The Witching Hour (Wiggons School #3) (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies) (The Wiggons' School for Elegan Young Ladies)

by Jane Charles

  “Besides,” Rosemary said in a quiet voice. “We are virgins too. What if they want more?”

  With that, Eliza jumped back in the shadows.

  A lump rose in her throat, Sophia hadn’t been this scared since that horrible man had kidnapped her and held her in the crypt.

  The group was murmuring low, but she couldn’t make out the words and assumed they were chanting. The clock in the center of the town chimed midnight. The coven silenced as one stepped forward. He raised a knife in the air as the hood fell from his head. Sophia gasped at the knife Westbrook held. The blade glinted in the moonlight, and then he plunged it down.

  All three of them screamed, and the people in the robes turned. Two started toward them. Sophia didn’t wait for Rosemary or Eliza but ran as if the hounds of hell were on her heels all the way back to the school, not stopping to breathe until she was inside. Eliza was the last to enter and slammed the door shut before locking it behind them.

  At the scream, Gabe bent and scooped Miss Morris up in his arms and strode for the house. This was done only in case the girls looked back. It wouldn’t do for the girls to see Miss Morris walking after they’d gone through all this trouble to sacrifice her. His coven hurried after him, more to be out of the cold he suspected, than out of worry about the students.

  He set her in the center of the sitting room as the others entered and burst into laughter.

  “Poor Mrs. Wiggons, she’s going to have much to deal with tonight,” Mrs. Kazakov said as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “I can’t wait to see their faces when I appear at morning classes,” Claudia said as she began to remove her cloak. In doing so, the shawl slipped from her shoulders. She yanked it back but not before Atwood saw the mark and then pinned Gabe with a look.

  Wesley saw it was well. Though he said nothing, his face grew tight.

  “I will call on you tomorrow,” Atwood said to Gabe.

  “That’s not necessary,” he returned. “I’ll call on you.” In Claudia’s telling of why the girls thought Atwood to be a vampire she revealed it was because he didn’t leave his home during the day. Sunlight was too painful for him following injuries from an earlier battle. Gabe already knew what Atwood would demand, and it wasn’t necessary that he endure pain when doing so.

  “I’ll expect you in the morning.”

  “We must hurry,” Wesley announced. “We need to be gone from here before they talk Mrs. Wiggons into calling on Mr. Westbrook or Lord Atwood.

  “She’ll put them off, and they may be too afraid to leave on their own,” Claudia said.

  “Or, if she doesn’t respond as they wish, they may go to either Lady Atwood or Natasha,” Kazakov said, “And we need to be prepared.”

  Gabe wasn’t so ready for her to leave him just let. The others, yes, but not Claudia.

  “They’ll come to us if they aren’t too scared to sneak away,” Lady Atwood said.

  As the others removed their black robes and handed them to Ruth and Joseph, Gabe drew Claudia to his side. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening.” The discussion he intended to have with her had nothing to do with the smuggling, French, or students. Atwood had seen the love bite, and Gabe already knew how the discussion with the viscount would go tomorrow. He needed to assure Claudia that he wasn’t being forced into anything and to gauge her thoughts on the matter. Though they’d spent time alone, and she seemed to enjoy his kisses and caresses, that didn’t mean she wished for anything further between them, and he would not allow Atwood to force her hand.

  He was the gentleman, but she needed to know she still had a choice.

  “Until tomorrow,” she smiled and allowed Wesley to assist her into the dark cloak she’d worn when she snuck away from the school. She rubbed her hand over the soft wool she’d worn earlier. “May I leave it here until I’ve dealt with the girls? I don’t want to risk them seeing it just yet, and we don’t know they won’t be looking out of a window.”

  “Of course, Miss Morris.” He accepted the cloak and watched as she was escorted from the room. Tension settled into this gut. It wasn’t the upcoming meeting with Atwood, but if she would accept his proposal.

  “Lord Atwood, if I may be presumptuous, I do believe a Christmas wedding would be lovely,” Wesley said from his side of the carriage.

  Claudia blinked at him.

  “Do you believe that leaves you enough time to prepare?” Atwood asked.

  “We will begin first thing in the morning, but I do not foresee any difficulty.”

  Claudia looked to Tess for an explanation.

  Instead, her friend was looking at her with curiosity.

  “Who is getting married?” she finally asked aloud.

  “You are, Miss Morris,” Atwood answered.

  Did he say she was? “I beg your pardon? I am not marrying anyone.”

  “I’m afraid that mark on your neck says otherwise.” Then he turned to Wesley. “If the girls knew how that mark appeared, they’d think Westbrook was a vampire as well as witch.”

  Her face flamed as she brought a hand up to cover her neck. Even though the shawl was in place, hiding the bruise, she could almost feel it burn on her skin. “You are mistaken.”

  “I am not a fool, Miss Morris.” Atwood turned back to her. “Mr. Westbrook has taken liberties, and as you have no one to protect you, I am assuming the role.”

  “Nobody needs to protect me,” she argued. This was horrible. “That is why you wished to meet with Ga…Mr. Westbrook tomorrow?”

  “As you feel free to use his Christian name, I am confident my assumptions are correct.”

  His hard tone set her on edge. He had gotten kinder since his marriage to Tess, but at the moment, he resembled the irritated lord she’d first met.

  “It is not your place.” She glared at him across the carriage, glad they’d left a lamp lit.

  He returned her stare, unmoving. “I beg to differ.”

  Her heartbeat picked up as the panic set in. Surely Atwood could not force her or Gabe to marry. He was not her relation, and Claudia was an adult who had been making her own decisions for a very long time.

  She turned to her dear friend, Tess, beseeching her with her eyes.

  Tess merely shrugged, as if it was out of her hands.

  Well, she would show them. Nobody was going to force her to do something she did not wish, nor were they going to force Gabe to do so either. Not that being married to Gabe would be such a hardship. He was quite handsome and kissed divinely, but a marriage needed to be based on more than caresses and kisses. Unfortunately, too many marriages occurred because of those very things. She’d read about it happening in the gossip sheets. But that didn’t mean she had to be a victim as well. If she and Gabe were to marry, it would be for love and affection, and as she was certain he’d never feel those emotions for her, she’d need to make sure her friends were discouraged.

  “We have a pale blue satin that would be lovely against your skin,” Wesley offered, already making plans for her wedding.

  “I thank you for your offer of assistance, Wesley, but there will be no wedding.” Claudia looked to Atwood with determination, ready to dig in her heels and be as difficult as she knew he could be.

  Chapter 10

  Moreover, it may be said that the devils makes use of a witch, not because he has need of any such agent, but because he is seeking the perdition of the witch.

  ~ Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger

  Sophia glanced up at the headmistress who towered over the three of them. After collapsing inside the entrance, they hadn’t moved and just looked at each other, afraid to voice what they’d seen. Her heart still hadn’t settled into a steady rhythm. Was Miss Morris dead?

  “What is going on? Why are you out of bed? And why have you been outside at this time of night?” Mrs. Wiggons demanded.

  “It was horrible, Miss Wiggons,” Rosemary cried as tears welled in her eyes, and in that moment, Sophia and Eliza both burst into te
ars.

  The three of them clung to each other, sobbing, unable to explain clearly enough to Mrs. Wiggons what they’d witnessed. One of them would make an attempt but couldn’t get the words out and would cry harder. Then another would try, but they simply couldn’t do it.

  “Into the sitting room with you three.” Mrs. Wiggons yanked on the bell pull just inside the door as Sophia and her friends sank down onto the settee.

  “Tea please,” Mrs. Wiggons said to the maid who appeared to be half asleep. Her hair was mussed, her cap crooked, and she’d been in the process of tying her apron when she stepped in the room.

  “Now, why don’t you tell me again what it is that has you so upset?” The headmistress’ voice was calm but still held a bit of frustration and irritation.

  Sophia tried her best to gain control of her emotions to explain because she wasn’t certain Rosemary ever would, and every time Eliza opened her mouth, no sound came out and she closed it again, as if she couldn’t find the right words.

  She took a deep breath. “It started when we began to believe that Mr. Westbrook was a warlock.”

  Mrs. Wiggons narrowed her eyes on the girls, and her mouth tightened.

  “We feared he had Miss Morris under his spell and thought to save her.” Tears began to well in her eyes again, but Sophia blinked them away. “We overheard him tell his sisters something was going to happen at midnight, so we thought to find out.”

  “You trespassed again, didn’t you?”

  “We had to,” Eliza cried. “Miss Morris already had the mark upon her, and she used magic.”

  “Mark?” Mrs. Wiggons frowned. “What did it look like?”

  “A b…b…bruise. Right here.” Rosemary pointed to a spot on her neck.

  “Really?” Mrs. Wiggons seemed more intrigued about the mark than anything else.

  Why wasn’t she upset? “That is how to tell a witch. If there is an unnatural mark upon her body.”

  Sophia could swear she heard Mrs. Wiggons say she doubted that bruise was unnatural. She suppose Miss Morris could have bruised herself, but how did one bruise their own neck?

  “So, because of a mark, you decided Miss Morris was a witch?”

  “That’s not all,” Eliza insisted.

  “She used magic to find water,” Rosemary added.

  Miss Wiggons looked at each of them as Eliza and Sophia nodded their head in agreement.

  “We saw it. Only Miss Morris, Mr. Westbrook, and Olivia had the powers to do so.”

  Mrs. Wiggons rubbed her temples as if she were getting a headache. Sophia had seen her do it often enough, especially when she had the three of them lined up, waiting to be talked to.

  “So, because she can divine water and has a mark, you feared she was a witch or in danger, am I understanding this correctly?”

  The three of them gave vigorous nods.

  “He has her in his thrall,” Rosemary whispered.

  “So, what did you discover tonight that has you so upset?”

  They looked at each other and once again burst into tears.

  “Enough, girls. Tell me what happened.”

  Sophia gulped and then told their headmistress what they’d witnessed.

  “Miss Morris was a virgin sacrifice and now she’s dead,” Rosemary wailed.

  “Oh, good gracious,” Mrs. Wiggons said as she stood. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard yet from you three. I am certain there is a perfectly good explanation, and one that isn’t any of your concern.”

  “We saw the knife plunge toward her. When we screamed, two of the coven came after us,” Rosemary cried.

  “Check on Miss Morris,” Eliza insisted as she came to her feet. “If she is not in her bed then you know we speak the truth.”

  “I don’t need to check on her,” Mrs. Wiggons returned. “She dined with Lord and Lady Atwood this evening and remained there. She will return in time for classes tomorrow.”

  “She won’t!” Sophia cried.

  “She’s dead!” added Eliza.

  “Enough!” Mrs. Wiggons yelled. “I’ve had quite enough of the three of you and can’t wait until you return to your homes for the Christmas holiday. Miss Morris is not a witch, and she is perfectly safe. Mr. Westbrook is not a warlock. I don’t know what you saw tonight, but it wasn’t a virgin sacrifice.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Eliza demanded.

  “A gentleman wouldn’t do something like that in his own back lawn, first of all. Secondly, there are no such thing as witches.”

  “But we saw it with our own eyes,” Rosemary cried.

  “What you saw is something your mind willed you to see because you won’t cease reading books that are not meant for you.” She pointed to the door. “Now, upstairs and in bed, all three of you.”

  They gaped at her.

  “You aren’t going to do anything?” Eliza cried.

  “No. And, neither are you, anymore or ever again.”

  “But,” Rosemary began, and Mrs. Wiggons held up her hand to silence them.

  “Not another word. Tea will be delivered to your room. You shall drink it. You shall go to bed. You shall sleep. You shall not discuss this again. You will see Miss Morris tomorrow and see that she is well.”

  The girls glanced at each other. It was futile to try and make Mrs. Wiggons believe or understand. What they saw tonight was very real, and if they didn’t find a way to stop Westbrook, he might just come for another virgin sacrifice. Worse, he now lived next door to an entire school full of virgins. He must be stopped.

  Gabe took a deep breath then followed Wesley down the corridor and into Atwood’s library. With him were Anton Kazakov and Lord Severen. The three gentlemen stared at Gabe as Wesley shut the door, remaining within.

  What servant remained for the type of discussion Gabe anticipated? Then again, Wesley had also been part of the coven last evening and had a coat made for Claudia. His gut warned that this Wesley wasn’t an ordinary servant. Though, not in the same manner that his own servants weren’t actual servants.

  “I’m not going to bother with pleasantries, Westbrook,” Atwood began. “What are your intentions toward Miss Morris?”

  As a gentleman, despite the opinion of polite society, Gabe knew what was expected of him, and had it been Claudia’s father who questioned him, he’d request her hand. However, he didn’t know Atwood, having met him for the first time last night, and he’d only met Kazakov once before. Severen he did know and was aware of his connection to Claudia, as he’d helped her escape France, but none of them were a relation. Her father and two older brothers lived and would be arriving within a matter of days. If this discussion was to be had, it would be with them and not the gentlemen in this room.

  “My intentions are between Miss Morris and myself.”

  Atwood pulled away from the desk, Kazakov straightened, and Severen lifted an eyebrow and smirked.

  Wesley cleared his throat and came forward. “Though it is early, might I suggest brandy so that this matter may be discussed civilly?” He went to the sideboard and poured four glasses and handed one to each of the gentlemen in the room.

  Gabe took a sip, but not a seat.

  “Miss Morris is without family to protect her,” Atwood said.

  Did they not know that Marseau was her father? “You don’t need to protect her from me.”

  “Then explain the mark on her neck,” he demanded.

  Gabe fought the urge to shift and look away. That was not well done of him. He’d taken liberties with Claudia that he hadn’t any right. “Did you discuss it with Miss Morris?” he countered. If she’d told Atwood or any gentleman in this room of the time they’d spent together, if he didn’t marry her immediately, she’d be ruined, and these gentlemen would lose all respect for him, if they had any to begin with. His name and respectability hadn’t been linked together in a very long time.

  Not that anyone needed to force him to do the right thing. Gabe was perfectly willing to marry Claudia.
He simply resented having his hand forced.

  A smile pulled at Atwood’s lips. “She informed me that it is not my place.”

  “In that, she is correct.” Gabe took another drink.

  “As I told her, I beg to differ. She then thanked me for my assistance but insisted there would be no wedding.” He tilted his head. “She was rather adamant about not wanting to marry you.”

  Gabe took a step back. Having his hand forced was one thing, but could the lady in question actually reject his suit? That had been his biggest concern. “She doesn’t wish to marry me?” The idea was more disturbing than he’d anticipated. Was his heart already so invested with Claudia? In so short of time?

  “She was rather emphatic that there would be no wedding,” Wesley said.

  “Well, she is wrong!” Gabe tossed back the rest of his brandy. It burned a trail down his throat and warmed him from the inside. “I’ve already given the matter a great deal of thought. It’s soon, I am aware, but a gentleman simply knows when he meets the lady who is to be his wife.” He strode to the sideboard and poured himself some more brandy. “Isn’t that so, Severen?” The gentleman had told him, that despite the circumstances under which they’d met, Severen knew within days that Noella would be his wife, though she was very stubborn in coming to the altar.

  The gentleman nodded. While his mouth was quite set with seriousness, there was humor in his eyes. This was not an amusing situation, however.

  “I should caution you, Westbrook, Miss Morris was quite resolute,” Wesley warned. “I’ve gone ahead with plans despite her objections, but I fear she might not be as willing as you.”

  “We shall see about that.” He tipped back his glass and drank. Why wouldn’t Miss Morris wish to marry him? He was wealthy and they got along well. Plus, she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed his kisses, and he’d be willing to bet that she’d enjoy everything else he had to offer once they were wed. Further, she was no simpering miss. If she were, he’d not be able to tolerate her and would have never kissed her in the first place.