Cupids Read Free Page A

vicissitudes of fate and vanquish all demons in order to ensure my own safe return. My selfless interest in this treasure has made me quite selfish, but this prize which makes me regard my own life as dear is neither earth, nor stone, nor gem.”
    Eliza holds my gaze and her face is a perfection of stillness. I feel a cannonball is suspended a foot above the table and about to fall with a great thundering crash. “Why, Mr. Guy,” she says, her manner larger than before yet distinctly more distant, “a riddle! Do you desire me to guess its answer?”
    Hesitancy creeps into the muscles of my face. I’m stuck for a reply.
    â€œCome, young master Bartholomew, lend me the torch of your keen observation so that I may peer into the profound depths of your worthy leader.”
    Her eyelids flutter again, but now they are less butterflies than shields. They are still decorated with patterns of conviviality, but seem designed to ward off that which is unwelcome.
    â€œIt is a trifle, Lady Eliza. Think no more about it.”
    â€œNo, Mr. Guy, I will not hear of such a thing. You have aroused our curiosity. We must be satisfied. Is that not so, young sir?”
    â€œIndeed,” says Bartholomew. “Mr. Guy’s wit is a known wonder to all. The only thing that surpasses the pleasure of one of his riddles is the joy of having its solution explained.” I would like to flash him a warning glance but know Eliza would see it too.
    â€œThere you are, Mr. Guy, we have given up trying to guess. The code of good manners demands you explain yourself.”
    The candle flame leaps and Eliza’s eyes lighten for the moment from deep aqua to bluish steel. Mrs. Egret has ceased her knitting and laid her bundle and needles aside. Though obscured in dimness, her frail form seems to tilt forward attentively.
    Like an army retreating through a forest, I weave backward through my words — “neither earth, nor stone, nor gem” — and finally I light upon an evasion that may suffice.
    â€œThe air,” I say with a slight cough.
    â€œSurely not!”
    â€œYes, Lady, indeed. The air here in Bristol is what I most miss. The way that the woodsmoke mingles with the late blossoms of autumn and the crocuses of spring.”
    â€œBut what about the warm breezes of Cupers Cove and nature’s reassuring breath?”
    Her smile — a blade scarcely at rest — remains on me. She doesn’t blink, but now I’ve got her measure; I’ll not crumble.
    â€œI would merely have those virtues of the New World transported hither, Lady Eliza, so that the expanse of the new and the beauty of the old could mingle as one. And now,” I say, rising with all the dignity I can muster, “Bartholomew and I must go to your father’s study and take our leave of him.”
    Eliza nods and directs a smile first at me, then at Bartholomew. Mrs. Egret’s knitting has resumed and provides a clockwork accompaniment to her niece’s inscrutable movements. Bartholomew bows twice, both times in an exaggerated manner, and I have to shoo him toward the study door.
    MY EYES FIX ON the red bauble trembling from Mr. Egret’s Florentine silk nightcap as the quill scratches through the silence.
    â€œAnd so, Mr. Egret,” I resume as patiently as I can, “I would be happy to provide any other information you might require on the progress of our venture.”
    â€œTime, Mr. Guy, time will give both of us all the answers that we need.” The pen continues on its course, scratching sums and fractions the purpose of which I am now certain is quite unconnected to our mutual enterprise. “Our venture, as you put it, will either thrive or perish on its merits, and we will either gain or lose that portion of sweat and gold we have invested in it. Such is life.”
    My chest is beating an indignant rhythm that I am at some pains to suppress. “And yet, toil and risk, and, dare