Wards Against the Witch

Dew clung to their boots and the hems of their dresses and petticoats as Frederica Vernon and her aunt, Mrs Catherine Vernon, walked around from the stables after their morning ride. Exercise in the fresh morning air had been such a relief to Frederica. She had lately spent too much time confined indoors, guarded and stifled by her mother's spells.

(Catch up to Part 1: In the Clutches of Lady Susan)

Frederica and Mrs Vernon had almost reached the front door when they noticed a gig turn on to Churchill’s long, elm-lined drive. The driver raced his horse with what Frederica considered to be unnecessary speed.

“Ha!” Mrs Vernon laughed affectionately. “I wasn’t expecting him until next week, at least.”

Frederica watched the young gentlemen reign in his horse at the last possible moment, coming to a stop with his gig perfectly in line with the front door.

“Please don’t allow this ostentatious display of horsemanship tarnish your appraisal of him,” Mrs Vernon told her.

The gentleman turned out to be handsome and fair-haired, with a strong chin and fashionable clothes. He alighted from his carriage with perfect ease and rewarded his horse with a fresh apple before the servants led it away.

“Miss Frederica Vernon, allow me to introduce my brother, Mr Reginald De Courcy,” Mrs Vernon said as Mr De Courcy approached.

He bowed and Frederica curtsied. For a brief moment, neither said anything. Frederica thought that Mr De Courcy may be as prudent—perhaps as suspicious—as his sister.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said finally.

“And you,” he replied with a smirk. “A great pleasure indeed, Miss Vernon.”

“Uncle Reginald!” The children sprang out the front door and embraced him. The governess, Miss Becker, followed closely behind, slightly out of breath. Everyone proceeded indoors as Mr De Courcy remarked on how much his nephews and nieces had grown since the spring.

The household continued in amiable chaos as Mr Vernon joined them in the drawing room. Frederica and Mrs Vernon slipped away to change into dry clothing. All four children hung about their uncle. The servants added another plate to the breakfast table.

Finally dressed, Frederica started on her way down to the breakfast. After just a few steps down the hall, Lady Susan appeared in her doorway and pulled Frederica into her chamber.

“Is Miss De Courcy here?” Lady Susan demanded.

Frederica wasn’t aware of any Miss De Courcy at all. “No, ma’am. Mr De Courcy.”

“Mr De Courcy?” Lady Susan asked, incredulous. “Not Sir Reginald?”

“No, ma’am. His son.”

Lady Susan squinted at Frederica with astonishment. “He traveled all this way alone? Why?”

Frederica couldn’t help but grow annoyed. “What excuse does a gentleman need to visit his own sister?”

Lady Susan either didn’t hear, or didn’t heed. “It must be part of the De Courcy plot to get the Vernon fortune.”

“What fortune?” Frederica snapped in a fierce whisper, careful not to be overheard. “The one that ought to have granted me thirty thousand pounds upon my wedding, which you squandered?”

Lady Susan blinked with apparent confusion. “Frederica? I thought you were Alicia.”

Frederica took a step backwards. She was younger, taller, and thinner than Mrs Johnson, with narrower facial features and darker hair. Not even a stranger could confuse one for the other. “Mamma, are you unwell?”

Lady Susan drew herself up into a haughty stance. “I am as well as ever, Frederica. Let us go down to dinner.”

“To breakfast,” Frederica corrected her.

“Go on!” Lady Susan ordered.

They entered the breakfast room together. Frederica knew her face reflected her confusion and anger, but didn’t care to compose herself. She watched her mother’s attempts to charm Mr De Courcy. The artifice sickened her.

“Can I tempt you with a poached egg, Miss Vernon?” Mrs Vernon asked. “You seem pale, and you haven’t touched your muffin.”

“Oh, my poor darling girl,” Lady Susan chimed in with oily concern. She touched Frederica’s forehead and cheeks. “You mustn’t overexert yourself, my dear. I know you went riding this morning. If you don’t feel perfectly healthy, go lie down.”

The last three words were as good as a direct order. Frederica excused herself with some relief, and left the room.

Frederica paced in her own chamber for a few minutes, unable to settle down. She could not run from her mother. She could not speak out against her mother. Surely, there was something she could do—some way to foil Lady Susan’s sorcerous plans. Somehow, the key was jasmine.

Frederica started with Lucy’s clothes. She slipped into the little girl’s bedchamber as Miss Becker minded all four children in the schoolroom. Frederica carried a sewing basket with her, and did her best to work with thread colors which would blend into her cousin’s dresses. She embroidered the image of a small jasmine blossom, tucking it away under each dress’s left arm, where it was unlikely to be spotted. The task took the entire afternoon, but all of Lucy’s little dresses were marked with the ward, save for the one she wore at that moment.

Frederica closed the door to Lucy’s room behind her, and found herself face to face in the hallway with one of the Vernons’ maids.

“Pardon me, Miss,” the maid said, stepping out of the way hastily. Frederica saw the girl’s steely blue eyes dart from the sewing basket to Lucy’s door.

“Have you seen a spool of yellow thread?” Frederica asked. “I understood that Miss Catherine Vernon has one, but I may have been mistaken—and I found myself in the wrong room, anyway.”

“I believe Mrs Underhill has one, Miss. Shall I fetch it for you?”

“Yes, please, Miss—?”

“Betsy. It’s almost time for supper, Miss.”

“Thank you, Betsy.”

The maid nodded and left. Frederica returned to her own room to dress for supper, suddenly aware of having eaten very little all day.

Lady Susan interrupted Frederica’s preparations, walking into the room uninvited.

“What is your little sewing project?” Lady Susan demanded.

Frederica’s heart jumped into her throat for a moment. How could Lady Susan know about the embroidered wards? How far could her sorcery reach?

Lady Susan pinched Frederica’s right arm, hard. “Speak,” Lady Susan hissed. “Why do you want yellow thread?”

“Embroidery!” Frederica said, truthfully. She pointed at the sewing basket. “I want to embroider flowers.”

Lady Susan’s lip curled with apparent distaste. “You should attempt more refined accomplishments. Practice the pianoforte. Study another language—something lovely, like Italian. You don’t need anything more than superficial skills to display good taste.”

“Little girls like flowers,” Frederica replied. “I would like to befriend my cousins without resorting to sugar cubes.”

Lady Susan pinched her again. “Obstinate, wilful, ungrateful girl.” She stormed to Frederica’s door and paused. “Put on your spotted muslin, Alicia. We must look our best to stop Charles from marrying Miss De Courcy.”

Frederica watched her mother fumble for the doorknob and leave the room with an air of annoyance.

Before Sir Frederick lost his life, he lost both eyesight and sanity. At the time, Frederica had almost suspected unspeakable dark arts from Lady Susan—a poisonous concoction, or perhaps some malignant incantation. Now, it seemed to Frederica that the curse had been laid upon both her parents.

Was it a black spell, though? Could the true explanation be as simple as an illness? If that were the case, then Lady Susan could hardly expect a better outcome than her late husband had had.

Lady Susan was dying.

Frederica stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t even realized she had been pacing the floor again.

“You are my sister’s daughter,” Mrs Johnson had said, “But your mother is not my sister.”

What could this all mean?

Frederica realized she was expected downstairs. She did not have a spotted muslin, but she did have one in a rosy hue. She finished dressing quickly.

Time seemed to crawl by slowly, though in truth it was only an hour and a half before the meal was et and the ladies adjourned to the drawing room. Lady Susan sat at the pianoforte, her nimble fingers dancing across the keys in a romantic song she had apparently memorized. Betsy appeared with Frederica’s sewing basket and a spool of yellow thread. Mrs Vernon sat beside Frederica on the sofa.

“I hope you’re well, Miss Vernon?” Mrs Vernon asked. “I was concerned by your long absence this afternoon.”

“I am in good health now,” Frederica replied. “Thank you for your inquiry.” She worked absentmindedly, embroidering a white handkerchief with little yellow jasmine blossoms. Mrs Vernon took up her own carpetwork. After a few minutes passed, Mrs Vernon admired Frederica’s rapid, small, even stitching.

“Lady Susan did not prepare me for such an accomplished niece,” Mrs Vernon said.

Frederica’s mouth clamped shut with words against her mother that she could not speak aloud.

“The shyness,” Mrs Vernon continued, “she did warn of.”

Frederica tied off her thread, hiding the knot expertly. “Would you do me the honour of accepting this trinket?” she asked her aunt, offering the jasmine-stitched handkerchief. “I am grateful for your hospitality,” she added.

“How thoughtful of you,” Mrs Vernon replied, bemused but smiling kindly. She accepted the handkerchief and placed it in her pocket. At the pianoforte, Lady Susan scoffed derisively.

“I’d love to make another for Miss Catherine,” Frederica said, “if you think she would like it.”

“I am certain she would,” Mrs Vernon responded politely.

Frederica’s fingers were beginning to cramp from a solid afternoon of needlework. She continued anyway. She had effectively protected Lucy and Mrs Vernon against whatever it was Lady Susan could do to them. Catherine was the only girl left. Frederica doubted the servants were in any danger. After all, hadn’t Betsy already proven her allegiance to the sorceress?

Mr Vernon and Mr De Courcy joined them in the drawing room.

“I say!” Mr De Courcy exclaimed. “What a capital musician you are, Lady Susan.”

“You’re too kind,” Lady Susan demurred.

“Do you happen to know any duets?” Mr De Courcy asked.

Mrs Vernon attempted to speak: “I could play a glee for us all to sing—” but Lady Susan had already begun a tune carefully calculated for flirtation. Mr De Courcy joined her at the pianoforte. Mr Vernon amused himself with a book, eventually falling asleep.

Frederica worked away, turning out jasmine blossom after tiny jasmine blossom, occasionally looking up to see her mother charming the young man, or to see Mrs Vernon scowling at the two singers. When she had sat with them all long enough for the sake of good manners, Frederica excused herself to her bedroom, where she continued to sew by firelight. She lost track of time.

×××

Frederica woke with her cheek on her table and her needle between her fingers. The earliest daylight crept in through her window, and all that remained of her fire were a few dim coals. A shiver ran down her spine. Suddenly alert, she rose to her feet and looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Frederica built up her fire, feeling its warmth but unable to shake the sensation that something was wrong.

Silence. Again. That was it.

The fire did not crackle. The morning brought no birdsong. Neither Frederica’s stamping foot nor her screaming voice could break the maleficent silence. She felt the urge to run, but her feet stuck fast to the floor.

Frederica’s heart pounded against her ribs. Her breath came in shallow gasps. Her head had just begun to swim, when suddenly the sensation passed. Birdsong flooded into the room.

She sat on the edge of her bed, breathing heavily, aware of the sheen of sweat on her forehead. She knew this sensation. The uncanny silence, the panic it caused in her; every time it had happened before, it was followed by Lady Susan exerting power over others. What havoc had the witch wrought now?

A knock made Frederica jump. She realized she was still in her muslin dress. She hastily threw a dressing gown over herself, and Betsy peered into the room.

“Good morning, Miss Vernon. Mrs Vernon would like to invite you for another ride.”

Frederica took a steadying breath. “Gladly. I’ll get dressed.”

“Shall I help you, Miss?”

“No, thank you, Betsy.”

In short order, Frederica found herself mounting one of the Vernons’ brown mares and riding out with both Mrs Vernon and Mr De Courcy.

“Does Lady Susan not ride?” Mr De Courcy asked. Lady Susan could never earn a horse’s trust, but this was yet another thing Frederica could not say in Mrs Vernon’s presence. She was spared the necessity of an answer when Mr De Courcy added, “But of course, it was a late night. I couldn’t begrudge any young lady the desire to remain abed after playing and singing for so long.”

Frederica could not help but give him an astonished look.

He had the good grace to look abashed. “Naturally, I admire the fortitude of any lady who takes to morning exercise, as well.”

“Oh, I assure you, my mother has fortitude,” Frederica responded. She said nothing of her mother’s age.

“I... of course.”

Mr De Courcy looked away. Frederica realized that Mrs Vernon was smiling at her.

“I understand you were recently at school in London,” Mr De Courcy said casually. “No doubt you benefited from various masters? The pianoforte, the paintbrush, and French?”

“I play and paint very little,” Frederica admitted, “But I do speak French. Mamma and my aunt had a governess who came from France during la Terreur. She taught them her language, and Mamma spoke it to me when I was a girl.”

That had been before Sir Frederick had contracted the strange rash on his hands and feet, and then branded Frederica with the jasmine ward. After that incident, Lady Susan’s treatment of her daughter turned cold.

Frederica, Mrs Vernon, and Mr De Courcy rode in silence for several minutes, before Mrs Vernon spoke of the weather and the state of the roads.

After the ride was over, before the family gathered for breakfast, Frederica had a chance to give little Catherine a jasmine-embroidered handkerchief. Catherine thanked her with good grace, and promised to keep it with her at all times. Then Lady Susan entered the room, squinting and complaining of how little light the windows allowed inside.

“Auntie, Auntie!” Lucy exclaimed, squirming out of her mother’s arms and clinging to Lady Susan’s skirts.

“Good morning, Little Angel!” Lady Susan said, giving the girl a sugar cube. She knelt down and allowed the girl to kiss her cheek. Then, Lady Susan took hold of Lucy’s shoulders. “Catherine, did you have Lucy’s hair cut?”

“No,” Mrs Vernon replied.

“Something seems different,” Lady Susan muttered.

Frederica could not help but smile. Lucy wore a dress marked with a jasmine ward. The witch could tell something was wrong, but did not know what.

“Are your eyes quite all right, Mamma?” Frederica asked as sweetly as she could.

Lady Susan squinted at her. “Let your mind at ease, my dear,” she said. “There is no cause for concern.”

The day continued very much like its predecessor. Lady Susan monopolized Mr De Courcy’s time. Frederica settled into the drawing room to embroider more handkerchiefs. She suspected Mr Vernon and the little boys did not need the same kind of protection as the females of the family, but as she was not certain, she decided to include them in her efforts anyway.

Lady Susan found Frederica thus employed in the mid afternoon. “Still working on your flowers?” Lady Susan sneered.

“They’re coming along rather nicely,” Frederica answered.

“You’ll have made enough now to fill the house.”

“Precisely.”

This made Lady Susan pause. She approached Frederica, and leaned in close to see her needlework. “White thread on white linen?” Lady Susan asked. “Why do you bother?”

Frederica held the handkerchief higher for her mother’s inspection. Finally, Lady Susan saw what her daughter had been doing.

Frederica anticipated a tantrum, but Lady Susan sat down beside her.

“So that is what changed about Lucy,” she said.

“Lucy,” Frederica agreed, “and Catherine, and Mrs Vernon.”

“And you,” Lady Susan said, gesturing towards Frederica’s hidden brand.

“And me.”

Lady Susan sighed. “You have no idea what your father took away from you.”

Frederica could not trust in her mother’s calm. She had never seen Lady Susan speak in earnest on any topic. “He protected me against what you do to people. He did what I am doing.”

“Not at all,” Lady Susan said. “I wouldn’t have gone through the pain and danger of bearing a child just prey on it. You were to be my partner. Our kind are meant to hunt in pairs. It is the natural order of things.”

Frederica felt a twisting tension in her gut. She did not care if her eyes stared wide or her jaw dropped.

“I had a partner,” the sorceress continued. “Her mother was captured and killed in Ilium, so she made me. Then she found her end in Paris, so I made you.”

“Partner? For ten years, you have shown me nothing but scorn and neglect. Who are you? What are you?”

“We are migrants,” her mother said. “I, in any case, am a migrant. You were supposed to be, but Sir Frederick ensured that you would never be able to make the exchange.”

Frederica felt a lump in her throat and a chill down her spine.

The sorceress pressed, “Don’t you see, my dear? That is why I need you to marry soon. You must establish a household where I will be safe. I must take some sort of interim host, until I can groom an appropriate replacement.”

Frederica swallowed hard. “I cannot help you. I will not help you.”

“You must.”

“You will have to ask Aunt Johnson.”

The sorceress shook her head. “Impossible. Alicia expects to get Susan back when I leave this body. Unfortunately, this one is fast becoming uninhabitable.” The sorceress saw Frederica’s expression and snickered. It was a low, breathy sound, and perhaps the first genuine laugh Frederica had ever heard from her mother. “You are so naive, Frederica. Do you not know? The sores and the rash, years ago. I knew it was only a matter of time. Now the eyesight is dimming.”

“And your memory is slipping,” Frederica said. She had heard the name of this disease whispered in her father’s last weeks: “Syphilis.”

The sorceress nodded. “Do not panic, ridiculous girl. You cannot catch it by sitting beside me. In any case: I have summoned Sir James Martin. You must agree to give him your hand.”

Frederica rose, but her feet could not leave their place. Even retreating across the room was forbidden by the knot-oath which bound her from fleeing her mother. She sat back down. “You cannot possibly force me into this marriage,” she said quietly. “You have no leverage over me.”

The sorceress smiled. “I have a family of hostages, my dear! Are you not fond of your uncle? Would you not weep if he were to be poisoned?” The sorceress rose to her feet. “Think on it.”

×××

Check out Part 3: