gave up hope for manicured nails and dug into the dirt, the chirping becoming stronger until she found it nearly a foot down. Tiny but strong, its song buzzed in her ears, the sound clear enough now that she saw its knots in her mind’s eye.
Mr. Kelsey approached from the west. “Did you find something?”
“Can you hear it?”
He shook his head.
She touched it. “There. It’s a spiritual spell, but one I don’t recognize. Does the duke or any of the people here employ magic in the fields? To help the plants grow?”
“Often, yes. Did you not find them?”
Elsie shook her head, wondering if a spellbreaker had also been present recently or if, perhaps, the aspector hired to initially boost the crops had never made it to his appointment. “This might very well be the curse you suspected, Mr. Kelsey.” She wondered if the Cowls knew about it, but she doubted it. It was very well hidden.
Mr. Kelsey cursed. Or so she thought. It was under his breath and hard to decipher, but it had the sharpness of a curse.
Without waiting for his command, Elsie poked at the spell, searching for its threads. It took her a full minute to find the first one. Her concentration must have been obvious, for Mr. Kelsey didn’t interrupt her until she was finished. She stood up and brushed off her skirts, then blinked as blood rushed back to her head.
Mr. Kelsey took her elbow.
“I’m quite all right,” she said, but she didn’t pull away until she was sure she wouldn’t fall and ruin the dress completely. He had a firm but gentle grip, unlike when he’d manhandled her a week ago. She didn’t dislike it. “I wonder if there are more.”
“We’ll look,” he said. Elsie liked that he included himself in the work, though his aspector blindness made him quite useless.
She studied his face. “You know who did it?”
“I have a very strong suspicion.”
She did love a bit of gossip. “Do tell.”
He set his jaw, relaxed it. Rubbed his forehead. “The Duke of East Sussex. His wife is a master spiritual aspector and a jealous cow of a woman.”
“My, my.” Elsie pulled her gloves from her collar. “Such a sharp tongue you have.”
“You would call her worse, I’m sure. She wears spells like a heavy perfume and deals them out as freely as the law will allow. The rest she does where the law can’t see.”
She frowned. “What business is it of hers if this farm fails or succeeds?”
Mr. Kelsey shook his head. “She’s a jealous woman. Envies Duchess Abigail a great deal. Perhaps she’s cross about Master Merton’s interest in Miss Ida; rumor is she’s topped off on her magical potential and it’s made her bitter.”
Topped off. Elsie thought of Ogden’s struggle to learn a new physical spell. He was only a novice-level aspector, and he had already emptied his magical cup. She understood discussing one’s magical potential was a taboo topic in polite society.
“As far as I know,” Mr. Kelsey continued, “she’s been forgotten by the Spiritual Atheneum. I honestly can’t think of anyone else with motivation.”
“She must be a rather self-motivated woman, to come out here and get in the dirt herself.”
“She has done as much before. In other ways.” He rubbed his half beard. Unfashionable as it was, Elsie thought it suited him rather well. What did those whiskers feel like? “I’m sure I have something in my repertoire to return the favor.”
Why on earth are you thinking about his facial hair? She focused on the conversation at hand. “I didn’t think you the petty type.”
He scowled. “If these people only understand dirty politics, then I’ll speak their language.”
“While you mimic it quite well”—she stepped over some plants to get better footing—“I fear any sort of similar revenge will only hurt the duchess’s tenants, and I’m sure they stay far from the political game.”
He glanced at her, the scowl dissipating. She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re right, of course.” He sighed.
Hands on hips, Elsie scanned the field. She was nearly in the center of it. If there were more spells, she imagined they’d be at either of the far ends. She checked the sky. If she left in the next half hour, she could get home without the need to explain her absence. And yet . . . she found herself disliking this spiritual aspector who had turned her jealousy into a weapon wielded against the innocent. She didn’t need a directive from the Cowls to see justice done.
“I presume the Duke