but the effort failed. Any Bishop witch worthy of the name knew better than to ignore her instincts. Something had happened.
Hastily she cleaned her boots and put on a fresh walking dress, worrying all the while. If the electuaries had not worked, Frances was stronger than she had suspected.
Harriet stopped at a tea shop in the high street, where she bought a cup of tea and drank it so quickly it burned her tongue. She also bought a scone, wrapped it in a napkin, and carried it with her to eat on the mile-long walk through the woods to Rosefield Hall.
She skirted the stable block and hurried across the bottom of the lawn to the folly. She knew, as soon as she set foot on the step, that her feeling had been right.
Annis was already there, pale-faced and pacing.
“What’s happened?” Harriet asked, without a greeting.
“He threw it up,” Annis said, also wasting no time on pleasantries. “I put it in his porridge, and I saw him eat it, but then—he was really ill, his valet said, so I took him some ginger tea, and he looked awful.”
“Were you ill?”
“Yes.” She was frowning, but she didn’t look afraid, only worried. “I felt as if I was going to come out of my skin for a little while. I wasn’t sick, though. I was fine by breakfast.”
“How long between when you consumed the electuary and the marquess did?”
Annis pressed her lips together, thinking. “It must have been four hours. I took it when I got back to my bedroom, which was—I think it was about four. They breakfast at eight-thirty in Rosefield Hall.”
“Did you see Frances at breakfast?”
“No. She stayed in her room.”
Harriet sank onto the cold stone bench, her arms folded. “She did it again, then.”
“You mean Frances?”
“I do.” Harriet breathed a long, tired sigh. “You took the electuary in time. He didn’t.”
“So she did the—the maleficia—again?”
“The maleficia is in the manikin itself,” Harriet said. “She repeated her rite, to renew the spell.” A spurt of anger made her clench her jaw until it ached. She wished she had Frances in front of her right this minute so she could give her a piece of her mind. “The electuary came too late for James. He couldn’t tolerate it.”
“I think I understand,” Annis said. She sank down beside Harriet and leaned back against the pillar. She was dressed in her riding habit, and with her slender waist and long legs in the divided skirt, she looked as elegant as any Fifth Avenue society girl. “Frances repeated her rite, so the electuary was poison for poor James.”
“‘Poor James’ is correct. He’s caught in a struggle he doesn’t even know is happening.”
“What do we do now? Can we try again?”
“We must, Annis.” Harriet linked her hands in her lap and thought about it for a moment. “Can you get some rest this afternoon?”
“Oh yes. All the other guests are terribly old. They always sleep in the afternoons.” She added, with a moue of disappointment, “We were going to ride this morning. I was going to be allowed to choose my own horse.”
“You were?”
Annis nodded. “I suppose James was still—um, still influenced by the—by Frances. That part was rather nice, that feeling that my wishes mattered. I suppose that wasn’t real.”
“It’s hard to know,” Harriet said. “You do have to account for the effects of the maleficia. If that’s what it was, it wouldn’t last.”
“Aunt Harriet—do you think that’s what Frances did to Papa? Do you think she made a manikin and created a cantrip to make him fall in love with her? I don’t think he is anymore.”
“The trouble with the maleficia, used like this, is that it doesn’t actually create love. It creates—” Harriet paused, not sure how to explain such a thing to seventeen-year-old who knew nothing of the world, or of relations between men and women.
Annis said, “I understand. It’s not love, it’s that other thing. Lust, I suppose. The way a stallion wants a mare, but when he’s done his work, he doesn’t care if he ever sees her again.”
“Oh my,” Harriet said. “Annis, you…”
Annis thrust out her chin. “Please, Aunt Harriet, don’t tell me you’re shocked, too!”
“Oh no, no,” Harriet said hastily. “Not shocked at all. Surprised.”
“Because young ladies aren’t supposed to know anything about sex?”
“Exactly!” Harriet gave a small chuckle. “I’m pleased, though. I don’t agree at all with the custom of keeping young girls in ignorance until they marry. I suspect many a marriage that might have