Always a Witch (11 page)

"I haven't forgotten you, Mary," she says, stroking the gray stone swirls of hair. "How could I? I'll find a way, I promise. If it's the last thing I do. I'll find a way to make them free you."

I lean forward, horror struck, hoping to hear more, but the side gate opens and Rosie and Horace step through. "And if he dies tonight, make sure that no one finds the body. The East River should do."

Horace nods once. Then he catches Rosie's hand and starts kissing it. "Ah, my Rosie-Rose. When are you coming back to me? We had a good life, you and me. Didn't we?
Didn't we?
" It has suddenly become clear that Horace is not her uncle after all.

Rosie snorts. "Sure, we had a good life. When we had money. But now I don't have to worry about waking up cold or going hungry anymore. And he ... he'll—"

Horace groans. "You can't think that he'll ever marry you, Rosie? You? A prostitute from Five Points?" And his groan turns into a wheezy sort of laugh.

"Control yourself," she says, stepping away from Horace. "He's promised me so much more than that. You'll see. And don't—" Rosie stops cold at the sight of Cook, who has straightened up, her apron clutched in her fists.

For one second they stare at each other. Then Rosie speaks first, in a taunting voice. "Still crying over that statue?" She circles her forefinger around her temple. "Get into the house, old woman, and get to bed, if you know what's good for you."

I force myself to remain still on my bench, reminding myself that it would do no good to leap up and turn Rosie herself into a statue.

Cook's face contorts as if she's about to spit at Rosie. But the girl pauses, one hand cocked on her hip, her elbow thrust forward at a sharp angle. Horace shuffles his feet, looking between the women. Finally, Cook's shoulders slump and she moves past Rosie toward the back door without a backward glance. Laughing, Rosie and Horace fall in after her. The kitchen door bangs once and they all disappear.

I stare at the statue again, at the woman's face frozen in a downward look as if she never saw what was coming for her. Then I tilt my head back and take in what stars I can in the heavy night sky. All at once, I can't bear it any longer. I close my eyes against the rush of longing for Gabriel that sweeps through me. It is so strong that when I open my eyes I half expect to see him standing in front of me.

But only moonlight and shadows chase through La Spider's immaculate garden, reminding me that I'm still alone.

Fourteen

"
GET UP, AGATHA," ROSIE
snaps. She sounds like she has been snapping for quite a while. Blearily, I peer at Rosie. She's standing over me, tapping her foot, neatly dressed as usual, every hair swept into place. But a scowl twists at her mouth, and I have to hide my answering grin.
Liam turned you out of his bedroom. Because the child got away and he's furious with you. Ha!

Late last night, she had stomped back into our room, holding a candle. She hissed my name twice, and even though I was wide awake, I had mumbled something incomprehensible in my sleepiest voice and then rolled over toward the wall where I lay, listening to her huff around the room before finally settling into bed. Now I say in my sunniest voice, "Good morning, Rosie," and stretch my arms to the ceiling.

"None of that. Did you see anything last night or hear anything?" She watches my face intently as if determined to pry out the truth.

Dropping my arms, I stare at her. "See anything?" I pretend to think back. "No. I fell asleep early last night, being so tired and all. I did have the strangest dream about a swan and a rose and a beautiful horse. I think I was wearing a hat. Or maybe I wanted to wear a hat. No, actually, I was buying a hat—that was it! With pink roses on it."

I babble on and on, adding in random elements to my dream until Rosie turns away with a muttered, "You'd better get a move on or you'll get no breakfast again."

I leap out of bed.

In the kitchen, Cook is zipping around, barking orders at Dawn, who wields a rolling pin. Sparing me only a soft grunt, she indicates the tea tray with Jessica's morning cocoa. The kitchen clock says I have fifteen minutes, so I snatch a freshly baked roll from the rack on the counter when her back is turned and begin stuffing it in steaming pieces down my throat.

Which I promptly start to choke on when the door swings open and La Spider sweeps into the room. Thankfully, she doesn't even look at me. Instead, she is focused on Cook. And judging from the thin line of her lips, she's in a rage. A silence descends on the room like a shroud of fog and I force the lump of bread in my mouth to slide down my throat.

"I asked for oysters and turtle soup. Not
mussels.
And Mr. Tynsdell informs me that there won't be any crystallized fruits. Why?" La Spider touches the strand of pearls at her neck while eyeing the knives on Cook's cutting board. Suddenly, I know what it feels like to be a mouse with a cat in the room. I draw back farther into the corner. Behind La Spider, the door bumps open again and I see Rosie's unsuspecting face as she attempts to enter the kitchen. Without turning her head, La Spider crooks her little finger and the door slams shut, blotting out Rosie's startled look.

Cook's cheeks have turned the color of putty. But, twisting her apron in her hands, she faces La Spider and says, "I'm sorry, my lady. I did try. But they were out of the ones you like. I sent the girls to the market twice..." She makes a gesture toward Dawn, who opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it again.

"What a noble effort on your part," La Spider says dryly. Her eyes veer off toward the window as if observing something interesting out there. At the same time, Cook gives a sudden yelp of terror and her whole body slams back into the counter.

Again and again.

In the corner, Dawn covers her eyes while Lily sinks down, wrapping her arms around her knees. Tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

Cook grunts once and then seems to make an effort to not make any noise at all, as if knowing what La Spider requires.

Stop it.
As easily as saying the words, I reach out and snap off La Spider's power. Slowly, La Spider turns her head and I feel her gaze search the room, probing the corners. I stare at my shoes, my hand squeezing the remaining half of the roll into crumbs, which trickle down my skirt. Cook is now making these little shuddery gasps.

"And what are you doing here?" La Spider says to me, her voice sharp enough to cut blocks of ice.

"Just coming to get Lady Jessica's cocoa, my lady," I say, waiting for the tingling that will pass over my skin if she decides to fling me across the room. My muscles tense in preparation of pretending to fall. But then her focus shifts back to Cook.

"I will expect the dishes I requested. All of them."

Cook's eyes fly open and she nods in stiff jerks. Her mouth opens to no doubt shape the words
Yes, my lady,
but La Spider speaks over her.

"Get back to work." And with that she exits the room, her shoe heels meeting the flagstone floor with quiet
chinks.

"Get her some water," I say to Dawn as I hurry over to Cook, and then because Dawn doesn't move, I snap, "Now." This time she runs to fill a glass. "Can you move? Is anything broken?"

Cook shakes her head, but her face is still gray and she allows me to put my arm around her and lead her to the table. She is moving stiffly, but at least everything seems to be working.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Dawn is muttering over and over as she places the glass of water on the table. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

"They won't come to this house," Cook whispers, then lifts the glass to her lips and drinks steadily. "I've prayed and prayed. But they won't come. Not to this house of sin." Water spills from her suddenly trembling mouth and slips down the side of her chin. I hand her a dishcloth, noticing only too late that it's covered with flour. But Cook only shakes her head and dabs her lips, leaving a smear of flour at the corner of her mouth. She looks at Dawn. "Go out and find the crystallized fruits. Try any market you can. And go to Delmonicos and buy whatever oysters they have. At any price."

"They'll be a fortune, Cook," Dawn gasps, but then scurries away as Cook tosses up her hands.

Sighing, Cook lowers her arms. "I'd like to poison the whole lot of them."

"Who?" I ask, sitting across the table from her.

"The Knight family. They're all coming to dinner tonight. And she makes me prepare the most elaborate meals. Ten courses. As if she's
the
Mrs. Astor. And still she won't hire any extra help. So when the stupid girl brings me back oysters and half of them aren't fit at all and I don't have time to find any more, well, you see what happens." She swipes at her eyes with the dishtowel and I resist the urge to reach over and brush away the flour that is now dusting her thick gray eyebrows. Then she gives me a slight smile. "You're a good girl, Agatha. Don't be like the rest of them. Don't go with Master Liam to his rooms at night."

I swallow. "I think Rosie's got that part of the job down."

Cook's mouth bunches up a little. "She gets jealous of any girl who looks twice at him. Why do you think they never last here? I've told Dawn and Lily time and again to keep their eyes down and their mouths shut. Thankfully, they do. And they look out for each other. But you—you should leave while you can."

"I'm working on it," I mutter.

Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, holy hell this is taking forever, forty-one, forty-two.
While moving Jessica's ivory-handled brush through her hair, I've been counting out the strokes per Rosie's instructions. Fifty in the morning, one hundred at night before bed. Although it seems like no amount of brushing is going to transform Jessica's hair into anything from the heavy dull mat that it currently is.

"Enough," Jessica says at last. Gratefully, I put down the brush and pick up a handful of pins, just as La Spider makes her second appearance of the morning. My hand trembles. A pin falls to the floor.

In the mirror Jessica's face is set and tight, her smile brittle as she greets the older woman. "Mother. What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this honor?"

La Spider pauses in the doorway, takes in Jessica's choice of gown this morning. "That color doesn't suit you at all," she says at last.

Secretly, I had thought the same thing earlier, but Jessica had insisted on the lime green morning dress and I wasn't about to argue with a Knight over clothes.

"Yes, it makes me look positively ghastly, doesn't it?" Jessica agrees, beaming at her mother as if the woman has just paid her the nicest compliment.

La Spider's hands twitch and I want to cry out to Jessica,
She's already chewed up and spit out one woman today.
Then I squelch down the feeling of loyalty to Jessica, feeling distinctly unloyal to my own family.

"Well, perhaps your new music tutor won't be so quick to fall in love with you as the last one was."

Jessica presses her hands together in her lap and takes a breath. "What do you mean, Mother?" she asks in a carefully blank voice that even I can tell is a dead giveaway.

So can La Spider, because she smiles from the doorway. "Just this morning, I've hired a new music tutor for you, since it seems you dismissed the last one. Did you think that your little shenanigan would go unnoticed?"

"My little shenanigan?" Jessica repeats carefully. Her eyes flicker to mine in the mirror. With the tiniest of motions, I shake my head. "I tired of the lessons. I'm not talented at all."

"Oh, I don't disagree with that. Nevertheless, a lady is expected to play at least three instruments—"

"Charmingly," Jessica finishes. "I know all that. Don't worry, Mother. I doubt that Edward Newcastle will refuse to marry me if I'm not able to dazzle him with my skills at the pianoforte. Your money and your title will be enough. Really,
you
should just marry him. Oh, I forgot—you're too old, aren't you? That would be
unseemly.
"

I take a half step back, expecting Jessica or the furniture to go flying across the room. I steel myself to not stop it this time, because twice would be too coincidental. Besides which, I don't care if Jessica gets hurt. She's a Knight, after all. Not like Cook. Still, I find myself staring down at the eggshell-white part in her hair while fiercely willing La Spider to leave.

But La Spider only sighs. "How I ended up with you for a daughter is beyond me. Your new tutor is waiting for you in the drawing room. And then you and I will be lunching with the ladies' riding club. And then I believe you will have a caller this afternoon, so you will cancel all your engagements. You will listen to what Edward Newcastle has to say and you will be thrilled to accept his idea that the wedding will take place sooner than we planned. In fact, I will be giving a party to announce your engagement this weekend. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mother. Thrilled," Jessica parrots, but she doesn't raise her eyes.

Her mother pauses, one jeweled white hand on the doorknob. "And if you misbehave or cross me in any way this afternoon, if there is anything other than the result I expect, then understand that your Mr. Finnegan will pay for it. Dearly."

Jessica dips her chin in what her mother must take for a nod. La Spider delivers her parting shot while exiting. "Change that dress. Now. And burn it."

Fifteen

"
WELL, FIND ANOTHER GUTTER
brat, then! I'm counting on this little piece of entertainment for tonight."

Halfway across the foyer, I freeze. La Spider's tones ring across the hallway, and even as I look around for a place to hide, I wonder if it's even necessary. She doesn't seem to care what her servants know about her. Or rather, she doesn't seem to even realize that her servants have any brains to process anything at all. So I creep closer to the door that leads to her study and, after a second, press my ear to the wooden panel.

"Horace is looking right now and Rosie was supposed to—" Liam's voice chokes off with a wet gargle. "Mother," he gasps finally. "I'm rather fond of my windpipe."

"Horace! I never want to see that toad of a man. And you put too much stock in that girl. Don't think I don't know what's going on between you two."

"She's useful to me, Mother. That's all."

"They're all useful. Up to a point. But to consort with a human like that?
Filthy.
" The violence in that last word makes me take a step back.

"Will there be anything else?" Liam asks finally, his voice dipped in frost to match his mother's tone.

"Not for now. Use Jessica's maid if you have to, but no more after that. People will start to talk if we lose another maid," La Spider answers. The sound of footsteps makes me scamper across the marble foyer. The door swings open and Liam strides out. His eyebrows jut together across his face; his mouth is caught in mid-snarl. He looks like a lion awakened at just the wrong moment. I flatten myself next to a large gilt-edged mirror, but he catches sight of me, stops suddenly.

"Agatha," he purrs pleasantly, and like smoke in the wind, all traces of anger wisp off his face. He advances on me. "And how are you finding our pleasant household?"

A minefield.

But I give him a quick, appropriately shy smile back and even bob a half curtsy. "Very well, sir. It suits me fine."

His smile broadens. "Wonderful. And how is my sister? Not too strict a taskmistress, I hope?"

"Oh, no, sir. Lady Jessica is lovely. Truly lovely."

Liam's eyebrow shoots up as if he can't help himself before he leans closer. The smell of his aftershave, spicy sweet, begins to prick at my nose. I shift my arms and try to step forward, but he's caged me in too effectively. "You can tell me if she works you too hard. Makes you run around too much. Mending this, mending that." He gives a wave of his hand.

I flick my own eyebrow upward. "Truly, sir. She's fine."

"Good, good," he says, and begins to turn away. But I don't let myself take a deep breath yet. "You know," he begins, and looms back over me. "I wonder if you might help me out with something, then." His voice slips into a murmur. "If my sister can spare you."

I swear he almost salivates over the word
spare.

"I'm sure whatever you need help with Mr. Tynsdell can do for you. I don't know much about cravats or suits or bowler hats."

"Oh, no, no, no," Liam says, and now he's smiling down at me. The muscles in his shoulders flex under his thin white shirt as he leans up against the wall. With the lightest touch, he traces the curve of my cheekbone.

Poor Livie and the other girls. He treated them the same way. And I can only imagine how they went all fluttery and did exactly what he wanted.
Wrong girl,
I want to snap at him. Just as I'm about to slam my palm into his forehead and test out whether or not Aunt Beatrice's Talent has deserted me, he says, "I need you. Just for something small," he coaxes, and all at once a tingling radiates across my nerves. The edges of Liam's outlines start to quiver and ripple.

Bracing my boots on the floor, I look up at him, making sure to keep a slightly glazed-over expression on my face. "Sir," I whisper, making sure to put just enough of a tremble into my voice. "I ... I feel so dizzy."

Actually, I feel just the opposite. Really, maybe I should major in drama when I get to college.

Liam draws back suddenly, confusion scrolling across his face. I lower my lids and let my lips tremble as I lean into him. "I felt so strange for a moment there."

Come on, you sick bastard. One more time and then we'll see how you like it when someone jumps inside of you.

"Oh," I cry, letting one hand flutter up to my chest. "Sir, I—"

"Agatha," says a sharp voice, cutting through my act. Liam steps backwards and now I really do stumble a little. Rosie's cheeks are brick red, as if she's just been slapped, and her hands are twisted together. But her voice evens out as she says, "You're late with Lady Jessica's tea in the music room."

I cast a sidelong glance at Liam, whose face has smoothed over. He nods at me as if we've just encountered each other in the foyer. As I slip past Rosie toward the kitchen, the look of loathing she gives me sizzles into the side of my face.

But I can't keep from smiling once I'm out of both of their sights. All I need is to get Liam to use his Talent one more time against me.

***

Brisk piano playing streams forth from the music room, so I don't bother to knock. Not that I could have anyway, since my hands are full with balancing the tea tray.

Jessica is seated at the piano, her hands moving across the keys while her new tutor is turning the pages on the music stand. I barely look at them as I cross the room and set the tray down on the small side table. Hidden from view, I begin pouring the tea into the porcelain cups. Obviously, Liam managed to extract poor Livie's blood by slipping into her body—she probably had no memory of what happened to her each time. He must have bled her and let her stumble back to her duties not understanding why she was growing weaker and weaker.

The piano music crescendos and then fades away. "I'll take the tea over here, Agatha," Jessica says. I nod, arranging the lumps of sugar with the silver tongs on a small saucer. Hooking the cups with my fingers, I start across the room toward Jessica and her new music tutor, who finally raises his face from the music stand and meets my eyes directly.

Hot tea scalds my fingers as the cup falls to the carpet.

It's Gabriel.

"Agatha!" Jessica's voice rings out, sharp with reproof, a thin echo of her mother's.

"I'm so sorry, my lady," I murmur, and rescue the cup from the floor. Black tea leaves dot the backs of my fingers. "I'll get a fresh cup. It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," Jessica says. I bite down hard on my lip and rush out the door.

Of course this is what would happen. You wanted him to come and now he's here and now he's going to be in danger and it's all your fault. Liam will get to him somehow and learn how to Travel. Stupidstupidstupid.

I dash into the kitchen, ignoring Cook's surprised look, snatch a fresh cup from the shelf, and dash back out.

Back in the music room, Gabriel is holding up the music book again and turning the pages. "I think your left hand needs strengthening. I noticed it on that last piece. I don't want you to attempt this piece again until you've mastered this one here and here," he says, indicating the pages. My heart can't help but float upward at the sound of his voice, the first truly friendly one I've heard in days.

Jessica's eyes move rapidly and she nods, seeming casually interested. She gives me a sidelong look but doesn't comment as I rush over to the tray and begin pouring a second cup. I've got time to observe that Gabriel seems to be dressed in exactly the perfect 1880s apparel. Freshly pressed dark trousers and a matching vest with a gleaming white shirt underneath. His hair's been tied back. No patches or dust or the overwhelming scent of mothballs, which means he didn't find his new clothes in my family's attic.

"Sugar in your tea? Sir?" I ask as I hand Jessica her first cup.

His eyes meet mine again. "Thanks, but I'm not in a sugary mood today,
Agatha.
"

Okay. This is not going to go well.

Jessica gives him a puzzled glance over the rim of her cup, but I nod and return to my tray, feeling the back of my neck burn. I fuss as long as I can over the cup, listening as Gabriel gives Jessica more instructions. Finally, after handing him his cup, which he accepts without even looking at me, I ask Jessica if she needs anything else. She shakes her head, dismissing me.

"I'll just be close by. Very close by, if you need anything, my lady," I state loudly, and she flashes me an annoyed glance before turning back to the music book.

Heading to the door, I do my best not to look back, because then I'll want to do something undeniably stupid like fling myself into Gabriel's arms.