"My apologies," he told her. Then, "I've been granted permission to see
a few sights. I wish you'd appoint yourself my guide."
"Gladly," she replied, shedding her gravity once more as she stepped
down to the floor. "Strange though it be, Belvoir is a place of
surpassing marvels."
"That I'll believe," Justin told her.
* * * * *
They emerged at the foot of a gently sloping ramp upon an immense mall
that reminded Justin of one of the carefully tended semi-tropical
gardens outside of Charleston, South Carolina.
Resisting the tug of Deborah's hand, Justin paused to study the
colorful vista carefully. At first the soundlessness troubled him--till
he noted that no bird sang upon any of the branches or floated upon the
lagoons. He looked upward, saw that fluffy clouds crossed endlessly a
pale blue sky--as against a theatrical backdrop.
His sophisticated gaze found little trouble in discovering them to
be mere aspects of a moving picture sky--and now and again, behind
the illusion of space they created, he was able to discern the shadow
of immense mechanical installations, whose hugeness and intricateness
quite took his breath away. Evidently Ortine had spoken no less than
the truth when he said that Belvoir was in truth a ship.
"Charles--_Charles_!" He realized abruptly that a worried Deborah was
calling to him.
He told her, smiling reassurance, "I was just trying to figure
something out. I'm sorry."
"Ye need not be," she replied. "Faith, I too was struck dumb when first
I beheld the splendor of this garden. Come, let us explore its reaches."
They walked on soft warm turf that gave gently beneath their bare soles
through what Justin decided must be a fair approximation of the average
man's conception of paradise.
However, the inmates of this artificial Eden were, to Justin at any
rate, more Rabellaisian than Godly. They watched a panting satyr chase
a giggling nymph around and around the bole of a giant tree--but the
satyr was a plump balding gentleman half-clad in red and yellow motley,
while his quarry was a plumper if less bald damsel whose complex and
tight-drawn corset and shift promised that while the chase would be
brief, its consummation would prove to be appallingly difficult.
"'Twill offer poor Wilmot more woe than a chastity girdle," Deborah
said, laughing. "Milady of Warwick is the only one of us he can catch."
"You mean that old goat has actually chased _you_?" Justin asked.
"And prithee, why not?" she countered coolly.
Justin grinned ruefully. He said, "Well, I hope you didn't let him
_catch_ you."
"That I have ne'er allowed any man," she replied quietly and a shadow
of sadness returned to haunt her fascinating face.
They saw other bizarre sights in the Belvoir garden and Justin was
amazed, not to say appalled, by the casual sophistication with which
Deborah either ignored or found amusement in what were to him appalling
spectacles. He kept reminding himself, _other times--other customs_,
but he was relieved when she drew him into a secluded arbor at the far
end of the half-mile garden.
There, without warning, she turned to him, put her arms about his neck
and lifted her soft full lips to his. As he kissed her and his arms
and body discovered to the full what the starched deceptiveness of her
ridiculous nightgown concealed, Justin felt a sudden surge of desire
such as had not assailed him in years.
He recalled, unbidden, what Corinne Forrester had said about his need
for a woman, thought briefly of the purgatory in which his wife's
frigidity had held him, then stopped thinking about anything but the
sweetness of this unexpected and utterly welcome moment.
Later, when some degree of sanity had returned to both of them, Deborah
said softly, "Prithee do not think me a light maid, Darling Charles,
but I fear we have little time and it was vital to me that I give
myself to a man of my choice."
"Debby dear," he replied, ignoring for the moment the implications of
her remark, "I think you're unbelievable. Being with you, holding you
like this, is utterly fantastic--for in my own mind I have long been in
love with a girl of your own time and city."
"Tell me her name," Deborah said fiercely, "and I'll scratch out her
eyes when I get back."
He laughed gently, replied, "She had no name, Debby dear--I made her up
myself. And now she is Deborah Wilkins."
For that she kissed him and said, "But why, Darling Charles, should
ye dream of a girl of my time--and my Boston? In truth, 'tis a horrid
dirty town."
"You may not realise it, dear," he told her, "but you live in one of
the most fascinating towns, in one of the most fascinating times of
history."
"Ye speak madness!" she cried.
"I speak truth--what in _my_ time is history," he replied. "Hasn't Dr.
Phillips told you something of what happened?"
"In truth he sought to but I failed to credit him," she replied. "Ye
mean, that in ye'r time, Darling Charles, our colonies will have their
own king?"
"They'll have no king at all," he told her. He tried to explain
something of the Revolution but so ingrained in her was the idea of
monarchy that he finally gave it up and asked her to tell him what it
was like to live in eighteenth-century Boston.
"'Tis mostly cold and heat and discomfort compared to life here in
Belvoir," she said slowly. "Always is something lacking for our ease.
When the river and harbors freeze so that we may glide over the ice,
then never is there sufficient wood for our hearths.
"Come summer and we suffer the heat of hell--save for the governor,
with his apartment on Castle Island, where he can enjoy the cool harbor
breezes, and the rich with their estates in Milton and Dorchester and
even beyond."
"But surely," he protested, "you have your good times. How about Guy
Fawkes day, or Cambridge during Commencement Week? How about bundling
parties and vaccination parties and all the rest?"
She turned her head away briefly and her eyes were full. "Aye," she
replied, "there have been good times and I've had my share. But for me
they are over upon my return."
"Is it this assignment Ortine has given you?" he asked her gently.
"Mayhap 'tis a part of my misery," she said.
Justin may have lived a life of enforced semi-celibacy for some years
but he was neither a fool nor inexperienced where women were concerned.
He thought--_Hello_--and suddenly a new and warm excitement flared up
within him. Despite the suddenness of their passion, despite the fact
that she had claimed an ulterior motive in flinging herself into his
arms, this girl loved him.
Equally important, he was in love with her.