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Dramatis Personae
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Madame SYLVIE, of the Chateau d'Amour
LISETTE Tautou, a young woman
ANEIRA, a Moondancer
Sir ARCHIBALD Prescott, a knight
Countess CECELIA, of Stewartsville
Lord MONTGOMERY Estenborough, a nobleman
Lady FENNELA Estenborough, his sister
ALBERT Dimple, the butler
BESSIE, the cook
Old SALTY Duncan, a fisherman
An elfen driver

 

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Act I
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* Scene 1: The interior of a carriage

This carriage is a utilitarian affair, though it bears the marks of attempted luxury: plush upholstering on the seats, and wood panelling on the walls. A windows set with small panes of glass reveals the road outside.

The scene brightens, showing the interior of a carriage, richly upholstered and panelled in dark wood. Outside the carriage window, the road flashes by, with the tell-tale shape of the Southern Mountains far in the distance.

Two women are seated in the carriage, dressed smartly in fine yet practical travelling gowns. The elder of the two women has a brilliant smile upon her face, lighting up her dark, liquid eyes as she waves her hand animatedly in the midst of speaking.

The younger and taller of the two women is nodding and laughing, though she looks somewhat distracted, and at times she presses her hand briefly against the glass pane of the carriage window as she peers outside at the road.

SYLVIE: Come now, dear Lisette, there's no use staring outside like that - nor any use pressing your feet against the floor either. It will not make us go faster, you know!

The younger woman startles briefly, before turning away from the window. A slow flush of colour creeps into her cheeks, but the tilt of her head is unconsciously proud and confident as she regards the other.

LISETTE: (Staunchly) Madame Sylvie, you know better than anyone else what it is that makes me wish to arrive sooner. You are, after all, the cause of it.

A pleased look comes over SYLVIE's face at Lisette's words, as though she has received a personal compliment. Nevertheless, she politely waves Lisette's words aside.

SYLVIE: Ah, no, cherie. You were the cause of it, you and young - what is it - Montgomery Estenborough. Pfaugh, these Stewartsville folk with their unpronounceable names. Madame did but smooth the course of love.

An enormous rattle shakes the carriage as the floor tilts, and both women sway, grabbing at the railings of the seats to steady themselves. A tasteful red valise slides off the overhead compartment, barely missing Lisette and landing on the floor with a crash. Outside the window, a lone carriage wheel can be seen, rolling off along the road into the distance.

LISETTE: (A touch wryly) Speaking of smooth courses...

SYLVIE: (Yelling out the window): Driver! What in the world has happened?

A voice yells from outside, "The carriage has broken down, Madame."

* Scene 2: Great Southern Highway

The highway stretches off into the distance, with the Southern Mountains looming vaguely off in the distance. On one side of the road, wild moors stretch in a grey-green expanse of grass and heather, and on the other side, the Inner Sea glimmers in the sun.

Muttering, Sylvie and Lisette clamber out of the carriage into the bright light. The road is silent and empty as far as the eye can see, aside from the carriage, tilted to one side with a missing wheel, some rather spooked-looking dashros who promptly escape and dash into the distance, and the chagrined elfen driver.

Admonishingly, Sylvie says, "I hire the very best carriage from Tleem Transports, and this is what happens! Unthinkable!" Gesturing to Lisette, she adds, "And to a young woman on her way to her wedding! Fie on you!"

As Sylvie and the elfen driver continue to argue, hoofbeats can be heard in the distance. Soon, a rider comes into view, his features barely discernable except for his fair hair marking him from afar.

The rider clatters to a stop before Sylvie, and sweeps off his dappled grey horse and into a low bow in one smooth movement.

ARCHIBALD: What appears to be the matter? And what brings Madame Sylvie so far south?

SYLVIE pauses in her tirade, a sudden smile returning to her face as she inclines her head charmingly to the newcomer.

SYLVIE: Ah, Archibald. How lovely to see you again. Lisette, this is Sir Archibald Prescott, who lives close by. Archibald, this is Lisette Tautou, who I have come to see wed to Lord Estenborough.

ARCHIBALD: (jovially) Pleased to meet you. Young Montgomery, eh? I am sure the lady is too good for him.

LISETTE: (Loyally) I am perfectly happy, sir, as you would discover if you came with us. It would be a pleasure to have you attend the celebrations.

ARCHIBALD: (With a broad smile) Certainly one mustn't refuse such an invitation. Where is this celebration to be held?

SYLVIE: (Cutting in) Ah, have you not heard? It is to be at Stewart Mansion. The Countess, she will host it.

ARCHIBALD's smile falters, just a little. "Ah," he says, stalling for a brief moment. "On second thought, I have a few things to attend to - "

SYLVIE: (Overriding him) Nonsense! Archibald, you would not leave us here abandoned by the side of the highway, at the mercy of every bandit?

DRIVER: (Confused, but clearly realising that something is afoot) Madame, this is a safe section of the highway. There are no bandits - 

SYLVIE: (Completely ignoring the driver) At the very least you must accompany us to Stewartsville!

ARCHIBALD looks up into the air, as if seeking divine intervention. Finding none, he looks back down again, an expression of resignation on his face. 

ARCHIBALD: Very well. I fear my horse is unable to carry three of us, but perhaps would be able to bear your valises...? And the coachman here can take some time to calm his dashros and stable them in the village tonight. No doubt he'll wish to send a letter to notify his company.

A flurry of activity commences as the ladies drag their belongings out from the broken carriage, laughing and bantering as they do, loading it onto the dappled grey horse, which looks distinctly unimpressed. As a final afterthought, Archibald tosses the driver a handful of sovereigns.

In the light of the golden afternoon, Archibald, Sylvie and Lisette walk off into the hazy distance, leaving behind only the wrecked carriage, and the driver who gazes after the group with a mixture of resignation and fervent relief.

The sun slowly sets, and as night settles in, the scene shifts to the village of Stewartsville, where warm lights are winking cosily to life in the windows of the houses. Up on the mansion atop the hill, the faint strains of some half-heard music drift down upon the wind.

* Scene 3: A comfortable parlour

This parlour has been tastefully furnished, with brocaded couches and a plush red rug on the floor. Large, glass-paned windows look out onto the village below, and a small vanity desk sits in one corner, to allow the occupants to refresh their appearance as necessary.

The scene shimmers again, to show a comfortable parlour in the mansion, where Sylvie and Lisette are sitting. Sylvie has changed from her dusty riding clothes, and looks impeccable in rose-hued finery as she lounges languidly on a brocaded couch.

LISETTE looks up curiously from where she is weaving a golden ribbon into her short, bobbed hair. She glances behind her to make sure the door is shut, before turning back to Sylvie.

LISETTE: Madame, what is going on? Why were you so eager for that man to accompany us here? And why did he not wish to?

SYLVIE: It is a most unlooked-for turn, child - but one that I hope to make good use of. But hush! My helper arrives. 

LISETTE looks expectantly at the door, but Sylvie goes over to the window instead, flinging it open dramatically. 

SYLVIE: Dear Aneira! How have you been, cherie?

A muffled "oof!" sounds from outside, and after a moment, a pair of sapphire-blue butterfly wings flutter into sight, followed by the rest of a rather resigned-looking faeling, who clutches a wiccan broom in one hand and an oversized satchel in the other. 

The faeling flits unsteadily through the window, dropping the satchel on the carpeted floor with an unceremonious thunk. She reaches a hand up to rearrange the dishevelled violets in her dark hair.

ANEIRA: Madame, please do not open the window with -quite- so much force. You knocked me quite off my broom.

LISETTE: But you're a faeling! Why do you even need a broom?

ANEIRA turns her head towards Lisette. Flapping her wings quickly, she hovers before Lisette, her blue eyes regarding the young woman curiously.

ANEIRA: It's the expected thing, of course. How should people know me for a wiccan if I do not bear the tools of my trade?

LISETTE tilts her head, her gaze open and curious at this new arrival.

ANEIRA zips around the room, her robes swishing around her dramatically, before she stops in front of Lisette again, her wings still beating rapidly to sustain her in the air.

ANEIRA: I am Aneira of the Moon Coven, teller of fortunes, brewer of potions, healer of ills. I travel the Basin with broom and athame, a purveyor of maiden's blessings (seldom asked for) and hangover cures (very popular). Pleased to meet you.

LISETTE: Lisette Tautou. Delighted. 

ANEIRA (To Sylvie): The hangover cures are why you asked me to come to this gathering, I presume?

SYLVIE: Ah, yes. It is never wise to attend a wedding without a healer on hand, of course. Such mayhem happens otherwise... why, the other month in Delport one of the men got so drunk that he woke up surrounded by no fewer than ninety-five hamsters, and no one could explain how this had come to be!

SYLVIE's face grows pensive, and she suddenly turns to Aneira with a look of determination.

SYLVIE: But as you have come, and fate has made it so... there is another thing I wish.

LISETTE finishes tying the ribbon in her hair, and listens with rapt attention. 

SYLVIE: There's no better place to bring lovers together than at a wedding - and I don't mean the ones getting married. The Countess Cecelia, for all our differences... well, she is one who needs a bit of love.

SYLVIE looks at Aneira, a bright smile on her face.

SYLVIE: How strong a love potion can you brew?

ANEIRA: raises her hands defensively, shaking her head.

ANEIRA: Madame, what you ask is very risky. Love potions are highly unpredictable things, and besides, what such draughts induce is less love, and more of a powerful infatuation.

SYLVIE waves her hand dismissively. "Madame knows what love is," she says. "A potion is not love..."

SYLVIE brings her hands together in front of her.

SYLVIE: But what if love were already there, and only needed a tiny push?

LISETTE gives a sudden gasp of realization.

LISETTE: Then that man we met on the road, the rider...

SYLVIE: Ah, yes. Archibald Prescott. They've been dancing around each other for years. If it were anyone else, Madame would have solved the problem handily. But these two, they will not talk. It is all 'I bid you good day, my lady,' and 'You look well, sir', and not a useful word out of either of them. 

ANEIRA: I am skeptical of this plan, Madame.

SYLVIE: Well, no matter. You shall see how it is for yourself. I have let the Countess know that you are here as part of my entourage.

SYLVIE rises from the couch in one graceful motion, extending a hand to Lisette.

SYLVIE: Well, Lisette? Now that we are all presentable, shall we go and meet your betrothed?

LISETTE rises, twisting her hands before her, and nods.

* Scene 4: The Stewart Gallery

This long, high-ceilinged gallery offers plenty of space to its occupants, despite the multitude of portraits lining its walls. The floor is paved with wood parquet, polished to a dark sheen, and torches line the walls.

The Stewart Gallery is brightly lit and magnificent, and already filled with a milling crowd of well-heeled guests. Even so, it is impossible to mistake the lovely and dignified figure of Countess Cecelia amongst them.

LISETTE sweeps into the gallery, her steps quick and outpacing Sylvie and Aneira, who follow behind. As she bursts through the doors, her steps take her to a handsome though stiff-looking young man who stands in a corner.

Meanwhile, ARCHIBALD enters the gallery, making a bow to the assembled guests. The hunted look has not quite faded from his face, though he cuts a rather dashing figure, his riding garb exchanged for evening attire.

LISETTE (flinging her arms around the young man's neck): Montgomery! You dear boy!

MONTGOMERY (embraces Lisette, twirling her around in a flurry of skirts and laughter): Lizzy! I've missed you so much.

ARCHIBALD (Making a deep, precise bow to Cecelia): Countess. I am at your service, madam.

CECELIA (with a grave inclination of her head, though her gaze lingers on Archibald): It is always good to see you, sir.

LISETTE (To Montgomery): Has it only been a month? It feels like a year. I shall certainly not leave for so long again.

MONTGOMERY (To Lisette): Certainly! I have no plans of letting you out of my sight!

ARCHIBALD returns Cecelia's gaze, a faint smile playing upon his lips before he looks abruptly away, as if fearing to be caught.

ARCHIBALD (To Cecelia): It seems only yesterday that I was last a guest here. My apologies for this unannounced intrusion upon your hospitality.

CECELIA: No, no, please do not be perturbed. It was kind of you to aid my guests. Will you not stay for the wedding?

CECELIA's manner is perfectly poised, but her fingers twine slowly in the fine fabric of her shawl as she awaits the answer.

ARCHIBALD looks briefly frozen, like a man facing an onrushing carriage, before he bows abruptly once more.

ARCHIBALD: Madam, you are vastly kind to extend the invitation. It would be churlish of me to refuse.

CECELIA's face softens into something that is not quite a smile, but perhaps very close, though there is something wistful in it too. "I am sure my guests would find your acquaintance pleasing," she murmurs.

At the other end of the gallery, Lisette laughs at a joke Montgomery tells - a bright, clear sound - and draws him down for a resounding kiss. The noble crowd smiles indulgently, though at least one man - a rather practically-dressed farmer - cannot help but break into applause, before the glares of the crowd silence him.

ARCHIBALD bows once more over Cecelia's hand, his lips barely brushing the tips of her gloved fingers, before he retreats into the crowd.

CECELIA stares after his retreating form, with the look of someone whose thoughts are very far away.

From atop the gallery, SYLVIE turns to Aneira with a sigh.

SYLVIE: Do you see now how it is? Do you see what I have had to put up with for years? And never mind that I have tried to convince them. 

SYLVIE (Sounding martyred): It is always, 'Ah, Madame, he is so chivalrous to everyone, I fear he has no special interest in me,' and 'Madame, I must ask that you cease. The Countess Cecelia is far beyond a simple knight.'

ANEIRA (Staring down into the room below): Yes. I see what you mean. 

SYLVIE: (Forging on, as if enumerating a litany of woe) Lisette and Montgomery had the time to become engaged and married before those two have managed to so much as exchange a kiss.

ANEIRA gathers herself up, wrapping her shawl around her as she flits up to perch on the railing of the gallery.

ANEIRA: I will do as you ask. Come! I will go gather herbs for the potion, and meet you before dawn. 

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Act II
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* Scene 5: A comfortable parlour

The warm light of dawn is just creeping through the window of the parlour, which is slightly less tidy than it was the previous night. Discarded sashes and hair ribbons are piled high on the couches, which have been pushed back from the centre of the room to accommodate an intimidating glass alembic which has been set up here.

ANEIRA stands in the middle of the room, flitting from one bubbling flask to another in a practiced manner. Sylvie and Lisette stand at near, looking on with fascinated gazes.

ANEIRA (in an even, instructional tone): Rosehips for love, and cactus weed for delirium. Marjoram for the body, and coltsfoot to relax the mind... and lastly faeleaf, to bring the senses into clarity.

ANEIRA points her athame at the alembic, and pale faeriefire springs to life beneath it, burning yet not consuming. 

LISETTE (murmuring): Oh, it's lovely.

The alembic swiftly bubbles, its contents growing murky and then clear again. Quickly, Aneira produces a small crystal vial, which she fills from the alembic.

ANEIRA: I don't think you'll need so much. Just a drop should be enough. How shall we administer it?

SYLVIE (with the ease of long knowledge): Sir Archibald is an early riser, as is the Countess, and she takes her tea hot in the morning. Lisette, cherie, you are quicker and lighter on your feet. If you go down to the kitchen, the tea service should be waiting.

ANEIRA (admiringly): Your knowledge rivals an assassin's, Madame.

ANEIRA hands the vial to Lisette.

SYLVIE waves her hand, dismissing the comment. "Merely long practice and observation," she says. "The skills that discover love also discover many other things." Turning to Lisette, she says, "Be swift now."

LISETTE slips out of the room, shadow-like in her dark dressing gown.

As Lisette walks down the dark, pre-dawn corridors of Stewart Mansion, she gazes around at the lushly carpeted halls and the visages of portraits looking down upon her from the walls.

LISETTE: (Murmuring) Kitchens, kitchens...

Suddenly, Lisette spots a door that has been left ajar, beyond which lies a corridor that appears far more spartan and bare than the rest. Swiftly, she walks over on slippered feet, quietly easing the door open further.

LISETTE walks cautiously down the stairs, before she lifts her head and takes in a dainty sniff. 

LISETTE: And the smell of bread. This must be the right direction.

* Scene 6: Kitchens

The kitchens are airy and well-tended, with a large stone fireplace in one end, and a long wooden table covered in various cooking implements in the middle. A small rear door leads outside, and another door leads into the house.

Soon, the kitchens come into view: a large space, meticulously clean yet somehow  simultaneously cluttered. There is nobody in sight, though a pot of something bubbles over the fire. On the low wooden table in the middle of the room, a silver tea tray stands. On the bench beside it rests a truly enormous pan of cake batter, with a scrap of paper under it that reads in a scrawled script: WEDDING RECEPTION - DO NOT TOUCH.

LISETTE hurries over to the tea tray, glancing this way and that, before unstoppering the small crystal vial.

Suddenly, footsteps ring from outside. Startled, Lisette quickly sets the vial down on the table before whirling around, trying to block it from view with her own body.

A tall, regal-looking young woman enters, looking impossibly languid and somehow impeccable despite the early hour.

LISETTE: Lady Fennela.

FENNELA: Well, if it isn't my brother's betrothed. We mustn't stand on such ceremony, you know, if we are to be sisters.

FENNELA's words are kind, but there is an edge to them as she moves closer to Lisette, looking her up and down. Her mouth curls slightly.

FENNELA: I would ask you what you are doing in the kitchens so early... certainly you might find it a bit more suited to your station than the rest of this honoured hall, but I hadn't expected you to realize it quite so soon.

LISETTE's face flushes with anger - and a touch of shame.

LISETTE: Lady Fennela makes it a habit, then, to frequent places she considers lowly and of ill repute?

FENNELA: No. I merely followed you. I told Bessie the maid to come see what mischief you were up to, but she merely fled. These low-class girls have no courage about them.

FENNELA: As for you - you have courage, but no breeding. No refinement. Looks, I'll grant you that. And ambition, no doubt. An adventuress of the finest and most unscrupulous type, ensnaring my brother with who knows what. Now we shall see what you are up to...

As Fennela approaches, LISETTE quickly moves to intercept her. Unbeknownst to her, her sleeve catches the small vial on the table, tipping it into the batter.

MONTGOMERY enters, looking quite harried.

MONTGOMERY: Fennela! Lisette! What is this? Bessie told me you two were arguing.

FENNELA (rounding on him angrily): That girl! She had no right to interfere -

MONTGOMERY (moving to Lisette's side): What is going on? 

FENNELA: Ask that of your precious bride! See what she moves so swiftly to hide.

MONTGOMERY (Puzzled): But she hides nothing.

All three of them turn to look behind Lisette: Fennela in anger, Lisette in trepidation, Montgomery with a look of confusion. There is absolutely nothing in sight.

MONTGOMERY: You'd better go, Fennie. You look like you could use some more sleep.

FENNELA gives a last, lingering look of distrust and sweeps out.

LISETTE breathes a small sigh of relief.

MONTGOMERY: Lizzie, what's this about?

LISETTE: (Innocently) What?

MONTGOMERY opens his hand, to reveal the vial, still mostly full. "This is yours, I presume," he says. There is a trace of wariness in his expression. "What draught is this?"

MONTGOMERY lifts the vial to his lips, as if to taste it.

LISETTE (After a moment): No - don't!

MONTGOMERY lowers the vial and stares at Lisette. "You'd better tell me what this is all about, then," he says.

LISETTE stands up on tiptoe to whisper into Montgomery's ear. As she speaks, Montgomery's clouded expression clears, and he gives a delighted laugh.

MONTGOMERY: It is an idea that only Madame could have thought of! Come, we'll do one better, you and I - we'll take the draught ourselves.

LISETTE (Sounding stunned): Us? Why?

MONTGOMERY: Why not?

LISETTE: ...we're already in love. Aren't we?

MONTGOMERY: True, true, so it won't do us any harm.

LISETTE: (Helplessly)  But darling, we don't need it!

MONTGOMERY: You don't want to?

LISETTE: ...certainly I don't want to! And you wouldn't ask me to do it if you trusted me.

MONTGOMERY (soundly oddly subdued) Would it be such a terrible fate, to be hopelessly and inextricably in love?

LISETTE (Coldly): What are you implying?

MONTGOMERY: That's not how I meant it.

LISETTE: You mean to say that you think I do not - that I am using you for my own advantage.

MONTGOMERY: I wouldn't fault you for it, Lisette, and it's nothing I haven't considered. It's just that it would have been nice, to know for sure.

MONTGOMERY passes the vial wordlessly to Lisette, and exits quietly through the back door of the kitchen, leaving Lisette staring wordlessly after him.

More footsteps approach, getting closer by the minute. Lisette gives one last, distracted look at the tea service, but realizes there is no time, and slips out of the kitchen instead, a hunted look on her face.

LISETTE exits, silently.

BESSIE the maid, enters, humming a cheerful tune, fires up the stove to a roaring flame, and begins to bake.

* Scene 7: The Stewart Dining Room

Large windows allow light into this airy, tasteful dining room, which is dominated by a table in the centre of it, which is covered with a white tablecloth and set for a large party.

As the fires of the stove begin to flicker cheerfully, the scene changes again, shifting from the warmly-lit kitchen to the cool, airy dining room of the mansion.

Lady FENNELA Estenborough is seated here, a wide range of biscuits and canapes spread before her. With a slight frown, she picks one up, takes a dainty nibble out of it, and sets it back down.

ALBERT the butler enters with a small piece of cake on a silver salver, which he sets before Fennela.

ALBERT: Is there anything else you would like to sample, madam?

FENNELA (Without turning her head): Yes. Everything that is to be at the reception must first pass by me.

ALBERT: If madam wishes to take the time to do so, we shall be at your disposal.

FENNELA: (Absently) Take the time? Of course. 

FENNELA frowns and daintily scoops a bite out of the colourfully frosted cake with her fork, before thoughtfully popping it into her mouth. She dabs at her lips with a napkin.

FENNELA: My brother may be marrying some low-class wench from Delport, but standards are standards - and family is family - and I will see both maintained, the gods help me.

ALBERT: Most admirable, madam.

FENNELA gives a brief start, as if she is surprised at Albert's presence. She tilts her head to look at him, blinks, then blinks again, as if she is seeing him for the first time.

FENNELA (In a slow, almost dizzy voice) Admirable... yes. To do what must be done, and yet be overlooked for it. Yet how many eyes look and do not see?

ALBERT (Sounding alarmed): Lady Fennela? Are you well? You seem in distress. There is a healer who is present, I believe. I will summon her for you.

FENNELA (Shaking her head): Admirable... I am well. I have never been better.

FENNELA stands up in a rustle of silken skirts, then sways and steadies herself by clutching Albert's arm.

FENNELA (Slowly): Albert, I find you... admirable.

ALBERT's face takes on an expression of surprise, which quickly morphs to shock as Fennela reaches up to touch his face, standing on tip-toe as she leans in to kiss him. He jerks back, almost by instinct, before grasping Fennela by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length.

ALBERT: Fennela - my lady - there is something terribly wrong here. You do not want this.

FENNELA clings to Albert, shaking her head adamantly. "I do want it," she says. "How have I not noticed it before?"

ALBERT: This is everything you would abhor.

FENNELA: And yet I adore you. I cannot think why, or how, but I've been blind my whole life until this moment.

ALBERT: Something is wrong. You would not act like this.

FENNELA shakes her head again. "How would you know?" she asks. The usually present look of calculated indifference and hauteur is present from her expression - without it, she looks vulnerable and impossibly young.

ALBERT: Lady Fennela Estenborough would not desire to be romantically involved with her host's help. I know that much.

FENNELA: And yet I do - so what if you spend your days below stairs? I'll come with you and polish candlesticks if I must.

ALBERT (his measured voice soothing, as if dealing with a dangerous creature): And answer doors and count cutlery? I think not. We must get you to a healer.

FENNELA: I'll starch my gowns and dress in gingham, and exchange my ostrich plumes for sunflowers, and be as hearty and rough as the roughest village girl.

ALBERT: That's not even the point.

FENNELA: What manner of woman is it that you like? You shall see that nothing is too much for me. We Estenboroughs are famed for resourcefulness.

ALBERT (with a trace of desperation): I do not like women. 

FENNELA: Is it a lad that you'd love? That would be trickier, but much can be accomplished with dramatics and a magic mirror.

ALBERT (hastily): No, no, what I mean to say is that I like neither men nor women. I like... candlesticks.

FENNELA looks momentarily stricken, a baffled look on her face as she tries to work out the implications of this latest statement.

FENNELA (Echoing mournfully): Candlesticks?

ALBERT (Yelling offstage): Healer! Bessie! Lady Cecelia!

FENNELA (Still sounding stricken): Candlesticks!

As footsteps sound in the hallways and doors slam in response to Albert's call, the scene shifts to show instead a picturesque village lane in the early morning light. All is peaceful and quiet, save for the occasional crow of a rooster in the distance. 

* Scene 8: Stewartsville Village

This charming village features picturesque lanes, winding down the hill from the Stewart Mansion. Neat, tidy houses nestle between the hill and the Inner Sea, looking out across the ocean to the north and across the wild beauty of the moors to the south.

Lisette is walking slowly down the lane, her light dressing gown fluttering in the dawn breeze, the small vial of potion glittering as she clutches it in her hand.

LISETTE (feverishly, to herself): Always tolerated and always watched, my emotions forever suspect. What have I ever done to warrant such mistrust?

LISETTE: I am a stranger, without family, nor anyone to vouch for me but Madame. Adventuress, opportunist, schemer - that is what they think. Fennela, the Countess... perhaps even Montgomery.

LISETTE looks down at the small vial in her hand, a distant, unreadable look on her face.

LISETTE (softly): And would it be so terrible, to be uncontrollably in love? All the world would know it, if I drank this potion. No more suspicion, no more remarks. They would know that I can have no thought for deceit - not when the potion rules me. They would believe me.

LISETTE looks into the distance, into the village.

LISETTE: Montgomery. Wait!

LISETTE uncorks the vial, and swiftly takes a sip of the potion, before hurrying down the deserted path.

The village is still quiet in the early morning. The shops are still closed for the most part, and there is no one in the street. LISETTE strides past the stores and down to the pier.

An old man is sitting on the pier, fishing in the cool morning, with a ragged straw hat covering most of his face and a cigar puffing clouds of smoke around his head. His wrinkled hands hold his fishing pole with a quivering grip.

SALTY: Whoa there, miss, watch where you're going. Say, you ain't from around these parts, are you? Old Salty Duncan. Pleased to meet you.

LISETTE (suddenly, in an aside): Oh, who is this, and why does my heart beat fast?

SALTY: Are you well? You look as though you came from somewhere in a hurry.

LISETTE: Oh strange day! Oh strange man! For he is old, and half-blind, and his hands are shaking.

SALTY: Baking? Baking, did you say? No, no, that's not me. Old Salty's a fisherman, though young Butch runs the shops.

LISETTE: His beard is white as snow, and most of his teeth have fallen out.

SALTY: A falling out? You look as though you've had one, coming down the hill like that, still in your slippers.

LISETTE: Though he seems kindly, this is no suitor a girl ever wished for. And yet - oh, unwillingly - all thoughts of past loves flee before this new turn of my heart.

SALTY: A cart? Why yes, I have a cart, but why do you need one?

LISETTE: Oh, strange impulse! I feel that I love him.

SALTY: Eh? What's that? I couldn't hear you.

LISETTE: I said, old man, I am in love with you!

SALTY blinks, as though only just now hearing clearly, and he cranes his neck towards Lisette in astonishment, before he shrugs his shoulders. "Well, pretty girl, you have strange tastes," he says, "But I s'pose I can't complain."

MONTGOMERY comes down the lane, a frown on his face. As he spots Lisette, his expression clears, and he strides towards her.

MONTGOMERY: Lisette! There you are. Thank goodness. Listen, about earlier - I'm terribly sorry -

LISETTE (Serenely): It's quite all right, Montgomery. But I'll speak to you later, as I'm terribly busy right now. Dear Salty and I are going to go find a shrine to be married at first.

MONTGOMERY (Blankly): What.

LISETTE (Regretfully): Oh, Montgomery. I drank the potion just like you said. But it all went wrong... I tried so hard to fight it. But I'm afraid that everything before seems only a memory now beside this new love.

MONTGOMERY (Even more blankly): What.

LISETTE holds out the vial to Montgomery, a tremulous smile on her lips. "Here," she says. "You can be happy too, if someone will share it with you."

The sun shines down on the trio, the momentarily speechless Montgomery looking back and forth between Lisette and Salty.

MONTGOMERY: This is unendurable. I will go.

MONTGOMERY goes back off down the lane the way he came, as if pursued by bloodhounds.

--------------
Act III
--------------

* Scene 9: The Stewart Gallery

The scene blurs and dims, and when it clears again, it shows the interior of the Stewart Mansion once more, where the Countess Cecelia is frowning out the window.

CECELIA (Absently): What a mess this all is. Fennela is swearing up and down that she adores poor Albert, who is in a state of shock at the entire proceeding. And Lisette has shown up with old Salty Duncan in my hall, demanding that a priest be summoned, while Montgomery Estenborough is nowhere to be found. Has the world gone mad?

ARCHIBALD strides into the room, his steps quiet and measured, and Cecelia turns at his arrival.

ARCHIBALD: It would seem so. A simple wedding has turned into a rather complicated lovers' fiasco.

CECELIA (With a trace of bitterness in her voice): How easily and quickly everyone seems to find love.

ARCHIBALD (Strangely subdued): It is too strange and sudden. A disturbance of the mind. I don't think what they found can be called love.

CECELIA (Sharply): And how would either of us know that? We who have found no such thing?

ARCHIBALD: Cece -

CECELIA: Maybe whatever this is is easier. Simpler.

ARCHIBALD: You can't possibly think that. You would deserve better.

CECELIA: No. I don't really think that. But what we deserve and what we have are very different things. And both are different still from what we would wish.

ARCHIBALD: You could have someone better for you than a knight who must always put duty first.

CECELIA pauses slightly, looking out the window at the village outside once more.

CECELIA: Duty? I have a duty too. But is there no room for anything else to grow in between the crevices of duty?

ARCHIBALD (Slowly): You should have something whole, something intact. You should have everything.

CECELIA (Softly): You never asked me what I wanted.

CECELIA walks toward Archibald, who watches her approach with something not quite like wariness, but with a tension in his frame as he regards her intently.

CECELIA (With the hint of a wry smile): If such loves as the ones currently plaguing my village can exist without causing the sky to fall down in chaos... then surely we can have this.

CECELIA reaches out a tentative hand towards Archibald, cupping his cheek. His eyes shut, but he does not move away, and he lets himself be drawn down into a kiss.

ARCHIBALD: Yes.

A deep silence falls within the room, hushed but not uncomfortable, as the lovers hold each other close. Soon, however, the silence is broken by the sound of a commotion elsewhere in the mansion.

CECELIA (Sighing): Well. That's duty calling. I'd better go see what's going on.

ARCHIBALD: Has anyone seen that wiccan Madame Sylvie brought? If this is some kind of madness, she might be the one to consult.

CECELIA (Shaking her head): Neither sight nor sound of either of them, I'm afraid.

ARCHIBALD: You can go see what's happening. I shall go and search for this Moondancer. I'll try to be back before sundown, hopefully with help.

CECELIA nods once, decisively.

CECELIA: All right. I'll have Bessie pack you some lunch.

The two look at each other for a long moment, silently, before Archibald draws close and lays a surprisingly light kiss upon Cecelia's lips.

CECELIA (Impulsively): Be safe. Come back.

ARCHIBALD: I will.

ARCHIBALD strides out of the room again. Cecelia gathers herself up, takes a deep breath, and leaves by a different door.

* Scene 10: The Grey Moors

Long grasses blow in an unseen wind, and purple-grey heather dots the moors. In the distance, a few lone farmhouses can be seen, behind which the Southern Mountains rise like a watchful shadow. To the north, the village of Stewartsville is barely visible beyond the road.

The scene changes once more, green grass and blooming flowers seeming to grow from the edges of the stage as the tableau shifts to depict a wild moor near Stewartsville, where Sylvie and Aneira are standing amidst clumps of heather and tall grasses.

ANEIRA (Sounding aggrieved): This has all gone wrong. I should never have let you talk me into it.

SYLVIE spreads her hands in a placating gesture, her charm and poise still present, though a little ragged in wake of the day's events.

SYLVIE: But how were we to know that this would happen? It was done with only the best intentions.

ANEIRA: Because these things do always go wrong! There really hasn't been a case of love potion use that has worked out for everyone involved, and I was silly to imagine that it could work here. 

ANEIRA flutters her sapphire-blue wings agitatedly, zipping around Sylvie in a dizzying circle before coming to hover in front of her.

ANEIRA: Just a nudge, we said. Well, we nudged the wrong people, and now I wouldn't be surprised if the entire village rose up in revolt tonight over it.

SYLVIE: Well, what are we going to do now?

ANEIRA (With grim determination): I am going to fix it.

SYLVIE: How will you do that?

ANEIRA: The same way I started it - with a potion. Choleric, to be precise. I will need some pennyroyal and some sage, which I will have to go pick. Meanwhile, you will go back to the house and try to stop this whole thing from going any further than it has already gone.

SYLVIE: Very well.

SYLVIE walks back along the dirt trail into the moors, towards the direction of the village.

ANEIRA takes a deep breath, and begins to flit across the moors.

ARCHIBALD enters from the winding path leading from the village, his gaze intent on the ground. A large golden retriever lopes easily by his side, sniffing ahead of him.

ARCHIBALD (Absently murmuring to himself): Faelings are hard to track, flying as they are, but even the most insignificant traces can be followed.

ARCHIBALD strides across the moor, his steps surprisingly sure. As he walks, he reaches into a picnic basket by his side, and takes out a loaf of bread, from which he breaks off a piece and unhurriedly consumes. He rummages a bit more, and a look of surprise crosses his face.

ARCHIBALD: Hmm! Cake. Well, I suppose there was nothing else to be done with it, since it was poor Montgomery and Lisette's wedding cake.

ARCHIBALD takes a bite of the cake. "Still," he murmurs, "It's a bit morbid. I suppose Bessie took 'Waste not, want not' to heart."

ARCHIBALD suddenly tilts his head, as the golden retriever returns to his side with loud barks.

ARCHIBALD: Did you find something, then?

The golden retriever yips a few times, and Archibald looks to one side, where he sees Aneira close by.

ARCHIBALD blinks, then his hand suddenly clutches his chest, and he takes a sharp breath. "Oh," he says.

ANEIRA turns, and her expression wavers as she sees Archibald. "Merry meet, sir," she says. "Did they send you to find me?"

ARCHIBALD: I - don't remember.

ANEIRA: Are you all right? You might have a concussion. They are nasty things, but I have a salve for that.

ARCHIBALD: You are - most kind. And lovely. Yes. Most lovely. I find that I have grown extraordinarily fond of you.

A sudden look of stricken realization crosses Aneira's face. "Oh," she says. "Oh, no. Sir Archibald. You should go immediately."

ARCHIBALD (Hoarsely): I cannot. I must follow you. Some strange thing draws me to you.

ARCHIBALD pauses, as if struggling. He draws a slow, ragged breath.

ARCHIBALD: I cannot... something is wrong. There is something terribly important that I have forgotten.

ARCHIBALD staggers towards Aneira, even as he appears to be struggling with himself. "Help me," he says.

ANEIRA looks momentarily frozen, and then leaps into action. She flits swiftly aside, whispering to herself and pointing at Archibald, whose eyes grow wide and vacant as a silver light shines around him.

As Archibald stumbles in fatigue and confusion, Aneira points an imperious finger at him. A faint green flush breaks out on his skin, and in a dizzying transformation, he shrinks and shrinks until nothing is left of him but a large toad, which hops agitatedly in the grass.

ANEIRA exhales, a long sigh, and relaxes the grip she has upon her athame. 

ANEIRA bends down, her small form kneeling in the grass until she is close enough to speak to the toad.

ANEIRA: I'm sorry. It was necessary, under the circumstances... you won't be hurt. I will fix all of this later, all right?

The toad fills its neck pouch and lets loose a loud 'Ribbit', whether of agreement or protest.

ANEIRA straightens again, a vaguely guilty look on her face, and exits hurriedly, pursued by the toad.

* Scene 11: Entry Hall of the Stewart Mansion

An intricately tiled floor lies underfoot in this spacious and imposing entry hall. Large double doors lead back outside into the village, and another door, left wide open, leads into the dining room beyond. A brilliant chandelier hangs overhead, and chairs are scattered around, as if hastily dragged in from elsewhere to accommodate people.

The scene shifts and changes again, the carpet of grass in the wild moor blurring until it becomes the tiled floor of the entry hall of the Stewart Mansion. Countess Cecelia is standing there, surrounded by a knot of agitated people, among which can be discerned Fennela and Lisette. Sylvie sits in a plush chair, looking worried.

CECELIA: All right, calm down. One thing at a time.

LISETTE: Where is the priest? Have you summoned one?

FENNELA: Oh traitorous heart! How could you do this to my brother? If you had even the slightest shred of decency, regardless of your status, you would not do this!

LISETTE: You're one to talk, miss high-and-mighty! How can you go on about status in one breath when you want to run off with the butler in the next?

SYLVIE: Oh, this is a disaster, a disaster! You are both not in your right minds! Where are this Salty Duncan and the man Albert? 

FENNELA (Plaintively): They won't let me see my Albert.

LISETTE (With deep satisfaction): That's because he doesn't want to see you!

CECELIA sweeps her hands out in a gesture of silence, and the two fall silent despite themselves.

CECELIA (Grimly): All right. Both of you take a seat. I will not attempt to convince you of the suddenness of your attachments, or the correctness of them. I have sent a summons for a priestess, who will no doubt be able to administer the rites that you demand.

SYLVIE (Sounding amazed): Have you really?

CECELIA (Exasperated): Yes, I've sent for a priestess. Your Moondancer, as it happens. I don't suppose you know where she is?

SYLVIE: No. I do not. Only that she is somewhere out there, and that she wishes to repair this... this.

CECELIA (More quietly): Archibald's gone to look for her. I hope nothing has happened to him.

The door of the mansion suddenly slams open with unusual force, and both women jump slightly, before turning to look.

ANEIRA hovers in the doorway, perched on her broom, a harried look still on her face. "I am here," she says. "With the cure for the ladies."

FENNELA turns her head imperiously towards Aneira. "Cure? I need no cure. My family has the finest doctors, and no need to be tended by some hedge-witch."

LISETTE: I make no such grandiose claim. But I am happy with my Salty, and desire nothing more than to be married immediately, without any talk of illness or cures.

CECELIA makes a placating gesture. "Of course," she says smoothly. "Is the wiccan not also a priestess, and able to officiate the wedding?"

ANEIRA blinks, and nods in confirmation, before her eyes light up in understanding. "Of course," she says. "Let us summon the lovers, and I will hold the rite."

A brief commotion ensues as the men are led into the room, Albert looking vaguely terrified and Salty Duncan looking bemused.

ANEIRA flits over to a low table, seizing two goblets from it, which she quickly fills with wine, before producing a vial from her satchel and emptying the contents into both of them.

ANEIRA (Waving her hands dramatically) Let the rite begin. Let the lover and the beloved share a draught.

ANEIRA hands a cup to Lisette, and another cup to Fennela.

SALTY: Eh, what did you say? Love's daft? I can drink to that.

LISETTE: I suppose it is.

LISETTE tilts her head back, taking a long drink from the goblet before handing it to Salty, who does likewise.

ALBERT (Backing away slowly): I - I don't know -

FENNELA: Come, my dear, let us drink to each other.

FENNELA takes a drink, before handing her own goblet to Albert, who does the same, his usual unflappable demeanor replaced by a hunted look.

CECELIA leans forward slightly despite herself, biting her lip unconsciously. Beside her, Sylvie clutches the armrest of her chair, watching.

LISETTE: Ugh! This thing tastes vile.

LISETTE blinks slightly, as though waking from a long sleep, before looking around at all the assembled people.

LISETTE (Sounding mortified): I - oh. I remember everything. By the Nine! I am so sorry.

FENNELA (With sudden embarrassment in her usually haughty voice): Oh dear. I have made rather a fool of myself, haven't I?

CECELIA: It's good to see you've both returned to us. Well, your senses have returned, at least.

FENNELA turns to Albert, who is still standing beside her, and gives him a surprisingly warm smile.

FENNELA: I am terribly sorry for the distress I have caused. And thank you for realizing that something was amiss, and for being a gentleman about it. For that, I do offer you my admiration, though not in any way you need to dread.

ALBERT (Recovering his usual poise): I am glad that you are well, madam.

MONTGOMERY comes into the room, his gaze intent on Lisette. "I am sorry I caused this," he says. "In however roundabout a way. It was my fault."

LISETTE (Quietly): I think we need to talk about some things.

MONTGOMERY: I know. But - will it be all right?

LISETTE (With a small, tremulous smile): It might be.

SALTY turns to Lisette with a saucy wink. "Well, easy come, easy go, as they say," he says.

CECELIA looks sternly at Salty. "It was ill-done of you," she says forebodingly.

SALTY (Guffawing): Hah! I would have stopped it before it went that far. Still, it was nice to have a pretty girl flirting with me for a while. Made me feel fifty again. G'day to you all.

SALTY tips his hat and ambles amiably through the doors of the mansion, without waiting to be acknowledged.

Under her breath, Cecelia mutters, "An aggravating man." Turning to ANEIRA, she asks, "Thank you for your aid. But have you seen Sir Archibald? He went out to seek you."

ANEIRA looks briefly skywards, as if seeking divine intervention. When it does not come, she looks back down again.

ANEIRA: About that. Um. It's a long story. But to cut it short...

ANEIRA reaches into her satchel again and produces a large glass jar filled with various twigs and leaves, inside which a toad is sitting contentedly, before unscrewing the top of the jar.

ANEIRA: Actually, just a moment. Just to be safe...

ANEIRA produces the vial again, and dumps the entire thing onto the toad within the jar, which produces a loud 'ribbit' of protest. She then holds the jar out to Cecelia, with a simultaneously encouraging and apologetic look.

ANEIRA: Go on, then. Kiss it.

CECELIA looks briefly astounded, as though wondering at the state of her life, before she laughs ruefully and removes the toad from the jar, pressing a soft kiss to its pebbled skin.

The toad suddenly blurs, growing larger and larger as it loses its green colouring, before turning once more into the form of Archibald, standing rather sheepishly in front of the crowd.

Scattered claps and whistles emerge from the onlookers, which are swiftly shushed by others in the crowd. 

Archibald looks over his shoulder, shrugs, and tilts his head down to kiss Cecelia once more. 

The claps erupt once more, this time more sustained, and Cecelia laughs again, a joyous and free sound.

"Well, I suppose that settles that," says Cecelia. Turning to the assembled crowd, she says, "Would you all like to stay for dinner? There has been a large meal prepared, and it would be good to share it with you, if only to celebrate the end of this most eventful day."

Archibald's lips quirk up in a faint smile. "But no cake," he says.

The crowd dissolves into laughter and conversation, as they all pass through the doors to the dining room in a milling, colourful stream of people, with Cecelia and Archibald leading the way, and Lisette and Montgomery following, deep in serious and earnest conversation.

SYLVIE is the last to leave. As she pauses in the doorway to the dining room, she turns around suddenly with an impish smile, looking directly at the audience, and winks.

--------------
THE END
--------------

 

Costumes:

SYLVIE: Poised and charming, Madame Sylvie is a middle-aged woman with large, expressive brown eyes and a graceful demeanor. She is dressed in a shockingly pink gown, though she carries the colour well, with it highlighting her dark hair and eyes. She gives of a strikingly bold impression, as though marching undaunted through life.

LISETTE: Lisette Tautou has an athletic build, and carries herself with a certain boldness. Her features are strikingly pretty, though not conventionally so, and her hair is bobbed in a stylishly short cut, suggesting an adventurous spirit - an impression heightened by the intent expression that often crosses her face.

ARCHIBALD: Archibald Prescott is tall and fair-haired, with a precise military poise and a stiff manner. He is dressed in a suit, though his hand occasionally flexes at his side, as if missing the weight of a sword.

ANEIRA: This diminutive faeling has sapphire-blue wings, which often flutter to and fro even when she is at rest. Her eyes are a piercing shade of blue, and her dark hair is braided with violet flowers. A slight silver sheen lingers at times around her, as if she is touched by moonlight. Aneira carries a wiccan broom and an athame, and a large satchel is slung across her back. 

MONTGOMERY: Montgomery Estenborough looks to be around thirty years old, with a distinctly upper-class bearing, dressed impeccably in a blue suit. His dark hair is slicked back, and he looks perpetually hawkish due to a thin, protruding nose - a resemblence only increased by his languid, hooded gaze.

CECELIA: Countess Cecelia Stewart is almost unconsciously regal, if a little distant, and it is difficult to tell her age. Her garments are severe but fine, and her hair is swept into impeccable style, the mark of one who carries herself with both confidence and a deep reserve.

FENNELA: Fennela Estenborough carries herself with a perpetual air of hauteur, which is aided by her imposing figure and her copious amounts of makeup. She looks down her nose at the world, and occasionally a small frown creases her brow, as though she has seen something unworthy.

SALTY: Salty Duncan is an old man, with a lined and weathered face from his days spent fishing at the pier. He wears drab garments of black and white cotton, and his hands are caked with dirt and the grime of fish bait. He is missing most of his teeth, though this does not prevent him from occasionally letting out a cheery whistle.

ALBERT: Serious in his crisp white shirt and dark suit, Albert Dimple looks out at the world with precision. Not a strand of his jet-black hair is out of place, and his tall, thin frame makes him look rather like an extremely impeccable beanpole.