Charlotte sat on the low stool in her room with the black book in her lap. It was hot and her brow was damp with sweat. To one god she prayed that Marguerite would come with her baby brother Jean, but to another god she prayed she would not. All her life she had been taught to read the signs for all manner of things: comets foretold death, of course; a dream of a woman standing by a man’s left hand meant she would become his wife; a child who does not cry when baptised will not live long; the wounds of a murdered person will bleed afresh if the corpse is touched by its killer. She listened with her ears, with her fingers and her skin. But for this, there was nothing.
She prepared the ingredients according to the instructions from her book. Eventually, she heard voices echoing around the courtyard, followed by a knock on her door. She flinched. Another knock, louder this time.
The girl called her name. ‘Madame Picot. Open your door. It’s Marguerite.’
Charlotte unlocked the door to find the troubadour girl standing in the dim passage with her baby brother heavily swaddled in her arms. She stepped aside to allow the girl to enter.
‘I am here, Madame Picot. As you said.’
Marguerite pulled the blanket free of her brother’s face as if to prove her word. Charlotte looked at the baby, but unwillingly. Thatch of dark hair, his lips like a twist of blood in cream. A child freely given. She glanced away. ‘Put him down. There, on the bed.’
The girl did as she was asked. ‘Do you have the ingredients to make the charm?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why are you trembling, madame? Are you sick?’
‘No. No reason. I am tired, that’s all.’
Marguerite looked around. ‘But where is your own son, madame?’
‘He will be here soon.’
Baby Jean made a sucking sound, whimpered, then fell quiet. For a moment they both looked at him.
‘When was he born?’ Charlotte asked.
‘In the spring.’
Less than a season old. Charlotte nodded. ‘You should say goodbye to him. Quickly, before he frets.’
‘I cannot stay with him while you make the charm?’
‘It’s better if you’re not here. Come back later when I have finished.’
‘But he will need to be fed by then, madame . . .’
‘There is a woman in the street who will do it. If need be, I will organise it. Don’t worry. Quickly now.’
The girl seemed puzzled and disappointed, but she acquiesced and kneeled beside her brother. She murmured quiet words and nuzzled him, as all sisters do with their younger siblings. It was unbearable.