Halloween Magic

by Sandra Heath

  Dr. Rogers had done all he could, and the child had now been taken back to the Lady twice, but still he just lay in his bed like a little lost soul. She had to face the awful possibility that Martha might be right, and he had been overlooked by the admiral’s widow. No, she wouldn’t think of such a thing, she wouldn’t!

  Gritting her teeth, she jabbed the hoe into the earth, but suddenly the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end, and a horrid feeling crept over her. With a gasp she whirled about to see Judith standing just beyond the garden wall. The witch was motionless, and her veil was turned back to reveal her gleaming eyes. Sadie wondered how long she had been there. Could she read thoughts? There was something in that cold, glittering gaze that suggested she could.

  Sadie swiftly wiped her tears away, and looked guardedly at the menacing figure. “What—what do you want?”

  “I need the seal your sister has hidden beneath the altar cross in the church,” Judith replied quietly.

  “I—I don’t know what you mean,” Sadie replied truthfully, for she knew nothing about the seal.

  “You do not need to know anything, just that if you wish to save your grandson, you must bring the seal to me. I’ve been keeping the child from death’s final clutches because I knew he might prove useful, so if you want me to give him back his health, you have to give me your help. Refuse, and he will die tomorrow.”

  The chilling words sank icily through Sadie, for they proved that what Martha said was true, Judith Villiers was a witch.

  Judith held her gaze. “Well? What is your answer?”

  Sadie’s eyes fled toward the cottage. She could almost feel Davey’s labored breathing.

  “Your answer!” Judith said sharply.

  Sadie flinched. “I—I will do as you ask,” she whispered.

  A slow smile spread on Judith’s lips. “Bring it to me tonight.”

  “I can’t!” Sadie said quickly.

  “Can’t?”

  “That’s right. The church is locked completely now. I—I’ve heard there’s been more damage found on the roof. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed to go inside.”

  Judith’s eyes flashed furiously, but she knew Sadie was telling the truth. “Very well,” she breathed, “but you are to bring it to me the moment you can. Delay by even one hour, and it will be the worst for the boy. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Sadie whispered fearfully.

  Without another word, Judith turned and glided silently away.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  In London, thanks to the tittle-tattling servants at Dover Street and Grosvenor Square, the passage of only a few days saw news of Lord Montacute’s astonishing match spread throughout society.

  The beau monde was startled to learn of the midnight marriage, and, predictably, the less kind were disposed to suspect her new ladyship of being in an “interesting condition.” White’s betting book soon received entries hazarding the expected date of the lying-in, the sex of the child, and even its weight, until Nicholas discovered the offending pages and tore them out, with the warning that if anyone else was so unwise as to wager on the subject, his seconds would call. It was a warning to which great heed was taken.

  In the face of such a stir, it was inevitable that Verity’s first public appearance as Lady Montacute would attract undue attention. When she had been insignificant Miss Verity Windsor, her arrival at the beginning of the summer hadn’t caused so much as a ripple, but now, all of a sudden, she was the belle of the Season. Everyone wished to scrutinize the new bride, so, with his wife’s well-being in mind, Nicholas decided the kindest introduction would be for her to accompany him for a ride in Hyde Park.

  This she did, and no one could find fault with the way she handled the gray Arabian mare from his stables, or with her dainty figure and pretty blond looks. Her shyness was thought most becoming, and since it was clear that she and Nicholas adored each other, no one could doubt that whatever the bride’s condition may or may not be, the marriage was most definitely a love match of the highest order.

  Verity sadly accepted the absence of a personal message from her uncle when all her belongings arrived from Dover Street. She didn’t give up, however, but wrote daily to him at Wychavon, although not a single word of response traveled in the other direction. The severing of relations was apparently complete. As far as Joshua Windsor was concerned, he no longer had a niece.

  She did her best not to let the apparently insoluble parting of the ways spoil what was still the happiest time of her life, and during her first weeks of marriage she did everything that was expected of her new position. After that first excursion in the park with Nicholas, she went there every day, sometimes with him, sometimes with Anna, who soon became her very dear friend.

  The names of Lord and Lady Montacute suddenly appeared on the guest lists of numerous dinner parties, assemblies, balls, and so on, and at first each occasion was something of an ordeal for Verity, but as the days passed, she became more and more confident. That was, until the Wednesday morning at the end of September when Nicholas informed her they would be attending that night’s subscription ball at Almack’s.

  He broke the news before they got up. The early-morning sun shone obliquely through the window, and the gardens outside were beginning to show the tints of early fall. The days were a little shorter now, and the temperature cooler, but in the cozy luxury of their velvet-hung bed, after making love again, they were very warm indeed as they lay naked in each other’s arms.

  Nicholas suddenly leaned up to smile into her eyes, which to him were still a strangely magical green. “I love you, Lady Montacute,” he murmured, toying with the snakestone around her throat.

  “The feeling is more than reciprocated, sir.”

  “In fact, I more than love you, I absolutely adore you, and wish to show you off properly tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “At Almack’s.”

  Her eyes widened. “Almack’s? Oh, but—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “At least three of the lady patronesses number among my friends, and all of them have made vouchers available in the hope that you will accompany me this week.”

  She sat up, pushing her unruly hair back from her face. “Nicholas, Almack’s is the most superior and exclusive place in the whole of London, and I really don’t think—”

  He put the finger to her lips again. “Hush, my darling, for you aren’t mere Miss Windsor now, you’re Lady Montacute, and as such entitled to the same privilege as any other lady of rank. You’ll carry Almack’s off as effortlessly as everything else, and besides, I’ll be at your side, and Anna and Oliver will be there too,” he added.

  “But what if I let you down?”

  “Have you let me down yet?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then have done with these buts, my lady, for Almack’s will be at your feet,” he murmured, his gaze moving over her body. “Tell me, madam, when did I last tell you you were lovely?”

  “I don’t think it was very long ago, sir.”

  “But did I say it ardently enough?”

  She smiled, her alarm about Almack’s dissolving into the early stirrings of renewed desire. “I’m sure you must have done, sir,” she whispered.

  “And have I told you you’re a very passionate and warm-blooded woman?”

  “Am I?” She searched his face.

  “Oh, yes, my lady, very passionate and warm-blooded indeed, in fact, I’d say you were born to make love.”

  Her cheeks colored a little. “You say that as if I am out of the ordinary, sir.”

  “You are, my darling, for you relish the delights of the marriage bed most gratifyingly,” he murmured, easing one of her thighs around him so she could feel his manhood, which hadn’t entirely softened after lovemaking.

  She closed her eyes with new pleasure. “Perhaps it’s because I have had such a skillful tutor, my lord,” she whispered, holding her breath and then exhaling slowly as she felt him hardening to
enter her a little.

  He smiled down at her. “It seems I can never have enough of you, Lady Montacute,” he breathed, penetrating still further.

  She raised her parted lips to his as her body welcomed him.

  * * *

  Martha was on the green at Wychavon, purchasing a new basket from the peddler. He usually would have moved on by now, but for some reason this year he had decided to stay on a little longer. His wares remained on display on the grass, the piebald horse grazed nearby beneath the autumn-tinged willows, and a bubbling pan was suspended over a crackling fire.

  The nurse still had no idea what had happened in London, because contrary to his original intention, Joshua hadn’t journeyed straight home, but had stopped off in Cheltenham to take the waters. More shaken by Verity’s betrayal than he cared to admit, he felt that the spa regimen would be of some comfort. The nurse was a little puzzled by the arrival at Windsor House of Verity’s letters to her uncle, but presumed there must be some very ordinary explanation, and so was quite unconcerned as she endeavored to argue a farthing off the price of the basket. The peddler was equally determined not to give an inch, and so the haggling was quite lively when suddenly it was interrupted by a disturbance from the direction of the vicarage.

  The Reverend Crawshaw appeared on his cob and had clearly lost control, for the animal was galloping toward the ford with the unfortunate clergyman clinging to its mane. His feet were out of the stirrups, and he bounced alarmingly on the saddle, shouting for help at the top of his lungs.

  The peddler acted in a moment, dashing toward the ford and leaping into the water in time to seize the runaway horse’s reins. The vicar had now slumped in the saddle, with his arms tightly around the animal’s neck, and his eyes were tightly closed as the horse reared and plunged. The peddler held on tightly, but hadn’t reckoned on the creature’s sudden panic. It tried to wrench free and almost pitched into the river, but the peddler didn’t let go.

  A hoof struck him on the chest, but as he released his hold and fell back, his head was dashed against a stepping stone. His body went limp, and he floated facedown in the water, only the stepping stones preventing him from being swept away by the current.

  The vicar could do nothing except try to regain control of the still unnerved cob, so in dismay Martha began to run toward the peddler. In a blur she saw the corpse candle again and the shadowy outline of the watcher’s cart. She saw the admiral alight and gather the peddler’s soul gently into his arms, then place it carefully in the cart, before climbing back and driving away. He was unseen and unheard by anyone except Martha, who therefore knew before she waded into the water, that the brave peddler was dead.

  Other villagers ran to help, and as they dragged the body out of the river, the vicar at last managed to calm the cob. His face was ashen with guilt as he dismounted and hurried over to look down at the dead man. “Oh, dear! Oh, how very dreadful! This is all my fault!” he cried.

  Martha put a hand on his arm. “It was an accident, Reverend.”

  “I should never have kept the horse once I realized I couldn’t manage it,” he said.

  She said nothing to this, for it was the truth.

  He swallowed. “Does he have family?”

  “I believe he has a sister in Shrewsbury, but I do not know her name or her address,” Martha replied.

  He sighed. “She will have to be found regarding his estate, but in the meantime, the least I can do is provide him with a proper Christian funeral. I’ll see that his belongings are collected and the horse taken care of.”

  He took out a handkerchief to mop his brow. “Oh, what a terrible thing to have happened, and what a valiant fellow he was. I owe him my life!”

  Some of the men carried the peddler to the vicarage, and the vicar turned briefly to Martha. “I—I trust you and your sister Sadie will perform your usual duties, Miss Cansford?”

  “Preparing and laying out the body? We will, Reverend.”

  “I’ll notify the Ludlow authorities about the accident and mention that he’s believed to have a sister. When I’m permitted to arrange an interment, I will notify you.”

  “Very well, Reverend,” Martha said.

  She remained by the ford as the chastened clergyman led the troublesome cob after the men with the body. The other villagers dispersed, and soon all was quiet again. Martha shivered, for she alone had witnessed the admiral collecting his successor. The appearance of the watcher’s cart and the corpse candle here by the ford was now explained, but that still left their appearance by the track to the grove. Someone else had yet to die in Wychavon.

  Her gaze was drawn inevitably toward Sadie’s cottage. It must be Davey, she thought sadly, for who else was there? Sadie feared the same, it had been written all over her this past fortnight or so. She had become very quiet and withdrawn, frightened each day that she would find the child dead in his bed.

  * * *

  The evening shadows were lengthening across Grosvenor Square as Lizzy put the final touches to Verity’s hair for the Almack’s ball. The long golden curls were twisted into a knot from which were looped a number of plaits, and the knot was encircled with jeweled flower ornaments.

  Verity’s white silk gown was very décolleté, and had little petal sleeves that left only her upper arms bare before her long white gloves commenced. She wore dazzling flower-shaped diamond earrings Nicholas had purchased for her at a fashionable Pall Mall jeweler, and there was a delicate silver lace shawl over her arms. She carried a fan and a reticule, in which reposed the snakestone, because she didn’t intend to leave it behind, even tonight.

  Nicholas awaited her in the hall and came to the bottom of the staircase as she descended. He wore a tight-fitting black velvet coat and white silk breeches, and the pearl pin she had given him was fixed among the ample folds of his unstarched neckcloth.

  As she reached him, he took her hand. “You look wonderful, my darling,” he breathed, kissing her gloved palm.

  She flushed a little. “Do you really mean that?”

  He smiled. “When we return tonight, I promise to demonstrate my adoration with all due passion.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I would much rather do that now, than go to Almack’s,” she said truthfully.

  He pulled her closer and brushed his lips to her cheek. “You have nothing to fear, my love, and I promise you that once this hurdle is over, you will be firmly established in society. The nine-days’ wonder will definitely be over by tomorrow.”

  He drew her hand over his arm, accepted his tricorn from the butler, and then they went out into the misty September dusk, where the lamps of his town carriage shone over the cobbles.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Almack’s, also known as Willis’s Rooms, was a dull building on the outside, the presence of six large round-arched windows on the second floor being the only indication that anything extraordinary lay inside. It stood next to the Golden Lyon Tavern in King Street, and its main entrance was a pedimented doorway to which had been added a rather ugly curved porch that projected to the pavement railings. All in all, it was nothing if not drab, and certainly didn’t appear the sort of place to which the cream of high society would jealously adjourn at every opportunity.

  But if the exterior of the building was unremarkable, the elegant ballroom more than made up for it. One hundred feet long and forty feet wide, it could accommodate no fewer than seventeen hundred people, and its floor and acoustics were generally agreed to be among the finest in London.

  It was approached up a staircase that was guarded at the bottom by a man who examined every voucher. As a consequence there was a great queue of the high and mighty in the foyer, but such was the social cachet of being accepted at the rooms that no one made even the slightest murmur of protest.

  Anna and Oliver were waiting near the staircase and pushed their way to join Verity and Nicholas. Anna wore poppy gauze over cream satin, and a tall ostrich plume sprang from her cloth-of-gold turban. She shimmered w
ith opals, and a feather boa was draped lightly around her throat and shoulders. They all four joined the queue, and once their vouchers were declared valid, they went up the staircase toward the ballroom, where a polonaise was in progress.

  Their names were announced, and everyone turned to look at the new Lady Montacute. Verity steeled herself and went in on Nicholas’s arm.

  * * *

  In Davey Cutler’s bedroom at that moment, the contrast with Almack’s could not have been greater. It was a humbly furnished chamber, and in the hearth was the first fire of the autumn. The child’s breathing was shallow and labored. His little face was gray and thin in the candlelight, and his eyes were closed.

  There seemed hardly anything of him, Sadie thought as she stood sadly in the doorway. She had to do the witch’s bidding and take Lord Montacute’s seal from the church. What other choice did she have if she was to save her only grandchild? She would go now, for the workmen had finished that afternoon, and the church was at last open again.

  She took her shawl from the hook behind the cottage door, then went out into the smoky chill of the September night, where the mist swirled and early autumn leaves hung in the still. There was no one around as she crossed the road toward the lychgate. The vicarage was in darkness because the Reverend Crawshaw had gone to Ludlow to report the peddler’s death and wasn’t expected back until the following day.

  Sadie thought the whole village had retired for the night, but suddenly Judith’s black-clad figure appeared in the road next to the churchyard. Sadie’s steps faltered with fear, but then she went slowly past the silent witch, passed through the lychgate, and hurried up the churchyard path to the porch. For a moment she feared the verger, who was in charge in the vicar’s absence, may have taken the precaution of locking the door after all, but to her relief it opened to her touch.