Devil in Spring

#11 Sussex has many picturesque views.

#12 Looking at nature is boring.

As the train neared the station, they passed a waterworks, an alcove of shops, a post office, a row of tidy storage buildings, and a collecting depot where dairy products and market produce were kept chilled until they could be transported.

“There’s the Challon estate,” Cassandra murmured.

Following her gaze, Pandora saw a white mansion on a distant hill beyond the headland, overlooking the ocean. An imposing marble palace, inhabited by haughty aristocrats.

The train reached the station and came to a halt. The air, so hot that it smelled like ironing, was filled with clanging bells, the voices of signalmen and trackmen, doors opening, and porters wheeling their carts across the platform. As the family disembarked, they were met by a middle-aged man with a pleasant countenance and an efficient manner. After introducing himself as Mr. Cuthbert, the duke’s estate manager, he supervised porters and footmen to collect the Ravenels’ luggage, including William’s handsome wicker pram.

“Mr. Cuthbert,” Kathleen asked as the estate manager guided them beneath a vaulted canopy to the other side of the station building, “is it always so warm this time of year?”

Cuthbert blotted a gleam of perspiration from his forehead with a folded white handkerchief. “No, my lady, this is an unseasonably high temperature, even for Heron’s Point. A southerly has come in from the continent after a period of dry weather, and it is keeping the cooling sea breezes at bay. Moreover, the promontory”—he gestured to a high cliff that jutted out into the ocean—“helps to create the town’s unique climate.”

The Ravenels and their retinue of servants proceeded to the vehicle waiting area beside the station’s clock tower. The duke had sent a trio of glossy black carriages, their luxurious interiors upholstered in soft ivory Morocco leather and trimmed with rosewood. After climbing into the first carriage, Pandora investigated a fitted tray with a divided compartment, an umbrella that slid cleverly into a socket in the side of the door, and a rectangular leather case tucked beside a folding armrest. The case held a pair of binoculars—not the tiny ones a lady would use at the opera, but a powerful set of field glasses.

Pandora started guiltily as Mr. Cuthbert came to the open carriage door and saw her with the binoculars. “I’m sorry—” she began.

“I was about to bring those to your attention, my lady,” the estate manager said, seeming not at all annoyed. “The ocean is visible for most of the drive to the Challon estate. Those aluminum binoculars are the latest design, much lighter than brass. They’ll allow you to see clearly at a distance of four miles. You might observe sea birds, or even a shoal of porpoises.”

Eagerly Pandora lifted the binoculars to her eyes. Looking at nature might be boring, but it was considerably more entertaining with the aid of technological gadgetry.

“They can be adjusted with the turning mechanism in the center,” Mr. Cuthbert advised with a smile. “Lord St. Vincent thought you would enjoy them.”

The lenses were briefly filled with the pink blur of his face before Pandora lowered the binoculars hastily. “He put these here for me?”

“Indeed, my lady.”

After the estate manager had left, Pandora frowned and handed the binoculars to Cassandra. “Why did Lord St. Vincent assume I would want these? Does he think I need to be distracted by amusements, like little William with his string of spools?”

“It was merely a thoughtful gesture,” Cassandra said mildly.

The old Pandora would have loved to use the binoculars during the ride to the house. The new dignified, respectable, proper Pandora, however, would entertain herself with her own thoughts. Ladylike thoughts.

What did ladies think about? Things like starting charities and visiting the tenants, and blancmange recipes—yes, ladies were always bringing blancmange to people. What was blancmange, anyway? It had no flavor or color. At best it was only unassertive pudding. Would it still be blancmange if one put some kind of topping on it? Berries or lemon sauce—

Realizing her thoughts had gone off course, Pandora steered them back to the conversation with Cassandra.

“The point is,” she told her sister with great dignity, “I have no need of toys to keep me occupied.”

Cassandra was looking through the open window with the binoculars. “I can see a butterfly across the road,” she marveled, “as clearly as if it were sitting on my finger.”

Pandora sat up instantly. “Let me have a look.”

Grinning, Cassandra adroitly kept the binoculars out of her grasp. “I thought you didn’t want them.”

“I do now. Give them back!”

“I’m not finished yet.” Maddeningly, Cassandra refused to return the binoculars for at least five minutes, until Pandora threatened to auction her to pirates.

By the time Pandora had reclaimed the binoculars, the carriage had begun the long, gentle ascent up the hill. She managed to obtain glimpses of a seagull in flight, a fishing boat sailing around the headlands, and a hare disappearing beneath a juniper bush. Occasionally a cool breeze from the ocean blew through one of the open hinged windows, bringing momentary relief from the heat. Perspiration gathered and trickled beneath her corset, while the light wool of her traveling dress chafed her prickling skin. Bored and hot, she finally put the binoculars back into the leather case.

“It’s like summer,” she commented, blotting her forehead on one of her long sleeves. “By the time we arrive, I’ll be as red as a boiled ham.”