26
IT WAS NEW YEAR’S EVE. A great storm had hit the coast, flooding out roads from one end of the county to another; the winds shook the rafters of Nideck Point, and wailed in the chimneys. On all sides, a blinding rain washed against the windows.
Phil had been brought up early that afternoon to spend the night in the house, in a fine bedroom on the east side, where he’d slept before, and where everything had been done for his comfort.
Sparks flew in the oak forest before the lights went out. The emergency generator kicked on to fuel the bare minimum of household circuits. And in the kitchen the supper was cooked by the light of oil lamps, with all that had been laid in ahead of time against the weather.
Once again the company was in black tie, at Felix’s buoyant suggestion, and even Phil had given in, but not without quoting Emerson to the extent that one must be aware of all enterprises that require new clothes.
Laura had come downstairs in a long dress of cobalt blue, with jeweled straps over her bare shoulders. And all the servants were dressed to join the company, as was the custom, at the table.
Lisa had renounced her customary black for a striking long sleeve gown made entirely of intricate ivory lace, studded with pearls and tiny diamonds. And Henrietta, so silent, so shy, wore a youthful dress of pink taffeta. Even Heddy, the eldest of them all, and always so quiet and unobtrusive, had put on a festive green velvet dress that revealed for the first time her well-proportioned figure.
Berenice had not left yet to join the other pack, and indeed her leaving was now not certain at all. And when she appeared in black chiffon, Frank was appropriately delighted, showering her with kisses.
Margon surrendered the head of the table to Felix, taking Felix’s old chair beside Stuart.
And as soon as the table was laid with the pheasant, the chicken roasted with honey, and the thick broiled steaks seasoned in butter and garlic, the servants came in and took their places for the blessing said in a quiet voice by Felix.
“Maker of the Universe, we thank you as this year comes to an end,” said Felix, “that we are again under this roof, and with our very dearest friends, and we thank you too that the
“The
All the company repeated the salute, and a blush came to Lisa’s cheeks. If this is a man, thought Reuben, well, it’s the best-disguised man I’ve ever seen. But in truth he now thought of Lisa exclusively as feminine. And he savored the title for these mysterious Ageless Ones, and welcomed this new bit of interesting intelligence.
“And to you, good masters, young and old,” said Lisa with her glass raised. “Never for a moment do we forget the value of your love and protection.”
“Amen,” cried Margon. “And no more speeches now while the food is hot. The grandfather clock is chiming ten p.m. and I am starving.” He sat down immediately and reached for a platter of meat, giving everyone else permission to start serving.
Frank saw to it that a spirited Vivaldi concerto was pouring out of the little speakers of the Bose player on the hunter’s board, and then joined the rest of the company.
Laughter and lively conversation had returned to Nideck Point. And the pounding storm only made the whole party all the more convivial and stimulating. Conversation rolled easily round the table, often sweeping up the entire group, and other times breaking naturally into pockets of animated voices and eager faces.
“But what do the Forest Gentry do on a night like this?” asked Phil. They could hear the shifting and groaning of the old oaks. Far off somewhere in the darkness there came a violent cracking sound as of a branch broken from a trunk.
“Ah, well, I invited them to the feast,” said Margon, “at least Elthram and Mara and whomever they might want to bring, but they told me in the gentlest terms that they had other centennials to attend in the far north, so I would suppose they are not here. But insofar as they have no real bodies, and exist as elements in the air, I can’t imagine that a storm does anything more than excite them.”
“But they’ll be coming back, won’t they?” asked Stuart.
“Oh, most certainly,” said Felix. “But when only they know, and never believe that the woods are without spirits. There are others out there, others we don’t know by name and who do not know us by name, but they might manifest if ever they feel the need to do it.”
“Are they guarding this house?” asked Laura in a small voice.
“Yes, they are,” said Felix. “They are guarding it. And no one under this roof should ever feel the slightest fear of them. As for anyone who tries to hurt this house …”
“But this is not the night to talk of such threats or such worries or such routine and petty annoyances,” said Margon. “Come, let’s drink again. Let’s drink to each and every one of this rare and priceless company.”
And so it went on, toast after toast, as the fowl and the meat were devoured, and at last the table was cleared by all hands as naturally as it had always been done here, and the fresh fruits and the cheeses were laid out with the more egregious and stunning chocolate desserts and German pastries.
It was eleven thirty before Felix rose to his feet again, and this time the gathering was subdued and perhaps ready for his more sober reflections. The music had long ago been turned off. Fresh logs had been thrown on the fire. All were comfortably settled with their coffee or brandy. And Felix’s face was philosophical but the familiar smile played at the edges of his mouth as it always did when he was in a good humor.
“And so another year dies,” he said, looking off, “and we have lost Marrok, and Fiona, and Helena.”
Clearly he was not finished, but Margon spoke up quietly.
“I wouldn’t for all the goodwill in the world,” he said, “speak the names tonight of those who brought death to our Modranicht. But I will speak their names for you, Felix, if that is what you require, and for anyone else here who wants to mourn for them.”
Felix’s smile was sad but thoughtful.
“Well, for the last time,” said Margon, “let us say their names, and pray that they have gone to a place of rest and understanding.”
“Hear, hear,” said Thibault and Sergei right after him. “And you forgive us for this, Philip, please,” said Frank.
“Forgive you?” asked Phil. “What is there to forgive?” He lifted his glass. “To the mothers of my Modranicht and the life I have now inside me. I bear you no ill will and won’t insult you with my thanks for this new chapter in my story.”
There was a quick soft round of applause.
Phil drank.
“And to this coming year and all its blessings,” said Felix. “To Reuben’s son, and to all the bright futures of those gathered here. To fate and fortune, that they be kind, and to our hearts that they not forget the lessons learned from all we’ve witnessed in this Yuletide, our first Yuletide, with our new kindred.”
Sergei gave the usual roar, and swung the bottle of brandy over his head, and Frank beat on the table and declared that solemnity had worn out its welcome.
“The clock’s ticking towards midnight,” said Frank, “and another year is dying whether we are any older or not, and the same damned challenges as always lie before us.”
“Well, that’s pretty damned solemn,” said Berenice with a soft laugh. In fact, laughter was breaking out spontaneously on all sides for no apparent reason except the comfortable and drunken spirits of the group.
“So many thoughts are running through my mind,” said Felix, “as to what this new year holds for us.”
“Too much thinking!” cried Sergei. “Drink, don’t think!”
“Ah, but seriously,” Felix pressed on. “One thing that we must do in the next year is share the stories of our lives with our new brothers and sister.”
“Now, I’ll drink to that,” said Stuart. “The truth and nothing but the whole truth.”
