The Age of Witches

by Louisa Morgan

  “Nor did I,” Annis said crisply. “It wasn’t right, but we’re fixing it as best we can.”

  “Well done, Miss Annis,” he said. He closed the door of the carriage but still lingered, looking in at Frances’s inert figure. “Poor lady,” he repeated. “A terrible thing.”

  “Yes,” Annis said. “Terrible. Thank you, Robbie, for understanding. I’m grateful. Let’s start for the Dakota, shall we? This has been a difficult day.”

  He tapped the carriage door once with his fingers, giving his assent, and climbed up onto the driver’s seat. Annis breathed a great sigh of relief and heard her aunt do the same. The carriage began to move, the steady hoofbeats of the horse taking them away to safety.

  Frances’s eyes didn’t flicker as the scenery changed. Her bosom, shrunken nearly to nothing, barely moved with her breath. She seemed hardly alive, but Annis knew the truth. Her stepmother’s mind still functioned, though the link with her body had been irretrievably broken. The tragedy of it was beyond bearing, and she turned her face to the window so Harriet would not see the tears on her cheeks.

  45

  James

  James took a final look in the mirror. His jacket was impeccably brushed, thanks to Perry. His hair was trimmed, and he was clean shaven. His boots were polished. He swished some eau de cologne around his mouth and spit, then straightened and made a minute adjustment to his tie. He was ready.

  It was, he had discovered, a day when George Allington worked on correspondence at home instead of at the factory. He would be in his study until luncheon. James wasn’t sure where his study might be, but after smoothing his hair one last time, he set out in search of it.

  For someone who had so recently consigned his ailing wife to an asylum, he found Mr. Allington remarkably cheerful. When James knocked, he greeted him jovially, invited him in, offered him a chair opposite his desk, and rang for coffee.

  A neat pile of letters awaited his attention on his desk, and a sheet of stationery, half-covered in small, tidy script, lay on the blotter. Mr. Allington set his pen at an angle across it and pushed it aside. He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “So, young man,” he said. “How are you finding New York? Had a good ride yesterday?”

  “I did, sir, and thank you very much for the loan of your horse. He has a fine gait, and an easy disposition.”

  “So I recall. Haven’t ridden in a while. Leave all that to my daughter.”

  “Your daughter is an impressive horsewoman.”

  “So I’m told! I’m no expert, I’m afraid. I suppose you find her not very ladylike.”

  James crossed one leg over the other and rested his linked hands on his knee, striving to look relaxed. “I find her most amicable, sir,” he said. “And completely charming. I’ve met any number of ladylike girls and found them dull. Miss Allington is never dull.”

  George Allington grinned. “That’s high praise for my handful of a girl.”

  “I am very fond of her,” James said. “And that’s why I’m here.”

  “Glad to hear you speak plainly, son,” Allington said. “I’m a blunt man myself.”

  “Very well.” James uncrossed and recrossed his legs, then realized, with warmth growing in his cheeks, that he wasn’t behaving in a relaxed fashion at all. Damn it all, he thought. Like a green lad with no experience. A boy, when he wanted to be seen as a man.

  He cleared his throat, then wished he hadn’t. He said, “I will endeavor to speak plainly, since you encourage it. I believe you know a bit about my circumstances, sir, and—”

  “You mean, impoverished nobility and all that?”

  For a moment James was struck dumb. Allington had said he was a blunt sort of man, but James had not been prepared for just how blunt he might be. He was startled by how offensive he found it. He shifted in his chair and told himself to let it pass, for Annis’s sake. “Uh, well, sir, I’m afraid—yes. You see, my father, the previous marquess, passed away unexpectedly, and he—there are certain debts—”

  “Oh, of course, my boy. There are always debts! God forbid I should die just now and leave Annis with my debts to settle!” Allington gave a hoot of laughter, pushed his chair back, and propped his booted feet on his desk. “So what’s your plan? Sell some land? I understand your estate is extensive.”

  “Yes. There is a parcel of land, bordering a neighbor’s property. He has asked to purchase it many times, and now I feel I will have to do that.”

  “Got anything else? Livestock? Horses?”

  James swallowed, trying to hold in his temper. He had not expected such tactless questions. He didn’t like them, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. It was no wonder, he reflected, that Annis wasn’t particularly ladylike. She was her father’s daughter.

  Allington seemed to sense he had stepped too close to the line. He brought his feet down from his desk, letting them fall to the floor with a bang. “Sorry, my lord,” he said. “That’s the proper address, isn’t it? I’m a businessman, always have been. Came up the hard way. I think in numbers. No offense.”

  “None taken, sir,” James said. He drew a long breath through his nostrils and settled his own feet firmly on the floor. “I admit, I had not expected our conversation to take this turn.”

  “Ah.” Allington tipped his head to one side and gave him a look reminiscent of Annis’s penetrating one. “Please tell me what you intended for us to talk about. I’ll listen. Always ready with free advice, though!” He gave a snort of laughter and then, with obvious effort, fell silent.

  The moment had arrived. James said, “Thank you, sir. I will come to the point, if you don’t mind. I’ve come to ask your permission to marry your daughter. To make Annis my marchioness. I’m sorry about the indebtedness of Rosefield, but I’m a healthy man, well educated, reasonably well thought of among my friends and family. I will do my best to make her a good husband.”

  George Allington raised one graying eyebrow. “That’s why you’re in New York, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.” James heard the aristocratic accent dominating his voice and tried to soften it. “Yes, I came to New York for this express purpose.”

  “Well,” Allington said thoughtfully. “Well, well, well.” His gaze dropped to his desk. He picked up his pen—a beautiful pen, carved of some dark wood, ebony perhaps—and tapped it against his hand. “I can’t say I’m completely surprised. My wife was quite set on Annis marrying someone like yourself. Actually, she wired me that an engagement had been arranged.” He glanced up and seemed, for the first time, unsure of himself. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. It appears not to have been true.”

  “It’s quite all right, sir,” James said. “It is not true yet, but the dowager marchioness—my mother, that is—and Mrs. Allington very much wanted it to happen. Your daughter and I have discussed this quite frankly.”

  “Oh, you’ve discussed it, have you?” Allington now tapped his blunt chin with his pen, so hard James was afraid he would spatter his white linen collar. “And what does Annis have to say about all of this? About becoming your marchioness?”

  “She has not said yes, sir. But except in the case of one rather clumsy effort on my part some months ago, which I have taken care not to repeat, she has not said no, either.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Annis. She’s a girl who has always known her own mind.”

  “If I receive your permission, I intend to speak to her again this evening.”

  “Hmmm. What about the money?” Allington asked.

  Another shock clenched James’s belly. In his circle it was rare to speak directly about money. He quite understood that this was an affectation, a pretense made possible by privilege. His friends could afford to pretend money didn’t concern them. He had done it himself, until his father died. He wondered if he could learn to face the question of money as squarely as this plainspoken man did.

  He drew a breath and met Allington’s gaze. The eyes that were forget-me-not blue in Annis were the blue of polished steel in her father.
For all the jollity of his address and the laughter, James had no doubt Allington was a hardheaded businessman. He might claim he had debts, but James would have wagered they were not heavy ones.

  “Well, sir,” he said, as evenly as he could. He didn’t clear his throat, and he didn’t look away from those hard eyes. “As I’ve confessed to you, money is an issue at Rosefield Hall. However, there are steps I will be taking to pay down my father’s debts, and I will salvage what I can. I wish to marry your daughter because I care for her. My mother also is quite taken with her and admires her spirit and her independence. I believe I can make your daughter happy, and I know my mother will support us in our marriage, which is no small thing.”

  “Indeed it is not,” Allington said. He laid down the pen, and his gaze drifted to the view of the river beyond the Allington gardens. “I was quite happily married to Annis’s mother. She died of a fever when Annis was tiny, but I know how good marriages can be.”

  James noticed that Allington didn’t speak of his second marriage. It seemed odd, but perhaps it was an American belief that illness should be hidden away.

  “I would like my daughter to be happy, of course,” Allington went on. “As long as we’re laying our cards on the table, I will tell you I agreed to a large dowry under pressure from her stepmother. That pressure is gone, and I’m no longer inclined to do that.”

  James set his jaw. “I understand, sir. I want to marry Miss Allington just the same, and I would like your permission to press my suit.”

  Allington’s grin returned. “As we don’t have to talk about money, you have my permission. My blessing.” His grin widened. “I wish you luck, son. No idea what she’ll say.”

  He didn’t add, until James was already at the door, “Better watch out, my lord. Annis knows things, things she shouldn’t. She’s a hard girl to deceive.”

  The thought did nothing to improve James’s confidence. Fortunately, he had no intention of deceiving Annis about anything.

  46

  Harriet

  The Dakota’s doorman looked shocked at the sight of Harriet and Annis lifting a dirty, unkempt wretch down from the Allington carriage. His earlier deference disappeared, and he thrust his hands into the pockets of his uniform as if to make clear he would not touch the person Miss Bishop had inexplicably chosen to bring to his establishment.

  Harriet glared at him. “We will need the elevator,” she said, in a tone that meant she had no expectation of being refused. Annis, wide-eyed, watched the man back away, his mouth pulled down in distaste. The aura of magic had dissipated, evidently. The doorman did, however, lead the way to the elevator and open the gate to it, though he scowled throughout the operation.

  Harriet did not thank him. She and Annis bundled Frances into the elevator, and Harriet operated the device on her own.

  “He can’t stop you from having her here, can he?” Annis asked.

  “No. He’s only the sentry, but he’s the biggest snob in a building full of snobs.” The elevator clanked to a stop on her floor, and Harriet unlatched the gate. They maneuvered Frances to the door of Harriet’s apartment.

  Harriet pulled out her key and inserted it into the lock. “Go back to Robbie, Annis. It’s best I handle introducing Grace to Frances on my own.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yes.” Harriet pushed the door open and drew Frances through it. “You should go home. I’m sure James is waiting for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what you’re going to say to him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to be a marchioness?”

  “I wouldn’t mind. Seabeck is wonderful, and the horses—”

  Grace’s quick footsteps sounded in the hall on the way to the front door. Their conversation would have to wait. “Go now,” Harriet said. “Before Grace gets here. I’ll expect you tomorrow morning. But send Velma tonight, will you? Assuming she’s willing.”

  By the time Grace reached the door, Annis had disappeared down the staircase. Grace exclaimed, “Oh! My goodness gracious, Miss Harriet, you’ve brought Mrs. Allington. What a surprise! Dear me, poor Mrs. Allington, you don’t look at all well. Are you going to stay? I had no idea. I would have aired the spare bedroom.” Harriet had a good grip on Frances’s left arm, and Grace hurried to take her right.

  As they made an awkward progress down the corridor, Grace chattered on. “I would say the first thing for poor Mrs. Allington is a warm bath and a good hair wash. Mrs. Allington, wouldn’t you like that? A nice long bath and some fresh clothes will make you feel ever so much better. Then some soup, I think. I’ve made a nice thick chicken soup, the kind Miss Harriet loves, and…”

  Grace was one person, at least, who would not mind Frances’s failure to answer questions. Harriet helped her to guide Frances into the spare bedroom. They settled her safely in an armchair, and Grace hurried to begin filling a tub. When she returned, leaving the taps running, Harriet said, “I’d better stay with you, Grace. I’m afraid Frances is unable to do anything much for herself.”

  As if to dramatize the problem, Frances slumped over the arm of the chair, and her head fell back as if she could no longer hold it up.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” Grace said. “What are we going to do with her?”

  “We have to keep her here, I’m afraid. I couldn’t leave her in that place.”

  “Keep her—forever?” Grace’s usual pleasant expression faltered.

  “I’m sorry, Grace, but yes. Annis’s maid is coming. She has been caring for Frances since their return from England.”

  “Velma? That one?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Grace was silent for a full minute, which was something of an achievement. She fiddled with her apron, folded and unfolded her arms, and finally put her hands on her hips as she gazed down at Frances’s blank face. “Velma will have to share the bedroom.”

  “Yes. I believe she has done that for months.”

  “Will Mrs. Allington get any better?”

  “I will do what I can, but I fear not.”

  Grace clicked her tongue, smoothed her apron, and went to turn off the taps in the bath. As she came back, she signaled her acceptance of the situation by beginning to talk. “Well, I must say, Miss Harriet, that Velma isn’t going to be very good company. I expect she’s glad of a secure place, and it’s a thankless sort of task she’s taking on, but she’s not much of a talker, is she? And really, it’s hard to imagine Mrs. Allington with a maid like that, after that fancy Frenchie she had for so long…”

  On and on it went, as between them they stripped off Frances’s filthy dress and the shift under it that was not one bit cleaner. The clothes went into the dustbin, and Grace carried the bin outside in case the clothes were infested. They managed to get Frances into the bath, and Grace, saying, “Just this once, mind. I’m not a nurse,” sat beside the tub to make certain Frances didn’t slip under the water and drown.

  “I know that, of course. Just do your best, Grace, just for now,” Harriet said mildly, and made her escape.

  Harriet bathed, too, both because of their visit to that awful ward and because, before performing a rite, she wanted to be perfectly clean. As she dried and dressed, she heard Grace murmuring from the spare bedroom, then still muttering as she made her way along the corridor to the kitchen. Harriet let herself into the herbarium, closing the door on the homely sounds of clattering dishes and banging pot lids.

  She pulled the drape back on the long window to allow the clear wintry light to fall on her worktable. She moved swiftly, knowing exactly what she needed. White willow bark for clarity of thought. Thyme for courage. Golden ginkgo leaves for confidence. She added a twig of witch hazel twined with a sprig of rosemary to ease communication. She spread everything out on a wooden block, leaving each herb in its natural form. She set the moonstone, for Annis, on her left, and the amethyst, for James, on her right. The citrine, for light in the darkness, she laid in the center. At the foo
t of the candle she nestled her amulet into the witch hazel and rosemary branches, then set a match to the candle wick.

  It felt good to be doing this. She was healing herself as much as she was trying to support James and Annis as they made a big decision. The maleficia had taken more out of her soul than she liked to think about, but this—this magic of blessing and harmony—might help to restore some balance.

  It might also, she knew, cost her an apprentice. Harriet would be alone again, but she had been alone for two and a half decades. She was resigned to it.

  She took up a vial of salt water and sprinkled it over the herbs, taking care that drops fell on the stones, too. Before she spoke her cantrip, she bent her head for a moment, thinking of Alexander, remembering the day he had asked her to marry him and how full of joy and hope and optimism they had both been. They had been so young! Full of dreams, sure of themselves, devoted to each other, confident of the future.

  Would those feelings have lasted? She would never know, of course. Those emotions were trapped in that long-ago moment, crystallized as if suspended in amber. The affection between the two of them had no chance to grow and deepen nor to fade and die.

  Annis and James had a chance, if they decided to take it. She wouldn’t make the decision for them, but she could help them to see what was possible.

  She opened her eyes, stretched out her hands, and murmured,

  Surely know, clearly see

  The future you desire to be.

  Be not afraid, do not delay,

  Seize your chance while yet you may.

  The candle flame flickered higher, and the ametrine began to glow, its deep-purple threads shining from the golden stone. Harriet smiled to see it and nearly laughed aloud when the knowing swept over her.

  “Oh, Alexander,” she whispered. “I am so glad. I am so very glad for them.”

  47

  Annis

  Annis, like Harriet, felt in need of a bath the moment she