Chime

sermon of the year is all about Blackberry Night, which is also Michaelmas, when is also when the Archangel hurled the Devil from Heaven. Naturally, this annoyed the Devil considerably, and he goes about on that night, spoiling the blackberries.

“I’ll protect you,” said Cecil, laying his hand over mine.

I whipped my hand away. “Cecil!”

On Blackberry Night, the lads and lasses run barefoot through the swamp, pretending to try to catch the Devil; but it would appear the Devil catches them instead, for they consume quantities of beer and wine, and they shed their clothes, and there are always a number of surprise weddings come Advent.

How does Father feel about Blackberry Night?

He’s against it.

“I’m so in love with you,” said Cecil.

I looked into his fallen-angel eyes. How convenient if I could fall madly for him. I could marry into stained glass and a lawn made of money.

“All the more reason I should decline your kind invitation.” What did regular girls see in him that I didn’t?

“I won’t touch you,” he said. “I’ll protect you.”

Some girls choose to marry into stained glass without the madly-fallen bit. But I, at least, would need quite a lot of stained glass.

“I can protect myself.”

“You don’t know Blackberry Night,” he said. “You’ll find, I think, that your father has kept you rather ignorant of the world outside the Parsonage.”

There wasn’t enough stained glass in the world that would convince me to marry Cecil Trumpington: aspiring highwayman and prig.

“I know more than you give me credit for,” I said.

This was the wrong thing to say. It was provocative. It made Cecil lean in still farther and say, “Do you,” with a most unpleasant inflection on the do.

Cecil teased me to reveal my worldly knowledge, and I found amusing ways to sidestep his questions, and on we went with this for quite a while until it occurred to me that this is what is called flirting.

It’s a tedious exercise.

It takes no more than a single brain cell to flirt, making it perfect for Cecil and leaving me another few billion to admire the paper napkins, which Eldric had folded into pagodas. To smile at the long-toed dragon feet Eldric had crafted for the braziers. Their claws were painted gold. And to glance from time to time at Eldric and Leanne. Mostly they were wandering about drinking champagne, but I once caught her hiding from Mad Tom behind Eldric. What? The superb horsewoman afraid of poor Mad Tom? She did look ridiculous.

I was jealous, wasn’t I? I wanted to be Eldric’s only friend. But that’s not the way the world works, Briony. You have only one friend, but regular people have dozens.

Yes, I was jealous. I was practicing one of the seven deadly sins (although it doesn’t actually take much practice). I probably had all seven.

Anger?

Absolutely. I was especially gifted there. So have a care, Briony! You don’t want to blow them all to cinders.

Gluttony?

Just look at my shining plate.

Pride?

Absolutely. I hated myself, but I also loved myself in a hateful way. I loved being clever, I loved being special, I loved being a witch.

Lust?

Don’t think about that! But my eyes wandered to Eldric and Leanne. Had they done what Pearl and Artie had done? Stop, Briony! Bad things happen when you’re jealous.

Cecil leaned in too close. I felt his hot breath on my cheek. Why didn’t I care whether he’d engaged in the Pearl-and-Artie activity? “You’ve gone all dreamy,” he said.

I leaned away. He’d gone all lusty.

“I can’t take my eyes off Leanne,” I said. Look at someone else, Cecil. “Don’t you think her beautiful?” Don’t lust after me, Cecil. I’m not a regular girl.

“Too bold for my taste.” Cecil took possession of my hand again, tugged me toward him. “I prefer the white goddess style.”

The white goddess rose, the Brownie rose. “What did I say about forcing me about? Are you tipsy?”

“Not tipsy!” said Cecil. “No, not that, and I promise I won’t—Look here, I’ll fetch you a sweet!”

He leapt up, bounded for the sweets table. It looked very much as though he was drunk. But he bounded steadily enough (for a bounder, that is), and he returned with three dishes of trifle, Eldric, and Leanne.

They’d been playing at Metaphor, which had set them to laughing immoderately and sploshing champagne everywhere except inside of themselves. Just as well, perhaps, as I suspected they already had plenty inside. Eldric pulled out a chair for Leanne, but she preferred to stand, and so, of course, did he.

“Leanne is a Klimt, of course,” said Eldric.

“Is she?” I’d never heard of a Klimt, but I was in no danger of exposing my ignorance, for Eldric staggered into an explanation of what was Klimt-ish about her.

It seemed that Klimt was a painter in Vienna, and it also seemed that Eldric had visited Vienna. He’d told Leanne but not me. Eldric knew just how Klimt would paint Leanne, which was all in gold, with flowers growing from her hair, and he’d arrange her clothes, just so—

Leanne interrupted. “She’s a little young for Klimt, don’t you think?”

“Oh sorry, sorry, so sorry!” said Eldric.

Eldric was tipsy. Cecil was something else.

I was young, I was dressed in white, I was an underdone sugar cookie next to Leanne’s shot-silk taffeta, glinting blue and green, except that there were fewer glints than there might have been, which was because there wasn’t as much taffeta as there might have been, which was because Leanne wore her skirts right up to her ankles, quite exposing her enormous feet.

“But I found myself stuck on the sculpture,” said Eldric, and for a moment I pictured him impaled on a monument, until I realized that he was still playing at Metaphor. “What sculpture would Leanne be, do you think? You’re so clever, Briony, you’ll know at once.”

An old one, missing its head.

“Unlike you, I haven’t traveled,” I said, and dug into my trifle, which I’d ordinarily have enjoyed, as it was simply bursting with cream and custard and rum. But I wore white and I’d never been to Vienna, so what was the point of anything?

“I know what Briony would be,” said Cecil. “She’d be a Dresden figurine.”

“One of those dancing ladies?” I said. “They’re not sculptures, and anyway, I’d end up breaking myself.”

“I absolutely must step away from the fire,” said Leanne, shaking her laughing hair and looking at Eldric with her curling eyes. As the two of them moved back, Mr. Clayborne joined us to wish Leanne a very happy birthday.

“It’s your birthday?” I said.

“Tomorrow, actually,” said Leanne.

“We’re going to raise a glass at midnight,” said Eldric.

This was a birthday party. I was glad her birthday was tomorrow, which was the first day of August. I didn’t want her to have been born in July. July was a jolly sort of month, not all hot and puffed up on itself.

Oh, August One! I remembered making Eldric laugh that day in the Alehouse, when I was guessing at his birthday. And here we were: Leanne was an August One. Wouldn’t Eldric remember how we’d laughed?

I paid little attention to the conversation, although I did hear Mr. Clayborne say that Eldric looked perfectly dreadful, which I’m glad to say he did.

“Briony!”