The Would-Be Witch

by Boucher, Rita

  Madame Barone grabbed her husband’s arm. “Come, cher, we must leave at once.”

  “But our equipment,” Barone protested.

  “Equipment, Philippe can make for us new,” his wife said, dragging him along. “But that one,” she glanced nervously back over her shoulder at Miranda. “That one needs no wires or devices to summon demons. The Gypsies, even they speak the name of LaFaye with respect. We shall bother your friends no more, Lady,” she declared with a bob of her head.

  “The purse!” Miranda demanded, raising her hands and waving them in a complex gesture. “I warn you, a curse, once placed, cannot easily be undone.”

  Madame Barone produced a bag of coins and spilled it upon the table. “I promise you, it is all there. Everything we took tonight. I beg you, mademoiselle, let us go in peace.”

  “I take your word, Madame,” Miranda said. “And in the event that your husband forgets himself, I have three hairs from his head. I pray that there will be no need to send them on to my cousin Etienne.”

  “Non, non, Mademoiselle, I assure you,” Madame Barone said, her face grey as ash. With a final tug, she pulled the shaken conjuror from the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

  “Three hairs indeed!” Adam said with a hearty laugh, regarding her with undisguised admiration. “You have hummed them completely.”

  “Actually, I only did get two hairs,” Miranda admitted shamefacedly. “Enough to make Barone decidedly uncomfortable, but not sufficient for a full-blown malediction.”

  “You are a witch?” Ropwell asked.

  “Of course she is!” Lady Enderby declared stoutly. “All the Wodesbys are.”

  Adam saw Miranda’s stricken look and knew that she was about to explain that witchcraft was not the destiny of every Wodesby. However, they were all distracted by the sound of a sob. Lady Pelton was standing in the corner weeping softly, touching her necklace as if uncertain of its reality. “I would have given it up gladly,” she sniffed. “A few words were all that I wanted. I had thought that first postponement of the séance the night of Lady Enderby’s party was destined. Tonight . . . when Pelton and I would have been married half a century, it would have meant the world to me to speak to him.”

  “But you would not have heard the words that you longed for, Lady Pelton,” Adam began.

  “Yes, I know now that Barone was a fraud,” she said, her nose twitching like a rabbit’s as she sniffed. “And I thank you, milord and you, Miss Wilton, for saving dear Pelton’s gift from that rogue’s hands. At least I still have something left to barter when I find a true seer.”

  Adam caught Miranda’s troubled look.

  “You would do this again?” Miranda asked.

  “I must speak to Pelton,” the older woman said desperately. “All those years we were together, I never once told him how much that I loved him, how happy he made me; and then, I woke one morning to find him gone.”

  “I am sure he knew,” Adam murmured.

  “How can you be so certain, when I am not?” Lady Pelton asked, doubt in her eyes. “How many of us keep our feelings to ourselves, in our heads, but never give them voice, always assuming that those we love understand what is inside? Many a marriage have I seen fail not because of words, but because of silence.”

  “And that is all that you wish?” Miranda asked.

  “No more than that,” Lady Pelton said quietly. “It may seem naught to you, but it is everything to me.”

  Miranda nodded her head thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see that.” She walked away from the table weighing the situation. Mrs. Bittward, Lady Westwood and Lady Enderby gathered around Lady Pelton, clucking their sympathy as Lord Ropwell helped himself to the contents of the wine decanter in the corner.

  “There will be another Barone to get his claws in her.” Adam said, following Miranda to the corner of the room

  “Unless she can talk to her husband,” Miranda said, picking up a book and leafing through it distractedly. To my dearest Loulou, the inscription read, from her furry Pelt. “Did you know Lord Pelton?” she queried.

  “They made an odd pair. He was a bear of a man, as large as Lady Pelton is tiny. He was whiskered and gruff but incredibly kind to a neighbor who knew precious little about the management of a large estate.” Adam reminisced, once again feeling a sense of loss. “Pelton had a deep voice. Rarely spoke, but when he did, his speech was marred by a stutter. So you could be sure if he had something to say, it was worth the effort to listen carefully. I owe him a great deal.”

  “Could you imitate him?” she asked, an idea beginning to materialize.

  “I vow, I can almost hear the gears whirring in that brain of yours. What are you thinking of, Miss Miranda Wilton?” Adam asked his eyes narrowing.

  “Do you recall Uncle Ned and the missing tea-kettle?” By the suddenly wary look in those brown depths, Miranda could see that he was following the drift of her thoughts.

  “Are you asking me to take part in a sham, or do you think that you can truly speak to the hereafter?” Adam asked apprehensively

  “I have told you time and again that I am no witch,” Miranda said patiently. “And you may stand on principle, milord, if you so desire. But will you, nil you, I will try to assist that woman, by myself if need be, though the results might be far less effective.”

  What she suggested went wholly against his principles. But the soft sound of Lady Pelton’s weeping and the knowledge of his debt to her husband tugged at his heart. What would it be like to love someone so fully? Adam wondered. Dim echoes of an eight-year-old boy crying in the emptiness of the nursery reverberated. Visions rose of his father’s growing desperation and rage as charlatan after charlatan failed to deliver the promise of eternity that he had so craved. Yes, there would be another Barone, and another and another until they sucked the old woman dry, just as they had drained his father. Yet, how could he lend his name, his credence to something he could not countenance without compromising his credibility? “What is it you wish me to do, Miranda?” Adam asked.

  “Tell her what she needs to hear, what your father would have wished to hear all those years ago,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

  Adam regarded her uneasily. “Would you have me transmit fantasies of your Elysian fields, Miranda?”

  “They exist Adam, for everyone” she said, feeling the pain of his disillusionment. “And though our dreams of that far country may differ, we will all reach that boundary some day and face the Light. I believe that with all my soul and I think that if you reach far enough inside yourself, you believe it too.”

  “That was long ago, Miranda,” he said, with a lopsided smile, “a little boy’s wish of angels and a heaven where they served cream cakes thrice a day.”

  He could not keep the wistfulness from his voice and Miranda felt a sudden desire to reach out to him, to hold the child that he had been, the child that was still a part of him though he did not realize it.

  “She believes,” Miranda said, nodding toward Lady Pelton. “Can that be sufficient for now, Adam?”

  “You realize, of course, that you have already all but sealed your reputation as a sorceress in the eyes of the ton,” Adam said. “No matter that you may deny it after this, word will spread.”

  “What the ton thinks holds little interest for me. Besides, I will soon be leaving London” Miranda tried to smile, to hold back the sudden tide of loneliness and melancholy as she thought of herself alone in the library that had once been the center of her life. “Those who matter will still know the truth. All the wishes in the world cannot make a hazel rod out of a willow, Adam. Now will you help me? You are the one man that no one would suspect of collusion.”

  He wanted to agree, but the very reason that she cited was the most compelling consideration against his cooperation. Adam shook his head. “To put my imprimatur on a séance, to collaborate in a deception of this kind would go against all that I have stood for these years past. I cannot, Miranda, even for Lady Pelt
on’s sake. Moreover, I could not lie to assure her of an eternity that I doubt exists.”

  His look was a plea for understanding and Miranda swallowed her disappointment with a curt nod. “Very well, then. At the least, can I have your word that you will not interfere.”

  “I will even leave, if that is what you wish,” Adam said.

  “There is no need for that,” Miranda told him. “You may stay if you choose, so long as you do not spoil things. There is naught in my plan that requires anything more than simple belief and so long as you do not interfere with that, I will be content. Just do not be surprised by what you might hear, milord.”

  “I will not obstruct you,” he said, inexplicably hurt by the distance in that ‘milord.’

  “I expect no more,” she declared with an incline of her head, before she went to sit beside the weeping woman. “Lady Pelton, I have been mulling over your situation. My mother would not wholly approve of what I am about to offer, for I am an unwed spinster. To walk among the spirits, one really ought to be well attached to this earth by ties of a spouse or children. But due to your circumstances, I think that your husband may be reached with a degree of safety. The magical influences are strong since it would be your fiftieth year together, after all.”

  “Would you call upon Pelton for me, my dear?” Lady Pelton asked, raising her rheumy eyes hopefully.

  “I will do what I can,” Miranda said, with enough evasion so that she was not lying outright.

  “Take this then,” the old woman said reaching back to unfasten her necklace.

  “No, Lady Pelton,” Miranda said firmly. “I ask nothing from you other than your solemn promise. If you speak to your husband tonight, then you must content yourself with what you hear. Never attempt to raise him from eternal rest again.”

  “Very well,” Lady Pelton said. “As long as I say what needs to be said.”

  “Excellent,” Miranda agreed. “Now we must hurry and gather round the table, for all must be done in the heart of the night before the cock’s crow. Place the necklace in the center as our talisman, Lady Pelton, since that item obviously holds sentiment for both you and your late lord.”

  Lady Pelton obeyed, laying the diamonds to gleam at the center of the table.

  “All of the candles must be doused,” Miranda instructed, “except for the branch in the middle.

  “Light, Miss Wilton? Bold of you. Most charlatans demand absolute darkness,” Lord Brand said, his tone at its most sarcastic.

  “Then perhaps I am unlike most charlatans, Lord Brand,” Miranda said, keeping herself calm, thinking that she should have tossed him on his ear when he gave the opportunity. Yet, when she met his eyes, she saw something curiously conspiratorial in those brown depths. Could he be trying to give her credence by casting doubt? An uncooperative, skeptical Lord Brand would certainly be more credible than a quiet consenting one; and illusions performed under scrutiny were less subject to doubt than those done under cover of darkness. Whatever his intent, his remark had served to dispose the audience in her favor.

  “Shall we join hands?” Miranda asked. She felt Lady Pelton’s thin fingers slip trustingly into her palm and on the other side, Lord Brand’s broad hand enveloped Miranda’s own, a gentle, reassuring pressure confirming her suspicions. Though he might not help outright, he would not hinder.

  “Tell me your first name, Lady Pelton and then your husband’s,” Miranda urged.

  “Louisa and Augustus, Miss Wilton,” she supplied.

  “Think Louisa, think upon your Augustus,” Miranda urged. “Remember the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand; feel it in your thoughts.”

  Lady Pelton closed her eyes, and a sweet smile lit her face. “I see him before me, Miss Wilton.”

  “Keep that image in your mind and we shall call him.” Miranda’s voice fell to a deep sing-song. “Augustus, for the sake of the love that you bore Louisa, come to us. Fifty years ago tonight, remember the joy of your youth and come to us.”

  Lady Pelton sighed softly and joined in the refrain, “come to us.”

  “Recollect the vigor of health, the burdens of sickness, come to us.”

  “Come to us,” Lady Enderby intoned.

  “For all that you shared in sorrow, come to us.”

  “Come to us,” Mrs. Bittward chanted.

  “For the love that you cherished, come to us.”

  “Come to us!” Everyone but Lord Brand demanded.

  Adam watched with detached fascination as the participants became caught up in the rhythm that Miranda had established. Even fragmented, the familiar words of the marriage ceremony tapped all the force of each individual’s memory. The beat that she set was like the pulsing of a heart, causing the phrases to build into a powerful invocation binding them all to one purpose. Then he heard the voice coming from the center of the table.

  “Nettie’s th’ name, sent t’guide yer I was,” the voice declared.

  Adam observed Miranda, but her lips were not moving. Her expression was rapt, but there was a twinkling challenge in her eyes as they caught his glance. He had met a few magicians who had possessed the amazing ability of casting the voice, but none who could do so without any obvious signs of motion. There was naught but a slight ripple of her throat to indicate that Miranda was providing the female version of Uncle Ned with her ghostly imitation. Even if he were out to trip her up, it would be difficult to prove that there was fakery afoot.

  “Got a Lidy name o’ Loulou wiv’ yer?” Nettie asked.

  “Obviously, a misguided spirit guide,” Ropwell commented.

  “Hush, Ropwell! Or leave,” Lady Pelton demanded, then turned to address the branch of candles. “I am Loulou,” she said, her lip trembling. “But there was only one person on earth who called me by that name.”

  “Yer furry Pelt’s sends ‘is love, ‘ee do,” Nettie said.

  Lady Pelton’s hand squeezed Miranda’s tightly. “‘tis Pelton,” she whispered excitedly. “That was what I called him. No matter how often he shaved he was always bewhiskered by luncheon.”

  Miranda nodded. “Nettie, can Lord Pelton speak to us?”

  “Dunno, ‘ee kin try, but t’ain’t easy when yer been gone long as ‘ee ‘as and ain’t used ter blabbin’. Says ‘ee weren’t much of a speaker when ‘ee were in the quick. New dead’s what I am, so is easy fer me. But ‘ee kin ‘ear yer, ‘ears every bleedin’ word yer might say, beggin’ yer pardon, Miss.”

  “Say what you need to, Lady Pelton,” Miranda told her.

  “Pelt, I love you,” Lady Pelton called tremulously into the heart of the light. “I miss you so dreadfully and every morning when I see your pillow empty, I regret waking.”

  Suddenly, the room grew chill and though there was no draft from the closed doorway, the flames flickered wildly. The candle-lit glitter reflecting upon the diamonds seemed to intensify, fragmenting into shattered shafts of light.

  “I . . . w. . w . . wait . . .” The disjointed words seemed to come from within the flame, “for . . . you . . . L. . .lou . . . l. . .lou . . .”

  How in the devil was she managing this? Adam wondered. Miranda sat wide-eyed, as if she too, was startled by this turn of events. Lady Pelton rose slowly from her seat, her eyes soft and dreamy. Her stooped shoulders straightened perceptively as if a heavy burden had suddenly been lifted, and for a moment it seemed that the weight of years fell from her. Her tiny hand lifted to touch her cheek.

  “Thank you, Pelt,” she whispered softly. “As long as I know that you will be there waiting, I can endure.”

  Then, as abruptly as it had come, the cold feeling was gone and the flames ceased their dance. Miranda slumped back in her seat, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her hold on Adam’s hand slackened.

  “I have never seen the like.” Lady Westwood was the first to break the silence. “And many a séance, I have been to. You are to be congratulated Miss Wilton. When will you be able to contact Manfred for me?”

  “I will give you f
ive hundred pounds, Miss Wilton,” Lord Ropwell leaned over the table eagerly. “Five hundred pounds if you can convince Felicity to tell me where she hid those jewels.”

  “Remarkable!” Mrs. Bittward declared. “A most amazing experience. It was like being caught within a block of ice, was it not Lady Enderby?”

  “Like the middle of winter,” Lady Enderby agreed. “Do you not think so, Lady Pelton?”

  The elderly woman shook her head. “I was warm, for the first time since Pelton died, the chill was chased from my bones. And I felt as if . . . as if he leaned over and . . . and . . . kissed me on the cheek as he was often wont to do.” A smile lit her wizened face. “Thank you, Miss Wilton, you have given me the hope I need. Miss Wilton!” Lady Pelton touched the young woman’s shoulder in alarm. “Oh my dear girl! She is frozen.”

  But Miranda did not respond. She stared straight ahead, as if seeing some distant vision. Adam lifted up her limp hand and came to the rapid realization that this was not part of her performance. It was like holding an ice sculpture. “Miss Wilton,” he called.

  “What if she has loosed her tether to this world, Lord Brand?” Lady Pelton cried. “I have been so selfish. I should never have asked her to attempt so dangerous a feat.”

  “Miranda,” Adam called, chafing her cheeks between his hands. She was barely breathing. Although he did not subscribe to her creed, he had seen the tremendous power of credulity. What if she truly believed herself to be wandering in those far-away fields . . . “Miranda!”

  . . .

  Miranda found herself out on the nearly empty street that fronted Lady Pelton’s home. Thorpe rose from his seat within the coach and clawed the window, yowling, but Lady Enderby’s coachman ignored the agitated cat. Miranda reached for the handle only to find that her fingers went right through it. She was Incorporeal.

  “Why do you follow me to the Veil, d. . .d . .daughter of Merlin?” The hulking man who addressed her wore a peruke and was garbed in the style of the previous century. “Are you not aware of the d-d-danger? Go back to your body while you may.”