‘No.’
‘Do you care to know?’
Dot shrugged, grimacing at a shot of pain in her shoulder.
‘I suppose I’ll tell you anyway,’ said Theodora. ‘Once, it would have been called a curse. Instead, we shall say it’s an affliction.’
‘Was it the woman with the jars?’ asked Dot.
‘Was what her?’
‘Did she do this to me?’
‘Heavens no,’ said Theodora. ‘Moira is a collector. She couldn’tcreatesomething to save her life.’
‘The other one, then,’ said Dot. ‘With the red string.’
‘Cate. She might be their leader, but this magic is stronger than anything she could have done to you, Dorothy.’
Those big, dark eyes – sparkling as if enamoured with this mystery – now swept over Dot. It felt like sandpaper against her skin. At once, Dot became keenly aware of the oil on her face, the stink of the river in her hair, and the shame of her itchy, unbathed body.
‘It’s Dot.’
‘Pardon?’
‘My name.’
‘Lio told Belchamber it was Dorothy.’
‘Just Dot.’
‘Who in Saints’ name gave you a pet name like that?’
‘My brother,’ said Dot.
‘Sounds like an affirming chap,’ said Theodora. ‘Does he also pretend to be asleep to avoid tricky conversations?’
Dot did not answer.
‘If I summoned him,’ asked the witch, kindly, ‘would it help you?’
‘No,’ said Dot. ‘Please don’t. Not Willard.’
‘Do you have someone else, then, who might give you some comfort? Your mother?’
Dot grimaced. ‘She’s not the comforting type, nor is my father, and I have a grandad, but he’s soon to take a trip to the Southern Archipelago, and I don’t want to ruin it. Please, don’t telephone anyone.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Theodora. ‘We do not have a telephone.’
The witch leaned back in the armchair, one pointed black boot resting on her opposite knee. Eventually, Dot realised the witch would not leave without at least a little progress.
‘What do you mean “affliction”?’ asked Dot.
‘I will tell you,’ said Theodora, getting up. She lifted a hand as if to catch something, a paper aeroplane or a shuttlecock, and a blue towel appeared in her grasp. She dropped it into Dot’s lap. ‘After you take a bath.’
Dot sat on a couch in a borrowed nightdress. She had bathed herself one-handed and now felt raw. Her heavy hair dripped against her elbows and back, and her damp feet had become dusty from padding down the stairs and into the living room. Her knees were clutched to her chest now as she watched the flames that had been lit for her.
In the next room, Theodora clanged pots and hummed along to the scratchy tune of the wireless.
