Devil in Spring

Later Pandora and Cassandra had badgered West to explain the mysterious malady, until he had reluctantly told them about the pox. Not smallpox or chicken pox, but a particular strain that infected promiscuous men and women. Eventually it drove one mad and made one’s nose fall off. Some called it French pox, some called it English pox. West had told them never to repeat any of it, or Kathleen would have his head.

“I’m sure Lord St. Vincent doesn’t have the pox,” Cassandra said. “From what I saw the other night, he has a perfectly handsome nose.”

“He’ll catch the pox someday,” Pandora persisted darkly, “if he hasn’t already. And then he’ll give it to me.”

“You’re being dramatic. And not all rakes have the pox.”

“I’m going to ask him if he does.”

“Pandora, you wouldn’t! The poor man would be horrified.”

“So would I, if I ended up losing my nose.”

As the Ravenels rode in the private first-class compartment on the London, Brighton, and South Coast line, Pandora’s nerves became more strained with each passing mile. If only the train were headed in another direction, anywhere other than toward Heron’s Point.

She couldn’t decide whether she was more worried about how she would behave with the Challons, or how they would behave toward her. There was no doubt that Lord St. Vincent resented her for the situation she’d put him in, even though it had been an accident on her part.

God, she was so tired of causing trouble and then having to feel guilty about it. From now on, she would behave like a respectable, proper lady. People would marvel at her restraint and dignity. They might even become a bit concerned—“Is Pandora quite well? She’s always so subdued.” Lady Berwick would glow with pride, and advise other girls to emulate Pandora’s remarkable reserve. She would become known for it.

Sitting by the window, Pandora watched the passing scenery and occasionally glanced at Kathleen, who sat in an opposite seat with little William on her lap. Although they had brought a nursery maid to help with the infant, Kathleen preferred to keep him with her as much as possible. The dark-haired baby played intently with a string of spools, investigating the various sizes and textures, and fitting them against his mouth to gnaw industriously. Entertained by his son’s antics, Devon lounged beside them with his arm resting along the back of the bench.

While Cassandra occupied herself with knitting a pair of Berlin wool slippers, Pandora reached into her valise and unearthed her journal, a weighty Coptic-bound volume with a leather cover. Its linen pages were stuffed with clippings, sketches, pressed flowers, tickets, postcards, and all manner of things that had caught her fancy. She had filled at least half of it with ideas and sketches for board games. A silver mechanical pencil dangled from an attached cord that wrapped around the book to keep it closed.

After unwinding the cord, Pandora opened the book to a blank page near the back. She twisted the lower half of the pencil barrel until a nozzle with the lead emerged, and began to write.

JOURNEY TO HERON’S POINT

OR

The Impending Matrimonial Doom of Lady Pandora Ravenel

Facts and Observations

#1 If people think you’re dishonored, it’s no different from actually having been dishonored, except you still don’t know anything.

#2 When you’ve been ruined, there are only two options: death or marriage.

#3 Since I am gravely healthy, the first option isn’t likely.

#4 On the other hand, ritual self-sacrifice in Iceland cannot be ruled out.

#5 Lady Berwick advises marriage and says Lord St. Vincent is “bred to the bill.” Since she once made the same remark about a stud horse she and Lord Berwick bought for their stable, I have to wonder if she’s looked in his mouth.

#6 Lord St. Vincent reportedly has a mistress.

#7 The word “mistress” sounds like a cross between mistake and mattress.

“We’ve crossed into Sussex,” Cassandra said. “It’s even lovelier than the guidebook led me to expect.” She had purchased The Popular Guide and Visitor’s Directory to Heron’s Point at a bookstall in the station, and had insisted on reading parts of it aloud during the first hour of their journey.

Known as the “land of health,” Sussex was the sunniest region in England with the purest water, drawn up from deep chalk wells. According to the guidebook, the county possessed fifty miles of coastal shore. Tourists flocked to the town of Heron’s Point for its mild, sweet air, and the healing properties of its seawater and hot spring baths.

The guidebook was dedicated to the Duke of Kingston, who had apparently built a seawall to protect erosion of the shore, as well as a hotel, a public esplanade, and a thousand-foot public pier to provide harborage for pleasure steamboats, fishing vessels, and his own private yacht.

#8 The local guidebook doesn’t include even one unfavorable detail about Heron’s Point. It must be the most perfect town in existence.

#9 Or the author was trying to toady up to the Challons, who own half of Sussex.

#10 Dear God, they’re going to be insufferable.

As Pandora looked through the train window, her attention was caught by a flock of starlings that flowed across the sky in synchronized movements, the mass dividing like a water droplet and rejoining before continuing on in a fluid, ribbon-like mass.

The train clicked and clacked its way through a panorama of charming villages, wool-towns with timber-framed houses, picturesque churches, rich green farmland, and smoothly contoured downs carpeted with purple-blooming heath. The sky was vivid and soft, with a few fluffy clouds that appeared to have been freshly laundered and hung up to dry.