The Would-Be Witch

by Boucher, Rita

“But of course, milord,” Madame Barone said, hurrying to his side. “Will you give it to me, s’il vous plait?”

  “If you please, Madame, I would prefer to hold it myself,” he said, shielding a gold watch and fob from her view.

  “But it is necessary for the spirits to see,” Madame protested.

  “Very well,” Adam said, moving closer to her. “What if I reveal my trinket to the spirits, will that suffice?”

  “It is most irregular, Monseigneur. The spirits, they are accustomed to me alone.”

  “Very well, Madame, if all that is necessary is for you to show the item to your corps d’ether, than do so.” With a show of reluctance he handed her the timepiece. She held it aloft, but her look of triumph was cut short as Adam’s hand clamped firmly over her mouth. The spectators snickered as the silence lengthened.

  “Well Barone,” Adam called. “The spirits can see it now. Do have them tell us what your charming wife is holding in her hand.”

  “You disturb my ethereal guides, milord.” Barone declared.

  “What a charming way to speak of your wife, monsieur. An ethereal guide, how very delightful. Name the object she holds, Barone.”

  The conjurer’s hands began to shake. “I must consult with other forces since my spirit friends have momentarily deserted me. I fear that I must invoke the powers of Beelzebub.”

  “In Lady Enderby’s ballroom? Tsk . . . tsk and she, a church-going woman.” Adam shook his head, trying to keep his hold tight enough to evade Madame’s teeth. “I am afraid that would never do. Besides, we all know that the Devil is rather busy in London these days, so appeals to him will do you little good now.”

  “Perhaps Beelzebub will have mercy upon a poor magician.” Barone’s voice rose to a pleading whine. “If not for me, for the sake of Philippe.”

  In the corner, Philippe’s hands were clasped together prayerfully. Adam relented. “Perhaps so, if Satan cannot have mercy upon his own spawn, who will?” Adam said withdrawing his hand and returning to his chair. “Maybe if I am seated, your spirit guides will return.”

  Madame Barone’s expression was murderous, but her tones were steady as she spoke. “What do I hold in my hand, husband?”

  “The spirits, they are returning, my dear. They were very worried about you and they send their apologies.”

  “How very touching,” Adam commented, but Miss Wilton’s attention seemed firmly fixed forward.

  “You are holding a gold watch, they say,” Barone declared.

  “‘Husband’ must be their code for ‘watch,’” Adam observed after the conjuror’s wife returned his timepiece with a scowl. “A true performer, the Madame. Didn’t miss a beat and the show goes on.”

  But there was no reply from the seat beside him. The presentation progressed rapidly to its close and the Barones took their bows. “I must thank you, Miss Wilton,” he said, as the audience applauded. “My wits had entirely deserted me.”

  “As well as your decency,” she said, turning at last to regard him, her fury colder than the North Sea. “Had I known your designs, sir, I would never have given you a clue. You very nearly ruined Lady Enderby’s entertainment, not to mention the featured premise of Barone’s performance. He may be less than a perfect trickster, but he did not deserve the death blow that you so very nearly dealt his career. How could you bully entertainers who were doing nothing more than earning their bread by providing a harmless diversion?” she sputtered, under cover of the clapping. “So, milord, since you have proven your superior knowledge is it now your intent to rip off Barone’s cape and show us all the secret pockets! I vow you must have been the type of little boy who took pleasure in pulling the wings off of butterflies.”

  Such was his reward for good deeds, Adam thought glumly. A public denunciation of the Barones would have been an infinitely more effective warning to all other would-be swindlers. Now his standing with Miss Wilton was somewhat lower than a salamander’s stomach. But he cheered himself with the knowledge that she would surely understand once he explained matters. He would then, in all modesty, wave aside her apologies and her praise. Perhaps she might even consent to a drive in the park.

  Lady Enderby waved her hands for silence and the crowd gradually quieted. “Our evening of magic is not quite ended. We are privileged tonight to have among us a most talented individual, a dear friend. Many is the autumn night I recall sitting before the fireside at Miss Moorehead’s select seminary. The young girl who is now Lady Wodesby would read her cards for us all and I must say that everything that she had predicted for us came true.”

  As their hostess went on cataloguing Lady Wodesby’s successful predictions, Adam could not contain his snort of contempt. He leaned toward Miranda, intent on sharing his information.

  “A pasteboard reader, Miss Wilton! I have heard of this Wodesby witch,” He whispered.

  Miss Wilton turned towards him with an encouraging smile. “Have you really?” she asked him, with a coquettish sweep of her lashes.

  Adam’s sense of discretion drowned in a sea of deep blue. “Indeed, the woman is notorious, and no better, I am certain than the Gypsies who prophesy the advent of tall dark men for every spinster.”

  “In my experience, Gypsies have often been correct,” Miranda said. “A teller of fortunes once said that my fate was tied to a man who was handsome and clever.”

  “By chance some of these predictions do come true.” Adam’s voice deepened. By heaven, she was flirting with him. Her earlier anger seemed forgotten. Handsome and clever, indeed! “However, as Lady Enderby says, Lady Wodesby is reputed to be more than a teller of fortunes. But perhaps I ought not to say that she is a witch. She might well turn me into a toad.”

  “A tempting thought to be sure, but doubtful. Unfortunately, due to the difficulty of the spell involved, there are few documented cases of human beings transformed to amphibious creatures.” Miss Wilton declared, her expression entirely devoid of humor. “However, to transform a toad like you to a human being, now that would be witchcraft indeed. You may be handsome, milord, but at present, I find you a rather poor excuse for a man.”

  Adam could not quite credit his ears, but Miss Wilton’s countenance was thunderous. And then the reason for her anger presented itself with painful clarity.

  “How could you, Mama?” Miss Wilton whispered, as Lady Enderby nattered on. “After all the lectures Damien and I endured on the misuse of magic.”

  “Would you favor us, Adrienne?” Lady Enderby asked, coming to stand before Miss Wilton’s Mama. “Please say that you will give us a reading.”

  “I fear I have not brought my deck,” Lady Wodesby protested weakly.

  “I anticipated that possibility,” their hostess trilled beckoning to a waiting footman.

  “Of course you did,” Lady Wodesby said with a fatalistic shrug, bending as she rose from her seat to address her daughter. “I was young, dear. Fate now demands that I pay the price for those youthful indiscretions.”

  Lady Enderby took up the silver salver from the servant and presented it to Lady Wodesby.

  As her mother fanned the deck, Miranda could see that it was a cheap set of pasteboards of the kind that any Fair-day fortune-teller would use. Lady Enderby had provided the twenty-two Trumps that comprised the Major Arcana. Of the Minor Arcana, the cards used to foretell detail, there was no sign at all.

  Miranda watched anxiously her mother’s expression as she touched each card. Surely she would not consent to this public travesty. But as she completed her perusal of the deck, Lady Wodesby’s doubtful countenance changed to one of deep thought. Miranda’s alarm grew. Those eyes, so like her own, gradually took on the jewel-like lapis hues that marked the vision of the Seer. Her mother had crossed the bridge into that Otherwhere, Otherwhen, the distant shore where the sands of the present were pounded by the waves of the future. And when she smiled, it was clear that the bliss known only to those of the Blood had kissed her. Even before she spoke, Miranda knew that the decision had bee
n made.

  “Of course, Hester, I find myself willing to read, but only for one. And I shall do the choosing,” Lady Wodesby said, her words vibrating with portent. “I shall need a table and two chairs, at once.”

  “I had hoped. . .” Lady Enderby began with a moue of disappointment, but quieted with a wave of Lady Wodesby’s hand.

  “She must be a sorceress, indeed, to silence Hester so easily,” A voice behind them whispered in admiration.

  Adam quickly conceded that Lady Wodesby was favored with a charismatic appeal that surpassed any performer that he had ever seen. She moved majestically through the crowd, her graceful glide giving the appearance of treading on air. Without a word, she created an atmosphere where the peculiar mixture of trepidation and anticipation was almost palpable. Eager hopefuls shifted forward in their seats while the fearful withdrew to the farthest corner of their chairs upon her approach. Only a consummate artiste could have an audience hanging silent upon her every move as she paused, in seeming consideration. Her expression grew distant as if she consulted some unseen advisor, then went on, building expectations to a fever pitch.

  All at once, Adam was distracted from his fascination by a meow at his feet. A mottled marmalade tom lifted its sleek feline head in regal regard. How in the world had a cat gotten into Lady Enderby’s ballroom?

  “Thorpe?” Miranda whispered. “Whatever are you doing here? Return to the carriage, immediately.”

  “Your familiar, Miss Wilton?” Some devil made Adam ask.

  “My mother’s actually,” she informed him with a chilly look. “To the carriage, Thorpe,” she demanded once again.

  But the animal remained firmly in place, setting an imperious paw on Adam’s patents.

  “Really, Thorpe, this is the outside of enough,” Miranda hissed.

  “It would appear that he is not heeding you,” Adam said with a soft chuckle. “If you would allow me, Miss Wilton.”

  “He will scratch you dreadfully, milord. No one but Mama . . .”

  But Adam had already drawn the cat into his arms. Miss Wilton’s expression was one of patent amazement as Thorpe suffered his head to be stroked, letting out a loud rumble that was more akin to a roar than a purr.

  At the sound, Lady Wodesby turned with a startled stare. Hurriedly, she made her way back to the front of the room to stand before Adam. “But of course,” she spoke a trifle absently. “It should have been obvious. Thank you for bringing him to my attention, Thorpe. You may go now.”

  With a “Meoowrrrr,” that somehow put Adam in mind of “yes, milady,” the cat jumped from his arms and padded from the room with the dignified gait of a superior servant, his tail and head upraised.

  “I shall read the cards for you, Lord Brand,” Lady Wodesby said, inclining her head like a queen conferring a boon.

  His Uncle Lawrie kicked him on the shin. The older man’s warning frown emphasized his none too gentle hint that a polite decline was in order. “Perhaps, milady, you might want to seek out someone who is more interested in your . . . er . . . talents.”

  Lady Enderby was aghast, and Adam knew the reason. A scene of monstrous proportions was looming. Certainly something had to be done. The dream of every London society matron seemed about to come true. Their hostess was anticipating that an infamous incident about to unfold in her very own ballroom. He could just imagine how it would be described in the scandal rags. The rigid flint of the foremost naysayer in England striking a spark of conflict with the so-called heiress of ancient magic; the cream of the ton serving as tinder for a marvelous conflagration.

  Adam had no intention of lighting the fuse and he was about to decline once again until Lady Enderby stepped into the breach.

  “Now milord,” she said, chiding him like a recalcitrant child. “Lady Wodesby said that she would do the choosing and ‘tis clear that her cat chose you.”

  “The cursed beast was only seeking out those known to him,” Adam protested. “Doubtless, the cat would have gone to anyone sitting next to Miss Wilton.”

  “I must say, Lord Brand, that this is most unsportsmanlike of you. You should be glad of this privilege,” Lady Enderby declared with a martial gleam in her eye. “Especially given your most public interest in the realms of magic. Do not tell me you are afraid of what Lady Wodesby might say?”

  He was doomed. Lady Enderby had laid him low by invoking the sacred credo of sportsmanship, but her final imputation was a dastardly blow. By no means could he refuse without seeming both hypocrite and coward.

  “Very well, Lady Wodesby, but I feel it only fair to warn you that I do not place any credence whatsoever in this folderol,” Lord Brand said as he rose and walked up to the front of the room.

  “That is of limited importance, milord,” Lady Wodesby said graciously as she seated herself in one of the chairs. “Although, the reading would be somewhat easier if you were a believer.”

  “Is that what you intend to claim then, Madame?” Adam asked, his words dripping skepticism. “Even before you start, you hedge your bets by implying that your interpretations might be inaccurate due to my feelings.”

  “Nothing of the sort, Lord Brand,” Lady Wodesby said, inclining her head to indicate that he should sit down. “The cards will reveal as little or as much as they wish. It is only a matter of the energy that I must expend to seek the answers if you close your mind to the possibility of what they may say. Now if you will give me a moment, I must accustom myself to this unfamiliar deck. One always prefers to work with familiar tools, but I shall make do.” She closed her eyes and held the cards in her hands, frowning. With a sigh, her eyes opened and she handed the cards to Lord Brand. “Look at them, touch each one.”

  “This is absurd.”

  “Do you wish me to have the excuse of failure, because you refuse to play this game by its rules?” she asked archly.

  Reluctantly, Adam received the deck and examined the garishly drawn pictures. He had more than a passing familiarity with the Tarot. His many encounters with the false prophets of the pasteboards had provided him with a fair acquaintance with the Tarot’s iconography.

  With grudging obedience, he handled each card, marking a few surreptitiously under the cover of close examination. A useless act, most likely, but at the least it gave Adam a small sense of control over the situation. The tawdry painted Sun, an unsmiling bearded Hermit, the Wheel of Fortune, the macabre face of Death, each was minutely bent or impressed with the imprint of a nail until the last of the twenty-two, the Hanged Man came into his hands. The poor fellow, dangling upside down by his foot with his eyes wide open, roused odd feelings of sympathy. As Adam surveyed the expectant faces of the crowd, he felt as if he too, were suspended for humiliating public display.

  “Will that suffice?” he asked harshly.

  Lady Wodesby nodded. “Shuffle.”

  Adam obeyed, once again, using his expertise to fix the order of the deck. Lady Wodesby shook her head, her smile amused as he returned the deck to her.

  “You cannot cheat the whims of fate, Lord Brand, much as you might try,” she said and he knew that she had somehow detected his sleight of hand, but she did not attempt to change the order he had created. Candle glow touched the rings on her hands. Her fingers moved with swift grace touching everything with a jeweled aura that seemed to soften the harsh colors. A trick of light, nothing more, Adam decided, blinking.

  “Past, present, near future, far future.” She indicated clusters of face-down cards representing each. “Self, others, dreams, and fears. Choose.”

  Following her pointed direction, Adam set his selected cards face up. He located and revealed the Hermit.

  “So you deliberately take cynicism as your symbol,” Lady Wodesby said, tacitly telling him that she was well aware of his effort to mark the draw. “Loneliness is your companion and bitterness has driven you inward.”

  Generalities, words that could apply to most of mankind, so it was not surprising that they struck a chord. Yet, as they moved on,
Adam was impressed by the manner in which she matched the cards with shrewd assessment. Without doubt, Lady Wodesby was the most intuitive card-turning charlatan that he had ever come across. He had to remind himself that most of the information that she “revealed” was public knowledge. Finally, the “oohs” and “ahhs” of the spectators irritated him beyond bearing. Adam could no longer stand the charade.

  “Specifics, milady,” he demanded. “You say nothing here that half of London does not already know.”

  Lady Wodesby arched an eyebrow. “Do you truly wish me to be more specific, Lord Brand? ‘Tis usually the minor Arcana that is used for the divination of the esoteric. Normally, I carry my decks with me, however the small reticules that are de regeur for the evening can hold nothing of use. My cards are at home.”

  “How convenient,” Adam said, not bothering to conceal his derision. “Shall we draw this gammon to an end, milady?”

  “I said that it would be difficult,” Lady Wodesby said stiffly, “not impossible. All the Arcana are in my mind, sir.”

  “Mama, no!” Miranda rose, concern writ plain on her countenance. “Is it not bad enough that you must work against his disbelief? No matter what you say, he will still find some way to make you appear the liar. Without the proper tools, the strain upon you could-”

  “Hush, my dear,” Lady Wodesby said, “I do what I must.”

  Miranda was instantly silent at that final emphasized “must.” She cast the Marquess a look of disgust.

  Adam groaned inwardly. Miss Wilton obviously believed in her mother’s magical fiction, and he was beginning to consider the possibility that Lady Wodesby was fooling herself as well. In his experience, true charlatans were relatively simple to deal with. Uncover their trickery, reveal them as frauds and the vermin scurried back behind the wainscoting from whence they came.

  However, he had encountered a few individuals who truly placed credit in their own magical capacities. Those true believers were far more difficult to deal with. They would hang upon any excuse, seize upon any questionable rationale when their so-called powers failed. If Lady Wodesby’s reading were to continue unsatisfactorily, she had already paved the path of blame by placing fault upon the cards and his attitude. Yet, having cast down the gauntlet, he had no choice but to let the farce continue.