The Secret of the Emerald Sea (8 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Jane found the village of Lynnshire calm and serene as the holidays ended and the townspeople settled back into their daily routines. The tinsel and glitter were gone, but the good feeling of Christmas remained like a sweet aftertaste in one’s mouth. Jane walked about one day, as she often tended to do when she had the time. Exercise cleared her head and made her feel free.

She walked the perimeter of the town, smiling and nodding to those she came across, but, in an introspective mood as she was, she said nothing to them and simply carried on, trudging through new snow and feeling the satisfying crunch under her new, comfortable boots. The Cupid had gotten them for her as a present.

“So you will be warm and dry on your walks about town, Jane.” He had smiled at her. She had kissed him warmly and with gratitude. The boots were black leather and shone like glass.

She walked for ages. She left the town, where the Cupid was currently play-acting with the local children, saying she would see him in an hour and a half. She headed out onto the dirt road with its mixture of hard stones, dirt and flattened snow. She was drawn to a house on a hill, which she had often noticed, and which she now knew—for the gossip on this topic was never-ending—was the estate of Lord and Lady Stirling where young Blake lived.

She headed up the hill in determination. She had to be back in town in just a little while. Her cheeks burned with the exertion of climbing, and her legs were sore from struggling against the snow that was thick upon the hill. She saw some footprints, but not enough to form a path and make her journey easier. Still, she had no thought of turning away and going back. She was desperate to see the house where he lived.

The house was lit up in many places. Its vast acreage surrounded it in smooth white snow so that it seemed like a fairy castle. Its small turrets were built of rough gray stone, and its backdrop was gentle and rolling hills.
So different from our ramshackle farmhouse, or my old cottage in Royalton
, she thought in wonder.
It looks like a frosted wedding cake!

Carriages with horses waited along the drive, which was lined in trees. There was a doorman! A real servant who stood in the cold! There were footmen who tended the horses and drove the carriage! They, too, waited outside, rubbing their gloved hands in the dusk. Jane was glad it was growing dark, for she had no real wish to be noticed. Not by these people, in any case.

She examined the windows of the house, looking for any sign of him. She saw no people moving around inside, but she knew he must be there. She felt helpless in her longing for him, for there was no way to be with him, and no ruse or excuse to knock on the imposing front door and say hello.

At that moment, just when her despair grew overwhelming—for she could not forget his sonnets and his beautiful face as he smiled, and she felt she never would—the front door opened and he emerged dressed in the same simple garb as on Twelfth Night, but with a coat and hat. She smiled as butterflies danced inside her stomach. He headed toward the carriage, turning back to say goodnight to the doorman.

Jane scurried backward into the darkness, afraid of being seen. For a moment, he seemed to glance in her direction. Perhaps he had heard the crunching of snow, or caught a glimpse of the golden hair that escaped from her hat. But he soon looked away and got into the carriage. The carriage doors closed gently as Jane moved quickly down the slope toward the main road, pausing to look back several times.

Her heart was light again. At least she had seen him! She made her way back to the main road, her thoughts a jumble. She must collect the Cupid, who would be weary of pretending to be a normal child. She would tell no one of her trip to the estate, although the Cupid always seemed to read her mind. She hoped no one would find out where she had been, for she was embarrassed at her own forwardness, which was not ladylike. To put herself so blatantly in his path, hoping for something, seemed somehow dishonorable, and she was ashamed.

At the same time, she was elated to even have a glimpse of this special person who owned her heart. With a confusion of guilty pleasure and love spinning her head, she walked toward town, and tried to ignore the loneliness that soon enveloped her on the dark and deserted path she traveled.

Chapter Twenty

Inside the carriage, Blake Stirling rubbed his hands to warm them, though he already wore the softest leather gloves lined in rabbit fur. It was getting cold this night. He stared out into the blackness, marveling at the utter silence of the country.
So different than the City
!

Tonight, he had decided, quite on a whim, to the visit the Crown of Thorns and to try to make some friends there. He was lonely in the big estate where he lived, having no brothers or sisters to help pass the time. Blake felt nervous, for he knew someone had shot him with an arrow, resenting his wealth or title perhaps, and he had no idea how he would be received in the village.

His parents were adamant that he should not go to such a common place, although his mother seemed less negative than his father. The sun was still dropping in the sky, and the forests along either side of the main road seemed so magical and unspoiled.

He hoped it would be a good night, and as he wished, he felt a familiar tingle along his side where the arrow had struck him. It was not unpleasant, but it worried him, and he supposed he should see a doctor, but he had seen his share of doctors, and he was weary of them all.

The carriage sped down the road toward town, which he could already see in the distance, and he closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, for he was a little nervous of the townspeople, and sometimes quite unsure of himself. Wanting only to be liked, he had no guile. His mother had told him this quality was the sweetest thing about him, as it indicated a truly gentle heart, but he knew it made him vulnerable as well.

* * * *

Jane was worried. She had dallied too long at the estate, and it was growing dark. Though she no longer fretted about the Cupid’s transformations at night, she always felt apprehensive that something bad could happen. She needed to get to him right away, and felt guilty for leaving him unattended, though he truly had no need of supervision. She told herself, a little angrily, that he never transformed anymore anyway. There was nothing to be afraid of. He could wait a little while longer, though he might be irritated. She would make it up to him when she saw him.

As she cast around for some white lie to explain her tardiness, she heard the clatter of wheels and the whinnying of horses. She moved to the side of the road so that she was safe, and she began to walk even faster.

She spotted the driver in the darkness. He slowed the carriage until he was alongside her.

“Do you need a ride into town?” he asked gruffly. Jane smiled at him. She had seen him at the Crown of Thorns, although she had never told his fortune.

“Yes, I do,” Jane replied instantly without the faintest thought of refusing. She knew well who was inside the wooden carriage.

“Let me ask young Lord Stirling if it is all right with him.” He stepped off his perch and knocked on the carriage door. Jane moved back a little, staring into the carriage window, and her heart pounded when their eyes met.

The driver got his permission, and hastily, Lord Stirling stepped out of the carriage, smoothing his clothes down and preparing to help her up into the brougham. He seemed uncomfortable, and Jane watched as he winced and touched his side. Perhaps he was ill again?

Jane settled into the carriage, which was quite warm, and they stared for a moment at each other. Jane smiled into his light brown eyes. She smiled the truest smile of her life.

* * * *

Blake gasped in the half-light of the carriage, for she seemed to be made of gold and emeralds and mother-of-pearl, and the poetry he had read had little prepared him for this moment. He was looking at a young woman and feeling his heart pound in joy and realization.

At fifteen, he was not blind to the charms of girls, but none had made him feel this way before. He felt that he was in the presence of something magical. It was like sharing a carriage with a unicorn or a minotaur. She was not like any girl he had ever seen, and her smile made him warm, so warm, on this frigid night. At the same time, he cursed the pain in his side, which seemed more intense than it had ever been.

“I am Blake,” he said simply, gazing on and on in wonder, staring into her cool green eyes, which glittered against her pale skin. He had no wish to be a lord at this moment, for too many girls were dazzled by a title, he was sure. He wished to be only a normal boy, and to be liked as himself.

“And I am Jane.” She smiled back at him, locked in his gaze. His shyness melted a little now. He sensed his looks pleased her, and he was suddenly grateful for any handsomeness he might possess, that it might bind her to him.

“I heard you recite, at the Pageant on Twelfth Night,” Jane told him, her voice tentative. He was grateful for her friendliness. “I, too, love Shakespeare, and I have loved him since I was a little girl.” She smiled again. He could not seem to stop smiling either. He remembered that a gentleman must be a little cool and aloof, as his father was, and he tried not to appear too overwhelmed by her presence.

“You do?” Blake said with enthusiasm. “Most girls are not familiar with his work. They know only the most famous speeches, or perhaps
Romeo and Juliet
.” He laughed a rueful laugh.

“What’s wrong with
Romeo and Juliet
? But the sonnets are my favorite,” Jane said simply. “They were read to me by my mother when I was a young girl. I didn’t understand the meanings at that age, though my mother would try to explain. I remember being soothed by the words themselves and the cadence of her speech. There is something musical about the sonnets, a rhythm...” she trailed off, seeming a little embarrassed.

Perhaps she thinks this will make no sense to me
? Blake thought.

“I know,” he agreed, nodding happily. “They feel so good to the ears and on the tongue, the words themselves...” He shook his head and some sadness passed over his features. “Not everyone understands. Even my father can’t really understand poetry.” He smiled wryly in the dark, forgetting his desire to appear aloof, or to mimic his father’s cold demeanor. “He wishes me to be a magistrate, a politician, or perhaps a land squire. But I have no interest in any of that. I only want to act on stage, or write poetry or stories...”

“Don’t worry,” Jane told him in reassurance. “I feel certain you will find a way to do the things you want to do.”

“Do you think so?” he answered, brightening. “Maybe you are right.”

And together, they rode on in silence that was somehow comfortable, amiable. In time, and all too quickly, Jane must be dropped off, outside the house where her little brother played. Blake preferred to stay silent and let the moments with her pass so pleasantly, though they only looked at each other.

The footman held Jane’s arm for her as she stepped out of the carriage. Blake hastily rose and exited the carriage so that he could say a proper goodbye to her. He shyly mentioned that he would be at the Crown of Thorns later that evening. “Do you know it?” he asked her, a bit of worry creeping into his voice. “Is it a good place?”

“It’s lovely,” Jane answered. “You will have a wonderful time getting to know everyone.”

“Do you go there?” he asked her...before she could disappear into the night. She still reminded him of a unicorn, so white and unusual and so...elusive...
rare
.

His side burned suddenly. It hurt so much. It made tears spring up in his eyes, which he hoped she could not see for he was truly happy.
Except for this cursed pain.

“I do,” she said, smiling. She looked so happy, too. “But not tonight.”

“Then perhaps I shall see you there...some night,” he said, looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen.
How they would glow in the sunlight
!

“Yes, perhaps,” Jane whispered. She thanked the footman kindly and turned away.

His night had been like a dream, and he felt weak all of a sudden from all of the pain in his side, and all of his yearning for her. She was even sweeter than he might have imagined.

* * * *

As he toddled toward the front door, the Cupid greeted Jane with a smile, noting at once the otherworldly glow that suffused her features.

She bundled him up in her arms and kissed him. “I am so sorry I am late!” she whispered into his ear. At once she began apologizing to the lady who “cared” for him as well.

“I’m not upset,” the Cupid murmured into her hair, which was cold on his face, but fragrant as always.

“Tell me about your night!” he ordered, as soon as they were out of earshot, and walking toward the farmhouse. “Tell me everything, Jane.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Minerva met to talk with Neptune in a secluded glade near the shore. This was their pre-arranged rendezvous location. The weather was fine, and Minerva had brushed her hair carefully before the meeting until she was sure it would shine copper-gold in the hazy sunlight. She told Neptune about her experiences with the oracles, and explained the whole situation with the cunning, evil witch. The Sea God was concerned and frightened to learn of the dark forces that seemed to be gathering around his wayward daughter.

Minerva broached the subject of meeting with Jupiter to tell him of the whole situation. “If we wait too long,” she said, as gently as possible, “Jupiter will find out on his own, I think.” She stared into Neptune’s blue eyes, touched by his obvious concern for the girl. “Jupiter won’t be happy to find out we’ve kept this from him, you and I,” she continued. “We could suffer for this.” She was sure her face showed uncharacteristic strain. Never before had she concealed anything from her father.

“You’re right, I know, Minerva,” he answered in his gruff voice. “But I fear Jupiter, and I would rather continue as we are for a little while longer.”

Minerva knew that Neptune was not in Jupiter’s good graces after the last council meeting, and that he had no wish to expose himself to more anger and punishment.

Neptune argued with her; he still felt it would be safer to tell her father after they found the girl. At that point, if the old crone needed taking care of—with one of Jupiter’s legendary lightning bolts—they could beseech him to do the deed.

“I need you to keep helping me, but in total secrecy,” Neptune told her, his face grave. “Please, Minerva, I know it is a risk, but I’m sure we can find her and find her soon. We don’t need your father’s omniscience just yet.”

She stayed silent and stared down at her folded hands, thinking and deciding.

“Will you continue to help me?” he pleaded.

Minerva looked up at him and made her decision. “I will help you, Neptune,” she answered, her face growing hot. These conversations with him were always strangely intense and thrilling. They seemed to replay themselves in her mind for hours and days afterward.

Perhaps I need a challenge
, she thought.
My life is richer now with all these efforts to help the girl, and
... She blushed suddenly—she was sure her face was red now.
And Neptune, as well
.

“I will try to find this village and your daughter without the help of...my father,” she told him finally. “Perhaps I may yet find an oracle to assist me, and if I am lucky, I can find Jane before the witch does. When the winter is done,” she promised, “you shall have your daughter safe and sound under the sea where she belongs.”

* * * *

Neptune glowed. He trusted Minerva with his very soul. He imagined a great celebration under the deep, of all his mermaids in their best ceremonial headdresses, and he, himself, in his special robe of silver-blue and his finest trident. Jane would wear the tiny crown that had been her mother’s once and smile up at him so lovingly.

His heart felt close to bursting with joy and happiness as he envisioned his life with his daughter close by his side. All the loneliness he sometimes felt would instantly be erased and soothed into nothingness by his beautiful princess who was so like her mother.

And, perhaps Minerva could come under the water, to bless their family.

Would she go?
he wondered.
I would like to show her my kingdom during one of our wonderful celebrations, when it is all so beautiful. So different from this dry and arid world where the cursed oxygen rasps in one’s lungs
.

The underwater is warm, languid, beautiful
...
full of wondrous colors and strange lights twinkling...the caves, the sea creatures, the hypnotic waves and rhythms of the sea, the softness of the sea bed against one’s skin. Could I even begin to make her understand the magic of this transcendent world?

“I would like to try,” he murmured, smiling as he embraced the goddess and said goodbye. He proceeded to the shore where the waves would swallow him in their frothy, warm embrace and take him back to his home.

* * * *

Minerva also retreated to her own domain. It was a home in the sky, just northwest of the Sunlit Cloud, and conveniently close to the dwelling places of Jupiter and Venus. Some gods and goddesses preferred to go and live on Earth, but most of them were more comfortable in the celestial realm.

On this day, Minerva surveyed her perfect home with a cool gaze. The columns, a perfect bone white, surrounded her in perfect symmetry. Pale marble floors, as shining as ice, seemed suddenly too clean, too cold.

“It looks like a fortress of solitude,” she muttered. “No pictures, no flowers, no laughter.” She thought she might pick up some colorful things to decorate her space. “Perhaps a painting,” she murmured, “or a vase.”

She would place Calla lilies and wildflowers from earthly meadows in bunches and breathe in their scent while she worked. It surprised her now that she had lived this way, alone in this barren, monochrome palace, for so long.

She would consult Venus about livening up the place. Who better to help her decorate than the most decorative of all of the goddesses?

Perhaps
, she thought, a smile breaking across her features,
Venus had stolen another masterpiece that I can borrow.