The Would-Be Witch

by Boucher, Rita

  “We shall carry on if you will, but I ask you to forgive me if I reveal what you would have wished to remain private,” she said.

  “You have my permission,” Adam agreed with a dismissive wave of the hand.

  “Very well. If you will bring me writing materials, Hester?” Lady Wodesby closed her eyes. “I am now fixing the forty cards of the four suits in my mind. You know the Tarot, Lord Brand. I ask you to picture the faces of the Queens, Kings, Knights and Pages, Lord Brand. I will also place before you the accompanying symbols of Wands, Cups, Swords and Pentacles. I have shuffled them and now I deal them in four rows.”

  A servant brought paper, pen and ink.

  “This will serve to prove that you are making the choices here, and not I,” Lady Wodesby informed him as she quickly made notations in four columns before turning the paper face down between them. “The cards are arranged in four rows representing, past, present, near future and far future, for the sake of simplicity. Ten cards are in each column. Choose two to begin.”

  “First row, second card,” Adam said.

  “Knight of Wands. Knight of Swords,” she said without hesitation. “You and your father. He is the source of your bitterness, milord. You have never forgiven him for dissipating the family fortune. In his desperation, he chose to seek the help of frauds in an attempt to pierce the veil of death. But his worst sin was to cut you off in his pain. How very sad.”

  “Second row, fourth card,” Adam said quickly, before she could go on. Lady Wodesby’s regard was canny, as if she knew the reason for his haste. How the devil had she cut so close to the truth?

  “King of Pentacles. Battle, milord; you have challenged a most dangerous man. I see a needle and thread. A tailor? I confess I do not understand the meaning here, but it is quite significant. The forces of lightning contained in a bottle. This tailor fears you, seeks to destroy you.”

  “Perhaps Weston is after him for his bill?” Lord Ropwell quipped.

  Adam scowled the man down and the titters diminished to silence. Lady Wodesby did not need any further excuses of interference from the audience should the performance be deemed a failure.

  “Third row, fifth card.” Adam said, deciding that the near future was safer than the past or present. As he waited for her response, he wondered how Lady Wodesby had come upon her information. All of London was aware that Gutmacher was out for his blood, but Adam could swear that only himself and the Runners were aware of that charlatan’s origins and the fact that his name was Taylor. No, Adam corrected, himself, the Runners and . . . Uncle Lawrie? It was entirely unlike his uncle to be so indiscreet. Yet there was no other possible explanation. The woman had without doubt pumped Uncle Lawrie during dinner, with the object of making Adam appear a fool. Bottled lightning indeed. Could that possibly refer to the electrical machine Taylor used?

  “Lord Brand? If you are ready to continue?”

  Adam roused himself from his reverie to find that Lady Wodesby was regarding him with the air of a tutor confronting an inattentive schoolboy. Bad enough that she was attempting to make a fool of him, but worse still that he was abetting her in the task. Even though he knew that his boorish behavior could lose the sympathy of the crowd, he could not quite keep the acid from his voice. “My apologies. The cards, Milady?”

  “Ace of Swords. Conflict. I see a . . .” her voice dropped weakly, “a . . threat of death, milord, against you and someone else. Quickly, choose another card in the row.”

  “High drama, indeed!” The sneered words mocked her outright. Somehow, he had allowed her to rankle him. He struggled to control the unwarranted sense of urgency that she somehow induced. “Seventh card”

  “Page of Cups, the female aspect. A woman is also at risk. There is threat of magic here, strong magic. . . No. . . ” she whispered, her stricken eyes meeting his. “I see the hand of death involved, but I cannot say who he will take. Spirits are at work, a ghost could kill . . . There is peril to all; Page, King and Knight . . . if only I had my own cards to hand! Perhaps the Major Arcana can help.”

  As if compelled by her gaze, Adam found himself turning a card on the table.

  “The Empress!” Lady Wodesby hissed, her aspect blanching. “By Merlin, I had feared as much. Milord, henceforth you are under Wodesby protection. Whatever we may do to prevent this disaster, we shall. By the Blood, I swear it!” With a sigh, she closed her eyes and slumped back in the chair, drooping like a wilted orchid.

  “Mama!” Miranda rushed forward in alarm to kneel beside the stricken woman.

  “Does she carry a vinaigrette?” Adam asked. “Or shall we call a physician?”

  “No!” she said. “You have done quite enough for this night, milord. Neither sal volatile, nor the attention of quacks will remedy exhaustion of this magnitude. Lady Enderby, if you would be so kind as to instruct your footmen to assist my mother and have our carriage brought round.”

  “But of course, my dear,” Lady Enderby said. “But you cannot go alone with your Mama in this state.”

  “Lord Brand and I shall escort her home, Hester,” Lawrence declared, ignoring Adam’s forbidding look. “It is the least we can do.”

  “You are kind, sir,” Miranda said, favoring his uncle with a harried smile. “However, I assure you that Mama will do best without the presence of disagreeable influences.”

  “I quite understand. My nephew is sometimes quite disturbing. Nonetheless, I would not feel comfortable without assuring Adrienne’s safe journey home.” Lawrence bent to take a limp hand and chafe it gently.

  “Of course, Mr. Timmons, you will be most welcome,” Miranda said, touching her mother’s pale cheek. “However, I am sure that Lord Brand must have other plans. No doubt there are abundant magicians to malign, and fortune-tellers to ferret out here in London tonight.”

  “Actually, the séance that I had planned to attend tonight has been abruptly canceled, Miss Wilton.” Adam said, even as he wondered why he had not seized the opportunity to distance himself from this disastrous association with a veritable flock of fraudsters. “The swindler I was pursuing has abruptly decided that it was not worth his while to fleece an old friend of mine of her last pennies,”

  “What in the world are you talking about, Milord?” Miss Wilton asked, but before he could answer, her mother moved slightly.

  “My dear child . . .” Lady Wodesby called weakly, her eyelids fluttering.

  “Mama, rest now. We shall have you home soon and I shall brew you a tisane,” she said trying to soothe her mother’s agitation.

  “You must be . . . wary, my love. Vigilant . . . until we can fully. . . fathom the source . . . of danger . . .”

  “We will, Mama, now let us take you to the carriage and we shall be home in a trice,” she said, brushing back her mother’s hair with a gentle hand.

  Lady Wodesby grasped her daughter’s fingers with a weak squeeze. “The Empress, my dear . . . she has always represented you. That is why. . . the cards called me . . . tonight. You are at hazard . . . my love, . . . grave hazard and somehow . . . Lord Brand’s fate is entwined . . . with yours.”

  Chapter 4

  During the ride home, Lady Wodesby drifted in and out of consciousness. Adam had seen self-induced trances before. Fakirs that he had studied in India could slip between consciousness and a seemingly altered state as fast as a cutpurse in Coventry could lift a purse. However, the woman’s condition was well beyond any act he could recall. Even his friends in Drury Lane could not counterfeit her unhealthy pallor, the dimmed light in her eyes, like a spark on the verge of extinction.

  Miss Wilton cradled her mother in her arms, whispering words of comfort during the moments that the woman came to herself. Lady Wodesby seemed genuinely distraught, murmuring of the Empress, the Hermit, Cups, Wands and Swords. Whatever dire portents she had imagined obviously seemed quite real to her. Even the cat appeared to be distressed, twitching his tail as he stalked across the length of the carriage. However, this time, when Adam attempte
d to pick the animal up, Thorpe hissed and bared his claws

  “Thorpe!” Lady Wodesby reprimanded feebly. “You, of all . . . should know that it is wholly unfair . . . to fault Lord Brand.”

  “I declare,” Lawrence murmured in amazement as the cat bowed its head submissively and crept to the corner of the carriage. “The creature seems almost ashamed.”

  “T’was merely the tone of his mistress’s voice, nothing more,” Adam said.

  “Have you ever known a feline to give the least attention to the feelings of humans?” Lawrence asked, shaking his head dubiously.

  Adam’s reply was a disapproving frown, but before he could reply, the carriage slowed and turned onto Portman Square. Thorpe leapt out through the open window, but the ladies did not seem the least bit perturbed. When the carriage halted before an elegant townhouse, there was a small army of servants waiting, with the cat at the forefront.

  “Next you will be telling me that Thorpe went on to warn them,” Adam commented, but to his irritation, his uncle merely regarded them thoughtfully.

  Gypsies, Adam noted as they alighted. Every single member of the Wodesby staff, from the coachman to the footmen, had the look of the Rom. Miss Wilton helped them bring Lady Wodesby upstairs while another footman ushered the two men into the mahogany-paneled library. With silent grace, the butler brought a tray with biscuits, wine and three glasses.

  “Thank you,” Adam said in perfect Rom.

  The butler did not so much as bat an eyelash in surprise. “Do you wish me to pour?” he asked in the same language.

  “No, we shall serve ourselves. Has there been any word of Lady Wodesby’s state?”

  “My grandmother and Miranda attend to her now,” the butler informed him, shaking his head. “Never before have I seen it so, the Weakness. She took a great risk, the Lady.”

  “Risk?” Adam asked, instantly regretting the question. The butler’s open expression rapidly shuttered, returning to its formerly rigid mien.

  “Will that be all, sirs?” he asked in accented English. However, it was rather clear that it was they who were being dismissed.

  Adam nodded and the man withdrew, not bothering to close the door behind him. With trembling hand, his uncle picked up the decanter, splashing the tray with Madeira. “Here Uncle Lawrie, let me fill your glass before you break it. I swear, you are as nervous as a lamplighter near a powder keg.”

  As his uncle took a restorative swallow, Adam pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He shook his head in disbelief. “Astonishing,” he said softly, scrutinizing the scrawled notations in the columns. Uncle Lawrie raised an eyebrow in silent query.

  ““Lady Wodesby’s listing of the Minor Arcana,” Brand explained. “I took it with me thinking to prove that she was humming me about the choices, but it would seem that the woman has an excellent memory.”

  “She looked so frail, Adam.” The older man’s voice shook. “So vibrant one moment and the next, fragile as glass.”

  “There is naught to worry about. She’s merely driven herself into a crise de nerf, no more. Like as not, she will be back to herself tomorrow,” Adam said, touching his uncle’s shoulder reassuringly.

  “I would vow that this is no simple case of hysterics,” Lawrence maintained. “She was so young and lively at dinner. It was almost as if half my life had never been and I was a sprig of thirty again.”

  “Ah, that explains it,” Adam said, taking the opportunity to turn the subject. “You were telling Lady Wodesby of this evening’s adventures. I suspected as much, you talkative sprig, you. But why in the devil did you spill Gutmacher’s real name? Part of our advantage lay in allowing Taylor to believe his past undiscovered. However, it is no great matter, so long as you did not reveal our disguise.”

  “I did no such thing! Nor did I mention anything about Taylor or Gutmacher or whatever his name is!” Lawrence asserted vehemently. “The subject of your bet to unmask him was mentioned, to be sure. How could it not be the talk of Town, with you bent on making a public spectacle of his humiliation? However, I did not even speak of the fact that they claimed he was too ill tonight to stage his healing tricks, for fear that it might upset your schemes.”

  “Then how did she know all that she did about my affairs? No, no Uncle Lawrie, do not even say what seems to be on your tongue’s tip. There are many ways that these mediums can discover information, as well you know. Why, there is even a list of prime pigeons in London, which can be had for a price. They call it ‘The Blue Book’ and it details seemingly everything about those who are ripe for plucking in their effort to communicate with the spirits. Names of departed dear ones, old scandals, circumstances of death, even their deceased servants, for pity’s sake! All is documented and constantly brought up to date, anything that will help their victims to believe that their guide beyond the veil speaks truly is contained there,” Adam said, his agitation growing as his uncle’s expression grew more doubtful. “No doubt my life’s details are catalogued there as well.”

  “And how would Taylor’s identity come to be in such a book?” Lawrence questioned the ice of annoyance chilling his voice.

  “I don’t know how Lady Wodesby came upon that name,” Adam admitted, forging ahead despite his uncle’s obvious distaste for the subject. “A lucky guess, perhaps. Or maybe she had me investigated. Everyone knew that I was to attend Lady Enderby’s affair.”

  “You are implying then, that Adrienne staged all this?” Lawrence said, his words growing stilted with indignation.

  “That is exactly what his implications are, sir,” Miss Wilton’s voice rang from the doorway. “Even though our arrival in London was delayed by traffic and we had barely time to dress for Lady Enderby’s gathering, much less eat a bite after the journey. Even though Mama has neither made your nephew’s acquaintance nor seen you for over a quarter of a century. Even though, had she any inkling that Lady Enderby would impose upon her to read the Tarot, my mother would never have accepted the invitation. Nonetheless, she had naught better to do but to research the almighty Lord Brand.”

  She entered the room, followed by the Gypsy butler. “Your nephew seems thoroughly convinced of his own importance, Mr. Timmons, and like most self-centered men, he believes that the world is vying for his attention. Unfortunately, he will deny the evidence of his senses, even logic and seize upon any farfetched excuse to discount what his heart knows, rather than admit that he has encountered something that is beyond his simple understanding.”

  “You must have spoken with Adam at length during dinner,” Lawrence said, ignoring his nephew’s annoyed expression, “for you have just described the boy to the very toes. Why, Adam, would you believe that Lady Wodesby would do such a thing?”

  “I make no accusations,” Adam said carefully. “But to confound me in public would naturally establish her credibility as a sorceress.”

  The Gypsy threw back his head and laughed, Miss Wilton’s peals of mirth combined in chorus with Lawrence Timmons’ chuckle.

  “Oh dear, how very droll.” she clutched her side, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “You actually believe Mama requires your endorsement of her powers?”

  “I do not see what you find so amusing, Miss Wilton,” Adam said glaring resentfully.

  “Miss Wilton, I assure you, his pomposity of nature does not come from my side of the family,” Lawrence declared.

  “He is very ignorant . . . this one,” the butler said in gasps, “and very . . . arrogant. Your mother has set you a difficult task, little one.”

  “Ignorant and pugnacious,” Miranda agreed with a sigh. “An impossible task, I fear.”

  Lord Brand’s stance was much like that of a boxer set for a fight. She would much prefer to postpone the match for the morning, when her mind was clear. However, there had been no arguing with her mother. As Lady Wodesby had been urged to her bed, she had commanded that Miranda speak with him this very night.

  “Enough of Adam’s foolishness,” Lawrence said, his sm
ile fading into an expression of concern. “How does your Mama do?”

  Miranda favored him with a weary smile. “Much more the thing sir, now that we have coddled her and dosed her. She would like to see you, but I must ask that you please be brief. Mama extended herself too close to her limits tonight. I fear that she would prefer to believe that the second George is still King and herself a green girl.”

  “Ah, I know the feeling, young lady,” he said, his eyes misting. “A terrible thief, is time, but your Mama need not fear. She will always be to me as I first saw her.”

  “Your presence will cheer her, Mr. Timmons,” Miranda said. “Dominick will show you upstairs.”

  The butler eyed Lord Brand dubiously and Miranda answered his silent query with an exasperated look.

  “Send Thorpe in, if that will put you at ease, Dominick,” Miranda said. “Mama’s instructions were quite specific and though I do not like it above half, I must have private words with Lord Brand.”

  “Meowrrr!” Thorpe announced himself before padding into the room and settling himself before the fire.

  “Well,” Miranda said, “it would seem that Mama anticipated the problem. Dominick, please make certain that she does not exhaust herself once more.”

  “The Lady, she does what she will, Miranda,” the butler said. “But, as you ask, I will remind her yet again of the great worry that we share. Come, please, Mr. Timmons.”

  “Rather familiar fellow, isn’t he?” Lord Brand asked as the door closed behind them. “Do all your servants call you by your given name?”

  “Yes, actually, they do,” Miranda answered, pouring herself a glass of wine. She stared at the ruby liquid, feeling the full measure of her fatigue. Food was what she wanted, a meal and sleep in that order. But both would have to wait. She limited herself to a single biscuit, forcing herself to nibble in slow bites between sips of wine instead of wolfing down the whole. At least in this, she could appear somewhat the lady.