12
Charlotte
Things lost and found
Even as the wound on my arm healed, I continued to scratch my skin. The angry red line itched and I worried at it, waiting for my pulse to slow and then stop as I became one of them. In the days that followed finding that horrid thing in the backyard, the scratch it had left… oozed.
Lieutenant Bain—David—came every day to change the dressing. A noxious black substance stuck to the cotton as though my body repelled some poison. He never once showed any revulsion at the task he undertook or the foul odour that clung to the bandage.
David's gentle friendship was so at odds with everything I knew that it did something mother's cruel words used to do. It drove me to tears. At night I sobbed into my pillow, trying to grasp that he might genuinely like me.
From the day I was born, I knew only criticism. It was a constant disappointment to my mother that I wasn't as beautiful, poised, or talented as either her or Louise. Every single day of my life I had been judged and found wanting. Until now.
Just as David's quiet conversation brought Reverend Mason from out of his shell, so it wrought a change over me. I dared to dream. I smiled. When he paid me a compliment, I hugged the words to me and believed. But it was more than his friendship. I found a place for myself, and my work at the manse brought me personal satisfaction. I could achieve things, I had only to try.
Today's challenge was sponge. The delicate cake needed a bit more mastery before I considered it an achievement. The outer edge was overcooked and too hard, but with enough jam and cream the reverend might not notice. I was determined to add to my growing culinary repertoire.
A quiet knock sounded on the back door before it was pushed open and a familiar, uniform-clad figure appeared. The smile flew to my lips of its own accord.
"Afternoon, Charlotte. You have visitors today," David said as he walked into the kitchen.
I stared at the sad sponge and wished the cake would turn into a perfect example that would win a red ribbon at the village fête. But no fairy godmother appeared to wave a wand over the cake. Bother. I rubbed the flour off my hands and onto my green spotted apron.
"Visitors? For Reverend Mason?" I picked up the kettle and carried it to the sink. Mentally I planned out the tea tray. The shortbread supplies were running low. David always ate a number of the flaky squares with his tea. Fortunately he was fit and active, or he would need to let his belt out a hole or two.
The door opened wider and two more figures appeared. One I instantly recognised and my knees bobbed in an automatic curtsey. The Duke of Leithfield using the back door! Mother would have swooned if she saw that. Then my gaze flicked over the young woman who accompanied him. My step-sister, Ella.
A tentative smile crossed her face as my heart pounded faster in my chest and the itch returned to my arm. The mark burned as though a rancher held a red hot brand to my skin. Was this my end, to be delivered by Ella's sword? There was so much I wanted to do. My life might never be grand or important, but I still wanted to live it.
I pulled up the sleeve of my blouse and stuck out my limb.
"The wound is healing and David checks on me every day, I'm not turning into one of them, honest," I blurted all the words out in a garbled rush.
Ella's eyes widened. "Oh, Charlotte."
Would she cut my head off anyway? Hopefully not here in the kitchen, surely, but outside in the yard? The next instant I found myself grabbed in a hug and Ella held me tight.
"I'm so glad," she whispered. "I couldn't stand it if I lost you too."
A sob of relief welled up in my chest and burst forth as a hiccup. "You're not here to dispatch me?"
Sadness tinged her smile when she pulled back, her hands still on my shoulders. "Of course not. We're here to see the reverend. We hoped your battle with the original pandemic would protect you, and I'm elated to see it was true."
Mother set us as enemies, but here was Ella worried about my fate. All those years I had been a coward. I stood by and did nothing while mother took the switch to Ella or Louise deliberately tripped her up. "I'm so sorry for not standing up for you—"
She placed a fingertip over my lips and hushed me. "What's done is done. I would like it if we could move forward as friends."
"Friends." I nodded. One word and it meant the world to me. Forgiveness was a marvellous thing. Like bathing in hot, scented water, it revived your soul. The smile returned to my face and air filled my lungs in a deep sigh.
"Why don't you two find Mr Mason? I'll give Charlotte a hand and we'll be along shortly," Ella said.
"This way, Captain." David gestured for the duke to follow him through. "The reverend will be ensconced in his office."
The hall door closed behind them. The kettle whistled and I wrapped the apron around my hand to lift the boiling water from the range.
Ella grabbed two wooden trays from their shelf under the bench. "I hear you have some delicious shortbread. Where would I find it?"
With Ella's assistance, we soon had two tea trays set out with enough to keep three grown men from starving until dinner time. As long as David didn't scarf the last of the shortbread. The sponge was covered in cream and looked serviceable, but I worried if it would be acceptable to serve to the duke.
"Stop worrying, it tastes fantastic," Ella said.
We carried the trays into the study and set them on the low table between the two enormous sofas. Ella played mother and poured tea while I quietly headed for the door.
Ella glanced up as I walked toward the door. "Won't you stay, Charlotte?"
"I'm sure you have top secret War Office stuff to discuss. You don't need the housekeeper listening in." I didn't give her a chance to answer, but slipped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind me. I knew my place—in the kitchen.
Ella
It was odd to watch Charlotte serve tea and then retreat to the kitchen. Our roles had been reversed. I didn't want her to feel excluded, but it wasn't as though we were here to discuss the local fête. How could I include her in War Office business? Even Alice had an official position now, typing and filing reports. The world changed, and Charlotte would have to change with it.
I took a sip of tea and gathered my thoughts while Seth opened the conversation.
"We have read the diaries left by Millicent, first Duchess of Leithfield. However, there is woefully little about her supposed activities. Certainly not the information we need to advance in this war. We are hoping you may have uncovered something of use."
Reverend Mason took his cup of tea, with a precariously balanced biscuit on the saucer, and sat at his desk. The tall window illuminated him from behind as he opened a large old volume that was propped up on a pile of smaller books. "Let me start by explaining that Somerset has always had a historian, stretching back over a thousand years. Throughout the decades, a man of learning has laboured in the dark, recording the secret history of this area. He gathered the details no one wanted to say out loud, let alone write down."
That was exactly the history we were looking for, the one Millicent didn't want recorded. I itched to know if she was a witch, but I couldn't just blurt that out. I danced as close to the question as I dared. "Like the history of witchcraft?"
"Like the history of witchcraft." He smiled in a way that reminded me of Father. The paternal affection of someone who would answer a curious child's questions in their own time, drawing out the anticipation. The reverend turned pages as though he sought some passage in particular. Then he looked up and met my gaze. "Especially the history of this area under the reign of Elizabeth the First."
Seth set down his cup and saucer and leaned his forearms on his knees. His gaze went to the reverend. "Does your scribe record whether the first duchess was suspected of being a witch?"
I sighed with relief. Internal pressure lowered and I was no longer in danger of bursting from curiosity.
The reverend tapped a page in his book and his lips moved as he reminded himself of the words scrawled under his fingertip. "Yes. I am sorry, but your ancestor has a dark history. She was a petty and vengeful woman, disliked by the locals, and she delighted in inflicting pain and suffering on her unfortunate servants."
I held in a snort. The more I learned about Millicent, the more I saw parallels to Elizabeth.
The reverend paused to drink from his tea before continuing. "Millicent was one of three witches who formed a powerful coven in the sixteenth century. Her sisters in sorcery were Sarah Wynn and Anne Oakley. All three were minor nobles from local families, until Millicent was elevated to duchess by marriage in 1575. The scribe makes mention of a love potion being used to elicit the proposal."
"Did Millicent really kill her husband?" I glanced to Seth. Nobles had the most scandalous secrets in their lives. His mother running off with her lover on the Titanic was hardly newsworthy when he had a genuine witch in his bloodline.
The reverend's lips twitched. It was unusual to see him smile after sorrow had dwelt so long on his face. Like hearing Father's voice again after so many months of silence, I rejoiced to see Mr Mason succeed with his internal battle and return to some semblance of normality. "We could skip ahead a few years if you wish. The intervening years involved failed crops, beaten servants, and rumours of hexes and curses. Then in 1589, three noble husbands all suffered unexpected deaths within days of each other. That was what finally led to the accusation of witchcraft, after years of whispers."
"They all killed their husbands?" Having used a love potion to secure her duke, did Millicent then tire of him? Poor man—used and discarded like a soiled handkerchief. There was the inherent problem in loveless matches, some women harboured murderous intentions to do away with their inconvenient spouses. Father had loved step-mother, but she obviously felt nothing for him if she could kneel on a pillow over his face. I glanced at Seth. Would we likewise end our days devising how to each rid ourselves of the other?
Mr Mason leaned back in his chair and tented his long fingers. "Three unusual deaths of local nobles attracted attention, especially when one was duke and close to the sovereign. They were all struck down with a most curious affliction—none of them could sleep. Drove them mad and they died in agony, bashing their own heads against the walls in an effort to relieve the pressure."
"Couldn't sleep?" Seth repeated and a frown pulled at his brow. "The Turned are suspended in a strange wakeful or undead state. What if the women weren't trying to murder their husbands, but were attempting something else, like creating the first Turned?"
"A spell that went wrong? Anything is possible."
I'd rather leave that line of enquiry with the reverend to pursue. I had enough problems dealing with the vermin crawling across the countryside without worrying about three-hundred-year-old spells gone awry. Unless one was the result of the other? I imagined Millicent and her sisters as the witches from Macbeth. Cackling around a large pot, stirring a noxious brew, and tossing in frog's legs as they planned world domination.
"What happened to the women?" I asked.
Mr Mason tapped the old book. "The three were accused of witchcraft and a trial held. All three were found guilty. Sarah and Anne were burned at the stake. Millicent, because of her position as duchess and close relationship to Elizabeth the First, was given a poisoned draft to drink."
"The privilege of position," Seth murmured.
"What if Millicent used her power to somehow diminish the effect of the poison, and instead put herself into a state beyond death's reach, like the Turned?" I said. Crowley had said she was suspended between life and death, if there was such a place.
Seth seized on my words. We really did work well together. "You think whatever sorcery Millicent wrought was the genesis for the current plague we face? But why has she slumbered for over three hundred years, and how is it this plague did not curse the land earlier?"
That was the bit that worried me. We still needed to pull the last strands of this web together. "In the fairy tale, Sleeping Beauty slept for over a hundred years, waiting for her prince to find her. What if Millicent needs Crowley to rouse her before she can finish her plan?"
Seth arched an eyebrow and leaned back in the sofa. "Then we had better find her, before Crowley and his minions succeed."