The Lady of Secrets (36 page)

Seraphine would have continued to vent her anger toward Blackwood, but Meg silenced her with a press of her hand and a plea. “Please, ’Phine. I would rather not talk about Armagil. We have far more important matters to occupy us.”

Seraphine scowled, but subsided. “That is true, but what are we going to do next? This aimless wandering is doing nothing for my feet or my patience.”

“I know.” Meg bit her lip before admitting, “There is a certain apothecary shop that I know of where we may likely find another daughter of the earth.”

Seraphine shot her an exasperated look. “Well, by all the crying saints, Meg! Why didn’t we go there to begin with?”

“Because I hoped to avoid it if at all possible. This woman has great cause to resent me, perhaps even to despise me.”

“How could anyone hate you? Unless it has something to do with your mother?”

“It does. Everything. The woman I intend to seek out is—is Mary Waters.”

“Oh.” The mere sound of the name gave Seraphine pause. “But surely she cannot blame you?”

“For what my mother did? Why not? There are a great many wise women who do and Mary Waters has more cause than most. Even if she does not hate me, meeting me can only stir up grievous memories. And she may not have any information that can help us.”

“And she very well may! I understand your scruples, Meg, and even though seeking out Mary Waters may be grasping at a straw, we have little choice. While we are dithering our time away, roaming the city, who knows what further mayhem those witches are about?”

Meg nodded in unhappy agreement. “Then we need to head toward the area near St. Paul’s Cathedral. That is where most of the apothecary shops are located.”

As she prepared to dart across the street, Seraphine stopped her. She drew Meg out of the press of traffic, toward the relative shelter of an alley opening.

“Meg, have you given any thought as to what you are going to do if we do manage to hunt down these witches?”

“No, I confess I have not thought that far ahead.”

“Will you turn them over to the authorities?”

Meg considered the fate of women accused of witchcraft, the harsh imprisonment, the tortures, and the inevitable verdict of death by hanging or, worse still, by fire.

She shuddered. “I hope if I make myself known to them, that I can persuade them to stop their attempts to revive the coven. Beside the attack on Armagil, and I believe that was inadvertent, and their efforts to frighten the king, no lasting harm has been done. No one has been killed.”

“That you know of.”

“If they are like so many of the others, they are merely desperate women looking for hope. I pray I can reason with them.”

“How unfortunate then that you obliged me to leave my reasoning implement back at our lodgings.”

Seraphine could not stride through London in her masculine garb with her sword strapped to her side. But if Meg knew her friend, Seraphine would have a weapon hidden about her person somewhere.

“What if you find out—as mad as it seems—that your mother is behind this?”

“I will deal with that when the time comes. I must find the witches first.”

“I still think Graham would have been our best lead.”

“He would die first. He has only one purpose, to avenge himself on James. He would give his life for it.” Meg added, “I dreamed of her again.”

“Your mother?”

“No, Maidred Brody. She pleaded with me again to save her brother. I know you don’t believe me. Armagil accused me of being mad.”

“I don’t know what to think. I have seen too much proof
of your powers to doubt you. But I think you have pledged enough of your life to undoing the evil of your mother. You don’t need to go about making promises to dream ghosts. Sir Patrick or Robert Brody, whoever he might be, can shift for himself.”

Meg said nothing. Perhaps Seraphine was right, but Meg could not so easily forget the tormented eyes of Maidred Brody. The girl had been led astray like so many other innocents, lured by the promised magic of the Silver Rose. But Meg did not see how she could give ease to Maidred’s troubled spirit. How could she possibly deter Robert Brody from his destructive path? The man despised and mistrusted her. The only one who could possibly have any influence over Sir Patrick was Armagil.

But she had not even been able to get Armagil to concede that Sir Patrick and Robert Brody were one and the same, so how could she ever persuade Armagil to intervene? Even if Armagil did not despise her as Sir Patrick did, he certainly mistrusted her now that he knew who she really was. Save Robert Brody? It would be all that she could do to contain the threat posed by the witch coven. The entire situation felt overwhelming and hopeless.

Absorbed by her unhappy thoughts, Meg trudged beside Seraphine in silence until she espied three gilded pills painted on the wooden sign, the familiar symbol that denoted an apothecary shop. The establishment boasted shelves well stocked with bottles and vials of intriguing concoctions. The aroma of dried herbs perfumed the air, reminding Meg poignantly of her own stillroom on Faire Isle. She would have found the scent soothing had she not been so tired and anxious about the reception she would receive from the shop’s owner.

But the visit to the first apothecary produced nothing but more blank looks in response to her inquiries. And the second shop. And the third.

As they entered the fourth, Meg began to fear she was pursuing another futile quest. But as soon as she clapped eyes upon the woman behind the counter, Meg tensed. She had no need to even ask for a name this time. Although the woman could not have been much more than twenty, her soft round features bore a striking resemblance to an older face Meg remembered well, along with a gentle voice and loving arms. Patience Waters had offered Meg her only refuge during the chaotic days of her early childhood.

Meg pressed Seraphine’s arm to let her know they had found the right shop.

“Please, let me handle this,” Meg whispered as the woman emerged from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron.

She approached them with a warm smile that reminded Meg so much of Patience, it brought a lump to her throat. The woman’s gaze skimmed over Meg and alighted hopefully on Seraphine, which didn’t surprise Meg. Seraphine’s exquisitely cut cloak and haughty carriage loudly proclaimed the prospect of an important and wealthy customer.

Beaming, the woman dipped into a curtsy. “Good afternoon, milady. And how may I serve you?”

“Well, I—” Meg began, trying to inch forward, but she was cut off by Seraphine demanding bluntly, “Are you Mary Waters?”

The woman blinked, her smile wavering a little. “Why, yes, that is, I was afore I married my Ned. Now I am Mistress Robards.”

“But your grandmother was Patience Waters.”

“My grandmother was Prudence. Patience was my great-aunt.” Mary Robards’s expression became more guarded as she added, “But she died a long time ago and—and under very distressing circumstances.”

Meg sighed. She had hoped to ease into this more gently, but Seraphine’s brusque questions left Meg no choice but to plunge in.

“I know. Patience Waters was my nurse. My name is Margaret Wolfe.”

The woman trained her gaze on Meg for the first time, looking her up and down. Mary paled and she actually recoiled from Meg.

“You are not welcome here. You get out of my shop right now or I will fetch my husband or—or a constable.”

Mary prepared to bolt, but Seraphine grabbed her arm. “You’ll do nothing of the kind.”

“Release me at once or I—I will scream.”

“ ’Phine, let her go.” Meg hastened to reassure the woman. “Mary, we mean you no harm. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

“No! I want nothing to do with you or your coven.”

“I don’t have a coven.”

“Truly? Tell that to those witch friends of yours coming around here to purchase herbs.”

Witch friends?
Meg’s pulse quickened with the hope she might be on the right trail at last. Seraphine released the woman and Mary backed away, rubbing her arm.

“Please, leave me be,” Mary directed her plea to Meg. “Isn’t it enough that you got my Aunt Patience killed?”

“Meg did no such thing,” Seraphine snapped. “She was only a child, for mercy’s sake.”

“Nay, ’Phine, I do feel responsible for Patience Waters’s death.” Meg turned sadly to Mary. “Your aunt was a most kind and wise woman, a true daughter of the earth. She acted as my nurse for the first five years of my life. She nurtured me and tried to protect me from my mother’s madness. When she learned of my mother’s insane plans for me, Patience confronted her. She threatened to take me away from Cassandra, spirit me off to the refuge of Faire Isle.

“I—I overheard their quarrel. It was so loud and violent, I was frightened and started to cry. Patience came to soothe me. She told me not to fret, all would be well. She sang to me, rocked me to sleep in her arms and when I awoke the next morning—” Meg swallowed. “Patience was gone. I never saw her after that night. My mother said she had dismissed my nurse and she had returned to her own family.”

“She didn’t!” Mary cried. “She never came back to us. She simply disappeared.”

Meg nodded unhappily. “I was but a child, but even then I sensed my mother was lying to me. I always feared that Cassandra had—well, I know how ruthlessly my mother dealt with anyone who opposed her. Please believe me when I say I loved your Aunt Patience dearly. I would have given anything if I could have …”

Meg’s voice thickened and she could not go on. Seraphine draped her arm around Meg’s shoulder and gave her a bracing squeeze. When Meg had regained command of herself, she said softly, “I am so sorry, Mary.”

Some of the hostility had faded from Mary’s eyes, but she retreated behind the counter. “If you are truly sorry as you claim, then you will leave me alone and order your minions to do the same.”

“I have no minions. In fact, I wish to find those witches you spoke of. I fear they might be trying to revive the old coven. I want to stop them.”

“Then I wish you good fortune with that. Those two harpies seem as determined as they are terrifying.”

“There are two of them?” Seraphine asked. “Do you know their names?”

Mary cast a nervous look over her shoulder as though fearing she might be overheard and draw a curse down upon her head for telling. She leaned forward and all but whispered, “They are sisters, I believe. Their names are Beatrice and Amy Rivers.”

Rivers?
The same last name as the old woman who had cursed the king? Meg and Seraphine exchanged a significant glance, their suspicions confirmed. These were definitely the witches they were seeking.

“And what did they want from you?” Meg asked.

“At first, they but came to buy herbs. But they began hinting at other things, that there was some great day coming that would change everything for daughters of the earth, a new power that would arise and end the reign of men. They spoke of
you.
”

Mary darted a half-wary, half-resentful glance at Meg. “How you would be their deliverance and their avenger. The Silver Rose.”

Meg shook her head. “I am not this Silver Rose, Mary. I never was, except in my mother’s mad imagination.”

“Aye, mad is the word for it,” Mary agreed. “I might have been able to shrug off all of these witches’ wild talk, if they had not been so terrifying serious and so determined that I join them in rebuilding the coven. They said if I didn’t, I would be very sorry.

“I was too scared to ask what they meant by that. When I ordered them out of the shop, they went. I have not seen them for several days.” Mary shivered. “And I pray I never do again.”

Meg moistened her lips. There was another question that she had to ask, even though she dreaded the answer.

“Were these two sisters always alone? Were they ever accompanied by an older woman, very thin, very pale, and blind?”

“No, I don’t recall ever seeing anyone like that.”

If Cassandra Lascelles had been with these two women, Mary would have noticed. Meg’s mother had always had an unforgettable presence. The fact that Cassandra had not been seen with the Rivers sisters did not entirely rule out the possibility that she was still alive and behind all this. But Meg still breathed a little easier.

“So do you have any idea where we can find these Rivers women?” Seraphine asked.

“Yes,” Mary said, but she directed her reply to Meg. “You swear that you truly are not one of them. That you mean to stop them and—and you will keep them from ever returning to torment me again.”

“I will do my best,” Meg said quietly. “I swear upon my honor as the Lady of Faire Isle and a true daughter of the earth.”

Mary studied her for a long moment before saying, “They have lodgings at an inn near Westminster. The Two Crowns. That is where I was ordered to go whenever I stopped being foolish and decided to join them.”

“Thank you. How can I repay you for your help?”

“By staying far away from me and my family. I want naught to do with any of the old lore, even the white magic
my grandmother and Aunt Patience practiced. It is much safer that way.”

Mary Waters was not the only woman to feel that way. The numbers of the daughters of the earth were dwindling. Meg understood the fears of those who wished to abandon the ancient knowledge, but it saddened her all the same.

Mary returned to her mortar and pestle, vigorously grinding marjoram into a fine powder. She did not even look up as Meg and Seraphine turned to leave.

They were almost at the door when Mary called out, “Mistress Wolfe, wait.”

She and Seraphine both paused to look back.

“There is something more about those two sisters. The older one, Beatrice, is so cold and cruel. I vow she could flay a puppy alive and laugh while she did it. But the younger one, Amelia …” Mary shivered. “For all she can sound so pleasant, she’s got a great emptiness in her eyes. Then all of a sudden she’ll look at you like the devil just lit a fire inside of her. She’s the dangerous one. If you do confront her, you had best take great care.”

T
HE TWO CROWNS BORE THE LOOK OF A LESS THAN REPUTABLE
establishment, weeds overrunning the yard, the building itself showing signs of neglect. Paint had flecked off the inn sign, making one of the crowns look broken in half. Rather than a symbol of regal splendor, it more resembled the jaws of a trap.