Gene of Isis

Mr Devere badly wanted to tell me something and I just had to know. I attuned to his mental activity, which was accomplished by raising the intake of cosmic energy into my spirit-body; unfortunately this also tended to drown out whatever conversation or noise was going on in the physical world. If Mr Devere said anything beyond this point I did not hear it.

But she described you so perfectly. You would be like no woman I’d ever met . .. at home in the wilds and with any class of people. You even have the look of a wood nymph about you, just as Lady Cavandish described.

Then I perceived Mr Devere’s memory of his discourse with Lady Charlotte, who appeared to be much the same age as when I had met her. She was holding both of the lad’s hands and saying, ‘Like me, she will know things nobody else knows and see beyond all things. For she is of an ancient bloodline of kings, as are you, Master Earnest.’

I smothered a gasp, as Lady Charlotte had not mentioned any such thing to me. I was suddenly fearful that Mr Devere had knowledge of me that I did not have.

‘Goodnight, Mr Devere.’ I curtseyed and departed, ignoring his request for an explanation for my hurried departure.

Blessed Nanny, who read all the confusing events of the day in my expression, aided in removing my attire without asking one question to disturb my quiet contemplation.

What if it wasn’t me that Lady Charlotte spoke of in Mr Devere’s memory? Maybe he’s got entirely the wrong woman! That would indicate there was another woman with my unusual proclivities who was going to enter Mr Devere’s life; now I really was clutching at straws. Yet, I do believe that anything is possible—EXCEPT that I might be destined to be Mrs Devere. That was not going to happen. I was not born to socialise; I wanted to be an explorer, like Lord Hamilton, and visit all the wondrous places he’d told me of today.

‘Why was I not born a man?’ I asked Nanny as she tucked me into bed.

‘Because women need more power,’ she said, departing with her candle out the door.

‘If I’d been born a man I could go to Lord Hamilton’s manor and spend time in his company without worry for reputation and rumour. I could travel abroad alone and not have the burden of dragging anyone else along with me…except for Nanny of course, if she’d come.’

I rolled my treasure stone around in my fingers, wishing I’d summoned a genie to it, who would grant me such wishes. ‘Perhaps in the East I shall find a genie one day?’ I closed my eyes to imagine the mysterious desert location where I might encounter such an entity.

Exotic desert locations had preoccupied my dreams as wished; only, every time I ran into trouble during my explorations, Mr Devere was there to help me out. Our association had seemed altogether too close for my comfort and I awoke with a deep sense of him clinging to my being.

At first the recollection tickled at the centre of my ribcage and I smiled to greet the new day. Then, when my logic collected all the fragmented symbols of my dreams and put them into perspective—then, I was not so pleased.

‘He is just after your money,’ I lectured as I clambered out of bed to give myself a good talking-to in the mirror of my dresser. ‘He’s just a pretty face who’ll become as boring as the rest, once given an estate and a taste of true power.’

‘He does have a very pretty face though,’ Nanny commented, teasing.

‘I don’t want to be wife to an up-and-coming lord!’ I told myself very firmly in the mirror. ‘I have far more promising plans.’

‘Would her ladyship care to share our future with her dear old Nanny?’ She approached to start dressing me.

‘I would rather marry Lord Hereford and keep him company until death comes for him. I shall be left a Dowager Viscountess-in-mourning, free to take up my husband’s work where he left off.’ This plan was only just dawning on me and it sounded wonderful. ‘You and I would be happy, Lord Hereford would be happy, and papa would be furious, for the family line would die with me.’

‘Why do you want to anger Lord Suffolk so?’ Nanny felt she should speak up for her employer.

‘Simply because Father would be angered if I marry a man of my choosing and not his. Lord Suffolk is no father to me! Lord Derby would be happy for me, because he truly cares about what I think and feel.’

Yes, this was my goal, my destiny! I could hear my father’s voice hollering…

‘No daughter of mine is going to be an archaeologist!’

My father stood in his study at the Granville townhouse in London, holding a letter of proposal in each hand. I’d been dreading this confrontation for weeks now, but I was determined to have my way. After spending much time together in Derbyshire, Lord Hamilton had, with my encouragement, proposed. The viscount had never thought he would marry again and assured me sincerely that he would not impose himself on me, in a marital sense. He’d chuckled at the thought of what his money-hungry relatives would think of him taking a young wife—and begetting an heir on her who might disinherit the lot of them. Still, the simple fact was that he relished my company and also the idea of having a student to pass his knowledge on to. Marriage seemed the very thing, if we were to both get what we wanted.

Unfortunately, Mr Devere was also convinced that I was destined to marry him; hence, the two proposals in my father’s possession.

I had written to Lady Charlotte about the incident of her reading for the young Mr Devere, and she responded thus:

I do have a recollection of reading for one of the Devere boys when I was in Oxfordshire long ago, but in relation to the specifics of that conversation, you know as well as I do that psychics seldom recall prophecy when they come out of trance. Memory, like myth, is unreliable and does not give a factual account of an event, in my experience, as it can be twisted to suit the situation and with a little imagination can become quite distorted over time.

I felt sure this was the case with Mr Devere. I held nothing in common with the man, whereas my connection to Lord Hamilton was ten times more evident to me. He felt like home, and, yes, I suspected I was seeking the father figure I’d always wanted, but I didn’t care to understand the hidden workings of my mind. It just felt too right to be the wrong move to make.

‘Young Devere is a far more suitable match, and has even agreed to link our name to his in regard to the