Portia hadn’t involved herself in their discussion. She was too busy plotting how to be a witch. But she had taken advantage of the messenger and had asked him to deliver “Fenella’s” letter to General Montheath’s residence. The lad had been happy to comply for a small coin and even pleased to be sworn to secrecy.
Over supper, Portia smiled at Minnie. “With this invitation, you now have the opportunity to talk to Mr. Tolliver and explain that Mother does not speak for you.”
“Shouldn’t he know for himself?” Minnieasked. “Shouldn’t he have cared enough formyopinion to speak tomehimself and express his concerns?”
Portia didn’t know what to say to those charges, and her silence was damning.
“I don’t want a man in my life who is like Papa,” Minnie said. “He treated Mother as if she was just a chair in the dining room. I expect far more respect.” With that very sage declaration, Minnie left their table. When Portia went up to her room, she heard crying as she passed her sister’s door.
Was it any wonder then that Portia threw herself into becoming a witch?
With the money she received from the English Chattan, they could even return to London, although Portia would resist the idea, or they could provide a handsome dowry for Minnie that would make Mr. Tolliver wish that he had been more steadfast. So becoming a convincing witch, or at least one worth three hundred pounds, was very important.
Owl helped. The cat lay on her bed and served as an audience as Portia tried on one outfit after another.
Since she didn’t want to be an ugly witch, she decided to consider the classics she loved so much.
There was Medusa with a head full of snakes. No thank you.
Cicero, the beautiful temptress who turned Ulysses’ men into swine. As appealing as it would be to turn this Englishman into a stout pig, Portia didn’t see herself as a temptress.
Finally, she decided to design a wood sprite theme. She took an old work dress in brown sacking and stitched holly branches to the skirt. The sharp points of the leaves made the dress prickly and the material heavy, but Portia was willing to sacrifice her comfort.
A visit up to the attic yielded a swath of old, musty plaid that Portia threw around her shoulders. No one would expect to see her in plaid. She was too English.
However, her true find in the attic was a monstrous, wide-brimmed hat woven of straw. Portia adored it. She bent the brim so that it would hide her face and decorated the crown with some of the plaid and more holly.
Gazing at her image in the mirror, she thought the effect quite stunning.
“What do you think, Owl?” she asked as she twirled herself around.
Owl’s response was to jump down from the bed and rub herself against Portia’s leg, purring.
Changing out of the prickly dress, Portia sat down on the floor, pulling the cat in her lap. “All right. Now for a spell.” She reached under the bed and brought out Fenella’s book. “The man is looking for a spell to break a curse, Owl. There must be something in here that I can say and earn the money with some honesty.”
The cat didn’t respond but curled up in her lap and went to sleep, one eye opening from time to time to check on Portia.
For the next hour, she studied the book—and found nothing. There weren’t even curses in the book.
But there was one strange little recitation for removing all obstacles. The instructions said it had to be recited five times. “Power of All Beings abound,” Portia read aloud. “Clear my path that I may walk, Clear my eye that I may see, Depart all that would stop me from being free.”
She frowned, scratching a place on her neck where the holly leaf had pricked her. “That doesn’t sound witchy.” She set Owl aside and came to her feet. She crossed to the mirror above her chest of drawers and said the curse again, holding the heavy book with one hand.
No, this wasn’t working.
Portia set the book on the wardrobe andpracticed being a witch. She tried different voices and postures. She worked at keeping her hat low over her face while raising her arms and calling out, “PowerofAllBeings,” to dramatize the spell.
Eventually, she reached the point where she could repeat the poem and not feel silly. In fact, she was rather proud of her witch.
Darkness fell early this time of year. Portia carefully tucked the hat inside a black cloth bag she’d used whenever her family moved. Her plan was to steal out of the house as Portia but change in the woods once she’d reached the Great Oak, a landmark many knew located deep in the forest.
Satisfied she had done all she could, she went downstairs for dinner, only to learn from Glennis that her mother had already received her supper tray and that Minnie had said she was too indisposed to eat.
“Poor thing, she truly cared for Mr. Tolliver. She isn’t taking the new information we heard very well,” Glennis said in her soft brogue. She was of Portia’s age with a head of red, curly hair and sky blue eyes. They were in the kitchen with only their candles and the hearth for light. It was a cozy atmosphere and one for confidences.
“What new information?” Portia asked, wanting to know what Glennis knew.
“About Mr. Tolliver,” Glennis said. “He’s been keeping company with a lass in Fort William.” She set a plate of stew on the table for Portia.
