Onora had never felt more uncomfortable.
When the chink of glasses had ended and cutlery was applied once more, the usual congenial chatter returning, she clearly heard her aunt remark, “What modern thinkers you are! And so dedicated to your…ahem…archaeological interests.”
“Not so modern, if I may say.” Herr Müller’s rich baritone was authoritative. “It is well-documented among ancient civilizations: the imbibing of mind-altering concoctions, wine and other substances. Think of the Greeks, with their Dionysian Rites, and the Roman Bacchanalias, of frenzied dancing and music making, all with the aim of transcending the normal state, inviting the Divineto possess them. A collaborative conjoining, to enter a state of ecstasy above our ordinary human existence.”
“Well said,” Reverend Griffiths blinked behind his spectacles. “We might interpret Christian ritual in a similar vein—inviting Christ to enter our bodies through the drinking of wine, which we call his blood, and the desire to lose oneself to the higher calling. The earthly flesh shall pass away, and all that shall be known is the glorious light of divine ecstasy.”
Mrs. Griffiths patted her husband’s arm, her cheeks flushed with what appeared to be wifely pride.
Onora didn’t know what to make of it. There was a certain logic. She’d read of the worship of Dionysus—or Bacchus, as the Romans named that particular god—but it seemed a strange way to view the Christian faith.
As the plates were cleared and dessert was served—a milk custard sprinkled with nuts—Aunt Clodagh’s voice rang out. “Well now, what have we all been reading? I’ve almost finished Frances Hodgson Burnett’sA Lady of Quality. Such a story! It has my heart palpitating.”
Onora sent silent thanks for the change of subject.
“I adored the character of Clorinda! So rebellious, but an inspiration to us women, too often admired for our mild-manners and passivity.” Miss Gardenia Feathermount spoke warmly. “But I must lend you one of mine. It has become a favorite, by Rider Haggard.”
“Oh yes!” The other Miss Feathermount joined in with much animation. “Perhaps you know it—The World’s Desire? The story features an Egyptian queen who turns out to be the most marvelous evil sorceress. She conjures a familiar in the form of a serpent which bears the image of her own face. Delightfully chilling! The plot is rather convoluted but has a satisfying conclusion, with almost everyone either poisoned or condemned to a fiery end.”
“Dear goodness!” Clodagh sounded horrified. “Did it not give you nightmares?”
Hyacinth smiled. “I’m immune, I assure you.”
Talk of books carried them through the last portion of the meal until they retired to the drawing room, where coffee was waiting, as well as the usual digestifs.
To her annoyance, Onora found Madame Auvray coming to join her upon the curving chaise, while Seton crossed the room, entering into discussion with Dr. MacGregor and Herr Müller.
“Ma petite, I think I have in some way offended you, but I beg you not to be cross.” Madame Auvray was carrying two tiny glasses of something from the tray. “Here. Drink with me and be friends again.”
Before Onora could refuse, the liqueur was pressed into her hand. Virginie looked expectantly at her.
The brandy’s sudden heat took her breath away, but also filled Onora with resolve. Her earlier caution seemed nonsensical. No harm could come to her and, if she felt overcome, she would retire to her bed.Besides which, she did not wish Madame Auvray to think of her as a sulking child.
“I know something to divert you,” Virginie went on. “Gardenia, dear, you must demonstrate your party trick.”
“First-rate idea!” Colonel Harris-Corbet chimed in. “I’ll fetch the necessaries.”
He soon returned, and the low table on which their beverages had been served was cleared to make way for a brass-framed mirror and a shallow oil burner made of rough clay. Several of the party drew closer.
“Thank you, Edwin. Most kind.” Gardenia Feathermount smiled warmly.
The Colonel then struck a match and lit the taper for her.
“Other sources of light to be extinguished, if we may, or removed elsewhere.” Hyacinth addressed Lord Seton.
At his lordship’s nod, his manservants retreated, taking with them various lanterns.
The single taper threw a soft glow upon the gathered faces, casting shadows about mouths and eyes, making them appear very differentto how they had moments before.
“If someone might close the French doors,” Gardenia added. “There should be no breeze to disturb the flame.”
This time, it was the Doctor who rose to oblige.
With the doors onto the courtyard secured, the room felt smaller. Onora was very much aware of the breaths of those around her, of the sharing of a limited portion of air. It felt heavier, repugnant almost, and far too intimate.
Discreetly, Onora shuffled over, away from Virginie whose taffeta-clad thigh was touching hers.
From her reticule, Gardenia presented a small bottle and tipped a few drops into the lamp’s well. With the taper warming the viscous oil, a scent rose up stronger than any woman’s perfume, resinous and woody, with hints of cinnamon, amber and myrrh—an exotic, heady fragrance.
