“I’ll be down.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Minnie said as if to reassure herself. “In fact, Mother and I were talking about a pet for you. A real cat.”
Portia didn’t want a real cat. She wanted Owl.
When she didn’t answer, Minnie excused herself and left. Portia’s first action was to get down on her hands and knees to search for Fenella’s book and then remembered it wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for almost two weeks. Harry had it. How could she have forgotten?
She pressed her palms against her temples. She mustn’t think this way.
The book existed. Owl existed.The curse was real.
She knew of only one person besides Harry who could tell her if she was mad or not. She climbed to her feet and flew through her toilette. She dared not tell her mother and Minnie where she was going. After the disastrous escapades of the past weeks, she didn’t think it wise to tell them she was going out again.
And they would certainly believe her a lunatic if she told them why she needed to see Lizzy. The crone might be able to help her make sense of all this. Lizzy had known of Fenella. And Lizzy had predicted Portia would be the source of Harry’s death.
So Portia stole out of the house one more time.
Crazy Lizzy was sitting on her stool beside her door when Portia arrived.
“Why, Miss Maclean, what a pleasure. Did you bring some treats for me?” She spoke as if there had not been a scene days before. As if all was well.
Portia approached and went down on one kneeso that they were eye level. “No, Lizzy, I didn’t. I shall remember you tomorrow.”
“Christmas Day,” Lizzy said as if pleased with herself for remembering.
Her reminder surprised Portia. Her world had been spinning like a top and she’d not stopped to realize the passage of time. Her mother and General Montheath were to have a dinner. “I’ll bring a basket of something special.”
Lizzy smiled her approval.
“Do you remember my being here?” Portia asked.
“I do. You had the Chattan with you.”
This was a good sign. Portia leaned toward the crone. “You spoke of Fenella.”
Again, Lizzy nodded.
“I’m so grateful you remember. I feared I was going mad.”
“You made a wise decision, Miss Maclean,” Lizzy whispered. “Stay away from the Chattan.”
“And what if I can’t?” Portia asked, thinking of the child she knew she carried.
“Then Fenella will have her way. Much power she has, does Fenella.”
“Is there any way to stop her?”
“None that I know.”
Portia closed her eyes and realized that a partof her had hoped that if she had imagined Owl, then she had imagined all the rest.
“The Chattan shall die,” Lizzy said, reading her mind.
“He can’t, Lizzy. He mustn’t.” She couldn’t bear thinking of him dying. She would rather give him up.
“It’s too late,” was the whispered reply. “You were meant to be here.”
Meant to be here.
