A Poem
-- to the inestimable Miss Pearl Shepley from her humble servant DS
What sculptor carved these graceful iv'ry limbs
so skillful wrought from gleaming alabaster,
which makes my soul so glad it o'erbrims
and sets my longing heart to beating faster?
What jeweller set these sapphire gems for eyes,
gold threads for hair, and lips of coral pink,
which fill my wretched heart with want and sighs,
and happy dreams of love do make me think?
What luthier tuned this clear melodious voice,
so sweet its faintest breath brings untold pleasure?
It makes my admiring heart sing out, Rejoice!
Here is Beauty, wholly without measure.
And so your servant does his meager part
To answer your perfection with his art.
.:.
I did not faint entirely away, though for some time the world went completely black, and I heard nothing but a rumbling buzz. When I could hear again, the first words I heard were, "Give her air. Stand back."
I found myself cradled by a mousey-haired man I didn't recognize. He fanned my face and continued to command everyone to step back a few paces.
"Ah, eyes open again..." he said quietly. "Good." He took up my wrist and pressed it with two fingers. After a few seconds, he informed me, "Your pulse is still fast... Did you feel very warm?"
"Yes. And cold," I answered.
He nodded, seeming satisfied. "We should get you outside for a bit. Can you stand?"
My heart leapt with joy at this. "Yes," I said quickly. "Yes, I think I can."
He helped me up, which I found clumsy and bothersome. I resisted leaning on him at first, but I soon found there was no ladylike way to get my feet under me on my own -- not without ripping my dress, at least -- so I surrendered to depending on him in the end.
My grandfather came toward us, calling, "Doctor Brown, what's happened?" Miss Goodwin followed close in his wake with one dark eyebrow raised.
"Just the excitement, I think," the mouse-haired man said. "It's not uncommon for young ladies to be overwhelmed."
My grandfather grunted, "It's uncommon for her." I don't think he meant for anyone to hear him, but I did, and so did the doctor. As my head cleared, I began to feel acutely mortified.
"Yes, well... Not to worry." The doctor spoke with confidence, though he held onto me like I was an egg on a spoon, grasping me more firmly every time I shifted. "Fresh air will surely cure her."
My grandfather pursed his lips, then he nodded. "Very good, Doctor Brown. Thank you."
Miss Goodwin, all the while, watched me with questioning eyes. I flashed her a quick smile, and her expression turned politely blank again.
And thus, I escaped to the garden, after all.
Doctor Brown led me out to the balcony, gradually easing his grip on me as my steps grew steadier.
I leaned against the stone railing and sighed pleasure. Outside, in the cool air, away from the noise and the heat of too many bodies in too small a space, I felt wholly restored.
"Thank you," I said, fully in earnest. "I'm feeling much better."
Doctor Brown dipped his head. "Not at all."
His face twitched in a brief and rather mechanical smile, then his gaze swept out over the horizon. It was a clear night with a large waxing moon, and we could easily see down into the garden paths and out over the walls, to the stables and the orchards beyond.
I studied the man a moment. He was about twenty-five, of medium height and medium build, dressed well, but not too well. His face was somewhere between plain and pleasant. I didn't recognize him at all, but it'd be little wonder if I simply didn't remember him -- he was remarkable only for the extent of his unremarkableness.
"Forgive me for this," I asked, "but have we met before...?"
"Ah... No." He glanced down at me quickly, seeming a bit suprised, or perhaps a bit embarassed. "His lordship and my father do business sometimes."
This was not unexpected. In an average year, Ewert produced three hundred fleeces and nearly twice as many lambs, hundreds of bushels of barley, plums and apples, plus a smaller surplus of cherries, walnuts, honey, and lavender. My grandfather counted many among his business associates -- even Earls of the Baelgast.
"Well, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor Brown."
I offered him my hand. He smiled and bowed over it, saying, "Likewise, Miss Shepley," and nothing more.
Seconds passed in silence, and I grew uncomfortable, and yet more uncomfortable. Doctor Brown seemed inclined neither toward conversation nor toward leaving me to my own company. I deemed this wholly unfair.
At length, I asked, "Did you come far?"
He answered, "I came from Farport," shrugging slightly.
I frowned. "Oh, that's... what? Seven days by coach?"
"Seven to ten, yes. Depending on the state of the roads."
I felt almost guilty hearing this. "That's a long journey just for a ball..."
Doctor Brown shook his head. "My father and I have business in Riverton," he explained.
"Ah." I wasn't sure if I should feel relieved or offended. I settled on a little bit of both.
We fell quiet again. The idle seconds accumulated, weighing heavier and heavier on me, while I groped for something else to say.
"So... You're a doctor..."
"I am."
I tried not to sigh.
It was clear now that Doctor Brown was a man of few words and many painful silences. I was already weary of politely interrogating him, so I nodded toward the garden, suggesting, "Shall we walk?" In truth, walking would offer no respite from the agony of unnatural conversation, but I preferred it to standing idle, all the same.
The doctor offered me his arm, and without another word, we made our way down the stair.
Ewert didn't have much in the way of a formal garden. My grandfather was a pragmatic man and he did very little just for show, so ours was more of grand kitchen garden, filled with grape arbors, hedges of rosemary and berries, walls covered with espaliered fruits... I liked this about Ewert, overall, but I now saw it didn't give me much to say to company -- Oh, look. There is some mint...
We walked on, and on, along the garden path, still without exchanging a word. I grew unpleasantly aware of the rustle of my own skirts.
And then Doctor Brown spoke!
"There are so many stars here..." he said, his voice hushed and wondering.
I tried not to frown, for it seemed too unkind, but in truth, I was very deeply perplexed -- most particularly because there was a fat bright moon in the sky and not so many stars. At length, I asked, "Are there fewer stars in Farport?"
"Indeed. We hardly see any."
I did frown now. "Do... Do you not look up, Doctor Brown?"
"Well, of course," he said, good-naturedly. "But most days, it's cloudy. Other days, it's foggy."
"Even in the Summer?"
"Oh, especially in the Summer."
"Really."
I could hardly imagine fog in Summer... It seemed pure contradiction. Winter was foggy. Summer was day after day after day of clear blue skies -- even a proper cloud was sometimes a rare thing between Grassmonth and Sowing.
I wondered very much what Farport's Winter was like...
We reached the east end of the garden, which was mostly our herb patch. There, Doctor Brown stopped and gazed upward, slowly taking in the sky from the Rook Mountains in the East to the Wolf's Back in the West. I stood with him a few moments while he marvelled, noting the mountains, the stars, the moon... Then I dropped his arm and drifted away from him -- the mint had popped up in the chives again.
I took off my gloves and gathered up my skirts. Crouching low, and trying to be ever so careful with my stitches, I plucked out half a dozen little errant mint sprigs.
Behind me, Doctor Brown mused, "I think the lampposts blind our eyes to the dimmer stars."
I frowned up at him, echoing, "Lamp posts...?" I knew the words, of course, but they meant nothing to me together.
"They're... posts," he said, struggling to explain, "with... lamps on them."
"Lamps on posts." I nodded. That made sense. Of a sort. "Why?"
I thought Doctor Brown smirked at me. "So people can see their way at night."
"They can't carry their own lamps...?"
Doctor Brown huffed a quiet chuckle. "There's no need to," he said. "There's lampposts. And it keeps the crime at bay." He shrugged slightly, amending, "Somewhat."
I squinted up at him. "So, there's a post in front of everyone's house, and every night they light a lamp and put it up there..."
"No, no... The lamplighters mind the lampposts. Nobody has to worry about it." He shrugged again. "Except the lamplighters."
"So, these lamplighters wander round town all night, tending the lamps...?"
Doctor Brown nodded once. "Exactly so."
I pulled up a few more mintlings, trying to imagine the little lanes of Ewert Town lined with lamps on posts, and men tromping about between them all night. It seemed like an awful lot of bother.
I plucked off a broad mint leaf and chewed on it, then I remembered my manners and offered one to Doctor Brown.
He took it from me, frowning faintly as he turned it over in his palm. "What is this?"
I blinked at him, so utterly astonished I could not speak for a moment.
"It's mint," I said -- and I did try to say it cheerfully.
Doctor Brown nibbled on it experimentally. "Ah," he said. "So it is."
I had to try my very best to not laugh at this. Apparently, Doctor Brown did not, in fact, know mint when he saw it. I thought this bizarrely daft, but in truth, the discovery was a great boon to me -- a subject where I could speak and he had only to be edified...!
"Here's sage," I said, plucking off another leaf.
He said, "It's soft," with some surprise. He rolled the leaf between his fingers a moment, then he smelled it and tasted it.
I handed him sprigs of thyme and rosemary, chervil and tarragon... He took each one and examined it, murmuring thoughtfully. Whether Doctor Brown was actually interested or just making a polite show of it, I could not tell -- though if I were to be really honest, I suppose I did not much care, either. It was better than going back to the ballroom, in either case, and I did my best to milk it.
Eventually, alas, I ran out of herbs. I stood again, rubbing my fingers together to get the dirt off. Only now did I see how shortsighted my little bit of gardening had been. I had nothing at all to clean my hands with. I rubbed my fingers some more, then I slipped my gloves on -- I could hide the dirt, at least.
Doctor Brown offered me his arm and led me along on the path looping back to the balcony. Along the way, I stalled, showing him little hard green berries, waxy lemons, and all manner of vegetables.
As we neared the house again, I saw other people had, evidently, come to find the ballroom hot and crowded. In twos and threes, they leaked out into the balcony, dribbling down the stairs and out into the garden. We passed an old couple by the asparagus, greeting them with a silent nod, and then we came upon a pair of girls bickering about an artichoke that had been left to flower.
"It looks like an enormous thistle," one said. She was no more than twenty and her hair was curled in tight ringlets by her ears.
"That's daft," the other said. She was also no more than twenty, and her hair curled naturally, poor thing. "Who'd plant a thistle on purpose?"
"Oh, it's not a thistle," I said, "it's an artichoke."
Doctor Brown seemed particularly amazed by this fact. He frowned down at it, asking twice, "This is an artichoke...?" as if I might be playing a prank on him.
"Well, usually we harvest them before they mature so much..." I pointed to one of the flower's younger cousins. "This one should be good to eat."
Doctor Brown nodded with new understanding. "We eat them before they bloom..."
"That's right," I said.
The curly-haired girl muttered, "I told you it wasn't a thistle," and we went along on our separate ways.
Doctor Brown and I were nearing the balcony now. A man and woman had camped on the bottom step there, and they talked loudly, either unaware or unconcerned that anyone could hear them.
"The house is so cramped," the woman complained as she fanned herself. "One wonders why they haven't renovated yet."
The man replied, "I could tolerate being lord and master over such a place." I noted he did not quite contradict her.
"Ah, but could you tolerate Miss Shepley?" the woman teased.
"Oh no, there's not an annuity generous enough to make me want that cross little thing."
"Oh, but there is no annuity, you know... She's to inherit the barony."
"Truly?" The man sounded very surprised by this, so I knew he must be Southlands Folk. He laughed then, saying, "I imagine there must be a very annoyed cousin somewhere."
"Mmm, that'd be Charles Shepley," the woman answered. "He's expected to make a very strong suit for her hand."
"Hah. Poor bastard."
I glanced up at Doctor Brown. His expression was locked in a mask of faint horror. Briefly, I considered all the other paths open to us: through the servants' door... Up the pomegranate trellis... Or I could hang it all and run off to the Fowlers -- it wouldn't have been the first time. But I knew I wouldn't get very far with my arms sewn down and all, so I lifted my chin and walked on.
"She must take after her mother..." the man said. "She doesn't look at all like the old man."
"No, no, you're confused," the woman said. "Her mother was the baron's daughter. Pearl Shepley."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes. All the sons died in the war."
"Really... What side were they on?"
The woman laughed and swatted his arm. "Why, the Loyalists, of course! They'd hardly be here if they'd sided with the Wolves..."
"Ha! True."
I noticed Doctor Brown's steps fell pointedly heavier as we walked. He even coughed and cleared his throat loudly. I thought, Surely they'll notice us now, a dozen times, but as we drew nearer, I saw the man pass a flask to the woman and I thought again.
"So..." the man drawled. "Who's the father?"
"Oh, now that is the most delicious story... He was nobody..."
We were nearly on top of them then, and at last they looked up at us, startled like squirrels. I could see recognition, and then horror, pass over their faces. I confess I took a perverse pleasure in it.
"Please," I said flatly. "Do go on."
The woman smiled bleakly, one corner of her mouth twitching. "They ah... They eloped."
I smiled at her, blinking slowly, though my heart was racing and I trembled with rage. "Yes, that's the story I heard, too."
I passed them and climbed up to the balcony, where Doctor Brown tried to say something palliative in fits and starts.
I sighed and told him, "I'm very sorry for that, Doctor Brown. I lost my temper there."
He looked at me sidelong, his brows furrowed slightly. "On the contrary, I thought you showed uncommon restraint."
His words were bracing. I blinked in surprise.
"Do you?" I thought about that. Had I ever heard words like that before...? Edith Shepley showed uncommon restraint.
They were nice words. I rather liked them.
I turned to him and smiled my brightest. "Doctor Brown, would you dance a turn with me?"