The Witch's Thief

by Tricia Schneider

  “Calm yourself, dear. There’s no need to go into a tizzy. So, he’s home. Does he plan to stay?”

  “He’s been abroad for ten years or more. I’m certain he plans to remain long enough to renew his acquaintance with his aunt and the rest of his family. He has much to beg forgiveness for in that department after being gone for so long.”

  Marianne nodded and leaned back into the chair. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I wonder what prompted this return. Was he sent for?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Prescott sent a letter,” Julia said. “Something about his sisters and their uncle. I had a difficult time concentrating with him so near.”

  “You still have feelings for him?” Marianne asked in a rather shocked voice.

  “None that I would admit to,” Julia lied. Being eight years her junior, her sister had been very young, barely the age of nine, when Basil left. Julia was uncertain how much Marianne remembered about her relationship with the eldest Merriweather boy. She did not wish to prompt any more memories. “I was simply in shock. He’s been gone over a decade.”

  “To be sure,” Marianne muttered, and then waved her hand at Julia. “Oh, do please stop your pacing. My head is beginning to ache from it.”

  Julia stopped and stared. “Does that happen?”

  Marianne scowled in annoyance. “A habit, I surmise.”

  “I do not believe I possess the strength to go through with our plans. Not with Bas—Mr. Merriweather in residence. There must be another way to find it.”

  “There is no other way. You have no choice, Julia.”

  Julia sighed. She clasped her hands and looked Heavenward as though for inspiration. She continued her pacing, even as Marianne frowned her disapproval. “It’s one thing that I must lie to Mrs. Prescott, but I cannot lie to Mr. Merriweather. He will see through it. I know he will.”

  “He’s been gone so long. Much has changed since then.”

  “True,” Julia admitted. She stopped pacing to stare into the low flames of the fireplace. Much had changed. She had changed. From his reaction to her, it seemed he barely remembered her.

  Had she meant so little to him? She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to admit to the pain burning in her chest. She shouldn’t feel wounded. She’d done her best to cast him from her memories. It proved difficult for the first five or six years, until she admitted he’d never be back. Basil Merriweather had no intentions of returning. She’d hoped to forget him, and for a time she thought she had.

  And, now he was back.

  At a most inconvenient time, too.

  Julia glanced at Marianne, who watched her warily. She noted the dark circles beneath her sister’s eyes. Marianne was relying on Julia to finish what she set out to do. Julia couldn’t let a little thing as Basil Merriweather stop her from finding that book.

  Julia straightened and lifted her chin in resolution. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I can handle him.”

  Marianne’s left eyebrow lifted in doubt, but being the supportive younger sibling, she nodded in agreement. “Of course you can. He does not know you anymore, does he? You’re quite changed. You are not the same Julia Grey.”

  That was the truth in its entirety. She was not the same. She never would be. Too much had altered in life for her to ever go back. Instead, she looked forward to the possibilities of a new future for her and her sister. Any feelings she might have for Basil must be set aside. She refused to allow thoughts of him to interfere in her plans.

  Taking another deep breath, she said, “I must go. Mrs. Prescott will be wanting her shawl.”

  Marianne stood to follow, but Julia stopped her.

  “No, I’ll be fine. You remain here. I’ll let you know what occurs.”

  “I’ll keep out of the way,” Marianne said, a pout forming along her lower lip.

  Julia shook her head. “It won’t do. I need no distractions. None at all.”

  Her sister looked about to protest, but after a moment she relented. Sighing, she took a reluctant step back.

  “Very well. But you must report back the minute you can. I don’t wish to hide away up here forever.”

  Julia nodded as she left the room to find Mrs. Prescott’s shawl and descend into the unknown.

  Chapter Three

  She knocked at the door, indicating her arrival. No need to walk in during a private conversation, as Mrs. Prescott was certain to have with her nephew as soon as she was able. Although Julia was privy to most everything that occurred within the Merriweather family, she still felt they needed their privacy. After Mrs. Prescott called to enter, Julia opened the door and walked into the fire lit room.

  Her gaze immediately fell to Basil. Suddenly, she felt her breath shorten with anticipation. He was real. This wasn’t a dream. Basil Merriweather was truly here.

  Julia listened attentively to the conversation between aunt and nephew. She knew very well how Mrs. Prescott doted on Basil and loved him. The poor woman missed him dreadfully.

  She wasn’t the only one. Basil’s sisters also adored him. His absence left a terrible hole in their family that none could fill, much like the hole in Julia’s heart.

  Julia tried not to think on that and instead focused on the fire, watching the flames dance rhythmically to a song none could hear. But, she wasn’t strong enough to resist sparing a few secretive glances at the man in question.

  Basil had changed much, in both appearance and character. His shoulders had filled out, broader than they were when she had seen him last. He looked more of a man now than the boy who left. His neatly trimmed hair appeared freshly cut. She yearned to run her fingers through the blond strands to see if they were as silky as she remembered. He possessed the body of a man well fit, not overly muscular, but a lean physical condition. He obviously kept active and was not prone to sitting in drawing rooms drinking brandy into the early hours of dawn. No, he appeared to keep physically active, keeping his body trim and fit and ready for action.

  “Auntie, perhaps we could speak further tomorrow.”

  This drew Julia’s attention back swiftly.

  “It’s late. I fear I’m fatigued from my journey.”

  Julia silently agreed. The circles beneath his eyes indicated a severe lack of sleep, despite his brief moments of unconsciousness upon his arrival. Comparing him to the image sustained in her memory, she could plainly see he looked older, tired, even exhausted from his world travels. But there was something more that she couldn’t quite comprehend. He looked like a man weary from not only his journey, but from carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  What burden did he carry?

  And what of those moments of weakness after waking on the library floor? He could barely sit up without her assistance. Had it only been from a blow to the head? He appeared perfectly capable of standing on his own after Mrs. Prescott entered the room. Julia had stood by his side, ready to catch him if he should fall. Although he seemed to waver for a second or two, he gave no other outward indication of any physical distress.

  “Of course, dear boy. It is growing rather late, is it not? I suppose I should retire, as well.” Mrs. Prescott stood and leaned on the cane Parker had fetched for her. The woman’s knees popped loudly. Julia stood to lend an arm to her employer. Basil stood at the same instant, taking a step forward to lend his hand to his aunt. Ever the gentleman, Julia mused, noticing again that he stood without any assistance. It must have simply been the knock to his head that had done him in earlier.

  Mrs. Prescott waved him away and leaned on Julia’s arm instead.

  “Julia will see to me, Basil. And, I will see you at breakfast.”

  Basil grimaced. “Could I beg one day to sleep? I could use the rest, Auntie. You’ve no idea how long I traveled.”

  Again, Julia saw that weight hanging over him, dragging on his shoulders.

  Mrs. Prescott clucked her tongue. “You have much to do tomorrow. No time for sleeping the day away.”

  She was surprised by Mrs. Prescott’s
response. Surely the old woman noticed his exhausted state?

  “Yes, Auntie, of course,” he said, the grimace remaining in place. Basil leaned over and kissed the old woman’s forehead. “Good-night, dear. Sleep well.”

  Mrs. Prescott smiled. When he stepped back, his aunt continued to stare at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. With a contented sigh, she said, “It’s so good to have you home, Basil. So good.”

  After that, Julia assisted the old woman, letting her lean on her arm as they departed the room.

  ****

  She returned moments later.

  “Pardon,” Julia said, striding with caution into the room, doing her utmost not to look at him directly.

  A mixture of amusement and desire flamed through Basil’s blood. He refused to move aside as she reached for Aunt Petunia’s shawl, her body mere inches away from him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, remembering the heat of her skin.

  When she made to back away to escape the way she’d come, Basil grabbed her upper arm, his fingers sliding around her with gentle firmness.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She faced him, looking up at his towering height, her eyes as wide as saucers. “I’m returning for Mrs. Prescott’s shawl. No one noticed it slipped from her shoulders when she left.”

  His grip on her arm tightened.

  “That’s not what I meant. What are you doing in Merriweather Manor?”

  “Oh,” she said, yanking her arm from his grip. “Care to explain why you left with no word?” The venom that slid off her tongue was not something he remembered from the Julia he had known. This was new.

  What could he say? How could he apologize for his cowardice?

  “I don’t know what came over me. I should have told you. I apologize.”

  Julia shrugged, tilting her head high with annoyance. She lifted the shawl and folded it over her arm.

  “Good,” she said, then left the room.

  Basil watched her leave. He opened his mouth to call out to her, to beg her to come back, to talk with him. He had so many questions.

  Instead, he let her go.

  ****

  An hour later, Julia held the candle high as she maneuvered back down the stairs, keeping one hand on the banister for support. She tread lightly, tip-toeing where she knew she needed, since the stairs were old and creaked in certain places. Once she descended onto the first floor, careful steps led her back to the library.

  The door was open.

  She poked her head into the room, noticing the fire still alight in the fireplace. Odd that Parker hadn’t seen to the fire. A quick survey of the room confirmed she was alone. She walked to the desk where she had placed the book she’d been reading earlier in the evening, just before Basil Merriweather crashed back into her life. The book lay in the exact spot she’d left it.

  She set the candle down and nudged the chair closer as she sat. Opening the book, she left it thud softly onto the desktop. After flipping with gentle care through a few of the pages, she found where she had left off and resumed her reading by candlelight.

  Until a man cleared his throat.

  Julia’s head shot up, and her mouth turned into the shape of a little “O.”

  Basil Merriweather sat in one of the winged backed chairs facing away from the door. She hadn’t seen him when she entered the room. He nestled in the chair with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The circles under his eyes appeared more pronounced in the firelight.

  “Miss Grey,” he said with a nonchalant nod in her direction. As if this was an everyday occurrence that he should meet her in the library after midnight. She stood in one quick motion, bumping the desk with her knee and nearly knocked the candle from its perch. She lunged to grasp it, to keep it from falling. In doing so, it sputtered and died. A tiny wisp of smoke curled into the air. Through it, Basil watched her.

  “Care to explain?”

  “Certainly not.” She tilted her chin defiantly. She refused to allow him to unsettle her nerves. Not again. After snapping the book closed, she made to march from the room, head held high.

  “Please, don’t,” he said. “Don’t leave. Not yet.”

  Her feet froze. Her heart lurched.

  Never had she heard Basil sound so desperate, so…weak. She peered through the semi-darkness, trying to discern the reason for such a thready voice. Seeing none from here, she stepped toward him, curious.

  “Sit.” He nodded to the chair in which Mrs. Prescott sat earlier. It was close to his. She bit her bottom lip, weighing with heavy judgment whether she should sit beside him or across from him.

  And then she looked at him again. She didn’t like what she saw. Though it was difficult to tell for certain in the firelight, the pallor of his skin seemed extraordinarily pale. Dark shadows smudged across the underside of his eyes. Even his cheeks looked hollowed, probably from the shadows the flames chased across the room.

  “Are you unwell, Mr. Merriweather?”

  “Please, Julia. We once were well enough acquainted to forgo the use of proper names. Will you not call me Basil again?”

  She sat gingerly on the seat beside him and folded her hands primly in her lap. She tilted her head and looked into his face.

  “That was a long time ago…Basil.”

  At the sound of his name, he smiled. The smile relaxed the lines on his face, making her realize how tense he was moments ago. She peered at him closely.

  “What’s happened to you?”

  “The very question I wish to put to you,” he said. She narrowed her eyes, knowing he evaded her question by tossing it back. She pressed her lips together, determined not to answer any of his questions. Let his curiosity fester, she decided.

  “I admit I’m quite surprised to find you here. I thought you married with six or seven brats by now.”

  “How do you know I’m not widowed?” she asked simply to torment him. Let him imagine her life being full of love and laughter while he was away. A delicious moment of retribution. She still felt the pain of his departure deep in her heart. “I could have ten children by now for all you know or care. My life may be blessed with fruitfulness and prosperity.”

  He stared a full moment, studying her. Did images of her possible husband flit through his mind? Did he wonder whom she might have married?

  She wanted to torment him. He hurt her cruelly when he disappeared all those years ago. And with no communication after his departure, she only knew of his whereabouts from the gossipmongers in town. Even his family knew very little about the where’s and why’s. After all of these years, wondering and worrying over him, he returns with nary a word of explanation. Not a word about anything! Why did he leave? Where did he go? Why did it take so long for him to return? Had he married?

  That last question had plagued her for more years than she cared to admit. Even now it sent daggers of pain into her heart. So, let him believe she lived a perfect life. Better than him knowing the truth.

  “He died?”

  “What?” Julia blinked. How did he know? Did someone write to him, explaining her misfortune in a letter? She didn’t think anyone in his family took much notice of her after she relocated to London. She rarely traveled in the same circles as his brother and sister who lived there. She could barely count the times she might have seen them in the last five years. So, how did Basil know?

  “Your husband. He’s dead?”

  Oh.

  Her imaginary husband. Well, yes, he was truly dead and gone. When Julia was a girl she hoped Basil would one day ask for her hand. Those dreams died when he left England to roam across the world. Now that he sat in front of her, inquiring after her deceased imaginary husband, she guessed she might as well admit to the sad truth. As much as she wished to torment him, he’d find out the truth from his aunt if she lied.

  “I never married.”

  “You never…?” This time Basil blinked. It took a moment for the information to sink into his brain. Then he struggled against the blank
et like it turned into a heavy iron manacle designed to imprison him. He leaned forward, his eyes wide and wild. Julia inhaled sharply at the sight. For a moment, he looked like a madman.

  “What happened to Walters? Were you not to marry Walters?”

  Julia stared incredulously. “Walters?”

  “George Walters.”

  The mere notion of marrying George Walters made her laugh. True, at one time they were friends. They spent many days at George’s home at Bramford. As children, the three often roamed the forests outside of Meryton, the village near Merriweather Manor.

  But, all that changed after Basil left. George’s interest in their friendship waned. He moved to London. Julia stayed home, caring for her father and young sister.

  “Why ever would you imagine I married him?”

  Basil stilled. Then in jerky movements, he leaned back into the chair, gathering the blanket back over his arms.

  “I... Someone must have written the news in a letter. I was certain you married long ago. Shortly after I left, in fact.”

  “Well, you were misinformed,” Julia said. “He never asked me to marry, and even if he had I would have said no.”

  Basil stared in solemn silence.

  Julia narrowed her eyes. She wished she had the power to peek inside his mind. What was he thinking? Why had he thought she’d married George Walters, of all people? Did he not know her feelings? Had she not made it plain to him when they were children? Or after they had grown? Just before he left?

  She remembered the kiss they shared beneath the willow tree outside their village. Surely, he had known her heart’s desire. She must have spoken of her love for him. Before she knew it, he was gone, off to roam the world to seek his fortune, or some such. No one knew quite why he left so suddenly.

  But, Julia knew.

  It only made sense.

  He left because of her. She, the silly girl, who had declared her love. And he fled. She remembered the day vividly. After spending most of their childhood together as friends, sharing grief over the death of his parents, watching each other grow from children into adults, Julia at last shared her desire for him one spring day ten years ago. Quick as a flash, he disappeared. Like magic. Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile. Basil was good at magic. She wished he’d cast a memory spell over her before he left, something to make her forget the pain.