Finally, her aunt was beginning to understand Helena’s very justifiable prejudice against Lady Cynthia Burrows.
‘See? And now she is blocking my power. Maybe she isn’t guilty of killing her husband, but she is hiding something.’
‘If Hamlet trusts her, then whatever she is hiding can’t be all that bad.’ Ellie absently stroked Ophelia’s body. The ferret fairly hummed with satisfaction. Ellie’s blue eyes brightened, as they were wont to do when she had a new idea. ‘Maybe you are blocking your own powers. Your dislike of her is stopping you from being able to hear her thoughts. Has a witch ever hexed herself, Aunt Rowan?’ Before their aunt could answer, Ellie continued. ‘Can you imagine a self-hexing witch?’ She giggled before pointing a finger at Helena. ‘Have you considered you might be the problem, Hel?’
‘Bollocks to that! There are plenty of people I don’t like, and I can read their minds just fine. Lady Pestlewit for one. If I was going to hex myself to not hear someone’s thoughts, she would be at the top of my list.’ Lady Pestlewit was one of their most difficult customers. She was also a duchess with blood bluer than the Adriatic Sea, so allowances had to be made.
Aunt Rowan tapped her finger on her lip. ‘Let me do some research. I have a friend in the Linlithgow coven who might be able to help. I’ll send her a letter on the morrow.’
Helena’s brow creased. ‘Isn’t that in Scotland? It’ll take ages to get a reply.’
‘Silly witch. I’m not using the post.’ Aunt Rowan’s lips tilted in a smug smile. As an earthwitch, she could influence both flora and fauna. Finding a willing winged creature to carry her missive would be a simple trick.
‘I’m interviewing Lady Burrowstomorrow. How can I help Uncle Lachlan if I can’t hear anything she’s thinking?’
‘You’re a woman. Use your intuition. You don’t need any special magic for that.’ Aunt Rowan’s smile was not comforting.
‘And you can still hear the thoughts of everyone else,’ Ellie replied cheerfully. ‘Focus on them. Maybe you’ll discover something from the staff that might help.’ She patted Helena’s hand, her kindness impossible to shake off. ‘As for feeling jealous of Cynthia?—’
‘I’m not jealous.’
Ellie continued as though she hadn’t been interrupted. ‘Just remember, no new friend I make will ever replace the love I have for you, Hel. There’s no reason to be threatened by her.’
Cynthia was threatening more than just Helena’s confidence in her coven. For reasons she couldn’t begin to understand, she was churning the calm waters of her soul. Helena didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Cynthia couldn’t stop rubbing the uneven streaks of black staining her skirt. The hasty dye job didn’t completely hide the pattern of what had once been her favourite day dress. A white and blue floral affair with lace around the collar and sleeves. Still, needs must and a widow couldn’t possibly be seen in such bright and cheerful colours the day after her husband’s death. Her laundress had done the best she could with so little time, but Cynthia noticed the grey aftermath on her fingers. She could only imagine what the rest of her body looked like.
I’m turning into a shadow. Or perhaps, I’ve always been one.
She would need to order a new wardrobe in black. Black for a full year only to be followed by grey and lavender for another year. Two years of social isolation to mourn a husband who had never cared a whit about Cynthia. It was an insufferable fact that even in death, Hubert controlled her. And society was happy to act as his enforcer. There wasn’t a peer in the realm who wouldn’t leap at the chance to condemn Cynthia if she dared shirk her responsibilities as a dutifully mourning widow.
Would she never be free?
I won’t if I can’t convince Superintendent MacDougal of my innocence. Being cut direct hardly compares to my neck in a noose.
The locket in her pocket hung heavy against her thigh. Her corset made it difficult to take a deep breath, and her bustle seemed unaccountably itchy. She longed to unbutton the top of her bodice and feel the sunlight on her skin. A curl tickled the back of her neck as she resisted the urge to fidget.
‘Tea, Superintendent MacDougal?’
The gentleman shook his head.
‘Miss Blair?’
Helena wore a silk blue day dress. The colour reminded Cynthia of a wave just before it crested. It set off the woman’s grey eyes and dewy skin while the simple cut brought attention to her long, lean lines.
Her legs must go on forever.
Cynthia’s cheeks heated at the inappropriate thought.
What is wrong with me? I should be focusing on grieving, not trying to imagine what her legs look like in silk stockings.
But instead of feeling the ache of loss, something new stirred within her soul. A bright, sparkling fizz that transformed the world around her.
Cynthia had been unable to sleep after her discovery the night before. Instead, she sat in her shift at her favourite spot on the windowsill. Overlooking the back gardens, she could forget she was in the heart of London. Breathless, she watched the silver moon rise in a blue-black sky. Opening the window, Cynthia bathed in evening breezes, her lungs expanding for what seemed like the first time in forever. Hyacinth and roses flavoured the air. The haunting melody of a song thrush filled her room, and relief swept through her like a wave. Life pulsed around her. The beat of the earth brought with it wild freedom, frightening in its magnitude.
She remembered this long-ago feeling. Once, she had understood the whispered stories of the bubbling brook, felt the warm embrace of summer’s sun, and danced with the trees in autumn’s wind. Forgotten and free, she ran wild in the fields of her parents’ country estate for seven blessed years. Her parents had left their children to be raised by a kind but rather negligent nanny. Cynthia spent more time out of doors than inside, finding her sanctuary in the wooded grounds of her father’s endless property.
She had been happy. Until her birthday when everything changed. Her nanny was dismissed, Thomas was sent away to school, and Governess Smithers arrived.
