yet. I brought some of my own almond cookies, too, what Miss Annis is so fond of. Please help yourself if you’re hungry. And you can…” She was still talking as she left the tray on the low table in front of the divan and bustled back to the kitchen.
Despite the grimness of their visit, Annis and James shared an amused glance. Harriet was pleased to see a twinkle come into James’s eyes and a smile curve his lips. She much preferred a man with a sense of humor.
“Annis,” she said, “I’ll do everything I can. For now, do have a cup of coffee, both of you, and a bite to eat. Grace is a great talker, but she’s also a wonderful baker.”
The marquess said, “You’re fortunate in your housekeeper, I see, Miss Bishop.”
“I don’t know what I would do without her.”
When the coffee had been poured and the plates passed around, Harriet leaned back in the divan, her cup and saucer on her knee. The three of them made polite conversation, very little of which Harriet would later remember. Her mind was circling around the problem that loomed before her, distracting her from pleasantries and small talk. Annis, seeing this, cut the visit short, saying she and James were going to ride in the park if it didn’t rain.
Before she left, however, she used the excuse of an embrace to whisper in Harriet’s ear. “Send for me when you’re ready. I want to help.”
When they had gone, Harriet helped Grace carry the teacups and the tray back to the kitchen. Grace said, “Now, there’s a nice young man for Miss Annis, isn’t it? Is this the one, do you think? How lovely that would be, and she would be Lady Rosefield! Wouldn’t that be a thing, now? I was that surprised to see him with her this morning. I had no idea he was coming, did you? You didn’t mention it at all.”
As usual, no response was needed to Grace’s chatter, and Harriet didn’t try to give one. She was laying plans. She had no appointments for the day, which was fortunate. Despite the threatening rain, she would have to go out for supplies. It wasn’t a good time of year to forage in the park, but with luck the strega would have what she needed.
Perhaps the old Italian witch would have a word of advice. She needed that, too.
Signora Carcano rummaged in her back room for many minutes. Harriet, restive and tense, roamed the shop, examining shelves of jars and vials, racks of scissors and knives, a counter spread with stones of various colors. She picked one up, a rough-edged stone she thought was black but that turned out to be so thick with dust it stained her glove gray. Beneath the dust the stone was a deep blue shot through with black veins. An amethyst, in its raw form. She blew it clean and took off her glove to cradle it in her palm.
The strega spoke from the door to the back room. “You will buy that,” she announced. “It is right for you.”
Harriet glanced back at her and nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“Also, I found the uovo di serpente. The egg of the snake.” The old woman held up a small bag of what looked like burlap, with a bit of brown string holding the neck together.
Harriet moved back to the counter as Signora Carcano set the bag down and pulled the string to open it. With careful fingers Harriet lifted out the old stone and set it in the nest of fraying burlap. It was small and oval, black and gray, pierced through by a single hole, an opening created over centuries by the force of water.
“This is it,” Harriet said. “It’s perfect.”
“Is very old,” the strega said. “Roman. I bring from Italy.”
“We call it an adder stone,” Harriet said. “I’m grateful you had this. I’m in need of it, to help someone.”
“The younger witch,” the strega said, and she tapped her nose with her finger. “The pretty one. Much buio she has. Darkness.”
“Yes.” Harriet touched the stone with her finger. “My grandmother had one of these, though I don’t know what became of it. She used it to cast a glamour, just once.”
“Glamour?” The signora put her head to one side, her gray eyebrows lifting.
“I don’t know the Italian. In English, it means a deception. A trick of magic, to hide something—or in this case someone—in plain sight.”
“Is very dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“Sì. This glamour—we would call it