Mrs. Pembroke hurried over and checked the name. “No, that’s correct,” she whispered, but the audio system picked her up. She motioned for Catherine to return to the mic. Lady Catherine appeared offended, and she shoved the paper over to the mayor and stalked away.
Whispers shot through the crowd, and I stared in confusion. What in the world was going on?
With a flushed face, the mayor hurried to the microphone. “The winner of the 37th Austen Heights bake-off is George Wickham.”
People clapped with enthusiasm. Wickham emerged from the onlookers, looking sheepish as he hastened over and accepted the trophy from the mayor.
Mom rose shakily from her seat and I hurried over to her.
“Oh, Mary, do you see how my nerves are on edge?” she said to me. “Somehow someone got a hold of one of our recipes. I avoided a scene as they were not victorious, but we need to findout—”
“Nobody stole our recipe, Mom. Lydia and I baked that piece of pie.”
She froze, then stared at me in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”
“What do you know about the death of Isabella Ravenswood?”
Her eyes widened, and she grasped my arm in a vice-like grip, drawing us away from people and between two stands. “Oh, Mary dear, why are you bringing this up now? Please have compassion on my poor nerves,” she whispered.
“I’d assume they’d be quite frazzled of late.”
“Yes, yes, this contest has set them on edge. Not to mention your father being ill and having to do everything myself.”
“And the upcoming wedding between Jane and Charles?”
A smile split her lips. “Well, nothing is official yet.”
“And murder probably isn’t that good for them, either.”
Mom didn’t move. She watched me, her eyes growing wide. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. The potions that Kitty has been messing up, you’ve been using that to your advantage. After all, you always say there’s a fine line between obsession and possession.”
“I have no idea what you are saying—”
I took a step toward her, my hands balled into fists. “You switched out the wolfsbane potion that Isabella gave Lydia the day she came by to drop it off with a bottle of possession potion.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “They’re both clear potions, so it wasn’t too difficult. Then, when your poor victim drank the potion, instead of ending the transformation, he turned into a werewolf and fulfilled your every command. Like taking out poor Isabella.”
Mom laughed, though it was much too forced. “Oh, that’s silly, Mary. You and your imagination. Constantly running wild from all those books you read.”
“Lydia knows, too. She’s been trying to cover for you, but the guilt has been eating at her.”
Mom’s facade crumpled. “What was I supposed to do?” she cried. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. A horrible, terrible accident. That poor girl.” She sobbed.
I stepped back, shocked at her reaction. “Tell me what happened.”
“That young woman, Isabella, came in here talking to Lydia, describing her plan to reclaim Charles Bingley. Even bought a love potion from us to do it. Then that day of the full moon she came in, and I overheard her asking Lydia to deliver the wolfsbane potion to Frank. Someone had to do something to save our fortunes.”
“So you killed her.”
“She wasn’t supposed to die.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “I-I just wanted Frank to turn her. Then I’d have a secret to blackmail her with. I could get her to drop her claim on Charles. I-I didn’t know his bite would kill her.”
“Isabella had a genetic condition where any outside magic was fatal to her.”
Mom placed her hand over her eyes. “I didn’t know.” She scrunched the handkerchief and looked at me imploringly. “Oh, please forgive me, Mary. B-but you must realize I—I did this for you. I did it for all of us. Without this marriage, we’ll be destitute within the year. We’ll have to sell the shop and our home, and what about your fatherand his medical bills? Who will pay for those? Your father woulddieif he didn’t have his treatments. I did this out of love. For you, for me, for everyone.”
“And yet, instead of coming forward, you tried to cover it up.”
“Turning myself in could start a war between the creatures of magic and the fae. Is that what you want? This town torn apart? And witches—we’re just beginning to be accepted. Would you destroy that to see your own mother behind bars?”
