WILLIAM
I should go home, and at some point, I must. Prudence asked if any of my staff could be trusted to understand what was going to happen and accompany us to the cottage. It wouldn't do to bring any of my household staff into danger. My mind is a jumble of new information and emotions.
Instead of going home, I take Esme and Minerva to the shop, where Esme explains the contents of every shelf. The amount of medicinal knowledge these women keep in their heads is miraculous. At first, it's fascinating. After an hour, it's mind-numbingly boring.
"Miss Honeywell, shall I wait to take you back to your friends?" Abruptly interrupting their debate over the uses of milk thistle was perhaps rude, but if I am to be subjected to a life of herbal remedies, I shall demand to be bound after the first day.
Minerva smiled. "I can walk, Sir William. There is no need to wait on me."
Escaping this dissertation floods me with relief. I bow and pull on my overcoat.
Esme's hand on my arm stops me at the door. "Is something wrong?"
Her looking into my eyes is almost enough to make me reconsider. I switch my gaze to Minerva, who is watching from the counter. When I look back at Esme, I ask, "Is this what my life is to be? I can see that you have a passion for such things, but I'm sure I never shall."
"I don't know what path you will choose for the use of your magic." Her smile is soft like a summer breeze.
"Then there are more choices for someone with our type of magic than salves and ointments?" My brain is numb from the herbal lesson I've overheard this hour.
Joy lights up her entire face. "You can do whatever you want or nothing at all, but you must learn to control your magic, lest it control you."
Flooded with relief, I draw a long breath. "I will be back for you in three days. Send word if you need me sooner."
There is no reason she would have any need for me to return before the appointed day of our departure. Yet, I want her to know I am at her service. I don't even know this woman, but I want more of her. If she is half as affected by me as I am by her, it is a good thing the high priestess is going to the country with us.
"That is kind." She moves back and makes a curtsy. "I will be ready in three days. Goodbye, Sir William."
With a bow, I say, "Until then, Miss O'Dwyer."
I miss her the moment I stride out of her shop. If a man can be bewitched, which I suppose I should find out if one can, I am smitten. As it is totally inappropriate, I shake away the notion and get in my carriage. "Home please, Samuel."
On the ride, I wonder what the future has in store for me. I'm deep in thought when Samuel stops the carriage and opens the door.
Rogers awaits at the door to my house and takes my overcoat.
"Do you know where Dove is, Rogers?" I ask about my valet.
"He is below, sir. Shall I send him to you?"
"That would be helpful. I'll be in my study." I turn and head down the hall to my study, which has a fine library taking up one entire wall. Sun streams in from the large windows behind my desk, and I run my hand along the row of books at eye level. My gaze rises several shelves higher. Some books at the far end were my father’s, and his before him. I haven’t paid them much attention since I was a boy, but I trace the bindings with their faded titles. After pulling down three tomes, I place them on my desk and pull out a piece of parchment from the drawer. I need to write to my mother. I open the inkwell but close it again.
What do I tell her?
There's a knock, and Dove enters. "You need something, sir?"
Dove and I served together in France. He needed employment when the war ended, and I needed a valet. I can think of no one I trust more. "Dove, may I ask you something in confidence?"
He blinks several times, then straightens. "Of course, sir."
"I'm to take a journey with Miss O'Dwyer and another lady. We're to go to the country, where she will teach me how to use a new skill I've recently acquired. Do you think there are members of the staff besides yourself who would be discreet if they saw things that are impossible?" I am making a complete muck of this.
Tall and lean, Henry Dove wears his brown hair brushed straight back from his forehead, and his dark eyes rarely show emotion. Now they shine with a hint of interest. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"Perhaps you should sit." I toy with a deep scratch in the top of my large mahogany desk, and indicate the chair in front of the desk.
With an eyebrow raised, he sits.
"It seems there are things in the world that I thought were fairy stories but turn out to be real. My father always told me witches and those tales of mythology were to be ignored and pushed away. I think his father told him the same. I'm certain this was done for several generations, but now those warnings were for naught." In my memories of my father's adamant stance against imagination, I'm mostly talking to myself.
Dove narrows his eyes and leans forward. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Will, what has happened?"
Calling me by my given name shows his concern as a friend. I fold my hands on top of the desk. "I hardly know where to begin. You'll think I'm mad."
"You and I have seen and been through too much for that. And if you are mad, I'll keep your secret, and take you out to spend your days in the country with your mother." It's the first time I've seen him grin since he became my valet.
Taking a deep breath, I tell him everything that has happened in the last two days. At the end of my tale, I let the magic out and show him, lest he really think me insane. "So, you see, I must either have this taken away, or learn to use it. I have no idea if it's a gift or a curse, but that is yet to be discovered."
I tuck the magic away again.
Pale, Henry leans back in the chair. Sitting silently for a long while, he stares at me. Drawing a long breath, he focuses on his hands, then meets my gaze again. "I will go with you, of course. I think Samuel can be trusted, as well as Anne, the downstairs maid. Do you think you'll need more than that?"
Overwhelmed with gratitude, I don't know what to say. For the years we were at war, Henry and I were friends, and then we were not, as our ranks precluded the continuation of our friendship. It seems we are again friends, or perhaps I was mistaken, and we always were. "That will be more than enough. Thank you, Henry."
"How can you be certain these women have no malice in mind by taking you to the country?" Sitting up straight again, he places his hands firmly on his legs as if at the ready to jump up at any moment.
"I'm not certain how I know, but Miss O'Dwyer is of pure heart. I'm sure of it." It's the only thing in the world I feel sure of at this moment. Everything else is a spinning madness.
Standing, he says, "I see."
"You always see too much, old friend," I warn.
His lips twitch the slightest, and then Dove returns to his stoic expression. "It is my job, sir."
"Can you inform Anne and Samuel in some way which I don't sound like a madman?" I hardly see how that is possible, but they have to be told something.
"I will inform them that we are going to the country, and they are needed. If things become...strange, we shall deal with it on a moment-by-moment basis. I believe it will be fine." He bows and leaves the study.
I don't know if Dove is right, but I'm thankful to have someone in my corner during what is sure to be the strangest phase of my life thus far.
Turning my attention to the books, I open the top one. It is a handwritten account of some kind. There is a column on the left with dates and an account of events for each date. It begins on April 1, 1547. The writing is difficult to make out.
I open the center drawer in my desk and remove a magnifying glass.
Margaret Marley was tried and put to death yesterday. Poor Peggy was a good sort and a powerful woman. If she could be removed so easily, we are all in danger.
Heart in my throat, I put the book aside and take up the next.
On the inside cover the inscription reads Samuel Meriwether, and beneath it says with his wife, Sarina Meriwether.
I turn the page.
For the management of stomach ailments.
A list of herbs precedes instructions to combine them into some kind of salve.
I'm having trouble breathing. Last time I looked at these books, my father caught me and became enraged. He put them up high so I wouldn't reach them. Had my father known about all of this?
The third book is in Latin, and my skills are not up to the task of reading it. Perhaps that is for the best. Reading things I'm not yet equipped to understand might not be wise. I put them aside with the glass, to be packed for the journey. Perhaps Esme or Prudence will find them of value.
Returning to the letter to my mother, I dip my pen in ink and halt as I contemplate what to write.
I spend the next two days getting things in place as if I'm going on an extended holiday. My man of business is informed, will see to the houses, and ensure that my mother is cared for financially. I have told him I will write with my address as soon as I'm able. I have the carriage resprung for the trip. I'm told it's not far, but the carriage will be full with six people in all.
On the morning of our departure, I place the books in a small bag and hand it to Dove. "I suppose this is a new adventure."
"Indeed, sir." Dove hints at a smile, but his eyes show wariness as he waits for me to exit my room.
As I enter the hall, the fact that I'm going to see Esme fills me with excitement. My hands glow. After days of concentrating on mundane things, my magic has escaped from containment at the mere thought of her. Turning, I find Henry gaping. I check the hall and lurch back inside my room before another servant can spot me. "Henry, I'll be down in a few minutes."
"Is there something I can do?" Looking as if he might try to fight the glow out of me, he lifts a hand in my direction.
I sit on my bed and stare at my glowing hands. The cream damask walls close in, and the heavy wood wainscotting looks faraway. The wardrobe grows out of proportion. Everything is distorted.
Even Henry is farther away than logic would dictate.
I shake my head. "I just need to get my emotions under control. I'll be down shortly."
My room grows hazy, and my vision is obscured, as if I'm looking down a tunnel with the walls closing in.
Esme is in her kitchen with Simon mewing and rubbing against her legs. "I'll be with you in a moment. Let me get my tools packed, and then into the bag you'll go."
A green, square bag with holes cut on all four sides sits on the table. It appears to be made of burlap and cloth for the purpose of transporting the kitten.
Simon continues his bid for attention until finally Esme picks him up and cuddles him under her chin, and he purrs. "You are going to make us late, little one."
"Esme?" I sound as if I'm talking into a pillow.
She turns, searching the kitchen. "William?"
"You can hear me?" It feels as if I'm floating at the ceiling. I suspect I have died and am now lying on the floor of my bedroom.
"Where are you?" She puts Simon on the floor and continues looking for me.
"I hardly know. I think I've died." Strangely, the idea of being dead doesn't trouble me much. I never expected to survive the war. If my fate is to haunt Esme for all eternity, things could be worse.
She presses two fingers to the side of her head and closes her eyes. "I don't think you are dead, William. Where were you before you came here?"
"In my bedroom about to leave to pick you up. I started glowing again, everything went out of focus, then I was here." I long to touch her, but I can't find my hands in this daydream or afterlife. Perhaps this is Hell. I'm to always be near here, but never touch her. "How can you be sure I'm not dead?"
"Spirits feel different when they speak to me. Listen to me. Picture your bedroom and ask your magic to go back to the bubble you created when you were in my parlor." Her voice is soft and comforting.
The kitchen fades, and I hear her calling me.
Looking into Henry’s concerned face, I'm on the floor in my bedroom.
Henry is white as a sheet. "How do you feel?"
I pick up a hand and see no blue glow. "What happened?"
Helping me to my feet, Henry closes his eyes a moment. "You got a faraway look in your eyes, wobbled, and I eased you to the floor lest you topple off the edge of the bed."
"How long was I on the floor?"
"Not more than a minute." Henry looks ready to faint.
"Sorry to have worried you." I slap his back. "I'm not quite sure what happened. Let's go pick up the ladies. Perhaps the answers lie with them." I could have lost consciousness and dreamed the entire thing. That seems far more likely than I had a chat with Esme in her kitchen across town.
My legs are steady as we head downstairs to the carriage out front.
Samuel waits at the side. “I talked Anne into riding inside for this part of the trip across town, sir. It gets a bit rocky up top whilst in town. She’ll sit up with me once the ladies are aboard.”
I give a nod and climb in.
Anne sits across from me, looking terrified and clutching her hands in her lap. She is perhaps five and twenty, with pale eyes and brown hair that is always tucked under a cap, with just a few curls escaping. A hard worker, she's risen from scullery to first floor maid in just two years.
"It was not mandatory that you make this journey, Anne. Shall I have the driver return you to the house?" I don't like feeling like a bully. My staff has been loyal to me, and I like to think it is because I treat them fairly and pay them well.
Her eyes grow wider still. "Oh, no, sir. I've never left London, is all. It's an adventure, to be sure. I'm just a bit nervous."
"There's nothing to fear. The country has fewer worries than the city." An adventure is a good way to think about this trip. I, too, am heading into the unknown.
"Yes, sir. Dove said the same. I'm fine. I'm sorry to have worried you." She looks out the window.
A few minutes later, we pull up to Esme's store to find her standing by the door with Minerva.
Dove and Samuel jump down and begin loading her two trunks on top.
"Be careful with the small one, if you will?" Esme says as I jump from the carriage, still amazed that I have no pain in my leg.
Watching the trunks being added to mine gives me pause. "Perhaps I should have hired a second carriage or a cart. Do you think Madam Bishop will have much luggage?"
Esme stares me up and down, as if searching for something wrong. "Are you all right? Has anything else happened?"
Anything else. I spot the green bag on her arm and Simon's little pink nose poking through one of the holes. "It was real? I was here talking to you?"
"You talked to me, but you were not here. That's quite an accomplishment for someone who has no training." She hands Simon into the carriage, and Anne takes the bag before Esme sits next to her.
"I can ride backward, Es... Miss O'Dwyer." I offer from the street.
She grins, settling a second bag under her feet. "I don't mind."
We wave goodbye to Minerva, and roll toward the coven house.
Esme says, "I don't think the great mother will have much luggage. I'm told the cottage is not far. Only an hour or so from Windsor. I don't think a cart will be needed."
With her sitting across from me, I'd nearly forgotten I'd asked the question. I shall have to get these emotions under control. Esme can be my friend, but how can she be anything more? Our lives are not synchronous. She runs a shop and I—honestly, I have no idea where my life is headed. I'm a gentleman with lands that pay. I'm expected to marry a lady in my same sphere. As a mistress, Esme would be acceptable, but I would never wish her to debase herself with such a role. That leaves us together as friends, yet apart as anything more. She shall be my teacher, and when this is all over, I'll know my place in the world. If there are battles to wage, I will fight them. Then I shall return to the life I was born to.
It is perfectly reasonable.