CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was actually more of a swoon than a faint. She slumped sedately to the flowered carpet, managing to avoid hitting any of the furniture — no small feat since the room contained a large round rosewood table, a small triangular table with a tintype album on it, a mahogany table with a bouquet of wax flowers under a glass dome on it, a horsehair sofa, a damask loveseat, a Windsor chair, a Morris chair, a Chesterfield chair, several ottomans, a writing desk, a bookcase, a knick-knack cabinet, a whatnot, a firescreen, a harp, an aspidistra, and an elephant’s foot.

She also fell very slowly, and during the time it took her to collapse onto the carpet, I registered a number of impressions:

One, that Mrs. Mering wasn’t the only one who looked like she’d seen a ghost. The pale young man, who must be a curate, was as white as his clerical collar, and Baine, over by the door, was clutching the doorjamb for support. His expression wasn’t one of guilty horror, though. If I hadn’t known better I’d have thought it was one of relief. Or joy. Which was distinctly odd.

Two, Verity’s expression was definitely one of joy, and in my still time-lagged state I actually thought for a moment that it might be directed at me. Then it hit me that she must not have been able to report back yet. Tossie must have kept the household up again last night looking for Princess Arjumand, and so Verity didn’t know I’d been in charge of returning the cat and muffed it, and I’d have to be the one to tell her.

Which was unfortunate because, Three, even with a night’s sleep (more or less) and a moratorium on drops, she was still the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.

And Four, that the reason Victorian society was so restricted and repressed was that it was impossible to move without knocking something over.

“Mama!” Tossie cried, and Baine, Terence, Professor Peddick, and I all started forward to break her fall and managed to crash into everything Mrs. Mering had avoided.

Terence caught Mrs. Mering, Baine turned up the gas so we could see what we’d run into, I righted the Dresden shepherdess and the stereopticon I’d knocked over, and the clergyman sat down and began mopping his forehead with a large white handkerchief. Terence and Baine helped Mrs. Mering onto a maroon velvet sofa, knocking over a bust of Pallas in the process, and Verity began fanning her.

“Baine!” she said, “tell Colleen to bring the smelling salts.”

“Yes, miss,” Baine said, still looking overcome by emotion, and hurried out.

“O, Mama!” Tossie said, starting toward her mother. “Are you all—” and caught sight of the cat, which had climbed up my chest in all the excitement.

“Princess Arjumand!” she screamed and swooped at me. “Darling, darling Princess Arjumand! You’ve come back to me!”

Darling Princess Arjumand had to be removed from my shirtfront a claw at a time. I handed her to Tossie, who clutched the cat to her ecstatically, emitting a series of delighted screams.

“O, Mr. St. Trewes,” she cooed, turning to Terence, “you’ve brought my dearum dearum Juju back to me!” She nuzzled dearum Juju. “Was oo awl wost in the scawy dawk, sweetums? Was oo fwightened? But Mr. St. Trewes was wooking for oo, wasn’t he? Can oo say sank oo to the nice mannums, darwing Juju?”

Cyril, standing next to me, snorted loudly, and even “darwing Juju” looked disgusted. Well, good, I thought, this should bring Terence to his senses, we can go back upriver to Oxford, Tossie can marry Mr. C, and the continuum will be restored.

I looked at Terence. He was beaming besottedly at Tossie. “No need to thank me, truly,” he said. “You bade me find your precious pet. ‘Tis what you will. Your wish is my command, fair lady.”

On the couch, Mrs. Mering moaned. “Aunt Malvinia,” Verity said, rubbing her hands between hers. “Aunt Malvinia?” She turned to Tossie. “Cousin, fetch Baine and tell him we need a fire. Your mother’s hands are like ice.”

Tossie went over to a long tasseled panel of embroidered damask on the wall and tugged on the tassel.

I didn’t hear anything, but there must have been a bell somewhere, because Baine appeared promptly. During his absence, he had apparently gained command of himself. His face and voice were impassive as he said, “Yes, miss?”

“Light the fire,” Tossie said without looking up from the cat.

She’d said it almost rudely, but Baine smiled and said indulgently, “Yes, miss,” and knelt by the hearth and began piling wood on the grate.

A maid with hair even redder than Verity’s hurried in, carrying a minuscule bottle. “Oh, miss, has the mistress fainted then?” she asked Verity in a brogue that instantly identified her as Irish.

“Yes,” Verity said, taking the bottle from her. She pulled the stopper out and passed it under Mrs. Mering’s nose. “Aunt Malvinia,” she said encouragingly.

“Oh, miss, was it haunts that did it?” the maid said, looking apprehensively around the room.

“No,” Verity said, “Aunt Malvinia?” and Mrs. Mering moaned, but didn’t open her eyes.

“I knew there was haunts in the house,” the maid said, crossing herself. “I saw one, Tuesday last it was, out by the gazebo—”

“Colleen, fetch a damp cloth for Mrs. Mering’s forehead,” Verity said, and a foot warmer.

“Yes, miss,” the maid said, bobbed a curtsey, and went out, still looking fearfully around.

“O pwecious Juju,” Tossie was cooing to the cat, “is oo a hungwy baby?” She turned to Baine, who had the fire laid and was about to light it. “Baine, come here,” she said imperiously.

Even though he was in the act of lighting a spill of paper, Baine got immediately to his feet and came over to her. “Yes, miss?”

“Bring Juju a dish of cream.”

“Yes, miss,” he said, smiting at the cat. He turned to go.

“And a plate of fish.”

Baine turned back. “Fish?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Tossie’s little chin went up. “Yes, fish. Princess Arjumand has been through a dreadful ordeal.”

“As you wish,” he said, every word dripping with disapproval.

“I do wish,” she said, coloring. “Bring it immediately.”

“Yes, miss,” he said, but instead of leaving, he knelt by the hearth and methodically finished lighting the fire. He fanned it with the bellows and then carefully replaced them on the fire-irons stand before he stood up.

“I doubt we have any fish,” he said and exited.

Tossie looked furious. “Mama!” she said, appealing to her mother, but Mrs. Mering was still out cold. Verity was spreading an afghan over her knees and arranging pillows behind her head.

I was beginning to shiver in my wet clothes. I made my way over to the fire, which was burning merrily, past the writing desk, a sewing table, and a small marble-topped table with a number of metal-framed photographs on it. Cyril was already there, dripping onto the warm hearth.

The maid Colleen hurried back in with a bowl of water. Verity took it from her, set it on the table next to a tall bronze vase full of peacock feathers, and wrung out the cloth.

“Oh, have the haunts taken her soul?” Colleen said.

“No,” Verity said, laying the cloth across Mrs. Mering’s forehead. “Aunt Malvinia,” she said, and Mrs. Mering sighed and fluttered her eyelids.

A round gentleman with a bushy white mustache came in, carrying his newspaper. He was wearing a red smoking jacket and a strange red cap with a tassel on it. “What’s all this?” he demanded. “Got so a man can’t read the Times in peace.”