Blake had written a letter to his father’s friend in the city and he’d sent this hastily scrawled missive off with a horseman that morning. In the afternoon, they received word that help from the city would be arriving the next day.
The constable supposed that Blake only wanted to let his father’s friend know that his father would not be coming and that something dreadful had happened. The young man had no guile, it seemed. But still, the petty constable must look at him with a jaundiced eye, for who had more to gain from the death of his father? The whole town was aware that the boy went his own way and did not wish to follow in his father’s footsteps. They all knew he wished to act on the stage and write poetry and all of that silliness. Chances were, the father had been terribly disapproving of it all.
Lord Stirling was, in the petty constable’s estimation, a solid, respectable man. Not well liked, perhaps, but neither was he hated. He could not think who would do this unless they had some quarrel with him. The crime was so bizarre and so vicious that it seemed more than a simple robbery. It was an act of vengeance brought down from the Devil himself.
And yet, the money was gone, all of it...and so it was a robbery. Lady Stirling had told the petty constable that this morning when he had dropped off his wife to look after them.
“How much was there?” he had asked, watching the woman struggle to control her tears and her grief. She was a beautiful woman, Lady Stirling. A little careworn, perhaps, but still slim and lovely in a cream- colored dress that set off her caramel hair, which was piled up becomingly. Her brown eyes were red from crying, and her face had some of the inevitable tracings that a woman of fifty always bore, but she was still soft and feminine, and it he found it heartbreaking that she should suffer this way.
She carried herself with as much dignity as she could, answering his questions in a small voice that shook only a little. She closed her eyes now and then, as though her shock and pain were felt sharply, again and again, and sometimes she looked as though she might faint, but she did not.
“There was a lot—all the taking of the farms for three months, and the rents on the tenancies around the estate. I don’t know the amount, but it was a lot of money to take to the city. He planned to take it to a bank he trusted, and he thought his horseman was faithful and strong and well able to take on any bandits.” She shook her head. “Deerfield, where is he?” she muttered, referring to their loyal driver, and then she looked into the petty constable’s eyes with worry.
“We don’t know,” he said, unwilling to share with her the painful fact that all the tracks in the snow had been lost to the rain of the early morning. Some indents remained in the melting snow and ice, but it was not enough to say what had happened or where Deerfield might be.
“Oh,” Lady Stirling sighed. “I do hope you know he was a good man, loyal for years and years. I don’t think he could do this...it is too vile, like black magic. It is the work of the Devil, I’m sure...”
“It remains to be seen who has done what. At this stage we cannot rule out anything, or anyone, as a suspect.” He thought he sounded harsh, so he lowered and gentled his voice as he went on. “There are many who believe this is witchcraft. I must admit, I have never, in all my years, where most anything happened...I have never seen the like of this, and it does turn one’s mind to black magic...” He looked down at his polished black boots and tried not to think about the terrible, terrible sight...that poor man, screaming silently inside a prison of stone.
“No...it is the dark arts, I know it is.” She started to cry, and he patted her arm ineffectually. He had little idea how to comfort a woman like this, dressed in stiff satins... a woman of such high birth.
“Does your husband have any enemies that might conspire against him? Anyone with a questionable background or some connection to witches and their ilk?” he asked, wishing he could simply leave the poor woman alone. Her grief seemed as real and deep as her son’s, and though he would never rule out their complicity in the crime, in his heart he was certain both of them were innocent.
“No...no...he knows so many people, and they all think well of him. He was harsh at times, but he was a good man, and he looked after his staff. He was not generous or warm with them, but he was fair, and he rewarded their loyalty. Like with Deerfield, helping him find a cottage on the estate when he married...and throwing a fine banquet for his wedding right here in the dining room.” She was whispering now, her voice growing softer with despair the longer she talked. “Deerfield’s wife is huge with child, she is supposed to deliver this month,” she said sadly.
The petty constable felt he had prolonged the interview as long as he could. No doubt, the city police would be visiting her, as well. He had already questioned the boy, so he took his leave of the family, offering condolences that were sincere and heartfelt.
He left his wife there to care for the distraught woman, for the son was prostrate with grief, and the servants were terrified.
Tonight, he would tell the villagers the truth, and then he would watch and wait. For who, or what, he did not know. He would call back his wife beforehand so that she could help him do what he must do. He had a sudden longing to run back in the house and hug her, as shrill and pious as she was. For no one could say for sure what would happen in life, or when it could end, and he was lucky to have her, and to be alive.
Chapter Forty-One
Liesel had started the journey to Lynnshire, and she was comfortable in the rented carriage, which was not as fancy as the Lord’s, but still suited her well. She knew the ride would be quick, and she wondered if she was moving too fast by heading into town so soon after her crime. That fool of a driver at loose somewhere, but hopefully dead at this point, for who could find there way home, blind, on such a freezing night?
There were risks to be taken, that was certain, and she was taking them...one at a time. She was meeting all challenges and putting her faith in the Goddess Hecate. The one who had laughed so cruelly at her. Even though she had been mocked, she knew the Goddess of the Underworld was on her side. She had felt her assistance as she cast her spells and watched her poison powder dance and sparkle in the night. Never before had it been thus with her magic. Never had it taken on this intensity. She felt the presence of Hecate all around her, supporting her, and it gave her courage that was steadfast and strong.
Until that fateful day that Liesel dreaded, the day she must go to the Crossroads, and never go anywhere else ever again, Hecate would be her friend of a sort. She would help her to rob, to kill, and to deceive. But would she help her with the finer things, the sweeter things, that she longed for? Inside of her heart, she wanted the young man, so golden and pure and sweet...as much as she wanted to punish the girl in order to hurt Minerva.
Hecate will not help me with him, she thought sadly. That lies not in her domain. That is the province of Venus alone.
But Liesel would try with all her love potions that she had used to bewitch indifferent villagers, and with all of her rouges and creams and her rich velvets. She would try. She remembered the men in the city who had smiled so wide at her, when she was painted. Perhaps she was really pretty, then. She could make the boy smile at her, too, if she was lucky enough.
A boy like that would have his pick of girls, and she would need to offer something extra, something the others would not give. She would find a way to do it, with or without Hecate. And, if he did refuse, or paid her no mind, she couldn’t say for sure just what she would do. Just the thought of his rejection made her feel almost mad with rage and frustration.
She sat still as the carriage moved toward town. It was a couple of hours ride, but she, on second thought earlier in the day, had the driver stop at an alehouse along the route, and spend a few hours with her, lunching well and sampling the wine and ales. She let him feast and drink, and then she had him wait until he was well sobered up again and full of tea and cakes before he was permitted to take the reins again.
She must time her entrance, she k
new. It was late afternoon before the long lunch ended and they moved toward the village once more. The driver, who now thought she was a right bonny lassie, and a generous one, too, smiled as he drove the horses. He was no longer drunk, but he had eaten and drank so well that it was only the cold air and the light rainfall that kept him awake at all. She watched him carefully though the paneled window in case he did nod off while he drove.
So the carriage went forward, and the village drew closer. They arrived just at nightfall, and avidly, Liesel looked at everything, and stared boldly into every face as she searched for the one she wanted to see. The town was surprisingly active for a rainy, busy night. Strange, suspicious looks were directed at them as people passed by their carriage. They looked unfriendly, and she felt unwelcome, but that was how small towns were. They were always the same!
She would use her charm—and buy their friendship if necessary—in order to fit in for the short time that she would be there. She smiled warmly at the people who stared into her carriage, but they only stared at her, loudly talking amongst themselves, asking each other if she had come because of what happened to Lord Stirling. Was she a relative of his come to mourn him?
She looked rich, that was sure. They babbled as she listened.
Liesel had the driver stop near the Crown of Thorns. She walked in, her fancy gown trailing in the sawdust upon the floorboards. She held head held high. Now the play will begin, she thought, and she smoothed her hair gracefully with a gloved hand as she smiled a regal smile at the people who sat and stared at her with naked curiosity. She hoped her rouge was still intact, for it had been a long drive.
The pub was crowded, and she walked through the room as proudly as she could, resplendent in all of her finery. All the ladies in the city had carried themselves in this manner. Their heads were always tilted back, and their spines were ramrod straight.
The room grew quiet was she walked to the barmaid. People watched her warily, noticing her fine gown of velvet with lace and her shining, dark brown hair. She mimicked the high, silly voices of the ladies in the city, and asked if there were a couple of rooms she could take for the night. She was immediately shown to the best room upstairs, and then she booked another, smaller room for her driver, who was settling in for a few drinks with the townspeople. She went back down to the pub and ordered him to bring her all her things at once.
She must rest for a few minutes, and then she would hide her things. All of a sudden, she felt tired and worn. She ordered the driver to hurry and pull her heavy trunk up the stairs, step by step.
“Put it by the foot of the bed,” she snapped, and she did not smile at him anymore. He should not have had to be asked to get her things, and she was tired.
“Yes, m’lady,” he said, a bit mockingly, she thought, for he was partway drunk now. She sneered at his tone. “Will that be all?” he asked, a bit more respectfully.
“No, there is one more thing. I noticed the signs on the stores in town...about a meeting...about the death of a lord. Do you know what the people are saying about this?” She stared at him intensely, as though to read his mind. He sounded uneasy as he answered her.
“I have heard that a lord here, Stirling I believe, was found in his carriage...turned to stone. The people here are certain it is black magic, and so the petty constable has called a meeting in the town’s center in an hour to talk of the situation. This was all people were talking about downstairs, my lady, and I’m a bit worried, you see, because I have to ride alone tomorrow through the town, and all along the dark winter roads.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be safe,” she said hastily to reassure him. He appeared unconvinced.
She dug in her pockets and then placed a coin in his palm. “You must go back tomorrow at first light, for I have many things to do here, and I need to do them alone.” She gestured at the door, and he walked out, looking angry at her curt dismissal.
He closed the door hard and she heard his trudging footsteps as he walked back downstairs.
It will do me no harm, Liesel mused as he left, if the villagers hear I am haughty and cold. I am a lady, and that is how ladies are with their inferiors. It will keep them at a distance, perhaps, all those gossiping folk downstairs, and give me space to plan and time to think.
She would not go to the meeting, though she longed to. It was too dangerous. She unpacked her things, and though she longed for a glass of ale and a hot dinner, she stayed in her room, counting her money and placing her secret things in hiding places and binding them with spells.
She was especially careful to hide her potions and powders with black magic. This was no time to be suspected of witchcraft. Though the villagers used oracles and crones to see into the future, they would quickly turn on them at the first sign of trouble. She knew that from her own experience.
She’d seen that the lord’s carriage was gone when she and her driver had passed that point on the road. She had memorized the tree she had hidden behind, and marked its surface with a scratch of her dagger. She knew all was out in the open. She wondered again about the blind driver and whether or not he was still alive. She tried not to worry too much about it, but fatigue unnerved her a little.
She lay down on her bed in a fresh new nightgown of crisp white cotton, and she tried to wash off her rouge with the jug of water by the bed and a wet piece of flannel. Feeling exhausted, she thought tomorrow she would rest for a while, and then find lodging that better reflected her position and status. She must be certain to find a quiet place where she could work her spells and make her things away from all of the prying eyes of the town.
She had hoped to see Blake tonight, but she was not sure the time was right.
Liesel was not used to being with others so much. She had lived a solitary life, and she found it wearing having all of these new people to worry about. But she had often been lonely in her cave, and she had spent much of her time thinking back to her youth when she had loved a boy and he had loved her. He had died of pneumonia before they could marry, and after that time she started to learn about magic so that she could heal others, but her bitterness and her greed had turned her from a healing woman to a witch.
The years had been lonely, and she had isolated herself more and more, but she never forgot her happiness with her fiancé.
As she went deeper into the black arts, she grew shriveled and old, old before her time, and when she glanced in the looking glass, she knew there would be no more love for her...not ever...for men only loved the women who resembled pretty little dolls.
Her crystal ball was her most important possession. She had stolen it from the cave of another oracle—one of great power and vision—when she had died. It was not hers to take, but she had stuffed it in her cloak, and ran to her own home. She had not even called for someone to take the old woman away for burial. She had visited the cave to ask for advice, and instead, she had found the old crone dead and alone by the small fire, which had also been dying.
“That’s what will happen to me,” she had whispered, seeing the old woman’s frail body curled up near the embers like a beggar. “I am all alone, as she was. All that awaits me is a lonely death in a cold cave with only the flickering flames to look into as I pass.” No one will care, she had thought angrily, and then she had grabbed the ball from its pedestal in the center of the room, staring back at the entrance as she did so, to see that no one else had come.
She’d felt her palm grow burning hot as she held the ball, but she had not let go. She knew it was bewitched so that no one could take it.
It must grow used to its new mistress, she had thought, her hand throbbing, and in time, it had grown used to her. It began to show her things that increased her power and made her more money.
She stroked the ball now, in her bed at the Crown of Thorns, waiting for something, anything...but the ball only grew cloudy inside, as though it was filled with curling smoke from a chimney, and then its center went dead black. She was too tired to try again, and so she hid
the ball and curled up under sheets that were only rough cotton—but clean—and her pillow felt cool and soft against her cheek.
She fell asleep instantly, and when she did, the ball lit up for a few moments in the darkness, and the face of Hecate seemed to stare out into the room and glance around curiously. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had come...
Chapter Forty-Two
The Cupid and Jane walked into the Crown of Thorns at the usual time. The pub was noisier than usual, and there was a strange tension in the air, which the Cupid said he could feel as soon as he entered. Jane also felt the strangeness of the night, but she was so preoccupied with her own problems, and with Blake, that she paid little attention.
The barmaid drew the two into a corner. She looked half mad with fear. She told them everything that had happened. Jane’s eyes filled with tears as she heard the story. She remembered the terrible moment when the Death card had rested on the top of the deck, where she and Blake looked at it together, and then looked away.
It’s come true, Jane thought in horror. All of it has, and now Lord Stirling is turned to stone in his own fine carriage, and Blake...my poor, dear Blake...how he must mourn his father...
The Cupid cuddled against Jane, who stroked his hair out of habit. The barmaid went away to tend to her customers and Jane sat with her tiny companion in shocked silence. Jane was unable to stop her tears from flowing, and the little boy could not comfort her...not here...
The Cupid whispered to her that he felt a sense of menace in the room, some doom brewing all around him. He said he sensed some darkness that seemed to float through the air and poison it, changing everyone it touched. The villagers looked frightened, wary, and angry. He told her that he thought it was a bad idea to stay here for a moment longer, or to attend the town meeting. Jane knew there would be no fortune telling tonight. A couple of the girls who had been there last night as she chatted with Blake now looked askance at her. They were still jealous of her and the way the young man had looked at her.
The Secret of the Emerald Sea Page 15