took Elsie’s soft, cold hand in his dry parchmenty
one and eyed her sharply through the tinted glass. “Yes, yes, I see
by looking at her. A distemper of the blood, there is no doubt, and
magnetic treatments are the only cure.”

“But we have already tried magnetic treatments,” said
Mistress Vorder. “Dr. Lully prescribed them for Elsie, along with a
diet of barley biscuits and vinegar, and under Dr. Gustenhover’s
care she consumed so many iron filings that I vow and declare ‘tis
a wonder to me the poor child did not grow as heavy as lead.”

“Drs. Lully and Gustenhover are admirable men—indeed,
I have the highest regard for them both. But sadly behind the
times, madam, sadly outdated in their techniques.” The doctor spoke
solemnly, shaking his head. “The magnetic tub is the latest, the
very latest medical advance, and as you shall see, extremely
efficacious.”

“Mama,” said Elsie, in a stifled voice. “You said
that we had only come to consult with the doctor.”

“Of course, of course,” murmured the doctor, rubbing
his hands together and shifting about from one foot to the other in
so lively a fashion that his resemblance to a scuttling black
spider was more pronounced than ever. “I shall explain the
technique to you in detail, and you shall see these others
experience the benefits. I make no doubt you will be so delighted
with the demonstration, you will be impatient to begin your own
course of treatments.” He skipped over to the vat in the center of
the room and lifted the lid. Sera moved forward along with the
others, to see what the tub contained. Corked bottles filled with a
clouded fluid covered the floor of the vat.

“They contain magnetized saltwater,” said the doctor
proudly, “and the medium surrounding them is fresh water treated
with the most efficacious and salutary minerals, along with a
judicious mixture of ground glass and iron filings.”

Cousin Clothilde appeared suitably impressed. “And
how do you administer the benefits of this device?”

“Through a human agency.” The doctor replaced the lid
of the vat, reached into a coat pocket, and produced a short iron
rod. “I have many trained assistants—men and women of the first
quality, I can assure you—who, possessing the required gift, donate
their services to relieve the sufferings of their fellow beings.”
He bowed in the direction of Jarl Skogsrå. “Perhaps you were not
aware that your gallant escort is among them.”

Mistress Vorder eyed the Nordic nobleman with
surprise and a little resentment. “You told me nothing of this,
sir,” she said coldly. “I had no idea you were one of the doctor’s
magnetizers.”

“But dear lady, I had no notion of deceiving you,”
replied Skogsrå. “Indeed, I believed my connection with this
establishment well known. It is the very reason why I insisted on
accompanying you. The Duchess knew of it, certainly.” He limped
over to Elsie and raised one of her hands to his lips. “I hope, in
the future, to play some small part in effecting your cure.”

As they spoke, more people came crowding into the
room through the same door. The atmosphere was growing close. Sera
knew that Elsie had difficulty breathing in hot, confined spaces,
so taking the younger girl with her, she maneuvered a path through
the crowd, heading for the nearest window. After a futile struggle
with the casement, she concluded that it was sealed in place. But
at least the air was a little cooler near the glass.

“It is time for the demonstration to begin,” the
doctor announced. A number of men and women, including the matron’s
three gaunt daughters, seated themselves around the vat. Several
others, including Jarl Skogsrå, produced iron rods similar to the
doctor’s and positioned themselves between the chairs, with the
rods extended horizontally in front of them.

“You understand,” said the doctor, speaking for the
benefit of the Duchess and Mistress Vorder, “that my assistants
have a marked affinity for the magnetic waters, which they have
helped me to magnetize, as well as possessing a natural empathetic
sympathy. For this reason, they are able to direct the healing
influences into and through the rods, and thus effect a cure.”

As he spoke, those in the chairs reached out, each
one grasping the iron rods to either side. The effect was almost
instantaneous. Some closed their eyes and began to breathe harshly;
others threw back their heads and fastened their gaze on the
ceiling, moaning as if in pain. Most stared straight ahead, as if
into some imaginary distance, their faces etched with expressions
of the most sublime ecstasy.

“This is the most appalling nonsense I ever saw or
heard of in my life,” said Sera, reaching instinctively for Elsie’s
hand. Several people turned to glare at her, but Sera continued on
boldly,”Magnetic influences, indeed! I daresay in most of these
cases the cure just as much as the complaint is entirely
imaginary.”

“I feel certain you must be right,” Elsie whispered.
But then she felt the blood rush out of her head, and she was
barely able to force out the words: “Oh, Sera, do look!”

Two of the girls had begun to twitch spasmodically,
and a white foam had appeared on the lips of one of the ecstatics.
As Sera and Elsie watched in horror, three women went into violent
convulsions.

“Sera,” said Elsie, “I think I am going to faint.
Please take me out of here.”

Sera tore her gaze away from the twitching figure in
the nearest chair. Elsie trembled as though stricken by a palsy,
and her eyes were wide and dark.
This is
monstrous . . . they have made her really ill. Why, oh why, had I
not the wit to remove her earlier?

She offered her cousin the support of an arm and led
her toward the door.

Elsie clutched Sera’s arm convulsively. “Here comes
Mama—I know she is going to insist that we stay.” Mistress Vorder
was bearing down on them, as if determined to cut off their
escape.

Sera hardly knew which way to turn. While it was
essential that she remove Elsie from the hysterical atmosphere
present in the room, a bitter public argument between Sera and
Clothilde was calculated to do almost equal harm.

“I think,” said a pleasantly accented voice in Sera’s
ear, “that I may really be of some use here.” And Sera discovered
Francis Skelbrooke at her elbow, with an expression of grave
concern on his sensitive face. “Allow me to escort Miss Vorder from
the room while you deal with her mother’s objections.”

Before Sera had time either to accept or reject his
offer, he took Elsie by the arm and whisked her away. This ploy had
the desired effect, for Mistress Vorder, taken by surprise and
momentarily confused as to her objective, hesitated just long
enough for her daughter and Lord Skelbrooke to make good their
escape.