The Age of Witches

by Louisa Morgan

  reached home. She dashed up the stairs without seeing anyone and ran her own bath. She stripped off her clothes and piled them on the floor. As she sank into the scented, soapy water, it occurred to her that when Velma went off to the Dakota, there would be no one to pick up her things, to clean them, to put them away when she tossed them about. Perhaps having a lady’s maid wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  She scrubbed herself from head to toe, even washing her hair, though it would take hours to dry. When she emerged from her bathroom, she found a dejected Velma gathering up her dropped shirtwaist and skirt and lingerie and stuffing them into a laundry bag.

  Velma straightened, and it was obvious from her swollen eyelids and reddened cheeks that she had been crying.

  “Velma,” Annis said, as gently as she could. “It’s going to be all right.”

  Velma shook her head. “It ain’t. Mrs. Frances all alone in that place? Not all right.”

  “I have very good news about that, Velma, but it means a big change for you. A different opportunity. You can say no if you wish, and no one would hold it against you.”

  Velma stood dumbly, holding the laundry bag, gazing at her without understanding.

  “Mrs. Frances is out of the asylum. She’s safe with my aunt Harriet. You will soon meet my aunt, Miss Harriet Bishop.”

  Velma nodded, her lips a little apart, her dull eyes beginning to brighten. “Miss Harriet got Mrs. Frances?”

  “Yes. At the Dakota, across from Central Park. We’re hoping you will go to be Mrs. Frances’s maid. Well, her nurse. She’s no better than she was, I’m afraid.”

  Velma’s eyes brightened more. “That’s my job now? At Miss Harriet’s?”

  “If you’re willing to take it.”

  Velma nodded, and more tears filled her eyes, tears of relief and hope. Annis felt a twist of empathy in her breast over Velma’s misery and constant anxiety. She said as gently as she knew how, “Go and pack your things, then. They’re expecting you tonight.”

  Annis had only just finished dressing and toweling her damp hair when Velma returned. Annis exclaimed aloud over her transformed appearance. The swollen eyelids were gone, and she had washed away the blotches of tears on her cheeks. She was wearing her best shirtwaist and newest skirt. She had brushed her thin hair into a passable chignon and perched her flat straw hat on top. She held a cardboard valise in one hand and her short woolen coat in another.

  Annis said, “You look—why, Velma, you look very nice.”

  “The Dakota,” Velma said, as if that explained the effort she had made.

  “Yes, indeed. I hope you’ll like it there.”

  They were already downstairs, with Robbie waiting in the drive, when Velma said, “Oh! I forgot!” She dropped her valise and her coat on the floor and turned to run, rather clumsily, back upstairs. When she returned she was carrying the cut-glass swan, carefully cupped in her hands.

  Annis picked up the maid’s valise and coat and carried them for her. She assisted Velma up into the carriage and saw her safely settled, her most precious possession cradled in her lap.

  “Robbie,” Annis said as he picked up the reins. “Don’t let that doorman send you down to the servants’ level. Tell him Velma is to go right up the stairs, just as a lady’s maid does.”

  Robbie grinned. “Yes, Miss Annis.” He touched his cap and set off for the Dakota. Annis stood in the gravel drive, waving farewell to her former maid.

  Annis, hairbrush in her hand, knelt before a lively fire in the small parlor to dry her hair. James found her there and held out his hand for the brush. “Allow me,” he said.

  Startled, Annis gave him the hairbrush and bent her head. With patient hands he untangled the strands of damp hair and began to brush. It was an oddly intimate experience, the heat of the fire against her scalp, the firm, slow strokes of the hairbrush, the occasional grazing of her cheek by James’s long fingers. Annis’s breathing quickened, and her heart beat a little faster at his nearness.

  When his elbow grazed her shoulder, she had a sudden flash of that awful night in her bedroom in Rosefield Hall, when he was under the influence of the maleficia. She caught a horrified breath at the memory, then resolutely thrust it away.

  This moment wasn’t anything like that night of bewitchment. These feelings were thrilling, but they were natural. She liked him so very much. She knew him to be a kind man behind his self-conscious facade, and to be a man of integrity and honesty. Now that the maleficia no longer interfered, they could be friends. Perhaps even more than friends.

  When her hair, though still damp, was free of tangles, she lifted her head. James helped her drape the heavy strands of hair back from her face.

  “I like your hair around your shoulders that way,” he said. He was blushing, but his gaze was steady. He hadn’t cleared his throat once. He put a hand under her arm to help her up, and they sat together on the divan before the fire.

  “Annis,” he began. “I spoke to your father today.”

  “You didn’t need to. I’m eighteen now. I can make my own decisions.”

  His mouth turned down in that priggish way that made her want to laugh. “It’s the proper way to go about things.”

  “All right, James,” she said. She still felt the laugh bubbling up in her throat. She covered her lips with her fingers to prevent it escaping. “Tell me what Papa said.”

  “He gave me permission to propose to you. He gave us his blessing.”

  “His blessing? I haven’t said yes yet.”

  His lips relaxed to their normal pleasant line. “I think you’re going to,” he said.

  Her eyebrows shot up. It wasn’t like James to jump ahead that way, to make an assumption. It was—it was confident. She found it charming.

  She said, “Do you?”

  “Yes. Because I’m going to persuade you.” Surprising her even further, he bent and kissed her mouth. There was nothing offensive in it, but neither was it a hesitant kiss. His lips were closed and firm, utterly unlike his awful attempt when he was driven by the maleficia. He pressed his mouth to hers for just the right amount of time, enough to make her breath quicken in her throat and her solar plexus quiver. When he straightened, he said, “That’s my first argument.”

  She gazed at him, her lips a little apart, her cheeks warming. All she knew of actual kissing was what her schoolmates had said, and she had never been sure they weren’t making things up. The actual event made her suspect she was going to like kisses.

  James said, “I have other inducements.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out a small black velvet box. He opened it with one finger and held it out for her to see. The ring inside was a simple one, gold, a ruby surrounded by pavé diamonds. It glittered temptingly in the firelight.

  Annis buried her hands in her skirt to stop herself from touching it. “Are you sure you want to marry me, James? I’m not a proper sort of girl at all, not the sort you’re used to.”

  He smiled. “I already know that, of course.”

  “Did Papa say anything about my dowry?”

  James gave a wry chuckle. “Your father made it clear there wouldn’t be one. He said, ‘I don’t want to talk about money.’ So we didn’t.”

  “You mean—there’s to be no money, but you still want to marry me?”

  He gave her a gentle, very James-like smile. “I do, Annis. I do, very much. It’s too bad about the money, of course. I’ll just have to find another way out of our difficulties.”

  “Are they very bad, those difficulties?”

  “They’re serious, I’m afraid, and my mother isn’t going to like the solutions. She loves the London house, for example. And I love High Point, but there’s no help for that. It’s a big debt, and we must be free of it.”

  “I’m so sorry, James. I wish I could do something.”

  “Well, it’s not really your problem, is it? I will manage,” he said. His smile faltered, and his jaw tightened. “I must manage, actually, whatever
it costs. People are depending on me.”

  “Yes, I see that.” She sighed and looked away, into the jolly little fire. “There’s something else, James. I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it.” He found her hand and held it. “I want to complete my studies with Aunt Harriet. To be an herbalist.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She took a breath. “I will have to spend several months a year in New York.”

  His hand tightened on hers. “But what about Black Satin?”

  Startled, she glanced up at him. “Sorry?”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. “It’s my idea, Annis, that you marry me, and spend your bit of inheritance to ship your stallion to Liverpool.”

  “Oh!” She blinked at the new thought. “And could I hire Robbie to work with Jermyn at Seabeck? I’ve always promised his job would be safe, and he could see that Black Satin makes it safely to England.”

  “Of course, although you must warn him Jermyn won’t like it.”

  “Jermyn doesn’t like much, it seems.”

  “He’s a touchy, old-fashioned sort, but that doesn’t matter. You can start your bloodline at Seabeck, with my Andalusian mares.” James’s sudden grin made him look young and rather dashing. “It’s a cracking good plan, don’t you think? Black Satin is just the fresh blood the Seabeck line needs. We may even turn a profit.”

  “And my studies with Aunt Harriet?”

  His grin faded. “That could be a problem, Annis. You’ll be the Marchioness of Rosefield. There are privileges that come with the title, but there are also obligations. Duties. You can hardly discharge them if you’re not present.”

  “But as an herbalist, there is so much I can do at Seabeck. Not just for the horses, but for the people.” And being a witch will be even better.

  “But that won’t be necessary. We have a doctor.” He frowned at her with real puzzlement, as if he couldn’t understand what she was saying.

  The good feeling between them evaporated, all at once. She couldn’t think how to argue her point. It didn’t seem fair she should have to.

  Not knowing what to say, she pushed herself up. “I’m going to change for dinner.”

  “Wait, Annis—” James stood, too, the box with its beautiful ring still in his hand, his face full of dismay at his proposal going awry yet again. “You haven’t—aren’t you going to give me an answer?”

  “Not now. I have to think.” She picked up the hairbrush from the footstool and turned toward the door.

  “If I—wait, Annis, don’t go—if I say it’s fine to come to New York and study with your aunt, then will you say yes?”

  She paused in the doorway, the hairbrush gripped too tightly between her hands. She couldn’t look at him. “I don’t think I should marry you, James. I don’t think I should marry anyone.” The words hurt her throat and made her heart ache, but she rushed ahead, wanting to get them out. “I can’t bear the thought of being told by a husband what I may or may not do.”

  He said, “But, Annis—that’s just the way—”

  “Don’t say that’s just the way it is!” she cried. “That’s no excuse!”

  She looked at him then, and her heart ached at the sight. He looked almost as vulnerable as when he had been ill, holding the elegant little ring box as if it had his heart inside. “Oh, James,” she murmured.

  He took three long strides to reach her. He drew her close with one arm, tipping up her still-damp head with the other hand so he could look into her eyes, deeply, as if he wanted to see into her very soul. “You’re right,” he said, his voice coming from deep in his throat. “I shouldn’t tell you what you can and cannot do, whether you marry me or you do not.”

  “Oh, James,” she repeated. “Are you sure? You won’t regret saying that?”

  “I will not regret it,” he said. “And you will learn that I am, for all my other failings, a man of my word.” He pulled her closer and bent to kiss her once more, which felt very nice indeed. He murmured, his lips close to her ear, “Say yes, dear Annis. Lovely, strong-minded, independent Annis. Say you’ll be my marchioness, and I won’t ask you to be obedient.”

  “Oh! Oh, James, when you hold me like this it’s so hard—I just don’t—”

  He pulled back a little, just enough to lift the ring out of its box. He found her left hand with his right, and slid the ring onto her finger, where it fit as if it had been made for her.

  “Oh, James,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t bear to think of taking it off. Indeed, she could barely think at all, but then, it wasn’t a moment for thinking. It was a golden moment for pure emotion. A rare, singular moment in time, for touching, for sensation, for joy.

  “Say yes,” he whispered.

  Annis said, “Yes. Yes!” and turned up her face to be kissed again.

  He obliged, with a sincerity she felt as clearly as if she could touch it. He kissed her again, and then once more, until they were both breathless.

  When he released her at last, he smiled and pressed her hand with its lovely new ring to his heart. “Lady Rosefield,” he said.

  She laughed and pulled her hand free so she could hold it out and admire the sparkle of the ring in the firelight. “I’ll never get used to being called that,” she said.

  “You will when you learn how effective it can be at getting things done.”

  She flicked her fingers, watching the ruby’s glow change in the light, and thought about how nice it was going to be to give orders of her own and have them obeyed. She could tell Jermyn to saddle whichever horse she wanted to ride. She could visit the farmers and take gifts for their children and find out what their crops were like. She could forage for herbs wherever on Seabeck’s wide lands she cared to. She could breed horses and care for them, and see that Black Satin’s line was the best it could possibly be.

  If all of that was what being a marchioness meant, she was going to like it. She was going to like it very much indeed.

  48

  Harriet

  Did you bring them?”

  “Yes.” Annis set a small covered basket on the worktable in the herbarium. As she stripped off her gloves, Harriet saw her surreptitious glance at the shining ring on her left hand. Self-consciously Annis adjusted it on her finger, and a small, furtive smile curved her lips.

  Good. She was happy. No one had coerced her. Indeed, knowing Annis, they probably couldn’t have even if they had tried.

  Harriet’s own lips curled, but she didn’t say anything. She had already formally congratulated Annis and James, sent them a small silver tea service as a wedding gift, and accepted the invitation to their wedding.

  She watched as Annis folded back the bit of linen that covered the little objects. In the bright morning light, the manikins looked crude and sinister. It would be a relief when they were disposed of.

  Annis said, “I know this thing doesn’t really look like me, and of course I didn’t create it. Still, when I touch it, I feel something. Something nasty. Shameful.”

  “And the other one?”

  Annis glanced up, and there was something in those clear blue eyes that made Harriet pause in the act of tying on her apron. “What is it?” she asked her.

  Annis’s eyelids dropped, as if she knew her eyes revealed too much. She wasn’t smiling now, but thoughtful. Grave. She put out a finger to graze the top of James’s manikin, and withdrew it again as if the thing were hot and might burn her.

  “Annis?”

  “I want to keep it,” Annis blurted. She folded her arms in a defensive gesture and thrust out her chin. “In case I need it.”

  “Need it!” Harriet stared at Annis. “Have I not been clear about this? The maleficia—”

  “Oh, I know, Aunt Harriet, I know! I wouldn’t use the maleficia, or do anything to hurt James. It’s just—”

  Harriet, dismayed and disturbed, managed to hold her tongue as she watched Annis struggle to find a way to express herself.

&nb
sp; Annis breathed a long, gusty sigh. “You know how fond I am of James. And I have no doubt he’s fond of me, at least for now—”

  “Ah. You’re thinking of your father, and Frances.”

  Annis nodded but didn’t look up. “Papa and Frances made all the promises, the same ones James and I will make, but they broke them. What if James breaks his promise?”

  “Which one are you worried about?”

  “He promised he wouldn’t tell me what I can and can’t do. What if he changes his mind? What power will I have except—” She unfolded her arms and swept them around the herbarium with its shelves of jars and bottles and candles, its bunches of herbs hanging overhead. “This is the only real power I have, Aunt Harriet. I’m afraid of losing it when I’m only just learning it.”

  Harriet finished tying her apron and walked away to stand at the window and gaze out at her beloved park. She touched the amulet where it hung on her breast and thought of Alexander. For just a moment, a few heartbeats, she felt him at her shoulder, and it was such a distinct sensation that she closed her eyes to feel the warmth of his body behind hers. She might have stood that way a long time, but Annis came to stand beside her, and the impression of Alexander’s presence evaporated.

  Harriet released the amulet and leaned forward to take in the winter vista of the park, the bare trees rimed with ice, the grass crisp with frost. “There are risks in all our relationships, Annis. In love. In friendship. Even in a relationship like ours, which is—well, I don’t know what to call it exactly, but it requires trust to make it work.”

  “I trust you, of course, Aunt Harriet.”

  Harriet straightened and turned her head to look directly into Annis’s eyes. “Then you must trust me in this, Annis. The manikin must be destroyed. There is no good in it. No benefit.”

  “Are you sure? I thought perhaps—the bit of magic that clings to it—”

  “I am sure, to my sorrow,” Harriet said heavily. “I don’t want you to make the same mistake I made, long ago.”

  “What mistake was that? You didn’t—you didn’t use the maleficia?”

  “I did. It was my greatest mistake, and it cost me everything.” Before she knew it was going to happen, before she could stop them, tears began to trickle down her face, the second time she had wept in the space of a few months. She didn’t sob or sniffle. Her weeping was just tears, a steady, slow stream of them, as if a dam had broken and released a flood. They dripped down her chin and onto the bib of her long apron.