the latch on the door, but Harriet had discovered a way to get in on her first visit. On that day she had pressed one hand to the wall of the cabin, the other on the amulet beneath her dress. She had concentrated, closing her eyes to allow her mind to roam around the old building.
As Beryl had said, hers was an unusual gift. Commonly, the knowing came upon her when she was creating a remedy of some kind in the herbarium, but occasionally—if she was patient and let it sift into her consciousness without obstacles, if she opened her mind and blocked all distractions—she knew things, things that were hidden.
Was it guessing? That was possible, but if it was, she was very, very good at it. That first time, she stood outside the cabin for nearly an hour, seeking, wondering, waiting for inspiration. She had known, at the end of that time, where the opening was. She could see in her mind the loose, rough-hewn boards. She sensed the weakness in the ancient rusted nails that held them in place. On the back wall were three such boards, side by side, making an opening wide enough for her to slide through without snagging her clothes too badly.
Now, hurrying, she went to the spot, removed the boards, and stepped through into the dim interior. A cobweb caught at her hair, and she brushed it out with her fingers as she looked around.
Frances had been terribly careless. Unlike Harriet’s immaculate herbarium, this space was littered with discarded bits of leaves and stems and roots, and a clutter of glass jars and stoppered bottles lay every which way on her work surface, as if she simply shoved each away when she was done with it. In the middle of the chaos, propped against a roll of gauze, was a manikin.
There was nothing careless about the manikin. Its eyes were a startling blue. Its lips were convincingly red and full. It wore a dress, and a fluff of dark hair crowned its wooden-bead head.
It was Annis. No one could mistake it.
“Oh, Frances,” Harriet murmured. “Beryl would be heartsick.”
Her knowing, coming upon her as she completed Dora Schuyler’s emmenagogue, had been correct. Frances meant to use Annis. She intended to force her into a marriage that would one day turn as cold and unsatisfying as Frances’s own, and Annis, innocent, unsuspecting, would have no idea what was happening to her.
Thanks to the strega, she knew also that Frances was about to spirit the girl away to England, beyond Harriet’s reach.
Harriet couldn’t let that happen. She put a finger on the manikin and felt the faint echo of magic that clung to it. Dark magic. It made her fingertip ache.
She had to leave it where it was. It was an evil thing, but now that it existed, only its creator could destroy it. Only Frances, who had spent her energy and her intention on creating this pretty little golem, could undo it.
Harriet sidled back through her makeshift door. Taking care to avoid splinters, she fitted the boards back into their places. She shook the dirt of the cabin from the hem of her skirt and dusted her hands carefully to be certain she carried no residue of Frances’s tainted practice away with her.
She melted into the woods, glancing behind her once to assure herself her presence had gone undetected, then set out at a brisk pace for home. Grace would not be happy about what came next, but there was nothing to be done about it. She must send a message to secure passage on the Majestic. She must visit the strega again, for supplies, and then she must set sail for England.
Frances was going to employ the maleficia against Annis, and Harriet was the only person who could stop her.
10
James
It was a relief for James to be on his own for a bit, though his mother would fault him for the indulgence. He couldn’t blame her, really. He had left her on her own to deal with the last details. There were the funeral guests to manage, rooms to arrange for those who would stay the night, negotiations with Cook for more meals to see them through the last of the grim rituals. In the morning would be the reading of the will, and that exercise would undoubtedly involve unwelcome revelations.
Lady Eleanor would seize the opportunity to point out his various faults, committed on this occasion and others. She had a predictable tendency to