The Age of Witches

by Louisa Morgan

  As Harriet rose, she asked, “Will this rain continue all night, do you think?” His answer was a shrug. “Well, then,” she said briskly. “I must borrow an umbrella. I hope you have one.”

  He gave her an odd look but didn’t comment. As she started for the stairs, he went behind the front desk and brought out an enormous, rather ragged umbrella. He handed it to her without speaking. She thanked him and carried the thing upstairs with her. When she came back down, swathed in her coat, he was nowhere to be seen.

  It was a dark, wet hike back to Rosefield Hall. The drizzle continued, and a wind came up from the sea to blow droplets of rain past the shelter of the umbrella. By the time Harriet reached the folly, her coat was dripping and strands of her hair were glued to her cheeks.

  Annis was waiting for her. She shot to her feet the moment Harriet appeared, and she held out her hands for the umbrella. “Are you cold? Such a surprise, this storm, after the hot weather.”

  Harriet handed over the umbrella as she stepped up into the folly. “Thank you, Annis. No, I’m not really cold, just damp.”

  “I thought you might not come. Walking through those woods in the middle of the night, in a rainstorm—you’re a brave woman.”

  “Not so much brave as cautious. I say a cantrip for protection at such times. I’ll teach it to you.” She had, in fact, recited it several times on her long walk.

  “I would like that, Aunt Harriet,” Annis said. “Here, let me take your basket.”

  Together they laid out the ingredients for the electuaries, prepared them, and rolled the remedies into tiny balls of herbs and honey. Annis had to block the wind so the candles would continue to burn. They laid their charms between them, Annis her moonstone, Harriet her amulet. Harriet spoke her cantrip, and this time Annis spoke it with her. They watched, side by side, as the ametrine responded. Even the moonstone glowed, silvery layers rippling beneath its surface. When Annis replaced her choker around her neck, she caressed the stone with obvious pride.

  Harriet folded the electuaries into a fresh handkerchief. “You may feel ill again, if Frances is still trying.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Annis promised.

  “I hope James keeps this one down.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Harriet repacked her basket and took up the umbrella in preparation for the long walk back to the Four Fishes. “Was James better today? Did he come to dinner?”

  “He did. Dinners are terribly grand there, everyone wearing evening dresses and masses of jewels. James wears a dinner jacket.”

  “Did he seem recovered?”

  “He was pale. Rather quiet. But if I’ve been sick, I feel that way, too.”

  Harriet looked out to the dull shine of the nighttime sea under the gradually clearing sky. It would be nearly dawn by the time she reached the village. “And your stepmother?” she asked.

  “The same as always, I suppose. I don’t pay much attention to her.”

  Harriet turned back to her, saying gravely, “You should, Annis. A witch willing to wield the maleficia is dangerous.”

  “But I’m protected now, aren’t I? The remedy worked.”

  “It’s not over yet. Take the electuary as soon as possible. And as you walk up to the hall, speak this cantrip:

  Mothers and grandmothers, guard my way

  Every night and every day.

  Let no danger me befall,

  Nor evil catch me in its thrall.

  She made Annis repeat it, and Annis said, “Why do cantrips rhyme?”

  “They’re easier to remember if they rhyme. Remember, don’t take off the moonstone.”

  “I won’t. Thank you, Aunt Harriet.”

  “Rest well, child. Good luck.”

  Annis flashed her a quick smile and dashed up the slant of the lawn toward the hall. More slowly, feeling every one of her years, Harriet set out to walk back to the Four Fishes.

  24

  Annis

  Annis popped the electuary into her mouth the moment she was safely in her room. She put on her nightdress, but she left the choker around her neck, and as she lay back on her pillow, she touched the moonstone with her fingers. It felt warm beneath her fingertips. She wondered if, after lying neglected in her jewel case for so long, it was pleased to be coming back to life. The weight and smoothness of it reassured her, and this time she fell asleep quickly, not waking until Velma came in.

  “Velma,” she said sleepily. “Have you seen my stepmother this morning?”

  “That Frenchie said she went out early. For a walk, she said.”

  Annis bolted upright, a tremor of anxiety speeding her heartbeat. James needed to take the electuary, and soon. She had no doubt Frances would repeat her rite as soon as she could. Was perhaps doing it even now.

  Obviously she had taken her remedy in time, because she felt no ill effects at all. But poor James—a repeat of yesterday’s misery was not to be thought of.

  “I need to dress, Velma,” she said. “Hurry. And stop calling Antoinette ‘that Frenchie.’ I’ve told you before.”

  “Sorry, miss,” Velma said, without the slightest sign of compunction.

  Annis glanced at the clock. It was eight, and breakfast would be served in half an hour. Could Frances perform her rite before that time? Surely she wouldn’t dare miss breakfast a second day in a row. “Hurry, please, Velma,” she said, as she took her seat at the dressing table. “Just do something quick with my hair. I’ll be wearing a hat most of the day anyway.”

  With her hair in a simple figure-eight knot, and wearing her white walking dress, Annis hurried down the staircase to the foyer and on to the breakfast room. The three old couples were already there, drinking coffee and chatting. The servants were just setting out the chafing dishes, and Annis saw there was porridge again, with a dish of stewed fruit next to it. She hovered by the table, though a servant frowned at her. When James came in, she dished up some of the porridge, dotted it with stewed fruit, and surreptitiously added the electuary, stirring it into the mix. She dished up a bowl for herself and carried both to the table.

  She set his bowl, with its remedy, at his place. He glanced up, and brightened when he saw her. “Oh! Good morning, Miss Allington,” he said. “You look lovely today.”

  She set her own porridge at the place nearest to his and sat down, saying, “Come now, James. I thought we were going to use Christian names?”

  He blushed a little. “Yes, indeed. I forgot. Annis.”

  She gave him a smile she hoped was indulgent. Friendly. “You see, James, I noticed yesterday how much you enjoy porridge. I thought I would have some myself, so I brought it for you as well.”

  She was aware that the Hyde-Smiths and the Derbyshires had ceased their conversation and were watching her and James. Their regard made her neck prickle.

  James was staring at the porridge before him in evident dismay. His cheeks paled and reddened, and paled again, and when he looked up from the bowl, his eyes showed real distress. “Oh, Miss Allington—that is, Annis—so kind, but—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t—this is so embarrassing, but—I fear it was the porridge that made me ill yesterday. I can’t risk it happening again.”

  “The porridge?” she said faintly. “Do you really think that was it?” She stared helplessly at his bowl, where the spoonfuls of stewed fruit now made swirls of color against the creamy porridge, and her heart sank. The electuary was gone. She couldn’t even protest that it couldn’t have been the porridge, because, in fact, it had.

  He cast her a look of pure misery. “I am so sorry, Annis.”

  “Oh, James, it doesn’t matter,” she said, although, in cold fact, it mattered such a great deal. “It’s only a bowl of porridge.”

  He said, “Perhaps you shouldn’t eat yours, either. In case.”

  She managed a shaky smile and pushed her own bowl away. “You’re right. I don’t want to be ill.”

  He rose from his chair and signaled to one
of the servants to remove the bowls. “Let me get you something else for your breakfast.”

  “Of course.”

  He paused, standing beside his chair. “And we missed our ride yesterday. Perhaps you would like to ride today?”

  Resigned, she smiled more broadly. “I would like that, James. I believe you were going to let me choose my horse from your stables.”

  He returned her smile with relief and enthusiasm. “Yes, of course. Yes, just as you like.”

  While James was at the sideboard, dishing up eggs and ham for Annis, Frances appeared. She was wearing a day dress of apple-green pique with leg-of-mutton sleeves. Her waist was cinched so tightly Annis wondered how she could breathe. She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene of James carrying a plate to Annis and setting it before her.

  Everyone had turned to watch Frances’s entrance, and Annis could see the effort it took her to greet them all casually while restraining her triumphant smile.

  When Annis looked up at James, the feverish spark in his eyes made her stomach quiver with something like revulsion. She felt sympathy, too, and a distressing sorrow at being the cause of such shameful feelings.

  Perhaps Frances had won after all.

  It was easy, once she was walking down the freshly groomed aisle of the Rosefield stables, to put aside the problem of Frances. Annis wanted to linger at each stall, to enjoy the pungent scents of these enchanting horses, to touch the sleek hides and feel the muscles beneath. She wanted to choose a mount with spirit and strength, and of course beauty—but all of these horses were beautiful, from the magnificent Seastar down to the aging pony.

  James behaved normally enough at first, although he did seize every opportunity to touch her hand or her back. She tried to keep her distance from him without being too obvious about it. Jermyn had once again set out a sidesaddle. Annis was tempted to shove the monstrosity off its support into the straw, but she resisted. She was a guest and wanted to be courteous, but Jermyn’s sour expression gave her a pang of longing for Robbie’s cheerful face.

  James hung on every word Annis uttered about his horses and their special qualities. He led out Dancer when she had made her choice, and went into the tack room for the cross saddle Annis had used before. He saddled the mare himself while Jermyn, stony faced, stood by.

  When James helped her up into the saddle, his hand lingered on her calf and slid down over her ankle, fingers trailing over the bones and heel. She caught a breath and turned to look down at him from her perch on Dancer’s back. His cheeks flamed, and he averted his eyes.

  “I—forgive me, Miss Allington,” he stammered. “Please, I—it was unintentional.”

  It had not been unintentional. She knew that. She decided not to correct his address, to remind him they had agreed to use their Christian names. It was best, perhaps, that they return to formality until she and Aunt Harriet could resolve this situation.

  He said again, “Do forgive me.”

  She said, “Of course, my lord. Shall we go?”

  In embarrassed silence he mounted Breeze and led the way out of the stableyard. This time he didn’t take the path up the coombe but turned to the right, cutting across an empty field to reach a road that led south, past the tenant cottages and on toward the sea.

  25

  James

  James rode ahead of Annis, hoping to hide the flare of heat in his cheeks. What on God’s green earth had he been thinking? He had touched her leg, felt the turn of her ankle, imagined the feel of her skin beneath her stocking…

  It was as appalling as it had been thrilling. He had touched her as if she were one of his horses. As if he had a right. As if he were no gentleman at all.

  James supposed he wasn’t the cleverest Marquess of Rosefield there had ever been. He was certain, having grown up with the portraits decorating the great hall, that he was not the best looking. He disliked most pursuits generally regarded as manly ones—hunting, boxing, gambling—but he had never doubted that he was a gentleman. Now his base instincts had overcome his gentility, and that filled him with shame.

  He glanced back at Annis. She had a beautiful seat in the saddle and nicely balanced hands on the reins. Dancer had earned her name by her tendency to prance at odd moments, but her spirited gait obviously didn’t trouble Annis Allington. They made a handsome pair, the tall, slender girl and the sturdy white mare.

  Perhaps, James thought, it was Annis’s skill as an equestrienne that drew him to her, but he entertained the idea for only a moment. Whatever his other faults might be, he did not usually indulge in self-deception. He couldn’t pretend to a more respectable reason. He just wanted her, in the basest, most carnal way, as if he were some sort of animal.

  He urged Breeze into a trot, and Annis and Dancer followed close behind as he led the way toward High Point. Impulsively, without warning Annis, he let Breeze break into a canter. As if it had been rehearsed, as if the four of them were a team, Annis and Dancer did the same. It was stunning to see the high-strung Dancer obeying Annis’s light hands and soft heels without resistance. The girl was a remarkable horsewoman.

  They could be magnificent together, the two of them. They could make Seabeck, and the Seabeck Andalusians, into something spectacular. What other young lady would share James’s passion for his horses? He had never met one.

  He decided, on the instant, to speak to her.

  They reached High Point in a short time, walking the horses the last half mile to cool them down. James had cooled down by then, too. Though his blood still pounded uncomfortably at Annis’s nearness, he managed to assist her to dismount without doing anything discourteous. She thanked him, behaving as if nothing had gone amiss.

  His cook had packed a basket, and he untied it from the back of his saddle and set it on the flattest of the boulders that marked the spot. Annis looped the horses’ reins over a branch of one of the wind-deformed trees and came to stand at the peak of the cliff, gazing down at the waves rolling up the narrow strand beneath. Herring gulls swooped and soared above the beach, raucous in the wind.

  When he joined her, she said, “What a lovely place! What did you call it? High Point?”

  “The farmers call it that. They use this road for their wagons.” He followed her gaze down to the beach. “I often ride this way, just for the view.” He pointed to the west. “If you follow this road far enough, you reach Seabeck Village. In the other direction, you can reach Golden Cap, the highest cliff on the southern coast. It’s worth a visit, but too far for a day’s ride.”

  “I see you’ve brought a picnic,” she said. “Do you often do that?”

  “Sometimes. I thought you would enjoy it.”

  “I would,” she said with a smile. “This is so much nicer than being indoors.” She took off her hat, and her hair tumbled out of its pins, falling to her shoulders, shining in the sun.

  James took a deep breath and looked away from her, out to the glistening sea. He must keep his head about him and not be led astray by these untoward feelings.

  He had never joined his university classmates on their outings to the city brothels. If he had, perhaps he would be more worldly, have more understanding of this newly awakened passion, but he had never been tempted. The lads always came back laughing, bragging, much the worse for drink, and also—none of them ever admitted it, but he could see it—more than a little sick at what they had done. Few of them ever wanted to repeat the experience.

  He was, he feared, the most naive of men. He knew how the whole thing was supposed to work. He just had no experience of it, nor had he cared about that until now. It had always seemed to be something he could think about later, when the right time came. He had always believed his fastidiousness proved his good breeding. The idea of a brothel, of lying in a bed where so many had…

  The very thought made him shudder.

  “Are you all right, my lord?”

  He cleared his throat to compose himself and made himself turn his blandest expression toward her. “Perf
ectly, Miss Allington. Shall we see what temptations Cook has packed for us?”

  The boulder they sat on was warm from the sun, and the breeze was barely strong enough to ruffle the manes of the horses. The lunch basket held three kinds of sandwiches and a packet of almond cakes, one of James’s favorites, as well as a jar of cider. The two of them devoured everything, appetites sharpened by fresh air and exercise. When there wasn’t a crumb left, they folded their napkins and the tea towel that had protected the cider and repacked the basket.

  As James thought of how to phrase his proposal, he glanced around at his beloved Seabeck to build up his courage. The gentle hills rose like folds in a quilt, green and yellow and brown, dotted with wildflowers in a riot of colors. The sea below shimmered in the sun. The herring gulls chuckled overhead, and below the cliff, sandpipers darted across the wet sand. It was, he thought, the best possible setting to appeal to a sporting girl like Annis Allington.

  He hoped it was, in any case. With all his being, at this moment, he hoped so.

  Annis had shaken the crumbs from her riding habit and moved to the edge of the cliff. She stood shading her eyes with her hand, peering out over the water. She made a lovely picture, with her mass of dark hair lifting in the sea breeze. His heart leaped at the sight of her, and his belly contracted with the desire—no, the need—to possess this quicksilver creature.

  It wasn’t just that he wanted to possess her physically, although he had been unable to quench that feeling. He felt more than that. He wanted her company. He wanted her on his arm when he went out in public, and he wanted her in his parlor in the evenings, reading by the fire. He wanted to see her giving orders to the housekeeper, visiting the tenant farmers, walking the streets of the village.