Chapter 20 The Venus Kiss
The Venus Kiss
I awoke this morning to find Miss Darcy sitting on the end of my bed, staring at me.
“You really do not want me here?” she asked. “Say the word, and I will go home.”
I opened my mouth to reply.
“Up, up, up, Mary, up!” my mother came bursting in. “You must get dressed and come down, so you may entertain—” She stopped at the sight of her quarry. “Oh! Miss Darcy dear!”
“Good morning, Mrs. Bennet,” she said. “I was just stopping in to ask if Miss Bennet might like a walk with me today.”
“A walk! I hope we can entertain you better than that ,” cried Mamma. “Not to worry, Miss Darcy, I’ve a hundred things to show you today, and none of them as dull as a walk .”
And so it fell out, for as soon as we arrived at breakfast, Mamma had filled every hour of the day.
Our house was crammed with visitors from the moment it was proper for morning visits till the last possible second, and after that there was a card party at the Longs’, an assortment of Lucases to supper, and from then until bed an unbroken monologue from Mamma about every conceivable topic—her elder daughters’ mighty marriages (Mamma seemed to forget that Miss Darcy knew both daughters well), her distress at Miss Darcy’s illness, her insistence that Miss Darcy must have rest and quiet on this visit, and her intention to make all rest and quiet impossible with a schedule so ambitious that a hardened soldier would have quaked at it.
I have often wondered if Mamma is capable of having a thought without voicing it.
The possibility remains wholly theoretical.
The result of all this bustle was that Miss Darcy and I were together the entire day but could hardly speak a word to each other. However, our eyes often met and held. Every time I felt the burn of that gaze, I knew she was waiting for an answer to her question.
You really do not want me here? Say the word, and I will go home.
I should, of course. There were excellent reasons to do so. If she stayed, I might have to explain about Pike, and—no. I could not. Miss Darcy must go.
And yet—
Another pair of hands would be welcome. There was so much to do just to make enough serum for Pike’s current regime, and as she’d pointed out, that wouldn’t be sufficient for long.
Dash it all, I was sick of doing everything by myself.
And the way she’d lit up in my laboratory—she could understand it. She could understand me .
I was not sure if it was a point for or against her.
Back and forth all day, the argument raged silently in my head. I avoided her gaze and came to no firm conclusion.
Then I remembered how she’d stolen my room and, with it, the gate to my little sanctum. No. She could not stay.
That night after bedtime I slipped up to her room and scratched at the door. She threw it open immediately. I walked past her, stopping in the center of the rug.
“Well?” she said.
“I am sorry,” I replied. “It was terribly kind to come all this way, but I think it’s best if you go.”
She nodded. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“I really think it’s—”
“No.”
I blinked.
“No?”
“No. I am staying here.”
“But you said say the word—”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“You can’t!”
“I do not see how you can prevent me.”
“Why?!”
She took a quick step toward me. “I think you need me, Mary,” she said. “Oh, I know you’re brilliant, but you’ve blind spots like anyone else. What’s more, I think you’re exhausted. You have got to let someone else shoulder your pack awhile.”
“I’ve managed so far.”
“Debatable. Regardless, it is no guarantee for the future. A horse that has just run fifty miles cannot run fifty more.”
When one has been alone for a very long time, it can be rather overwhelming just to be perceived. I found myself trembling under her appraising gaze.
I was tired. Why hadn’t I realized it?
Shadows flickered wildly across the room from the way the candlestick shook in my grasp. Then she was there, her hand wrapped around my own.
“Steady,” she said. “Let’s not burn the place down.”
“Thank you.”
We stood there for a moment, hands locked together around the candlestick.
Her hand was soft and warm on mine. I wondered how many young men had bent over that hand and kissed it after a dance.
Of course, she would have been wearing gloves then.
He would not know, as I now did, how warm that hand was, how soft, despite its slender strength.
“If you won’t do it for yourself,” she said, so close, “do it for me. I’ve not seen half of all you have in that glorious workshop of yours. Won’t you give me the full tour, at least?”
I shook off my odd musings. “That at least I can do.”
I soon showed her the rest of my meager store of equipment. The pièce de résistance was, of course, my electrostatic rig. It was covered in a sheet, which I whipped off with a bit more pride than Quindley would approve—but given all it took to get it, I think I can be forgiven.
“Oh, my,” she cried, grabbing my arm. “Mary, she’s beautiful . I am dead with jealousy.”
“No need to be jealous,” I said. “She—er, it is at your disposal.” In fact I had intended to stipulate a rule that only I was to operate my precious rig, and I cannot say why I gave way immediately, except that her grip on my arm was rather nice.
“Oh! May I really?” She scrambled over to it and ran those long, clever fingers over the polished wood, the shining brass. After years of use it was a bit burnt in places, but I took pride in keeping it in peak condition.
“Gorgeous,” she proclaimed, carefully wiping a fingerprint away with the edge of her sleeve.
“You know, I’ve not been near one of those since I was a little girl.
Papa took me to an electrical salon. The fool who presented it gave us a far stronger shock than he was meant to. ” She chuckled. “Papa was quite cross.”
An electrical salon.
No. It could not be. But I compared my memory of the little girl at the electrician’s show with the woman in front of me and felt a lurch of possibility. I despise hunches, but I was having one now. “The salon,” I said. “Where was it?”
“West Hertfordshire,” she said absently. “Not far from here, I believe.” She had climbed atop the grounding stool and was at present absorbed in observing her distorted reflection in the glass bulb.
“There was another little girl there. You held her hand.”
“Mm. I wanted to play with her, but there was measles about so Father said no. How did you know? Did Fitzwilliam—” She paused, then turned. “No. Were you, really?”
I nodded. “My father and Harry brought me.”
“I read your account, of course, but I gave it no thought. I never thought we had seen the very same show. But now I come to look at you…” Her quick eyes darted over my features. I felt it almost like the touch of a hand. Or, perhaps, the race of a spark.
“Then you were the one who…” Her hand rose. Her other still rested on the metal rod of the apparatus, but as it stood idle, I allowed my own hand to rise to meet hers.
We both jumped at the moment of contact.
“A residual charge,” I said as briskly as I could. The little shock I’d felt from her fingers was still shivering through my insides. My fingers were tingling. “That is all. I should have warned you. Sometimes it builds a little even when the machine is idle.”
She cleared her throat. “Of course.” Then she grinned. “You know, there is one common electrical trick that that shabby little show did not display. I suppose it was because of our presence. May I show you?”
“By all means.”
“Then charge her up.”
I obliged, turning the globe against the cloth only a few revolutions until it had begun to crackle. Miss Darcy, still standing on the grounding stool, said, “Now then. It is called electrical Venus. I am a beautiful young lady.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“I mean ,” she said, “I am a beautiful young lady attending an electrical salon. The electrician has bade me stand upon the stool. Now he bids one of the gentlemen”—she pointed at me—“to come forward.”
I stepped forward just as she leaned down. “And now,” she said, “the young man gives the young lady a kiss.”
I knew, of course, that it was a foolish thing to do—knew the consequences—and yet I leaned in closer, standing on my toes. She leaned down and just as our lips were about to touch—
Zzzzt.
Even behind my closed eyelids the spark was visible. My head was thrown backward a few inches. Sharp pain stung my lips. I stared at the slant of the ceiling boards until the stars faded from my eyes.
“The electrical Venus,” she said, blinking. Her free hand was pressed to her lips. “Also known as the Venus kiss. I have read numerous accounts of it.”
I cast about for something to say. “I suppose Quindley would say that this shows how even nature rebels against a young man and woman taking such liberties.”
“Perhaps, but neither of us is a young man.”
I was quite sure that Quindley would not approve of my current sensations, either.
My heart was racing, and I have given myself enough shocks to know I cannot wholly blame the apparatus.
It is all right, isn’t it, Harry? I am sure it must be, for the kiss was quite innocent—we are both ladies after all, and friendly kisses between ladies are quite usual.
Yes, I am sure it is all right. Just the excitement of having someone to share my studies with.
Georgiana put her hand on my shoulder to help herself down from the stool. It was trembling slightly. I am glad to see that her excitement about this field of study matches my own. You would be happy for me, I am sure.
Harry, I have decided she should stay.