The Gates of Sleep

“I understand that you are planning to visit the vicar this afternoon? Something about a Bible-study class?” Madam continued, with a slight, but very superior, smile. “You must take care that you are not labeled as a bluestocking.”

“There can be nothing improper about taking comfort in religion,” Marina retorted, hoping to sound just the tiniest bit stuffy and offended. Reggie thought she wasn’t looking, and rolled his eyes. Madam’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Not at all, my dear.” Madam chided. “It may not be improper, but it is—” she hesitated “—boring.”

“And of course, one shouldn’t be boring,” Reggie said solemnly, though there was no doubt in Marina’s mind that he was laughing at her behind his mask. “I’m afraid it is an unpardonable social crime.”

“Oh.” She did her best to appear chastened, and noted the satisfaction on both their faces. “Then I shan’t mention it to anyone. It won’t matter in the village.”

“The village matters very little,” Madam pronounced. “But I believe your time would be better spent in some other pursuit.”

Marina contrived a mulish expression, and Arachne sighed. Reggie didn’t even bother to hide his amusement.

“You’re going to turn into a laughingstock, cuz,” he said. “People will snicker at you behind your back, call you ‘the little nun’ and never invite you to parties. Turn it into a Shakespeare class instead—or a poetry society. Try and instill some culture into these bumpkins. People might think you’re mad, but at least they won’t call you a bore.”

She set her chin to look as stubborn as possible. “Perhaps I shall,” she said.

Reggie laughed. Madam hid a smile.

Marina had to pretend to be very interested in her plate in order to hide her own triumph. Madam hadn’t forbidden her to go to this “Bible study class” and that was all that was important. Let Reggie laugh at her; the more that he thought she was a bore, the less time he’d spend with her.

“No riding off this morning, though, cuz,” Reggie reminded her, Wagging a finger at her. “Dancing lessons. You’re shockingly behind. You might be invited to parties even if you’re a bluestocking as long as you can dance.”

She escaped with a sigh of gratitude after luncheon, and claimed Beau.

The closer she got to the village, the lighter her heart became. When she was within sight of the vicarage, she felt—

Almost normal. Being dragged away from Blackbird Cottage hadn’t been the end of the world. Madam was a tyrant—and a terrible snob—but there were advantages to being under her care.

The wardrobe, for one. She had never had so many fashionable gowns. Granted, they were all in black, but still—and being all in black, it would be a fine excuse next year, when her year of deep mourning was over, to order another entire wardrobe!

Then there were the half-promises of going to London. The theater—the music—and the amusements of society. The things she had read about in the social pages of the Times and wished she could attend them herself.

And there was the matter of a coming-out ball. She would never have had a coming-out ball with Margherita—for one thing, their village wasn’t exactly the sort of place where one held coming-out parties, and for another, the Tarrants weren’t the sort of people who held them. But given Madam’s near-worship of society, there was no way that the Chambertens would not hold a coming-out ball for their ward. If they didn’t, it would look very strange indeed. They would probably put it off until next year, rather than this, because of her mourning, but she would need that long to get used to all of the clothing and the manners, not to mention learning the dances.

A coming-out ball! Just like all the ones she had read about! The prospect was almost enough to make up for everything else.

As for the everything else—things were by far and away not as wretched as they had first seemed. Now that she had a safe place away from Oakhurst where she could work magic, she could send a message to Elizabeth and to Sebastian, Margherita, and Thomas. She didn’t need a stamp; all she needed was time and energy.

Now that she knew that she could contact them, the frantic feeling the fear that she’d been completely uprooted, was fading. This was more like—well, rather like being away at school, with a horribly strict headmistress. And the same wretched food that all the books like Jane Eyre described! But there were none of the other privations, and if Jane could survive her school, surely Marina could sort this experience out without immediate help.

Besides, I’ve been here for weeks now, and there hasn’t been a single Undine or Sylph that has tried to speak to me—so they must be certain I’m all right. Even if the others couldn’t raise Air or Water Elementals to send to her, Elizabeth certainly could. Perhaps they had scryed, discovered she was all right, and decided to wait for her to contact them.

But what if they hadn’t? What if they thought she had forgotten them once she had some inkling of the social position she held, the wealth she would eventually command? What if they thought she was ashamed of them? Madam seemed to think she should be, after all—

—perhaps I can ask the doctor or the vicar to help me. After all, once I make them understand my situation, we could use letters, as I planned. They can send me postage. Oh, what a ridiculous position she was in! A wardrobe worth hundreds of pounds, and she hadn’t a penny for a stamp! Looking forward to a coming-out ball, yet so strictly confined she might as well be in a convent!

Riding about on the back of a high-bred hunter, and knowing that if I took him farther than the village, I’d be so close-confined that a convent would be preferable.

She shook the mood off; there was work to be done.

There would be no leaving Beau tied up at the gate today, not since she was planning on spending at least two hours working on Ellen. Instead, she brought him around to the rear of the vicarage where there was a little shed that held the moor pony that the vicar hitched to a cart to do his errands. There was a second stall with just enough space in there for Beau as well, although she had to take his tack off him outside, since there wasn’t enough room for her in the stall too. Beau gave her an incredulous look as she led him in, as if to object. Strongly. She couldn’t understand animals the way Uncle Thomas could, but she could almost hear him speaking. “You intend for me to lodge here? Me? A hunter of impeccable bloodline? Next to that?”

“Don’t be as much of a snob as Madam,” she told him severely.

He heaved a huge sigh, and suffered himself to be led into the stall and offered hay. It was perfectly good hay, as good as he’d get in his own stall at Oakhurst, but he sniffed it with deep suspicion.

“Now don’t be tiresome,” she scolded, and shut the half-door on him. “If you can’t learn to enjoy the company of ordinary folk, I leave you to the Odious Reggie’s good graces from now on, and we’ll see whom you prefer!”

She left him sighing over his hay, and went around to the front of the vicarage to tap on the door.

To her immense surprise, it was Dr. Pike who opened the door of the vicarage at her second knock. “Good gad!” she blurted. “What are you doing here?”

He laughed, looking much more amiable than he had at the sanitarium, and held the door open. “That’s a fine greeting! Where else should I be but here at the appointed time?”

She blushed, then got annoyed with herself. Who was this fellow, that he made the color rise in her cheeks so often? But it was a rude thing to say.

I really have to be more careful. Having to curb my tongue around Madam is making things break out when I’m around anyone else.

She apologized immediately. “I beg your pardon—I’m always just bleating out whatever is in my head without thinking about it. What I meant was, your horse and cart are nowhere to be seen—”

“That’s because my poor horse would hardly fit in there with that monster you ride and that little pony of the vicar’s. My horse and cart are doing the weekly errands for the sanitarium, the good Diccon having carried Miss