She closed her eyes for a moment to remind herself that she was no longer that beleaguered little girl subject to her mother’s mad ambitions. Even nightmares had to come to an end.
Behind her, Amy made an impatient sound and shoved Meg into the church. She heard the others crowding in behind her and the door being pulled closed.
All the candles had been extinguished, giving Meg the sensation of plunging into the cold depths of a cavern. The nave that stretched before her was enveloped in darkness and she struggled to take stock of her surroundings. The church had to be ancient, perhaps as old as Norman times, the windows high and narrow, the air perfumed with ages of incense steeped into the walls.
A faint light flickered as a group approached from the front of the church. The tallest of them carried a lantern and growled at Amy, “About time you returned. What took you so long?”
“I had to be careful not to run afoul of the watch, didn’t I? Don’t you be snipping at me, Bea. This is our great and glorious night, the one we have waited for ever since Granddam died.”
“So have you brought her then?”
“Most certainly.” Amy gave Meg another nudge forward.
The lantern was raised aloft, momentarily blinding Meg as the light shone directly into her eyes. She blinked, focusing on the woman before her.
Unlike the others, Beatrice Rivers had made no effort to conceal her face, her hood flung back. Her resemblance to Amy was marked, although her features were gaunter and her eyes more close set. Her expression was hard, a hint of cruelty playing about the set of her lips. Her gaze spoke more of skepticism than Amy’s fervid adoration.
“Behold our Silver Rose,” Bea intoned, mockery in her voice.
Her announcement was received with disappointed murmurs from the two other women who had been waiting with Bea in the church.
“That’s the Silver Rose?”
“She doesn’t look so powerful to me.”
“I thought she’d be taller.”
“Silence!” Amy shrieked. “How dare you be so disrespectful. Of course this is Megaera. Do you think my sister and I would not have made sure of that before risking this gathering? Tell them, Bea.”
“Aye, she is Megaera, but whether she is as powerful as all the legends claim …” Beatrice shrugged, a challenge in the thin smile she directed at Meg.
“Most certainly she is!” Amy turned to Meg. “Show them.”
“Yes! Show us! Show us!” The chorus was taken up by other eager voices. Meg shrank back in dismay, but there was nowhere to retreat. She was surrounded by a crowd of expectant figures, although not as many as she had feared. Including the two Rivers sisters, there were only seven of them.
Meg moistened her lips and tried to infuse a note of command into her voice. “First, draw back your hoods and show me your faces. I must see who dares to proclaim herself one of my coven.”
There was hesitation, then one by one, hoods were pushed back. Meg dreaded to discover that one of them might be Mary Waters, the poor woman they had tried to coerce into joining the group. She was relieved to discover that Mary was absent.
Most of them looked ill-kempt and ill-fed, their faces bearing the marks of a hard life, making it difficult to guess ages. The only exceptions were Eliza and a slender girl who could have been no more than fifteen.
When Meg approached her, the girl shrank back. But when Meg cupped her chin, she stilled, only the quickening of her breath betraying her apprehension. Meg’s skill at reading eyes was not as sharp as it had once been, but this child was all too easy, her eyes as wide and wary as a newborn fawn.
“The young man whom you loved betrayed you. As soon as he won you to his bed, he abandoned you for another. Now your heart is broken.”
“Ohh!” The girl quavered. “ ’Tis true. H-how did you know?”
“It is written there in your eyes for anyone with the ability to read them.” Meg brushed a strand of hair back from the girl’s face. “But you are young and strong. Your heart will mend and you will be the wiser for your pain. You will find a truer love one day.”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “Th-thank you, milady.”
Meg heard whispers of astonishment from the rest of the group. “She knew. The Lady just looked into Dorcas’s eyes and she was able to read her heart.”
Amy crowed, “See. I told all of you.”
“An easy enough feat to read the mind of a foolish chit of a girl like Dorcas,” Bea scoffed. “What of my eyes?”
Bea thrust the lantern into Eliza’s hands and posed before Meg, her hands thrust on her hips, her sharp chin jutted out in defiance.
The last thing Meg wanted to do was probe the murky darkness she suspected lay behind Beatrice Rivers’s belligerent façade. But she forced herself to peer deep into the woman’s eyes. They were hard and cold, but surprisingly brittle, like a thin layer of ice. It was easier than she had expected and she plunged into a mind as full of bitterness and anger as Amy’s. But Beatrice frequently found a release for her pain in cruelty.
Meg flinched as she caught flashes of Bea wielding her knife against birds, mice, puppies, cats, her victims always creatures weaker than herself. Until today …
More recent images forced themselves upon Meg, images she did not want to see or believe.
“No,” she whispered, breaking the contact with Bea’s eyes. Steeling herself, she flung back the flap of the woman’s cloak and recoiled from the sight of the bright jewel pinned to Beatrice’s gown.
“That belonged to my friend,” Meg said hoarsely. “Where did you get it?”
Bea looked startled, but swiftly recovered, tugging the ends of her cloak closed. “Found it, I expect.”
“You didn’t. You stole it! You attacked Seraphine. You came at her from behind and you—” Meg choked, unable to continue.
There were gasps from the rest of the group, but only of more amazement at Meg’s uncanny perception. As Meg scanned their faces, most of them looked away from her, cheeks flushing with guilt. They all knew what Beatrice had done. Only Amy appeared untroubled.
“Where is Seraphine now? What have you done with her?” Meg cried.
Amy placed her hand on Meg’s arm in a soothing gesture. “You need no longer concern yourself about her. The countess is resting quite comfortably.”
Meg shook her off and whirled back toward Beatrice.
“Where—is—she?” Meg grated, trying to delve into the woman’s cold eyes.
Bea’s smile mocked her, but her gaze flicked toward the darkness pooling behind them. Before anyone could stop her, Meg snatched the lantern from Eliza and rushed to the front of the church. Her footsteps faltered as she made out the shape of something stretched out on top of the altar where the candles should have been.
Not something, but someone. The body of a woman lay atop the marble slab, her golden hair spilling over the edge of the altar.
“Seraphine!”
Chapter Twenty-two
THE LANTERN SWAYED IN MEG’S HAND, SENDING WILD ARCS OF light over the woman laid out upon the altar like some pagan sacrifice. Meg set the lantern down and bent over Seraphine, searching for the pulse at the base of her throat. Seraphine was deathly pale, her skin cool and clammy, but her life force throbbed beneath Meg’s fingertips. Meg emitted a shaky breath of relief as the worst of her fears subsided.
But the images Meg had read in Bea’s eyes played through her mind, visions of the heavy cudgel slamming down upon Seraphine’s head. Meg raised Seraphine’s head, probing gingerly. No blood, thank God, and the skull was not cracked, but she felt the swelling of a huge lump. Pray heaven it would not prove too serious, but she needed to get Seraphine away from here and tend to her.
Meg had seen what results blows to the head could produce. She’d treated people who had never awakened, others who had roused only to have their wits permanently impaired. The longer someone remained unconscious, the less likely they were to recover.
Meg massaged Seraphine’s
temples, and patted her cheek. “ ’Phine. ’Phine, you must wake up.”
Meg was heartened when Seraphine stirred and emitted a low groan, her eyelids fluttering.
“Seraphine!”
“Oh, leave her be. She’ll be all right. For now,” Beatrice said.
Meg looked up to see that the coven had trailed her to the altar, Bea standing belligerently in the front. All of her fear forgotten, Meg was seized with a blazing anger.
“How dare you! You obviously knew this woman is my friend. How dare you attack her!”
The others shrank back from her rage, looking confused and guilty. But Bea sneered. “It is her ladyship’s own fault. London is a dangerous place and she was snared by one of the oldest tricks there is. Our sweet and innocent little Dorcas there wept and cried for help while Amy pretended to beat her and drag her into the alley. When her high-and-mighty ladyship followed, I—”
“I know what happened. You struck her from behind.” Meg glared at Dorcas. “My friend is a kind and courageous woman who would never stand idly by while she thought a helpless girl was in trouble. You all played upon her nobility, cowards that you are.”
Dorcas hung her head and started to cry. “I—I—am sorry, milady. But Amy and Beatrice—they s-said I had to—”
“Shut your mouth,” Amy ordered.
Meg directed her anger back at Beatrice. “Dorcas might have lured Seraphine, but you were the one who struck her from behind like any sniveling thief. It is the only way you could have subdued someone as formidable as Seraphine. If you had confronted her directly, you would not have fared well, I promise you that.”
Beatrice flushed, her face contorting in an ugly expression. She reached beneath her robe, drawing out her knife. Dorcas squeaked with fright, her alarm echoed by some of the other women.
But Meg was far too angry to care. “What? Now you think you have the stomach to threaten me? I am no helpless bird or kitten.”
Bea started menacingly toward Meg, but when Meg refused to be cowed, Bea hesitated, a tremor passing through the hand that gripped her knife. Amy dragged her back.
“Stop it, Bea!” she shrilled. She whirled toward Meg, holding out her hands in a placating gesture. “I am sorry if we have distressed you, milady. But we thought it was necessary.”
“Necessary to attack my friend. Why?”
“For assurance. We were not certain you would be willing to join us tonight.”
“I have proved that I am. I came with you willingly, did I not? So cut the countess loose that I may attend to her.”
Amy looked uncertain, but Bea said, “I think it best the countess remains where she is. I am by no means convinced of your loyalty to our cause. Thus far you have not behaved much like the sorceress our grandmother promised. You even tried to remove the curse she placed upon the king.”
“Oh, that was all a trick, Bea,” Amy said. “She explained it to my satisfaction.”
“She will never explain it to mine.”
Meg started to retort, but she was distracted by a sound from Seraphine. She realized that Seraphine had opened her eyes.
Meg leaned closer, anxiously peering into her eyes. She saw a great deal of pain, but a hint of clarity as Seraphine struggled to focus.
“ ’Phine. Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?”
Seraphine moistened her lips. “ ’Course I do. Don’t have to shout.”
Meg gently stroked her brow. “Everything is going to be all right. I am here.”
Seraphine tried to shake her head and flinched. “Shouldn’t be. Damned fool to let them lure—” She trailed off and Meg was uncertain whether Seraphine was berating Meg or herself. But her lucidity was a good sign.
“Don’t worry. I am going to get you out of here.”
Seraphine’s lips moved and Meg had to bend closer to hear her.
“Forget about me. Get out now. Run.”
“No! I am not going anywhere without you.”
Meg straightened and glowered at the assembled women. “One of you give me your knife.”
“I don’t have one, milady,” Dorcas said.
“None of us do ’cept Amelia and Beatrice,” Eliza added.
Beatrice stared at Meg with a look of sullen defiance while Amy began, “Milady, we only need you to—”
“I don’t give a damn what you need. I want my friend released immediately. Give me your knife so I may free her.”
Amy hid her knife behind her back, pouting like a child concealing a forbidden toy. The others shifted uneasily, watching the confrontation with wide eyes as Meg stalked closer to Amy.
“Give it to me!”
“Or you’ll what?” Beatrice jeered. “Turn her into a toad? Are you really possessed of any dark powers?”
“If you persist in defying me, you all will find out exactly what power I possess,” Meg snarled. “When I was a mere child, I alone was able to read from the Book of Shadows. I committed to memory enough black spells to destroy this entire city, let alone the likes of you.”
“So do it then,” Bea challenged, but Meg could hear the thread of unease in her voice. The other women shrank back, only Amy daring to stand her ground.
She eyed Meg reproachfully. “There is no need for you to be so—so hostile. We are all your devoted followers, prepared to do your bidding. But first you must help us with our ritual and deliver on all of your promises.”
“I never promised you anything!” Meg shouted. Some rational part of her brain urged her to remain calm. It was unwise to challenge a madwoman, but Meg had endured far too many years of coping with this dark legacy of her mother’s, the legend of the Silver Rose. Something had snapped inside of her, the same as it had that day upon the riverbank when she had defied her mother, refusing to do Cassandra’s insane bidding any longer.
She stalked into the circle of women. “You deluded fools, risking your lives, your very souls to participate in this lunacy.” Meg jabbed her finger in Amy’s direction. “What kind of nonsense did that woman fill your heads with?”
The women skittered back, Eliza stammering a reply, “She—she told us all about the coven of the Silver Rose that started in France. Strong, fierce women led by you to acquire powerful magic that would topple kingdoms, strike terror in the world of men—”
“Oh, they struck terror all right, by murdering helpless infants, poisoning innocent people. And did Mistress Rivers tell you what happened to all these fierce women? They were hunted down by witch-hunters, tortured, hanged. A few managed to escape like her grandmother—but when Tamsin Rivers tried to revive the coven of the Silver Rose in Scotland, she was tied to a stake and burned alive.”
“B-burned?” Dorcas quavered, her horror reflected in the faces of the other women.
“Don’t listen to her,” Amy cried.
“So it is not true?” Eliza asked.
“Y-yes, but my granddam will be avenged and nothing like that will happen to us.” Amy glared at Meg. “Because she will use her power to protect us.”
“If you don’t allow me to take care of my friend, I will not lift one finger. You are all already at grave risk, holding this brazen gathering here in a church, for mercy’s sake. What were you thinking?”
“She is right,” Dorcas quavered. “I never thought we’d be safe here.”
“Bah!” Amy said. “The priest of this parish is too busy rutting with his mistress and his sexton is likely dead drunk.”
“And what of the watch? The king’s officers? Do you think this meeting will go unnoticed by James Stuart? Any more than it did all those years ago in Edinburgh?”
Amy’s lips curved in a smug smile. “We have nothing to fear from the king this time. He will be dead soon, perished in flames just as my granddam predicted.”
“Tamsin Rivers’s curse? If she’d had any real power, the king would have been struck down a long time ago.”
“She did have power! She still does.”
“Your grandmother is dead, Amy.”
“If you are depending upon Sir Patrick Graham, you will be disappointed. He has been dissuaded from attacking the king.”
Amy shook her head furiously. “Sir Patrick may be a cruel knave, but he wants revenge upon James Stuart as much as me and my sister. Nothing this side of hell could deter him.”
“And yet someone has, his friend Dr. Blackwood.”
Amy had been waxing as angry as Meg. But to Meg’s astonishment, the woman burst into a fit of giggles, the sound almost obscene as it echoed off the rafters.
“B-blackwood? That drunken sot? Why would he interfere?”
“Because Sir Patrick is his friend and Blackwood does not wish to see him hung for treason. Armagil promised—”
“He promised?” Amy’s laughter abruptly ceased, her mirth replaced by a look of icy scorn. “If you knew anything at all about the man, you’d realize he never keeps his oaths. He never bestirs himself except to look for his next cup of sack. He’ll do nothing to prevent what is to happen tomorrow.”
That was the second time Amelia Rivers had referred to some mysterious event she anticipated.
“What do you mean?” Meg demanded. “What do you expect to happen tomorrow?”
Amy clamped her lips together. Meg thought she meant to evade the question again. But a triumphant light sparked in Amy’s eyes, and as though she could not resist boasting, the words came tumbling out.
“Gunpowder,” she cried gleefully. “Stacks and stacks of it are piled in the cellars beneath the old palace of Westminster, just waiting for the parliament to gather in the chamber above. As soon as the king begins his speech, the fuse will be lit and then wham!”
Amy made a dramatic gesture, her hands whooshing upward. “They will all be blown to hell and there will be total chaos. The government will collapse and the men will destroy each other, fighting to seize power. But the power will be ours.
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