The Amaranth Enchantment (2 page)

"I? Never." I smiled at him, far longer than I should have. But the pleasure of seeing him smile back made me forget everything I ought to remember, including his special lady.

His lady. Was I fool enough to think he'd come in for the pleasure of smiling at me? Fool enough to imagine, maybe. But he was a customer. He lived to be served.

"What do you have in mind, sir?" I asked. "We have some very nice combs over here, inlaid with mother-of-pearl." I traced my fingers along the counter.

"And here we have some lovely cameos, just what a lady would want. They can be worn on a pin, chain, or ribbon."

I came to the garnet ring. It pained me, but I said it. "Here's a pretty ring.

Red, the color of love." Also, I was sure, the color of my face.

He bent to examine it, and frowned. "Do you think it says 'Forever'?"

I began to wish that a hive of hornets might visit his 12

special lady, or that perhaps her ankles would swell after eating strawberries.

"Don't you suppose it depends upon the lady? You must know something of her tastes."

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He shook his head. "That's just it. I know nothing of them."

His eyes were so beseeching that I yearned to help him, even if it was to woo some plump, spoiled daughter of a wealthy aristocrat who couldn't possibly deserve him. From what little I knew of love, even I could see he was in need of advice.

"Perhaps," I said, "you should start by paying closer attention to her."

He looked startled, then he laughed. "It's not that. I've never met her. We're betrothed. She arrives tomorrow. I need a wedding gift, and I've searched all the shops in Saint Sebastien with no success. So I came here."

He'd never met her. Very interesting.

He watched me, an uneasy expression forming on his face.

"Do I know you?"

I could only wish. "I don't believe so."

This didn't seem to relieve him any. "You think I'm an idiot, don't you?"

I was astounded. "Me? Think you... ? I beg your pardon, I..."

"You're right, of course," he said, beginning to pace back and forth.

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He needed calming. "Perhaps," I began, in a soothing voice, "it would be better to learn what she likes before buying her anything."

He cut me off. "How can a gift say 'Forever' for someone I've never met? It's madness!"

On this, we agreed. Feeling reckless, I decided to encourage this line of thought.

"Perhaps a better sentiment for your first gift to this lady would be, 'Good Luck.'"

Oh, Aunt would dice me to hash for that if she heard it. He clamped his jaw shut, and an iron look crossed his face.

Oh, dear." 'Bonne chance,' as the French would say?"

"An expert on human relations, I see," he said, nodding.

"I don't suppose you believe love could last forever." I'd hurt him. I looked away, chagrined.

"You're mistaken," I said. "I do believe it could. But it would depend upon the lovers."

He folded his arms and watched me, forcing me to return his gaze. Oh, those eyes.

"And what kind of lovers must they be?" he asked.

The You-and-Me kind? I bit my lip. True ones? How naive that would sound.

His gaze burned me, but I couldn't break away from it.

I was spared from answering by the sound of Uncle's heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. The spell was broken. The gentleman looked away. I took a deep breath.

"Here comes the goldsmith, sir," I said, curtsying to 14

my young Adonis. "He can help you place a custom order for something you care to describe. He's most skillful."

Uncle rounded the doorpost and stood, scratching his head. He smiled his absentminded smile at me, then looked at the young man. He grabbed hold of the countertop and leaned against it as he lowered himself down to an arthritic half-kneel.

"Your Majesty," he said.

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Chapter 2

"Your what?" I said.

"Er," said my customer.

"Prince Gregor, we are honored," said Uncle. At least one of us was cogent.

I flopped down onto my knees, which made me disappear behind the counter. I considered crawling underneath and hiding on a shelf. I looked up to see the prince--the prince!--peering down over the counter's edge at me.

"You don't need to do that," he said.

"Do what?"

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"Get down on your knees. Unless you are proposing marriage."

I scrambled to my feet. "As you wish." I dusted off my skirt. "You know best."

Stupid response! Could I mortify myself any more?

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He turned and doffed his hat to Uncle, who'd only just barely gotten back on his feet.

"I fear I must be going, sir," he said. "I haven't time for a special order. I need something sooner." His eyes glanced my way. "Your shop assistant shows great promise."

He was mocking me. I was ridiculous to him.

Then he bowed to me. "A pleasure. Might I ask your name?"

As God is my witness, I swear this is true: I couldn't think what it was. I felt as nameless as an unwanted baby. "Lucinda, Your Highness," Uncle said.

The prince's eyes were unreadable. "Good day to you, Miss Lucinda."

"And to you," I called over the thunking of the door. I watched him dart away down the street until his coat was a blue smudge on my window. Hoped he'd heard me. Hoped he hadn't.

Uncle and I faced each other, dumbstruck.

"What would Aunt say?" I whispered.

He put a finger over his lips. I nodded. Aunt, probably in her bedroom dreaming of all the things Beryl's coins would someday buy, need never know that Crown Prince Gregor was in her shop.

Then Uncle's eyes twinkled. "Handsome, ain't he, Lucinda?"

I hid my face behind my hands. "Handsome" didn't even scratch the scratch.

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Chapter 3

The what was in my shop?" Aunt shrieked. "The WHAT?"

Uncle and I eyed each other. From where I knelt washing the floor, her neck seemed to swell like a bullfrog's.

"The Amaranth Witch, my good lady," said Father Julian, who had burst into the shop out of breath a moment before. Now he stood mopping his shiny face with a handkerchief, as if it were August and not December. "She who put a curse upon Queen Rosamund these many years ago, when the queen was with child for the first time. She's not aged a day since. The witch, I mean to say. Comes of being in league with Satan."

This didn't strike me as a powerful reason not to be in league with Satan.

The red drained from Aunt's face, leaving it the color of cheese curd. She gripped the edge of the countertop.

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Nobody spoke for an awkward minute. A day of bewilderments, to be sure.

Nothing like this ever happened at Montescue's Goldsmithy.

"But are you certain?" Her imploring eyes searched Father Julian's face.

He nodded, his jowls quivering. "I saw her leave your shop. She frequents the city, and must live nearby, but she's managed by her arts to remain concealed.

I endeavored to follow her, but I"--he patted his chest feebly--"I succumbed to her trickery. One moment she was a few paces ahead of me, and the next"--he snapped his fingers--"she vanished."

Aunt crossed herself.

Losing someone on a city street was no great marvel. Pickpockets did it daily.

But Father Julian nodded as if this were ominous news. "She led me to some part of the city I'd never seen before, and I doubt if I searched I'd find it again." He smoothed the strands of hair on his balding crown. "I came back to warn you;' he said, bending forward, "against accepting the devil's gold."

It was hard to judge who looked more scandalized--Father Julian, who could act onstage if ever the Church grew tired of him; Aunt, whose boundless greed was matched only by witless superstitions; or Uncle, who wasn't avaricious, senseless, or pious, but who knew well how hard the mortgage money had come of late. I felt for him. Here at last was a customer, with worthy traffic and solid payment, and now we must turn her away?

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"We haven't taken any of her gold," Uncle said.

"Oh, what should we do?" Aunt implored, as if she hadn't heard Uncle. She clasped both hands together atop her considerable bosom. "How do we cast this evil from us?"

"Turn away her business," the priest said. "Send back her accursed objects and have no more to do with her."

"What if she puts a curse on us?" Uncle asked. I watched him. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

I knelt forgotten in a shadowy corner, trying to picture the woman Beryl as a dangerous witch. It seemed laughable. But then, if she was a sorceress, she'd be practiced at deceit. Witches wore many disguises. Still, someone that exquisite?

I decided I didn't believe Father Julian. A shocking lack of piety, no doubt, but then, Aunt rarely let me go to Mass, so if I'd grown into a heathen, it was no one's fault but hers.

Aunt, who hadn't stopped crossing herself, raised both hands in the air.

"Enough!" she cried. She glared at Uncle, then reached for Father Julian's hands. "We shall send her away;' she announced. "Though it cost us the roof over our heads and the bread in our mouths, we shall send her away."

Father Julian bowed low. "May God protect this establishment from the works of darkness." Avoiding Uncle's gaze, he left and disappeared down the street.

Uncle lumbered over to his workbench and sat down heavily. "Well, there it is," he said.

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Aunt whirled to face him." There it is, Husband, and I'll hear not another word about it. I'll have no traffic with the devil, not if we're down to our last speck of flour, and no more would you, if you had your proper feelings about you."

Uncle held a magnifying glass to study a broken pendant. My broken pendant.

Aunt stood fuming. She yanked the red leather book from its shelf. She opened it to the last page and scrutinized the writing. "That'd be a witch's hand, all right. Too fancy for an honest woman." As if she'd know.

She watched me, biting her lip, which she always did when scheming new punishments. Then she smiled, which was even more frightening.

"Lucinda," she said--she never used my name--"you'd like an outing, wouldn't you?"

I smelled treachery. From her pocket, she produced Beryl's luminous gem.

"Go to this address and return the jewel to the witch. Tell her your uncle is poorly, and he won't be able to do the job." With each sentence she nodded, as if explaining something to a simpleton. "Do you understand?"

For heaven's sake. I wasn't a baby.

"Yes, Aunt. I understand." I understand that just in case this witch puts a curse on the messenger returning her stone, you're sending me.

Aunt straightened up and reverted to her normal manner.

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"Then get going!" She left the room.

Uncle looked over at me. I said nothing, but with my face I wordlessly begged him to reconsider. We needed the money. But he shook his head.

"Take it straight there, Lucinda," Uncle said. "We don't want a gem like that getting stolen."

The subject was closed.

I nodded. "Yes,

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Chapter 4

That night, after finishing the dishes, I climbed the ladder to my attic bedroom, sat down on my cot, kicked off my shoes, and did some hard thinking about Beryl's gemstone.

I hadn't returned it. I didn't search out Beryl's house, or even try. I left the shop repeating over and over to myself the address where Beryl lived, but I never went there. I meandered until supper. And I only thought of the prince
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two-thirds of the time.

It was ridiculous to return the stone! That was all I could figure. We needed the money desperately. I'd decided, out there on the gray streets of Saint Sebastien, that Uncle could forge a new setting in secret, and I could deliver it and collect the payment. Uncle could use the money as he saw fit, and for once he'd have control of some of the gold he'd earned.

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I told Aunt I'd returned the stone. I decided to corner Uncle in the morning and explain my plan to him. He'd be worried about Aunt, I knew, but I was sure I could persuade him. For once, we might be able to have beef for Sunday dinner and enough coal for the fire. Beryl would get her gem, everyone would be happy, and Aunt, none the wiser.

I pulled the stone from my pocket and admired it by candlelight.

"What are you?" I asked it. "Milk made crystal? Child of pearl and diamond?"

It was no great stretch to imagine the gem could answer.

I'd carried it concealed in my pocket all afternoon, but now, lying in my palm, it shimmered with energy. It seemed lit from within, burning but never consumed. Perhaps that was only a trick of the candlelight. And so heavy! No wonder Beryl's former setting had broken.

I set it on the crate that served as my bedside table, and dressed for bed. I pulled my second dress over my first, and my good stockings over the everyday ones for warmth, lay down on the cot, blew out the candle, and pulled my thin blankets up to my chin. On a second thought, I reached for the stone and slid it into the pocket of my outer dress.

The sky was starless, covered with clouds threatening snow. I hoped so. Better snow than mud. Snow felt like Christmas, and Christmas, no matter how Aunt might

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spoil it, felt like Mama and Papa, and roasted goose trimmed with holly, salted nuts and candied cherries, and oranges and apples imported from the sun's winter home.

I rubbed my feet together and tried to remember being warm until I drifted off to sleep.

A scuttling noise overhead woke me. Rats on the roof. I squeezed my eyes shut.