The Age of Witches

by Louisa Morgan

  And now—now, she would change her father’s mind one final time. James would be relieved. Lady Eleanor, so proud of her son having won his chosen bride, would never need to know there had been any question about it.

  And she, Annis, would know she had the power of the Bishop witches in her own hands.

  She did everything the way her mentor had taught her. When she spoke the cantrip, she stood before her array of candle, moonstone, and remedy, and waited.

  With a thrill of pride, she watched the moonstone begin to glow, its surface turning as pearly as the face of a full moon in a cloudless sky. She felt the power flow up through her feet and legs, into her body, out through her arms to her hands and up into her throat. It was that now-familiar sense of having touched lightning, that almost pain that made her feel more alive than should be possible. It filled her, and it surrounded her, and it charged her electuary with magic.

  She was just about to blow out the candle when the other feeling struck. It rolled up from her belly into her chest, thrilled through her throat and into her skull, where it bloomed like a flower in midsummer. The room rocked around her, beneath her. She felt as if something had taken over her body and her mind, and she was powerless to resist it.

  The knowing.

  She must go to Harriet, as soon as possible. She had something to tell her.

  50

  Harriet

  Harriet was standing on a footstool in the herbarium, in the midst of her winter task of scrubbing shelves, when the knock on her door came. It wouldn’t be Grace, of course, who was trained never to disturb her. It could only be Annis, though she wasn’t expecting her. The wedding was set for tomorrow. The bride-to-be should be busy with a hundred pressing tasks. She frowned as she climbed down from the footstool, hoping nothing was amiss.

  She unlocked the door and opened it to a beaming Annis, pink-cheeked from the December cold, swathed in a white fur that made her eyes look like sapphires. “Annis! Whatever are you doing here?”

  Annis laughed and said, “I have something to tell you, Aunt Harriet, something so—so important I don’t have words for it. I wouldn’t have interrupted you otherwise.” She peered past Harriet’s shoulder at the scoured counters and empty worktable. “It doesn’t look like you’re working.”

  “Just cleaning. It’s too cold for foraging.”

  “It’s snowing now. So pretty, but I did come in the carriage.”

  “What a surprise!” Harriet caught sight of Grace hovering in the hallway and said, “Oh, Grace, good. Perhaps you could make some tea for us. I’ll take Annis into the parlor.”

  Grace bustled toward Annis. “Now, here, Miss Annis, you just give me those furs. Aren’t they lovely? From your trousseau, I suppose. Beautiful. Perfect for this December weather. You’ll be too warm inside, though. I’ve just stirred up the fire in the parlor, and I have some scones for you, not today’s, but yesterday’s, they’re still fresh as can be just the same. I’ll just give them a bit of a warm in the oven. There you are now, you go and sit down and I’ll have your tea in a moment.” She was still chattering as she hung the furs on the coatrack and trotted off toward the kitchen.

  Harriet led the way to the parlor, and she and Annis sat close to the fire. Annis looked as if she were going to burst with excitement, literally bouncing on the seat of the divan, and Harriet couldn’t help laughing. “You look like a child about to open her Christmas presents!”

  “Oh, Aunt Harriet, I feel that way!”

  “Because your wedding is tomorrow?”

  “Oh no! I mean yes, of course, and dear James is excited, too—but just let me explain.”

  “Very well. Shall we wait for the tea?”

  “Oh no, I can’t wait another minute! I wanted to come last night, but it was so late, and it looked like snow, so…”

  Annis bounced off the divan and came to sit next to Harriet. She seized her hand and squeezed it. “First, Aunt Harriet, just imagine! Papa has decided to dower me after all, and a very nice dowry it is, enough to pay off the old marquess’s debts. It means James doesn’t have to worry so much, and he doesn’t have to tell his mother about selling the London house.”

  Harriet raised her eyebrows. “Indeed. That’s quite generous of George. I never think of him as a generous man.”

  “Oh, he’s not, not in the least!” Annis said. “He says he’s going to save all kinds of money, now that he won’t have to support me and my horses and…” Her voice trailed off, and her blush deepened.

  Harriet tilted her head to one side as she regarded her great-niece with a measuring glance. “You worked a bit of magic, didn’t you? All on your own.”

  “I—well, yes, I did. Because poor James was so worried, and he was going to have to sell his favorite part of Seabeck. I couldn’t bear to see him unhappy, and I know perfectly well Papa can afford it! I understand his financial position every bit as well as he does. He thinks females don’t understand money, but he’s wrong.”

  “He certainly is. I have always managed my own money without the slightest difficulty.”

  Annis twinkled at her, laughing. “It was the same rite you and I did together, except I made an electuary and popped it into Papa’s glass before dinner. He takes ice in his whiskey, and he never even noticed.”

  “Well done, dear Annis. Very well done indeed. It was creative to use an electuary.”

  “Thank you! I thought it was quite a successful effort, myself.”

  Harriet smiled, pleased that Annis didn’t bother to feign modesty. It was a notable achievement for an untried practitioner. She couldn’t help wishing Annis’s studies weren’t going to be interrupted, but she had resigned herself to it. “There’s something else, you said?”

  Annis stopped bouncing. Grace came in with the tea tray, floating on her usual tide of chatter. Annis didn’t say anything more until the tea had been poured and the scones presented and Grace had withdrawn. She didn’t pick up her teacup or take a scone. She touched the moonstone at her throat and said, “I used the same cantrip you did before. I knew the magic was there because the moonstone told me, and then—”

  She dropped her hand and reached for Harriet’s once again. “Aunt Harriet, it was the knowing. It was so strong, I felt as if my head might burst.” Her voice throbbed with intensity, and she was no longer the excited girl. She was a mature woman. An experienced witch, sure of herself and her practice. She said, with such gravity Harriet could not doubt her, “Aunt Harriet, you were not the cause of Alexander’s death.”

  Harriet couldn’t restrain her gasp. A sudden faintness came over her, dimming the light in the room, disorienting her. She found herself gripping Annis’s hand, a lifeline in a sea of confusion. She whispered, “What? What do you mean?”

  “It was his own reluctance,” Annis said, softly but firmly. “I felt it all, as clearly as if I were inside his mind. Alexander didn’t want to kill. Couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hesitated because he didn’t want to be there, didn’t want the promotion, didn’t want to shoot at his fellow Americans. He thought of them as his brothers of the opposition, and that was what made him vulnerable. It was not the maleficia. It was his own nature. It was not your fault.”

  “Not my fault,” Harriet repeated. She could hardly take it in. All the years of regret and guilt and grief—could they simply melt away? Leave her with a clear conscience at last?

  “There’s no doubt,” Annis said, squeezing her hand between both of hers. “There is absolutely no doubt at all, Aunt Harriet.”

  Harriet believed her. Not just because she wanted to, which she did, but because the magic was so strong in this girl, the Bishop magic.

  She supposed it would take a long time for her to absorb this moment, but she would do it. She would come to understand, to accept, and ultimately to be free. Annis was leaving her, but she had given her a priceless gift.

  She leaned forward and kissed Annis’s smooth, rosy cheek.

  “I suppose now I have to address you a
s my lady,” Harriet said.

  Annis wrinkled her nose at her and laughed. “If you do, I’ll never speak to you again!”

  She looked achingly lovely in her wedding dress of cream brocade and ivory silk. Her pearls were around her neck, the moonstone gleaming in the hollow of her throat. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks glowed above the swaths of creamy fabric. Her new lady’s maid had done something wonderful with her hair, pinning it up into a flattering, subtle shape. When Harriet complimented it, Annis had groaned. “It took an hour, Aunt Harriet! A whole hour! I could barely sit still. I won’t be doing that very often.”

  Between them Myra and Mrs. King had created a wonderland out of the rarely used Allington House ballroom. It was just what Frances had dreamed of, banks of lilies and white hothouse roses, a long table set with china and silver and crystal for the wedding breakfast, chairs draped in snow-white linen, her stepdaughter acquiring a title. Frances, of course, was not here, nor had Harriet been able to persuade Velma to leave Frances’s side long enough to attend.

  None of the Four Hundred were here, either. They had not been invited.

  Several of Annis’s school friends had come with their parents. George, looking by turns proud and restless, had invited a few of his business associates, and they and their wives were clearly enjoying the luxury of an expensive wedding breakfast. Mrs. King, with Lady Eleanor interfering at every stage, had produced a magnificent cake, all in white, like Queen Victoria’s wedding cake. She brought Annis to see it and wept into her handkerchief while Annis praised the confection and assured her she would return to New York in just a few months.

  The ceremony itself was modest and brief, but the festivities after were surprisingly enjoyable. Even the dowager marchioness unbent, accepting the less formal American customs.

  And now it was done. James and Annis were the Marquess and Marchioness of Rosefield. The photographers from the Times and the Tribune had come and gone. Mrs. King’s lovely cake had been dismantled and devoured. The guests were gathering at one end of the ballroom in readiness to bid the newlyweds farewell as they started off on their wedding journey.

  Annis went up to her bedroom, with Myra in tow, to change her dress. Harriet lingered near the arch of vines and flowers where the couple had spoken their vows, thinking she might steal one or two blossoms and press them to give to Annis as a memento. She was just reaching for a sprig of jasmine when she saw that the tiny pochette bag that had been part of Annis’s wedding ensemble had fallen behind the arch, its ribbons tangled in the vines.

  Harriet crouched to untangle it and picked it up. It was made of creamy silk, with seed pearls sewn in a floral design on the outside. She smoothed it with her fingers, admiring the artistry of the needlework, then paused.

  There was something in the little bag, something more than the obligatory handkerchief. It was hard, and round, and it felt familiar to her searching fingers.

  She glanced around to be certain no one was paying attention before she slipped behind the arch. Half-hidden, she pulled the ribbons to open the pochette. She reached inside and pulled the thing out between two fingers.

  It was the wooden bead that had formed the head of James’s manikin. The curl of fair hair was still glued to it, and the eyes and mouth, though the ink had faded, were just as Frances had made them. The magic still clung to this artifact, like moss clings to a stone.

  Harriet gazed down at the bead in her palm. Why had Annis kept it? What should she do now that she had found it?

  She turned away from the festive scene behind her. Still hidden by the floral arch, she held the bead in one hand and pressed the other palm over the amulet beneath her bodice. She closed her eyes, bent her head, and whispered,

  Bishop mothers, swiftly speak,

  Elder wisdom now I seek.

  How long since she had spoken that cantrip? She believed it had been with Grandmother Beryl, when they were deciding what to do about Frances. Beryl had spoken it long before that, in some other confused situation, as she tried to discern her duty.

  Harriet drew a long, steady breath and opened her eyes. She opened the pochette bag again and dropped the bead inside. She pulled the ribbons to close the little bag before she emerged from behind the bridal arch. With the long strides she used when she was foraging in the park, she crossed the ballroom, wound her way through the crowd of people, and hurried around the corridor to Annis’s room.

  Annis was seated at her dressing table, and Myra, with a handful of pins, was adjusting her hat. It was a rather complicated affair, small, with a profusion of ivory ribbons, obviously made more for fashion than for warmth. Myra bent forward to insert a long hat pin through the confection of silk and straw. Annis, tilting her head to help, caught sight of Harriet in the doorway, and the pochette cupped in her hand.

  The color instantly drained from Annis’s cheeks. She said faintly, “Oh. Aunt Harriet.”

  Myra glanced up and, not understanding, smiled. “We’re almost ready, Miss Bishop. Just the hat and the fur cape. Doesn’t Lady Annis look pretty?”

  “Beautiful,” Harriet said. “Myra, could you excuse us, just for a moment?”

  Myra paused, looked down at her young mistress, then back at Harriet’s solemn face. She muttered something about more pins and scuttled out of the bedroom.

  Harriet closed the door when she had gone and walked to the dressing table. Annis rose, and Harriet held out the pochette for her to take.

  “Aunt Harriet, I just—” Annis began.

  Harriet put up a hand. “Dearest Annis, don’t tell me. I can imagine.”

  Annis pressed the pochette between her hands. “It’s still there,” she whispered.

  “It is.”

  “Why didn’t you take it?”

  “It’s not my decision, dear heart. It’s yours. I’ve taught you what I can, and I see no darkness in you. I see quite the opposite. I see light, and love, and courage.”

  “I think of it as—a protection, I suppose. In case…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes filled with tears that shone blue in the afternoon light.

  “Are you sorry you married your James?”

  Annis shook her head. “No.”

  “But you still thought you needed protection?”

  Annis blinked away her tears. Her mouth firmed, and she thrust out her chin. “Men change too easily, Aunt Harriet. Even the best of men. They change their minds. They regret their promises. What if, now that we’re married—”

  “Ah.” Harriet met Annis’s eyes in the mirror. “I would say, dear heart, that no one can predict the challenges they will face. You and James have everything before you, wonderful things, hard things, sad things, happy things. I hope you will meet them as equals.”

  “That’s what I want,” Annis said. “Equals.”

  Harriet gave a tiny shrug and smiled. Annis let her chin drop again and smiled back. She thrust the pochette out, back into Harriet’s hand. “You’re right, Aunt Harriet,” she said. “If I use magic, we’re not exactly equal, are we? Please take it. I have—” She hesitated, then grinned, an impish expression that made Harriet laugh aloud. “I believe I have other persuasions.”

  Harriet said, still laughing, “I am sure you do!” She tucked the pochette into her own handbag, to deal with later.

  In far too short a time, Harriet was standing at the top of the curved gravel drive, waving goodbye to the bride and groom as the carriage bore them away to the Battery. There they would board the Teutonic, with Robbie and Black Satin on one of the lower decks. They would sail away toward their new life together.

  The symbolism, Harriet thought, was perfect. Just the same, it was a wrench to see Annis depart from her, to strain for a final glimpse of her gay, beribboned hat and her white furs ruffling in the breeze as she waved from the carriage window.

  Indoors, as servants scurried this way and that with hats and coats and walking sticks, Harriet bid Lady Eleanor farewell and congratulated her on her son’s marriage. The dowager march
ioness was clearly pleased by the whole event.

  “Shall you have a carriage to fetch you?” Lady Eleanor asked as Harriet was helped into her coat.

  “No, it’s not a long walk to the Dakota. I’ll be glad of the exercise.”

  “You will come and visit us at Rosefield Hall, of course, Miss Bishop,” Lady Eleanor said. “And do come to our London house during the season. There will be concerts and exhibits, most delightful, and you can visit with your great-niece.”

  “What a kind invitation, Lady Eleanor. I look forward to both those things.”

  With her coat buttoned around her and her hands tucked into a beaver muff, Harriet set off, ready for the peace of her own apartment and Grace’s soothing chatter. She was uncomfortably aware of Annis’s pochette inside her handbag. The magicked bead made her feel as if she were carrying a hot coal.

  She could hardly wait to be rid of it. She would put it in Frances’s hands, have her strip off the curl of hair, scrub away the inked eyes and mouth. That would put an end to the maleficia that clung to it.

  After she had been fussed over by Grace and warmed by the fire, and had checked in on Velma and Frances in their room, she carried the pochette into her herbarium. She rolled the bead out onto her worktable and stared at it. It gazed back at her, blind and mute and helpless.

  In a few short years, Harriet reflected, a new century would begin. Would it be better for women, or worse? Would they have more independence, or would there be a backlash to undo a hundred years of progress? Any answer she had would be no more than a guess. It would not affect her so much, at her advanced age. It was Annis, and the young women like her, who would have to deal with whatever was to come.

  Despite Annis’s brave words, she had a point. She was a married woman now. To some people that meant her husband was her master. Harriet couldn’t imagine anyone being Annis’s master, but she would be in a strange country, in a place with different customs. Who knew what might lie ahead for her?