When I entered the library, it appeared peaceful enough. Shelves full to the ceiling with all sorts of old books and classic stories, complete with the rolling ladder, and Ethan's enormous oak desk and his plays. Everything in its place. The floral, spicy fragrance of Eternity perfume permeated the room. Madame Miranda sat in the easy chair in the shadowy corner of the fireplace. She was completely engulfed in a black cloak, with a very deep hood, but I saw that a black mask covered the bottom half of her face. A little over the top, but okay. An extinguished candle in a candle holder and deck of tarot cards sat on the table. She leaned toward the fire and read from a little black book by the light of the blaze, whispering to herself.

I stood on the rug and warmed my hands. Why they were cold, I had no idea. Mrs. Fognini always kept Linden Hall comfortable. An amazing feat for a 20-room manor home. Miranda closed her book and tucked it into her cloak. She wore gloves. She slowly raised her eyes to my face. Her gray eyes glowed as she looked at me with a bold, direct gaze.

"Well, do you want your fortune told?" Her voice sounded gravelly, as if she suffered from a sore throat.

"Go ahead, but I don't believe in this foolishness."

"I expected that reaction. I heard in your step when you crossed the room."

"Did you? You have a good ear." This woman was something.

"I do. And a quick eye, brain, and hand."

"You need them all in your trade," I said.

Miranda snickered under that silly hat. "You poor thing. All work and no play make you a dull, dull girl." She gazed into the fire. "You are cold, you are sick, and you are silly."

Her words hurt me, but I couldn't resist goading her. "Prove it," I said.

"All right. You're cold because you're alone. Lack of human contact drains the passion from your soul that I know is there. You're sick because love avoids you like the plaque. You're silly because, when love does come around, you won't let it into your heart or meet it where it waits for you."

What was in that little black book? How did Miranda know without reading one card? I sat on the couch across from her. "You could say that to almost anyone who is single and works as a housekeeper on a sprawling estate."

"I might say it to almost anyone, but would it be true of almost anyone?"

"In my circumstances." I wiped my hands on my beige slacks. The cold sweat left tiny wet marks on the fabric.

"Okay," Miranda said. "Find me another person in your exact circumstances."

I laid my hands on my knees. "I could find a few."

"You could scarcely find me one. Your situation is peculiar. You're very near happiness. Within reach of it. The players are ready. They only lack the movement to bring them together.
Insecurity keeps them apart. Just put them together and happiness results."

What was this woman talking about? I had broken up with Mark last weekend, and it wasn't amicable. He said my mind was "elsewhere" and not on our relationship.

'So, sue me if I have goals,' I had said.

'It's not your goals,' Mark had said. 'There is someone else. I don't know who, but there is another man. It's not going to work out for us.'

I sighed and brought my mind back to the present. "Listen, Miranda, I don't understand riddles. I never could guess the answer to one in my life."

"If you want me to speak more frankly, show me your palm."

"And I suppose I must have money in it."

Miranda cackled. "To be sure."

I pulled a ten-dollar bill from my slacks pocket and held it out to her. Miranda pulled a small blue velvet bag from her cloak and stretched it open. I dropped the money into it. She drew the drawstrings closed and tucked the bag back into her cloak.

"Now, hold out your hand."

My hand trembled a little. Miranda moved her face close to my palm and poured over it without touching me. "It's too fine. I can't read anything. There are almost no lines. Besides, what's in a palm? Destiny isn't written there."

I lowered my hand. "That I believe."

"No," Miranda said. "Destiny is in the face, on the forehead, about the eyes, in the eyes, and in the lines of the mouth. Kneel in front of me and lift your head."

"Now, I don't believe destiny is written in face either," I said. I slid from the couch and knelt about a half a yard in front of her. "But go ahead. I'll put some faith in you."

Miranda stood. She was a tall woman. I stared at the empty chair. She stirred the fire, ripples of light broke from the disturbed coals and undulated against the chair's back cushion. Her cloak brushed against my face when she sat in the chair again. The refreshed firelight threw her face into deeper shadow. My cheeks felt hot.

Miranda examined my face for a minute. "I wonder what feelings you came to me with tonight. I wonder what thoughts run through your head and your heart during all those hours you sit in your room at the top of this mansion while the fine people below flit around like shapes in a magic lantern. Just a little sympathetic talk passes between you and them. Like the shadows of humans cast from your lantern and not real ones."

I swallowed hard. Why did she let Mrs. Fognini talk her into coming in here? Mrs. Fognini must have told Miranda about her or how else would she know so much? Certainly not just from her face. "I often feel tired, sleepy sometimes, but seldom sad."

"Then you do harbor some secret hope for the future."

"I want to save enough money to open a free reading room in the city and for the first year's rent on the old shop." Why was she telling everything to this fortune teller like a Catholic parishioner in the confessional?

"Scrimpy nourishment for the spirit to live on while you sit in that window seat." Miranda leaned close to my face, and my eyes drifted shut. "I know your habits."

I smelled the mint on her breath. Funny. Ethan Fognini always sucked on breath mints. "You learned my habits from the other servants or Mrs. Fognini."

"Hah! You think you're so clever." Miranda sighed. "Well, to be honest, I am acquainted with Mrs. Fognini."

I opened my eyes and shot to my feet. "I knew it! A great trick, Miranda. Did you and Mrs. Fognini trick the party guests too?"

"Don't be angry. It was my idea, and old Mrs. Fognini thought it was a perfect ruse for her Mischief Night party. She meant no harm." Miranda remained in the chair but paused for a few moments. "Don't you think about anything but your reading room when you're sitting in your window seat? Don't you have any interest in any of the people who occupy the sofas and chairs in this mansion? You don't covet one face? You don't follow anyone's movements with curiosity?"

"I observe everyone."

"Don't you ever single anyone out? Or maybe two?"

I should have left the room a long time ago, but Miranda piqued my interest. I sat on the couch again. "I frequently single people out of the crowd when their body language or facial expressions seem to tell a story."

"What stories do you like best?"

"I don't have much choice. They generally run along the same theme--dating and marriage."
Miranda chuckled. "And you don't like that particular theme?"

"I don't care about it."

"Don't care about it? When a young woman, healthy and full of life, blessed with beauty, and endowed with intelligence and fortune, sits and smiles into the eyes of a man you--"

"I what?"

"You know--and maybe like and respect."

"I don't know any of the men here. I hardly talked to any of them. I'm the housekeeper, remember? Not a party guest and hardly a regular in this neighborhood. And as to liking and respecting any of them, I consider some respectable and some likable, and they can flirt with anyone they please. It's none of my business."

"You don't know any men here? You haven't spoken to any of them? Would you say that about Ethan Fognini?"

"He's not at the party, or even at home."

"That's a clever dodge. He drove to Philly this morning. He'll be back sometime tonight. Does that exclude him, or blot him out of existence?"

"No, but what does Ethan Fognini have to do with anything?"

"I was talking about women smiling into the eyes of men, and lately so many ladies have cast their smiles into Ethan's eyes. Haven't you seen it?"

"Mr. Fognini has the right to enjoy his guests."

"No question about it, but haven't you heard all the stories about him?"

I looked at the fire and wrapped my arms around my belly. "I need to go. I've been in here way too long. Mrs. Fognini probably thinks I quit." Miranda's strange talk, the sound of her voice and her demeanor had me wrapped in a dream. Had her minion spirit sat on my shoulder for weeks, reading my deepest thoughts as I wrote in my journal or listening as I said them out loud in my window seat? "I've heard the gossip, but I didn't come to hear Mr. Fognini's fortune. I came to hear mine, and you didn't tell me anything."

"I can't get a clear read. When I examined your face, one trait contradicted the other. Coming here has given you some happiness, though. I knew it would before I came here this evening."

"Earlier you said I had an attitude."

"I read all emotions. I'm a fortune teller, remember? Now, you only need to stretch out your hand and take some more happiness, but will you? That's the problem I'm studying. Kneel on the rug again."

I knelt in front of her. "Don't keep me long. I need to return to my duties."

Miranda didn't lean toward me like before, but only leaned back into the chair and spoke again. "Your eyes are clear and expressive. When they stop sparkling, it's sad because the reason is loneliness. Your mouth is sensual. It's a mouth that should talk and laugh more. Your forehead says, 'I don't need to sell my soul to buy bliss.' It also declares 'Reason exists here and steers me along, and it won't let my emotions escape and push me to wild, deep pits that I can't climb out of.' You're strong, smart, and moral." She took a deep breath. "Stand up, Audrey. Go, the play is played out."

Where was I? Had I been dreaming? Miranda's voice had changed. Her accent, her gestures, everything was as familiar to me as my own face in a mirror, as the sound of my own voice. I stood. I stirred the fire. I looked at her again. The light illuminated her now gloveless hand. The fingers were stretched out on the arm of the chair. It was no more the hand of a woman than mine was the hand of a man. A broad silver ring flashed on his ring finger. I had seen it a hundred times before. Again, I looked at the fortune teller's face. He had removed the hood and mask and unclasped his cape. The heat from the fire had caused his make-up to melt from his forehead.

"Ethan," I whispered.

"Well, Audrey, what do you think? Did I perform well?"

Embarrassment washed over me, so I faced the fire again. "I'm sure you performed well with your guests." I felt Ethan move behind me.

"But not with you?" His breath tickled the back of my neck.

"You didn't act the fortune teller with me."

Ethan laid his hands on my shoulders. "What character did I act? My own?"

"No, some unaccountable one. "You've been trying to draw me out or you've been talking nonsense to make me talk nonsense. It's hardly fair."

Ethan squeezed my shoulders. "Do you forgive me, Audrey?"

"I don't know. I'll need to think about it. If I find that I haven't made a fool of myself, I'll try to forgive you, but it wasn't right."

"You're right." Ethan's voice vibrated against my back. "But you were so very careful. So very sensible."

I had been and that was a comfort. My guard was up from the beginning of the session. Deep down, I knew a masquerade was happening. Knew that fortune tellers didn't express themselves as Miranda...Ethan had expressed himself...herself. I smirked. I had noticed her feigned voice and her anxiety to conceal her face.

"Well," Ethan said. "What are you thinking? What does that little 'hmph' mean?"

"It means wonder and self-congratulation." I turned around in Ethan's arms. "Do I have your permission to leave now?"

"No, not yet. Wonder and self-congratulation for what?"

"That I knew something wasn't right, but I let go and allowed you to lead me around by the nose."

Ethan clasped my chin and lifted my face to his. "That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to know how you felt, what you were thinking. I knew you would never tell me because you worked for my family and me, and God knows how long that would be. I love you."

I smiled. "Your make-up is turning to slush."

Ethan pulled me close and laid his cheek on the top of my head. He wrapped his arms around me. "I don't care. You know it's me."

"I love you too, Ethan. I have for quite some time. And by the way, it isn't lost on me."

"What wasn't lost on you?"

"That you chose the name Miranda, the compassionate and sheltered daughter of Prospero, the wily magician in Shakespeare's The Tempest."

Ethan laughed. "Let me add intuitive to your list of wonderful qualities. Only this Miranda was old and decrepit."

I laughed too. "Miranda, the Princess of Milan, is sheltered no more and has learned to read people when she leaves her island. A wonderful trait for a magician's daughter and no doubt uses her gift to manipulate her subjects. Great material, for a great sequel, for a great playwright."

"Thank you, Audrey." Ethan's breath tickled the top of my head.

Ethan and I held each other for a while longer before I left to attend to the party guests. They probably wondered why theater make-up was smeared on my hair at the top of my head.