Witch Finder (10 page)

Rosa.

No, God damn her, not Rosa. The witch. He must stop thinking of her as a girl, for she was
not
a girl. She was a witch – damned in the sight of God and condemned by man and by the word of the Bible. Condemned to—

The breath caught in his throat and he wrenched his gaze away from her and threw himself back into his hard narrow bed, his fists clenched in cold self-hatred.

She must die. That was all there was to it. He had pricked her name with his pin – fate had chosen her, not him. If he didn’t return of news of her death within the month then it would be his blood spilt, not hers.

Within the month. How long, exactly? Luke began to count back to the night in Fournier Street, and his heart became colder and colder with each backward step. It was more than a week ago, ten days, in fact. He had just eighteen days left. Eighteen days to kill her and return with the news to the Brotherhood.

But he didn’t need eighteen days. It only took a moment to kill – he just needed an opportunity. A plan that would not leave him swinging from the gallows or gutted by a spell.

And suddenly a way of doing it came into his head – and it was so simple he could have almost laughed. Only, it all depended on whether she would ride out tomorrow to meet Sebastian Knyvet. Would she?

Luke slept badly that night, torn between thinking of all the ways that his plan could go wrong and the chance that it would not happen at all. Would she really ride out to meet Knyvet, after all that had happened yesterday?

But the message came down after breakfast: Cherry and Brimstone to be saddled and ready in ten minutes, Mr Greenwood’s orders.

He took a deep breath and made his way out to the stables.

He’d only just finished saddling Brimstone when he heard the sound of boots on the cobbles and looked up to see Alexis striding across the yard, Rosa walking behind him, her face white and pale.

‘Is Brimstone ready?’ Alexis demanded. Luke nodded.

‘Yes, sir. But not Cherry, I’ve still got to saddle her up.’

‘Dammit, I said ten minutes. Seb’ll be waiting.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Luke tried to keep his face impassive. He bit back the words he really wanted to say:
You try grooming and saddling two horses in ten minutes, you fat slob.

‘Well, I’m not waiting on the convenience of a lazy stable-hand.’ He swung his leg up and called, ‘Rosa, I’m heading out. Come and find me with the boy. I’ll be near the north end, I suppose. Don’t take all day.’

Rosa said nothing but only nodded.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Alexis said, and there was something unpleasant in his voice, a needling laugh.

Rosa looked up at him and her gold-brown eyes were suddenly dark with hatred, her lips pressed together until they were completely bloodless. Her whole face, white beneath the stark black hat, seemed nothing but blazing eyes, full of fury. But she said nothing, only jerked her head towards the gate.

‘See you in the Row,’ Alexis said. ‘I’ll leave you with the sot.’ And with that he yanked on Brimstone’s curb and nudged him into a canter out of the yard and down the mews.

As the sound of Brimstone’s hooves faded into the distance Rosa let out a shaky breath and seemed to find her voice.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn’t spoken in a long time. ‘He shouldn’t be so rude to you – it’s unforgiveable.’

‘Me?’ Luke said surprised. ‘I don’t give a d—’ He stopped himself short, just in time and bit back the word. ‘I don’t mind what he chooses to call me,’ he finished gruffly.

She didn’t answer, but just sank on to a hay bale while he adjusted the buckles. His fingers were sweating and his heart was beating fast – this was the moment. If she looked up now, he was sunk. His fingers slipped on the cold metal of the buckle. But she didn’t. Her head was bowed between her knees, almost as if she were faint, and she was not looking at him or Cherry, but down at the voluminous folds of her jet-black habit.

It was done. He patted Cherry’s side, feeling his flesh prickle cold and hot with sweat. Then he turned to Rosa.

‘Ready, Miss Greenwood,’ he said. Then he stopped awkwardly. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I – I missed breakfast,’ she said wearily.

Luke looked down at himself, then brushed the straw from his britches.

‘Wait here.’

Becky was folding linen when Luke put his head cautiously round the kitchen door and whispered, ‘Hey. Hey – Becky.’

‘Oh!’ Becky jumped and dropped a pile of napkins and then swore crossly. ‘Oh, Luke Welling! You’ll be the death of me. What are you doing creeping round?’

‘I’m in me boots – I don’t want Mrs Ramsbottom to catch me. Listen, is there a piece of bread I can beg?’

‘So we’re not feeding you enough now, are we?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘A small vat of porridge and a piece of bread and butter the size of my head not good enough for you at breakfast?’

‘Not for me – for Miss Rosa.’

‘Miss Rosa?’ Her face was blank with astonishment. ‘Why are you begging food for her? Is she sickening for summat?’

‘No, but she missed breakfast.’

Becky frowned and began thoughtfully refolding the linen she’d dropped.

‘Now I come to think of it, she weren’t at dinner last night, neither. It’s no wonder she’s famished if she’s had nothing but tea and water since lunchtime yesterday. But what a ninny to refuse her meals and then beg scraps from the kitchen! Think she’s banting for her young man?’

‘Banting?’ Luke said blankly.

‘Oh you men!’ Becky got up crossly and went to the bread crock in the corner. ‘You know – missing meals to lose weight. Still, she wouldn’t be the first to go silly over a man. And goodness knows, her family need her to catch a fat fish – and her bait’s precious small. Pretty looks and a slim waist don’t count for much in high society – it’s a nice fat dowry wins Prince Charming these days. Mind you, she’s skinny enough already. Hardly a pick of spare flesh on her. And some men like a girl with a bit of flesh on her. How about you?’ She looked at him under her lashes as she began to slice bread and then took a piece of ham from the shelf. ‘Do you like your meat fat or lean, Luke Welling?’

‘Look, she’s waiting in the yard,’ Luke said, trying to keep the impatience from his voice. ‘Don’t worry about wrapping it, just give me the piece.’

‘And your hands all dirt from the yard?’ Becky cried. ‘Lord love us, it’d be as much as my place is worth if I gave one of the family a dirty sandwich. Here, take this.’ She thrust a sheet of greaseproof paper at him and he snatched it impatiently and took the sandwich back out to where Rosa was waiting.

She was sitting on the bale where he’d left her and her head had sunk even lower, as if she were a plant wilting without water. Cherry nuzzled at her neck, but she barely looked up.

‘Miss Greenwood,’ Luke said awkwardly. He held out the sandwich, wrapped in its paper, and Rosa’s face broke into a smile.

‘Thank you, Luke.’ She began to tear into the sandwich, gulping it down so fast that he laughed.

‘Hey, hey, gently now. You’ll do yourself a mischief.’

As he said the words he felt cold at his own hypocrisy. What was he doing? Fussing like a nursemaid over her when all the time . . .

You’re gaining her trust
, he thought bitterly.
Isn’t that what John Leadingham said? Get their trust, get in close. Then when they least expect it
 . . .

‘Thank you.’ She spoke around a mouthful of ham and then leant back, her eyes closed as if she could hardly bear how good it tasted. ‘Thank you. This is . . . It’s incredible. Delicious.’

A kind of hatred rose up in him.

‘Thank Becky, not me,’ he said curtly and turned away, but not before he saw the surprise and hurt flicker across her face. Of course she didn’t understand. How could she? And if she did know what was in his head, he wouldn’t be standing here. He’d be melted to a puddle of tar on the floor, or smeared around the walls like dog meat.

‘Luke?’ she said uncertainly, but he couldn’t answer. He only stood with his back to her, his hand on Cherry’s halter, as much to steady himself as the horse.

She scrambled up from the bale of hay and from the corner of her eye he could see bewilderment in her face. Then she seemed to stiffen. She straightened her spine and spoke haughtily.

‘It’s time we were getting on. Help me mount, please.’

‘I’ll get the mounting block, miss,’ he said tonelessly.

‘No, don’t bother. We’re late. Just give me a leg.’

For a moment he didn’t think he could – it was not just the thought of touching her, with the magic swirling and crackling through her skin. It was everything. The slim firmness of her waist, the scent of her hair so close to his face, the heat of her, the sheer vitality of her life so light in his hands – everything. A kind of dizziness rose up in him and he found his breath was coming fast and hard.

‘Luke,’ she said impatiently. And then, as he didn’t move, ‘
Luke
.’

He took a step forwards, shut his eyes, pretending she were just Minna, just another girl. The firm weight of her narrow boot in his hands, the flurry of her skirts . . . and she was up on Cherry’s back and he stepped backwards, his heart pounding like a hammer.

‘Come on,’ she said shortly. He hauled himself up on Castor’s back and by the time he’d gathered the horse together she had trotted out of the yard.

Luke’s heart was thumping as he watched her ride down the Row, her spine very straight, the heavy coils of dark-red hair at the base of her neck shining flame-red in the thin winter sunlight. The light eclipsed as she rode beneath a tree, then blazed out again as she came out of its shadow into the sun.

Far in the distance he could see Alexis talking to a group of men. One of them was Knyvet. He raised his hat as he saw Rosa approaching and Luke saw her hand clench on the reins and Cherry’s decorous trot falter to a walk. She said something under her breath.

‘I’m sorry, miss?’ he called across.

‘I said, I can’t do it.’ Her face beneath the severe black hat was very pale. ‘I can’t go up to him and pretend yesterday never happened. I can’t.’

She pulled Cherry’s head around.

‘Rosa,’ Alexis called warningly. There was a note in his voice that made Castor throw up his head and snort in alarm.

But if Rosa heard, she gave no sign. She was urging Cherry into a canter, the opposite way up the Row, back towards home. Luke’s heart began to beat. If it happened, it would be now. He heard the blood roaring in his ears, his heart thudding in time with Cherry’s pounding hooves as Rosa urged her along the Row, away from the group of men.

‘Rose!’ Alexis shouted. Rosa gripped the reins tighter.

There was a sudden snapping sound. Rosa gave a cry and Cherry shied and whinnied in alarm.

Suddenly she was falling, the side-saddle sliding round Cherry’s back, Rosa slithering to the ground in a confusion of black skirts, kicked-up dust and autumn leaves. But her foot was caught in the stirrup and Cherry carried on in a panicked canter, not slowing, but quickening almost to a gallop, Rosa’s body tossed and dragged beneath the pounding hooves.

There were screams from the women in the carriages either side, shouts from men and grooms on horseback, cries of alarm from the walkers on the footpath.

Knyvet began to gallop, his horse’s hooves striking dust from the path.

‘Rosa!’ he bellowed. Luke saw that his face, beneath the black top hat, was white.

The blood roared in Luke’s ears, cold sweat prickling across his spine, and he wanted nothing more than to turn tail with Castor and run. Back to the stable, back to Spitalfields – not to have to see this horrible thing to the end.

Coward.

Instead he put his whip to Castor and urged him into a gallop too.

‘
Ábíeteaþ!
’
Knyvet shouted. His magic blazed like a dark fire and Luke almost lost his grip on Castor’s reins. The horse stumbled and it was only with a huge effort that Luke gathered him back together.

‘
Ábíeteaþ!
’ Knyvet shouted again, his magic almost blinding in its dark intensity.

Then the girth snapped completely and Cherry was cantering free and Rose lay crumpled on the dirt, like a blackbird with a broken wing.

Knyvet skidded to a halt next to Rosa’s body, slid from his saddle and knelt in the dust beside her.

‘Rosa?’ he said. He was panting, his voice ragged between breaths. ‘Rose? Can you hear me, darling?’

For a minute Luke’s heart hammered fit to burst in his chest. Everything.
Everything
, depended on the answer.

‘I’m . . . I’m all right.’ Her voice came, croaky and shaken. But it was all he needed to know. She was alive. She was alive.

He closed his eyes, feeling heat and then icy cold wash over him in succession. It was all over. He had failed. She was alive.

‘O
h, Rosa . . .’ Sebastian closed his eyes and Rosa saw his face was white as his snowy stock, spots of hectic colour standing clear on his cheekbones. His fist was clenched around his crop. ‘Don’t ever,
ever
do that to me again.’

He put his arm around her and helped her to sit, very gently, as if she were made of china and might break.

‘Is anything broken?’ His voice was rough and she realized that he had been truly afraid. Something strange seemed to be happening inside her – as if all her insides were pummelled and bruised by the fall: melting, turning liquid with relief and this strange, unaccountable new Sebastian.

‘I don’t think so,’ she managed. ‘But my ankle hurts. Is Cherry all right?’

‘Damn Cherry, it’s you I’m worried about. Your foot was trapped in the stirrup. Let me look.’

‘I don’t think Mama—’

‘This is no time for propriety.’ He pulled off his gloves impatiently and began tugging at the buttons of her boot. ‘If it’s sprained we need to get the boot off as quick as possible. Tell me if I hurt you.’

Rosa couldn’t suppress a little gasp of pain as he pulled off her boot – and his face went rigid.

‘I’m sorry. Let me . . .’ His fingers pressed gently against the bone and then manipulated her foot. ‘It’s not broken, just bruised.’ He lowered his voice and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the passers-by. ‘I could heal you – but not here. I’ve already compromised us with that spell to snap the girths.’

‘It’s all right.’ Rosa’s heart was beating quick and shallow. She was not sure if it was the aftermath of the fall or the strange disquieting sensation of Sebastian’s hand cradling her foot. For a minute she shut her eyes and felt again the snap of the girth and herself sliding inexorably to the rough ground and the tangle of pounding hooves . . . If it hadn’t been for Sebastian’s spell she would be dead. Perhaps it was the strange realization that on some level she owed him her life.

She pulled her foot gently out of his grip. ‘I can heal it myself. There’s no need for chivalry.’

‘You need to rest.’ He looked at her sternly. ‘You shouldn’t be casting spells. If you won’t let me, then ask your mother. Or Alexis.’

Rosa shuddered at the thought of Alexis healing her and Sebastian shook his head.

‘You’re cold. It’s the shock. Can you stand?’

‘I’m not cold,’ Rosa protested. But she let Sebastian help her to her feet and then bent to put her foot back in the boot.

‘Don’t,’ Sebastian said. ‘If it swells you might not be able to get the boot off. Leave it off and I’ll send for my carriage to take you home.’

‘No, no,’ Rosa begged. ‘Please, Luke can go home and get the governess cart; it will do quite well. Truly – don’t send for your carriage. There’s no need.’

‘What in God’s name happened, Rose?’ Alexis came up behind Sebastian’s shoulder. ‘Did you fall?’

‘A girth snapped by the look of it, I’d say,’ Sebastian said shortly. ‘Where’s the horse and where’s that damn stableboy?’

‘Here, sir,’ Luke said expressionlessly. Rosa looked and saw him trotting slowly up behind Sebastian, holding Cherry’s reins, the missing side-saddle across his lap.

‘Is Cherry hurt?’ Rosa asked anxiously.

‘Let’s take a look.’ Alexis slid from Brimstone’s back. He took the side-saddle from Luke, examining it suspiciously. ‘Girths look all right . . . No, wait, this buckle. It’s mangled – the pin’s worn right through. How did you not notice this?’

He stared accusingly at Luke. Rosa, watching his face, saw him close his eyes and swallow. He was pale, stubble shadowing his cheeks.

‘I can’t explain it, sir,’ he said at last. ‘I must have missed it.’

‘Dammit, do you think that’s in any way good enough?’ Alexis tapped his crop against his thigh, full of righteous bullying anger. ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you!’

Luke opened his eyes and looked steadily at Alexis.

‘No, sir. It’s not good enough.’

‘It certainly is not.’ Alexis’ face was nearly as red as his hair, the freckles seeming almost pale against the flush. ‘Pack your bags. You can leave in the morning. Without a character.’

‘No!’ Rosa spoke without thinking, but the words died in her throat when their faces turned to her, Alexis’ red and angry, Sebastian’s pale, one eyebrow raised in enquiry. Only Luke did not look at her. His eyes were on the ground, as if in resignation.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Alexis’ crop twitched against his thigh again, only this time his anger was not at Luke. ‘How dare you contradict me in front of a servant?’

‘I didn’t . . .’ Rosa twisted her fingers together. ‘I mean, I wasn’t – I only thought—’

‘What you thought doesn’t interest me,’ Alexis snarled.

‘Greenwood.’ Sebastian cut across him, his voice like a whip. ‘Please have the courtesy to let your sister speak.’

Rosa would not have thought it possible for Alexis to turn any redder, but he seemed to manage, a tide of fury flooding from his throat to his hairline. But he said nothing. He gave a stiff nod towards Rosa, inviting her to speak, and Rosa swallowed.

‘I’m sorry, Alexis,’ she managed. ‘It was only that – I should have said . . .’ Inspiration came and she stood up straighter in spite of the pain in her foot, taking courage from the lie, and from Sebastian’s hand supporting her elbow. ‘I should have said,
I
adjusted Cherry’s girth, not Luke. It’s my fault.’

‘How does that explain him overlooking the broken buckle?’ Alexis exploded. ‘He’s in charge of the tack. If he didn’t properly examine it—’

‘
I
broke the buckle. Cherry stepped on it while I was adjusting the straps, but I thought it would be all right. I – I was in a hurry to catch up.’ She hung her head. The blush that coloured her cheeks was real, lending credence to the lie. ‘I thought it would wait. I meant to tell Luke later.’

For a long moment Alex said nothing. He just stood, his crop tapping against his thigh, his breath coming quick and angry. Then he turned on his heel and swung himself back into the saddle.

‘Well. Then you have only yourself to blame,’ he hissed at Rosa. ‘And you . . .’ He pointed his crop at Luke. ‘You’re on your final warning. Consider yourself lucky I’m not sacking you anyway for allowing a woman to fiddle with the tack.’

He gave Brimstone a crack with his crop that made the horse jump and whinny. And then he was off across the park at a gallop, the riders scattering before him, and Rosa and Sebastian looked at one another.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa said. She wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for herself or for Alexis. She let her eyes flick towards Luke, sitting motionless on Castor. His face was blank, unreadable. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Sebastian gave a short laugh. ‘Alexis is a fool and a boor. That’s no fault of yours.’

‘Then why are you friends with him?’ she shot back, before she could consider the wisdom of the question. Sebastian only looked at her, his blue eyes pale and cool as the winter sky. For a minute he held her gaze. Then he looked away.

‘I leave you to decide that for yourself.’

In the silence that followed, Rosa groped for a remark but found nothing. She only stood, searching, trying to find the perfect riposte and failing.

Then Sebastian broke in.

‘I’m so sorry, Rosa. Why am I leaving you standing around on your bad ankle like a fool? We must get you home. The only question is how. Is your carriage at home ready?’

He looked at Luke.

‘No, sir,’ Luke said. Rosa breathed a sigh of relief. The carriage was in perilous need of repair and hardly used, and Mama would be out in the governess trap.

‘Please, Sebastian.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘I can ride, honestly I can.’

‘Ride? With a broken buckle?’ Sebastian said shortly. ‘Don’t be foolish, Rosa.’

‘Well then, I’ll walk.’

‘Nonsense. We’ll send for my phaeton . . . You.’ He spoke to Luke. ‘D’you know where Hanington Square is?’

‘No, sir.’ Luke shook his head. His eyes were on the rutted surface of the Row. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ve never been up west before.’

Sebastian clicked his tongue and Rosa stiffened, almost expecting another flash of cold rage. But when he spoke his voice was calm and even; preoccupied, but no hint of that dangerous icy fury that had consumed him before.

‘There’s nothing for it, I’ll have to go for mine. Stay here,’ he said to Rosa. ‘Your man will look after you.’

‘Sebastian . . .’ Rosa felt exasperation rise in her. ‘Truly, there’s no need. I can walk, I promise you.’ She thought of all the times she’d fallen or been thrown at Matchenham and limped home, sore and bleeding. No carriage then. She was lucky if she got a bowl of hot water and a healing spell.

‘I’m going,’ Sebastian said firmly. He swung himself back up on to his horse, tipped his hat to her and cantered off down the row.

Rosa sank on to a bench and let out a tremulous breath. In truth her ankle was hurting and the idea of walking home on it was not pleasant. But the idea of being driven in Sebastian Knyvet’s carriage was somehow even more disquieting.

She watched him galloping across the park, his horse’s shining coat flickering between the trees. And a strange feeling rose up in her – a mixture of excitement and fear. He wanted her – she’d known it from that first moment his eyes met hers in the candlelit drawing room, but now she was sure. Sebastian, who could have had any girl in London or Delhi for the asking and their dowry too, wanted
her
, Rosa Greenwood, a girl without two shillings to rub together. She was no longer the pursuer – she was the pursued. The thought made her shiver.

But as she watched him disappear into the throng by the gate, an image came into her mind: it was the image of a fox, a little vixen she’d seen at Matchenham, chased by a hound.

Luke slid from the horse on to legs that felt like they would give way any second. His limbs felt like they had the time he’d had the influenza – weak and shaky, with joints made of jelly, not bone. His heart was beating in his throat so that he felt almost like throwing up. For a minute there it had been all over – and she’d saved him. Why?
Why?

His guts griped and for a moment he thought he was actually going to be sick – right there, in the Row, amid the glossy horses and shiny boots.

‘Luke . . .’ He heard Rosa’s voice as if from a long way off. ‘Luke. Are you all right?’

‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ he said hoarsely, and turned to face her, forcing down the weakness.
Get it together
, he raged at himself.
Get it together, you god-damned yellow-belly.

‘You had a shock too.’ Her eyes were huge in her pale face. She’d lost half her hairpins with the fall and fiery tendrils had escaped from beneath her hat and twined around her white throat and the stark black collar of her habit.

‘Why did you do it?’ he demanded suddenly. He knew he should have been grateful and that his voice was full of an anger he couldn’t suppress and didn’t understand. ‘Why? It was my fault! Why did you tell them it was you?’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said softly.

He wanted her to rage, damn him for being impertinent and ungrateful and irresponsible – and instead she was watching him with those wide dark eyes, her face unguarded and full of concern for
him
.

‘It
was
my fault.’ The words tore out of him like they were edged with thorns. Good God – not his fault? If she only knew . . . For a crazy second the truth hovered on the tip of his tongue and the urge to blurt it all out was overwhelming – he imagined spitting it out, like a gobbet of poison on the clean sawdust of the Row. She stood and her magic swirled and shimmered around them both. He felt it reach out, insinuating itself into him, trying to soothe and comfort and calm.

No!
he wanted to bellow. He raised his hands to press them against his forehead, pressing back the confused desperation that was boiling up inside him. The dressing on his shoulder gave a great throb, as if infected, and for a second he thought he might fall – it was only his grip on Cherry’s reins that kept him upright.

Then Castor nuzzled his shoulder as if to steady him and somehow – somehow – he got it together enough to mutter, ‘It
was
my fault. I should have checked the buckle. But you still haven’t said why – why did you save me?’

‘Because I couldn’t bear to see you sacked over a stupid buckle!’ she burst out. ‘And Alexis would have done it, you know – he would have sent you packing back to Spitalfields tomorrow without any notice and without a character – and then where would it be, your dream of being a groom?’

He almost laughed. The cover story seemed so thin and transparently stupid, like a tale a child might have dreamt up.

‘I never wanted to be a groom,’ he found himself saying bitterly.

‘What?’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Then what are you doing here?’

Don’t tell her!
The urge to spit out the truth was almost overpowering. Had she bewitched him? Was this crazy urge to tell her everything part of some truth-telling charm? But he didn’t feel as if it was he could feel no spells coming from her other than that first soothing, gentling warmth that he’d shaken off without effort.