The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set

by Chasity Bowlin

  “We’ll pry this out of the setting!”

  “What will you do with the setting?” Dorcas asked speculatively.

  Realizing the woman’s intent, Larissa huffed out a breath. “You may have the silver, Dorcas.”

  Larissa crossed to the desk, opened the book to the page she’d marked and then began placing the items on the table. The first thing she did was to take the salt and pour it in a large circle around herself and Dorcas while reciting the words of protection the book advised.

  “If Gertrude knew what you were doing with that salt!”

  “It’s for protection,” Larissa stated.

  “From what?” Dorcas demanded.

  Larissa stopped and met her companion’s skeptical gaze. She replied with one very simple word that halted, at least momentarily, Dorcas’ protests. “Evil.”

  With her circle complete, she moved back to the table and the task that awaited her. The heavy cast iron bowl was first. She melted the end of the candle and used the drippings to fix it in place in the center of the bowl. With that done, she filled the bowl with water and added the herbs; vervain, ginger and a heavy dose of salt. Afterward she placed the onyx stone in front of the bowl and then lit the candle.

  “I don’t like this,” Dorcas said in a low, sing-song voice.

  “Shush! Be quiet or leave!” Larissa commanded.

  “Can’t very well leave as I’m trapped in a ring of bloody salt!” the thin woman groused.

  “Dorcas!”

  Dorcas threw her hands up in the air. “It don’t seem right! Messin’ with such darkness!”

  Larissa turned back to her. “We’re not seeking darkness, Dorcas, we’re attempting to undo it… Whatever was in those pouches has blocked any ability that I might have to read the inhabitants here and know their intent. If I do not do this, they continue to have the advantage!”

  “Ohhhh!” Dorcas uttered between clenched teeth. “I shoulda stayed in York and drank me gin! Fine! Have on with it then!”

  Larissa turned back to the small table and her makeshift altar. Her nerves had begun to get the better of her and she was questioning whether or not to continue on her current path. She thought of Spencer, of what he’d been put through since he’d come to Kinraven, and then she thought of John and Mary. Whatever risk might be involved for her, if she could prevent further harm to others, it would be worth the cost.

  Determinedly, she placed her hands on the rim of the bowl and focused her energy as the book directed. She had no idea if she was doing it right. She felt somewhat silly as she began to recite the words from the book, but it was better than the alternative. “I call upon the powers of the elements, upon the four winds, hear me and aid my path,” she said.

  Dorcas snorted but said nothing. Larissa hissed at her in response like a spitting cat. The woman jumped back and began to flutter about nervously.

  “I don’t like this at all, and I’m startin’ to like you less every day,” Dorcas muttered.

  Larissa ignored her and continued with her chanting. She repeated the words again and again, until she found a strange rhythm and comfort in them. Heat began to creep up her arms from the bowl. As she opened her eyes and glanced at the items spread out before her, she saw that herbs she’d placed in the bowl earlier were now swirling about frenetically. Dorcas apparently saw it too. The woman began to wail.

  Larissa did not turn from the bowl and whatever it was that she had wrought, but she did state emphatically, “If you do not hush, the next spell I cast will remedy that! Be quiet!”

  Dorcas, other than an occasional snivel, did as she was bade.

  Larissa refocused her attention and energy on the bowl. With her thumbs and forefingers resting on the edges, she began to recite the actual spell rather than the calling of power as the book had stated.

  Darkness cast,

  I will it to pass,

  Release the binds,

  as past spells unwind,

  for magick’s safe return,

  this candle I burn,

  Any harm from thee to me,

  Shall return to thee in three,

  As I will, So mote it be.

  She repeated the chant over and over as the candle flamed higher. The wax began to melt quickly, dripping into the base of the bowl, some splashing onto her fingers. She did not remove them, but continued. When the door behind her blew open and a fierce wind whipped through the room, Dorcas fell to the floor and screamed. Larissa only hunkered over the table to protect the candle’s flame from the air. She needn’t have worried. While the curtains and bedclothes whipped in the breeze, not even her hair stirred. The wind, if in fact that was what it actually was, had been deflected by the circle of salt.

  Dorcas crawled over on her hands and knees and wrapped her arms around Larissa’s legs. “I don’t know what it is, but don’t let it take me!”

  Larissa didn’t answer, but continued her chant. Even with the accelerated burn of the candle, the five minutes it took for it to burn down to the herb infused water and snuff itself out, seemed an eternity.

  To complete the spell, to bind it so that it could not be undone or reversed, Larissa picked up the small knife that she’d had Dorcas procure for her. She pricked her finger and allowed the blood to drip onto the onyx she’d removed from the brooch. With her blood adorning the stone, she lifted it and pressed it into the rapidly cooling wax in the bowl of water. “Sealed in blood,” she murmured softly.

  The wind, quickly as it had come, abated. The curtains ceased their fluttering and the room stilled entirely but for Dorcas’ piteous weeping.

  “It is over now! You may get up.”

  Dorcas looked up at her accusingly. “You told me you were no witch!”

  “I’m not,” Larissa protested.

  “Clearly, I ain’t the only one what thinks so!” Dorcas all but shouted.

  “I completed a single spell… one that was necessary for all our safety, including yours. That does not make me a witch!” Technically, it did but Larissa wasn’t about to give Dorcas more ammunition to throw at her in their next volley of verbal barbs.

  “What was that? What was all the blowin’ and the huffin’ and puffin’? What was that?” Dorcas shouted.

  Larissa realized then that the woman was truly on the verge of hysteria. She consulted the book on how to open their protective circle. The whole situation seemed utterly ridiculous to her, but given what she’d just witnessed, she could not deny that something powerful had occurred. With her palm, she swept a bit of the salt aside and crossed the room to the table beside the bed. It did not surprise her in the least to find Dorcas’ trusty flask. She could only hope it wasn’t empty.

  After she picked the flask up, she gave it a little shake and was relieved to hear the slosh of liquid inside. Going back to the weeping and wailing woman, she handed her the small bottle and Dorcas wasted no time in removing the cap and downing the contents.

  “How do you function?” Larissa asked.

  “It’s watered down,” Dorcas said. With a blush she added, “A bit.”

  “No more hysterics. We haven’t time for them… Help me change and then we need to find out if Mrs. Agatha has left the house yet.”

  Dorcas, more gamely that Larissa had thought possible, rose to her feet and gave a curt nod. The whiskey, if that’s what it was, had clearly done the trick. “Well, whatever it was blew through this room like a typhoon, it didn’t come from that woman. That stick of a body would blow away with strong fart, much less all that!”

  Larissa covered her face with her hands. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Dorcas—.” She stopped. It was pointless to take the woman to task for anything she said, mostly because nine times out of ten she was too foxed to remember it. “Fetch my green wool morning dress.”

  After she’d dressed and tamed her hair into some semblance of order, Larissa stepped out into the hallway. She went to the kitchens first and returned what she could of the items borrowed from Gertrude.
The bowl would remain in her room, hidden behind the wardrobe. Her visit was twofold, however, and as she thanked Gertrude for the assistance, she casually touched the woman’s arm.

  A surfeit of images assailed her immediately, most of them quite carnal and starring a far more flexible version of Seamus than she’d expected. Larissa dropped her hand away quickly. “How are Mary and John this morning?”

  “Mary’s right good, miss. She’s up and walking about, but still a little banged up from the fall and those rocks! John, I just don’t know, miss, if the poor thing will ever be right again… He talked a bit during the night to poor Seamus, but it was all nonsense. He kept rattling on about the wind…Had to save poor Mary from the wind. No fever and no swelling of his head that I can see.”

  Larissa nodded. “I think I’m going to look in on him.”

  “And Mary?”

  “I’ll check with Mary later. If she’s been as active as you say, I daresay she’s already quite exhausted!” Larissa said. With her vision returned, she wanted to see if perhaps she couldn’t discover something more of John’s condition. If his mind was still intact and the blow to his head had not left him damaged beyond repair, she might be able to tell.

  “Oh, Gertrude?”

  “Yes, miss?”

  Larissa phrased the question casually, “I wished to discuss the arrangements for serving dinner tonight with Mrs. Agatha. Where might I find her?”

  Gertrude shook her head. “She’s gone, miss… off to the village on an errand for his lordship and Fergus is gone out, too. Good riddance to him I say. Man walks about like he’s got a poker up his—well, he’s not real friendly now, is he?”

  Larissa nodded her agreement. “He is a bit aloof… I will not be dining with Finella and Miss Katherine tonight. With his lordship out of the house, it seems unwise. If you would set something aside for me… and Dorcas? We will have dinner with Mary tonight if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, miss. While you’re sitting with her, I can have some quiet time my man,” Gertrude said with a grin.

  Larissa nodded and smiled. Given what she’d gleaned from Gertrude’s present thoughts, quiet would have little to do with it. She turned and crossed the kitchen to one of the small rooms just off it and knocked softly. Seamus called out for her to enter.

  “How is he, Seamus?” she asked as she entered the room and looked down at the young man who lay so still and pale upon the narrow bed.

  “He’s quiet now, miss, but ’twas a bad night fer him.”

  Larissa took the seat that Seamus had vacated upon her entrance. Settling down beside the bed, she reached out and touched John’s arm, patting it in what she hoped would be seen as a comforting gesture. Casual touch was something that was so alien to her it was difficult to know if her actions would be seen as natural by those around her.

  She allowed her hand to still and waited. Flashes of images came to her mind, but it was as it had been prior to coming to Kinraven. Everything was disjointed and nonsensical. But then, she’d been trying to read Spencer who at the time had been quite mad, and now John, who was suffering a terrible blow to the head. Perhaps, she could only read people who were fully cognizant of their surroundings and their actions. Disappointed, she withdrew her hand. “Seamus, if you need more assistance in looking after him or Mary, and there are servants whom you would trust with the task, please do not hesitate to take that upon yourself.”

  The man nodded, his bushy beard brushing against his chest with each bob of his head. “There’s a few lads about what I wouldn’t hesitate to ask,” he said.

  “Very well. I have some other duties to attend to.”

  Seamus nodded. “It takes about two hours to get to the village and back… and she been gone a half hour already.”

  Larissa pursed her lips. “I see. What precisely did the earl say to you prior to his leaving this morning?”

  “Just that I should watch out for you in his absence, miss… and if you’ve need of me you only have to call out.”

  “Thank you, Seamus,” Larissa said before she exited John’s room. She headed back upstairs, located Dorcas who took up her position in the hallway and then made for the servant’s quarters.

  She entered Mrs. Agatha’s room and noted that the room was much like the woman herself. There were no personal items on display. Two identical gowns of black bombazine hung from pegs on the wall, but otherwise, not even her hairbrush was out. Moving carefully, Larissa began her search. Under the bed, through each of the drawers in the small chest, even taking them out to look behind them. There was nothing.

  With some difficulty, she managed to move the chest itself. Nothing had been fixed to the back of it, though there was a hole in the wall. Larissa knelt on the floor to peer through it. The view of Fergus’ bed was highly disturbing. Quickly, she backed away and moved the chest back in place. She did not wish to consider what was going on there. The only other place left to search was the bedding. Carefully, Larissa pulled back the bedclothes, taking special note of just how they’d been positioned. Again, she came up empty handed.

  At the room’s small window was a single table and hard chair. Larissa moved toward it and carefully examined each. Other than the gowns and the contents of the chest, it was as if the room had no human presence at all. Another thought occurred to her then. What if Mrs. Agatha did not sleep in her room? What if she was always about in the hallways in the mornings because she too was slipping back to her own chamber?

  Larissa choked down her distaste at the thought. The truly odd thing about the room was that, minus the personal effects, she also had no sense of the person. Even touching the woman’s clothes there were no remnants of her energy. Disappointed, Larissa sat down on the hard chair. It was only then that she saw it. Directly across the room, at the very base of the wall, one of the floor boards set up just a bit higher than the others.

  With her heart pounding, she moved toward it and tested it. The board came up easily enough. In the open space beneath was a piece of rolled parchment and a few letters tied with a ribbon. Larissa picked them up. Carefully, she unrolled the parchment and what she saw there made her heart stutter. It was the very information Spencer sought. She knew who was next in line to inherit Kinraven.

  “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed softly. After she’d gathered the items, she replaced the board carefully and made for the door. The sound of Dorcas’ voice alerted her that something was quite wrong.

  “I thought you’d been sent to town!” Dorcas said loudly.

  “I had been, but the wine merchant was ill and could not meet with me. I will have to return another day,” Mrs. Agatha responded more quietly, though her tone was still sharp. “Not that it is any business of yours! Please move! I need to put my cloak away!”

  “Before you do that,” Dorcas said, “I need a word with you. Private like.”

  God bless her, Larissa thought. For once Dorcas was actually following orders.

  “I will certainly speak to you in private, Dorcas, but I must put this cloak away.”

  “Nay, ma’am. Mayhap we could walk outside… I don’t want to say nothing about this where it might be overheard!” Dorcas protested. “I’m a bit deaf you see and it makes talk loud, and I’d have no way of knowin’ if anyone in the house might overhear!”

  Dear heavens but she was a brilliant liar, so long as the drink didn’t confuse her and in five minutes she’d be reporting herself to be blind as well!

  “I am quite fatigued, Dorcas. I’m happy to speak with you at a later time—.”

  “It can’t wait! It can’t. If I don’t do it now I won’t ever! I’ve a problem, Mrs. Agatha!” Dorcas protested, her voice all but a wail.

  “My goodness! Do not take on so!”

  “’Tis the drink, ma’am. Evil gin has taken hold of me and… I know you’re a right Christian sort of woman that would pray with me about it!”

  Larissa kept her ear pressed to the door as she awaited Mrs. Agatha’s response. There woul
d be no gracious way to deny such a request, but then she’d seen very little graciousness from the stern housekeeper. Still, after a long moment of silence broken only by Dorcas’ occasional and quite theatrical sobs, the housekeeper snapped. “Very well, I will walk outside with you to the garden path. There is a bench there where we can pray about your affliction!”

  Larissa heard Dorcas gush thanks and then a loud squawk of protest. She dared to peer beyond the door and saw that Dorcas had all but wrapped herself around Mrs. Agatha like a child and wept, less than softly, on the woman’s wraith-like shoulder as they made their way toward the stairs. The housekeeper’s stiff posture was a clear indication of just how uncomfortable the contact made her. When they vanished down the stairs, Larissa breathed a sigh of relief and quickly left Mrs. Agatha’s room with her purloined evidence.

  She didn’t want to chance it but there would not be another opportunity. It would be best to do it now while she had the chance. She would merely have to be quick. As she grasped the doorknob to enter Fergus’ room, revulsion swept through her. Here, she could clearly sense all of his motives and none were pure. Visions of Katherine writhing on the narrow bed assailed her and she tried desperately to push them away. She could see the vials of poison that Fergus had slipped to the servants under the guise of being a calming draught for the Earl. In all of them, she could not see where he’d gotten the Devil’s Trumpet. That remained hidden from her.

  Larissa focused her energy and called to mind the image of the vial. With that centered in her mind, she felt her eyes drift closed. Another vision reached her then. She knew just where he’d hidden the remnants of the poison.

  Without hesitation, she pushed the door open and crossed to the hearth. There was a small bell placed on the mantle above it. Lifting the bell, she retrieved the tiny bottle and shoved it in her pocket. She turned to glance at the bed and something caught her eye; it glittered on the floor just below the sweep of the quilt. Quickly, she bent and picked it up. It took only a cursory examination to determine that it belonged to Katherine. It was the very same bracelet she’d seen on the woman the day she and Dorcas had arrived at Kinraven.