She didn’t want to alarm Annis more than necessary, but the sense of urgency returned to her in a rush. “Do you know which is his bedroom?”
“I do. It’s just past the great chamber. That big room with the double doors.”
“Good. Not too far, then.”
“Do you think we can move him?”
“I think we must. We’re strong, you and I, and he’s a thin man. We have to hurry, though, before the servants are up and about.”
Annis went to open the door before positioning herself at James’s head. “You take his knees,” she said, in a voice as steady as if she were suggesting they move a table. “I’ll lift his head and shoulders.”
It was a practical suggestion, made by a practical girl, and Harriet was glad of it. She was also glad of Annis’s youth and strength in this moment of crisis. She did her best to carry her share of James’s weight, but her knees and shoulders felt every one of her fifty years as they struggled through the first door, then maneuvered down the hallway, past the great chamber and the head of the staircase, and on to a door that had been left open.
“This is it,” Annis whispered. She backed into the bedroom, and with relief they deposited James onto his bed, tugging at his arms and legs until he was securely in the center.
Not that he seemed likely to roll over and fall. James didn’t so much as flicker an eyelid, which worried Harriet. There truly was no time to lose. The longer this death-like state lasted, the more danger he was in.
She saw Annis’s anguished glance at the unconscious man as they closed his door. They hurried back to Annis’s room, where Harriet collected her basket and Annis the handkerchief-wrapped powder brush. Annis pulled a coat over her nightdress and thrust her bare feet into her walking boots. They closed her door, and the two of them hastened to the servants’ staircase. Dawn was not far off. They paused at the top of the stair, listening for any movement, but there was only silence.
Harriet descended cautiously, fatigue making her feel unsteady. Annis flew ahead, her steps light and sure, and waited at the bottom with her hand on the outer door. They didn’t speak. The breeze from the sea cooled their heated faces as they crossed the lawn, damp now with dew. The moon had set and the eastern sky was brightening as they ducked past the thick branches of the rhododendron and stepped up into the folly.
As she took what she needed out of her basket, Harriet said, “I wish we didn’t have to do this. I hoped Frances would relent.”
“I know, Aunt Harriet. But James—”
“Of course. We have to help him. This is the only way I know to do it.”
She laid out a candle she had taken from the inn, along with the packet of mandrake root and mistletoe and barrenwort, all things she had brought with her from New York and had hoped she would not need. She had pared her fingernails the night before and added the slender bits to the packet. She lifted the amulet on its chain from around her neck and set it beside the candle, along with three sulfur matches.
Finally she brought out the simulacrum that would represent Frances. Her own cousin. Frances, who had made all of this happen through her selfishness and ambition.
“Do you have the brush?” she asked in a low voice.
Annis unfolded her handkerchief and held it out on her open hands. Harriet struck one of the matches and set it to the candle wick, then laid the manikin within the circle of candlelight. Taking the silver-handled brush from Annis, she dusted the ugly little thing’s head. The grains of pearl powder glistened with iridescence. Harriet tapped the end of the brush until she had extracted every bit of the powder. She hoped it held enough of Frances’s essence to be effective.
She handed the brush back to Annis before she brought a saucer out of her basket and filled it with the ground herbs. Last she took out a long sewing needle. It flashed silver as she lifted it in her right hand and plunged it into her left thumb. It was the part of the ritual she hated the most, not because it hurt—it did—but because it was the wrong way to spend the power of her witch’s blood. Because it broke the vow she had made after Alexander’s death. Because