10: WICKLOW TWO

 Abigail O’Leary walked in through the door from where she was listening. “Perhaps we are, perhaps we are. That would explain a lot if one were to believe those stories. I may be as old as my compatriot Jonathan, but I was a Lady of Notice in the Cathedral of Reims for the Coronation of King Louis XIV of France on June 7, 1654. Earlier, I was married to a banker in Florence, whose cousin was a Podesta in Caprese, and that cousin had a very artistic son born in 1475. Michelangelo.

To assist in the truth of Jonathan’s story, it would seem that many of our kinds began to flourish at that time, and our number seemed to increase many times. 

“What! You two are mad. Mad. I am supposed to sit here, well, lie here and believe you two are some mystical 400-year-old creatures. If I were to believe that, I would be seen as quite mad, too, and I am sure my father would have me locked away somewhere far from London.

Oh, my father! What does he know about us, and what do you think happened in Dublin? How long have we been gone?”

“It was one day’s travel to Dublin; we were with the Stokers for two days before your accident and four days thereafter. And we have been here in Wicklow for three more days. We have been out of London for ten days.”

“Oh no, I said I would write him, and I have not for more than a week. My mother must be worrying herself into a calamitous state.”

“Evelyn, I have attended to informing your father and Sir Percy about our situation, and I should mention that we will not be returning to London.”

“Are we going to Father’s house in the Lakelands then?”

“No, my dear, we will be going to Paris and then, I believe, America.”

“America! You are mad. First, you say you are hundreds of years old, and then you say we are not going home and are going to America. This is too much, much too much.”

“My dear, here, have some more brandy; I have much more to say to you.”

“Brandy! Brandy, I can tell by the light that it is not midday, and you want to feed me brandy?”

O’Leary said, “My dear sister, trust me, you will need that brandy and, dare I say, a lot more after that.”

“You dare call me sister. I do not know you, and we have nothing in common. I am an English lady… and you...”

“Oh, I too was an English Lady, and so much more, before you had ever lain your lips on your mother’s breast. Now, take the brandy and allow your husband to continue.”

“Evelyn, please listen to me and have an open mind. We, Abigail and I, are different from most people. We carry past secrets and know others through the ages. We work with Kings and principalities and often are the power behind the throne.

We trade in wisdom, gold, power and truths. Truths, although we cannot be truthful.”

“If I am to believe this story, why did you not tell me of this fable before we were married? Why did you not tell me of this in our bed? Why did you wait until I was suffering from delusion in an Irish straw bed a hundred miles from home while being forced to drink brandy?

Is this a delusional dream or a dream of madness?”

“You are not delusional, nor are you dreaming. What I have said is the truth. And now was not the time I would have chosen, but the Fates and the gods have forced this upon us.

I am Devi, Abigail is also Devi, and now Evelyn, you are too. You are a Devi and part of our eternal family.”

“What? How is that? What does that mean? What in the name of Christ have you done?”

“I love you; I will always love you, and I could not bear the loss of you. In the carriage accident, you were severely hurt. You were near death; the manus mortise was about to take you. And I could not allow that to happen.”

“What, you want me to believe that you slapped away the hand of death and healed me in a week? Look, there is nothing wrong with my nose.” She reached up and grabbed it, pinching it between her fingers; she shook it at him.

“Yes, my dear, to both those assertions, there is nothing wrong with your nose, and yes, I did heal you in a week.” 

Abigail stepped forward and handed Jonathan a knife, which he took and placed the blade against Abigail’s hand. Before Evelyn could say anything, he drew the knife across O’Leary’s palm, cutting deeply from the ‘Mound of Venus’ at the base of her thumb to the bottom of her little finger.

O’Leary cupped her hand to pool the blood in the palm of her hand and then emptied that blood into Evelyn’s brandy glass.

Abigail showed her palm to Evelyn, and the gash was wide, deep and still spilling blood. Then she placed the fingers of her other hand on her wound and began to rub back and forth over it.

After a few moments, she presented her palm to Evelyn. Through the smeared blood, the English woman could see the wound starting to close.

A frightened Evelyn withdrew herself against the wall behind the head of the bed. “Satan! Witches! In the name of Christ and all that is Holy, I rebuke and cast you out.”

“No, Evelyn, my wife, there is no Satan here, and likely neither much of the Christ; this is the power of the ancients, the power of our kind. It is neither good nor evil but who and what we are. It is the power and the legacy of the Devi. And into that family, you have been reborn.”

 “How is any of this true?” Evelyn drew a cross on herself as she said that.

“Evelyn, you know how you asked me why I attended funerals, and do you now recall where I said I was and where Abigail said she was in the past? They were all times of what some may call a crisis point in many nations' history. We do not cause unrest or wars, but the energy of what the people feel in times of great sadness or joyous emotions. That acts as food or succour to us. The intense and potent feelings of emotions in others rejuvenate us and strengthen us. We eat and drink like everyone else in London, Dublin, Copenhagen, or Rome, but we gain energy, life and vitality in times of change.

Here in Ireland now, with this famine. We can feel and almost taste the hurt and hunger of others. We did not cause this blight upon the potatoes here, nor did we cause any of this suffering. But we feel it, and by feeling it, we do not cause a further burden upon those individuals. We feel and feed on it, like a plant in the sun. By feeding on the sunlight, the plant does not lessen the warmth and light of the sun. It is just nature, and we are natural as well.”

“You have made me into what? Someone who craves and desires to live with the suffering of others?”

“No, not just suffering, but those in time of joy. I was in London for Her Majesty’s coronation, and the energy and life and joy were almost overwhelming.”

It is not just pain and dark; the joy and light also feed us.”

“Why can’t I go back to London? What is stopping me from going there?”

St Croix walked to the window and observed the two young men who had first appeared upon their arrival outside at the gate, almost as if standing guard.

“I need to take you to Paris, where you can learn our ways and how not to be seen while walking in the daylight. Learn how to distinguish the smells of love, grief and fear and how to heal yourself. And finally, the way and means to change and adapt your life and mannerisms as you move through time may be the hardest of all things.

As the one who has engendered you, I teach you everything. And that would not be possible in London, as your friends, family, and social circle would interfere with the process and be a hindrance and distraction.

I have requested that Sir Percy place a social notice in The Times stating your accident in Dublin and that you and I have taken leave of London to travel south of France to aid in your recovery and convalescence.”

“But what of my father and mother? Will they not be troubled?”

“Sir Percy will act to allay their fears.”

“Although we are old, we are few, and we cannot control everything we wish or need to do to ensure our survival. Thus, we must employ the work of specific Standards to assist us. We pay them well, and if the need arises, heal someone so they can keep their silence. We have almost unlimited wealth and connection with those in power and those who control that power.

I handsomely paid off the Stokers for their silence and the carriage master who brought us here from Dublin. Those are immediate fixes, but for the longer and more complex personal transactions, we employ firms like Sir Percy’s, and for great things, we have established networks in various countries. We have the O.T.I.D., the ‘Orbis Terrarum Imperium Sub Deo’ in England, Wales and Ireland. Of which your father is a member. They do not know who we are or what we do. But in exchange for their services, we do what we can for them with benefits of rewards in power, monetary gain and social prestige. Some think of us as an order like the Masons. Others see us as a network of couriers and spies for the Crown. Either way, they remain silent.

It was simply by chance that I encountered you on Waterloo Bridge that morning and that you were the daughter of an O.T.I.D. associate.”

“Oh, joy and the luck of good fortune for me,” Evelyn muttered, but she smiled for the first time in a week.

“To that end, I have also instructed Sir Percy to sell my gold and currency exchange and to forward the proceeds to an address in Paris.”

With a serious look on her face. “If this is true, when do we leave?”

“In three days, we travel by coach for two days down the coastal roads, stopping midway in Riverchapel and then to Rosslare Harbour, where we depart for St Malo in Brittany.”

Leaning forward and raising an eyebrow was her habit when teasing Jonathan. “If I resist and do not go and run back to London?”

“You would face your death within a month, so if that were the case, I would be forced to trundle you up like a Christmas goose and stow you in a travel trunk.”

Jonathan walked out of the room, and Abigail leaned over Evelyn, kissed her softly, and spoke. “Welcome, my sister, welcome.”