of the herb shop as Andy pulled them away.
She couldn’t see the shop, but she caught sight of a tall figure that looked familiar. She was better dressed this time, in a day dress and a white straw hat. Her hair was neatly tucked up, and she wore a short, slightly out-of-fashion cape. Surely, though her clothes were so different, that was the lady she had encountered in the park?
The woman paused, gazing toward the Allington carriage as if she knew who was in its plush seats.
Annis twisted to see her better, squinting through the bright sunshine. The lady’s drooping hat brim hid her face, but not many women were so tall and lean…
Frances interrupted her thoughts, and she was forced to turn back. “Look there, Annis,” Frances said, pointing with her gloved hand to a construction site in the early stages. “That will be the Siegel-Cooper emporium. It’s going to be the biggest store in the world, and they’re going to sell Allington Iron Stoves, which will make your father happy.”
Annis, having no interest in stores, slumped back in her seat, frustrated and perplexed. Such an odd coincidence that she should see the tall woman on the street that way.
There had been something unusual about their visit to Mrs. Carcano, too, something even more perplexing. The Italian woman had refused to sell Frances the face cream, as if the sale didn’t matter nearly so much as her opinion of Annis’s appearance. She had tripled the amount of ginger in Annis’s order on her own whim, as if she dictated her customers’ purchases rather than the other way around. Strangest of all, Frances had objected to neither of these things.
That wasn’t like Frances. She tended to be as imperious as the queen whenever she had the chance, reminding everyone that she was a woman of consequence.
Annis peeked up at her stepmother from beneath the brim of her hat. Frances’s face was as composed as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As if everything in her life was going just as she planned it. As if she was in complete control.
For a wild moment Annis envied her, which made the whole morning stranger than ever.
8
Frances
After Annis blurted out their plans for anyone to hear, and then Harriet standing on the sidewalk staring after them, Frances worried that Harriet would guess what she meant to do. Harriet was uncanny in that way.
She had learned that about Harriet when she was sixteen and Harriet a still-striking thirty-one. The two of them shared nothing beyond their Bishop heritage. Their familial relationship was so distant they couldn’t measure it. They knew they were cousins, but at what remove no one seemed to recall.
Frances’s mother had just died, and Harriet and her grandmother Beryl had come to visit. Cousin Beryl, as Frances had been taught to call her, was a tall, straight-backed woman with a shock of silver hair. Frances hadn’t seen her in some time, and she was startled to see what age did to the Bishop face. Beryl’s Bishop chin had grown more prominent than ever, and her long nose had begun to droop. Only the gray eyes remained sharp, with a diamond brightness Frances envied. Harriet had the same eyes.
Frances’s own eyes were an ordinary brown, but fortunately she had been spared the Bishop chin and nose. That was something, at least, to be grateful for.
“Well, Frances,” Beryl had said, the moment she sat down. “We must think what to do with you.”
“Do with me?” Frances asked. “What do you mean?”
“Now you’re alone, we must decide how you’re to go forward. We’re sorry for your loss, naturally, but I’m afraid the Bishop women who deny their ability have a lamentable tendency to die young.”
Harriet added, “Ignoring it is poison. It never ends well.”
Frances looked from one face to the other, confounded by the conversation. “Ability?” she said faintly. “Cousin Beryl—Cousin Harriet—what are you talking about?”
“Grandmother,” Harriet said. “You need to begin at the beginning. Frances doesn’t know anything.”
Beryl said, “I fear you’re right.”
“I can’t think why Cousin Sarah didn’t teach her,” Harriet said.
“She was terrified,” Beryl said, the two of them speaking together as if Frances weren’t sitting right between them. “Because of her mother. Sarah’s mother was always angry, cursing people, causing trouble. Using the maleficia drove her mad, I believe.”
Frances had never met her grandmother and had no idea what they were talking about.
Harriet turned to her. “Frances, did you know your mother was a Bishop?”
“She wasn’t. She was