Élisabeth had called them into the front room, leaving Marthe alone with Jeanne Roy. She looked at the faces all around her. Rose and Lou, of course, ready to do whatever was asked of them. Thérèse and Françoise, one with a worried frown, one with a leer. Several of the other girls who had married and spread across the island, all of them rounded up by Apolline, who stood tall and smug in the centre of the group. Only the youngest, Claire, was still unwed and living with the nuns. Still, she had leapt at the chance to join them when Apolline had arrived with her husband’s cart and horse.
“For who, when called to help a witch, would dare refuse?” she had said with a nervous giggle.
Élisabeth wondered how they would succeed. In the back room she could hear her sister’s moans and Jeanne Roy’s murmurings. Verger had been sent outside to guard the privy to ensure the widow did not escape. Francoeur had run back to the prison to see if Jambon and Lajeunesse had been captured by theboy jailor. Now it was up to her. To find the magic wand that would somehow save Marthe’s life. She climbed up onto a chair.
“Girls, please listen to me.”
They shuffled to attention. Some eyed her and muttered to those standing next to them. Élisabeth’s heart sank, for she knew they did not trust her after what she’d done. But she persisted.
“You all know Jeanne Roy has a cloth toy, a poppet made of rags and yarn. What you do not know is that this doll has great power. And Jeanne needs it to save Marthe’s life. Father de Sancy has it—”
“And who’s the idiot who gave it to him?” one of them called out.
Élisabeth took a breath and called upon her demon for strength. She would not falter now. “I am. But I am begging you all to help me take it back.”
“Why does she need the doll?” It was Claire, her voice wary.
“It’s where her magic comes from,” said another.
“How do you mean to steal it back?” Françoise asked.
Élisabeth waited for the questions to die down before she spoke again. “The doll is called Chamberlen’s Secret. It is a magic wand. It will save Marthe, and when your time comes, it may save you as well.”
A chorus of whispers rose up. Most of the girls were already with child. Perhaps they would be moved to help for their own sakes, even if they feared the task ahead.
“Why do you need so many of us to steal a wand?” Françoise called out again. “The Sulpicians will surely spot a dozen women sauntering up to their seminary. They aren’tthatblinded by faith.” She sniggered and nudged Thérèse. But Thérèse brushed her elbow away, not taking her eyes off Élisabeth.
“Well, I have a notion…” Élisabeth began. She remembered how the young jailor halted in his tracks when he saw Jeanne Roy in Francoeur’s arms, stupefied by his fear. Once she too had been frozen by fear. Fear was a powerful enemy, but could it also be their ally? The demon Marcosi was her steadfast ally now. She stood a little straighter on the chair.
“Father de Sancy has been hunting witches these many months. Tonight, it is time to turn the tables. Tonight, it is the witches who will go hunting.”
“W-witches?” Claire stammered. “Do you know of witchesotherthan Jeanne here in Ville-Marie?”
“Wewill be the witches,” Élisabeth told her.
The girls looked from one another to Élisabeth, shaking their heads and crossing themselves.
“This is madness,” Apolline protested. “She intends to make heretics of us all!”
Élisabeth held her hands out, trying to quieten them down. Jeanne Roy hobbled out of the back room on Wari’s arm, wincing as she walked. Only then did the brides fall silent.
“I cannot wait much longer,” Jeanne said.
“I have a plan,” Élisabeth assured her. “There are thirteen of us, including Wari. Enough for a full coven.”
“A coven!” Lou laughed. “She does want to turn us into witches!”
“Élisabeth, what are you plotting?” Jeanne Roy’s voice was sharp.
“The priests will cower when a coven of witches arrives to claim Chamberlen’s Secret. They will faint dead from fear.”
“Élisabeth, the fire you intend to conjure will burn everything it touches,” Jeanne said. “You cannot know the risk you are facing.”
“We are already at risk.” Élisabeth raised her voice to be heard above the mounting clamour. “If we do not claim the doll, Marthe dies. I will not let that happen. I will steal it myself. And once I do, every woman in the colony will be under suspicion. The old priest will wake tomorrow and discover it missing. He will seek witches at every turn. Which farmer’s wife in her garden will Father de Sancy decide is a witch to be burned? Which wife gone to market will be put to the Question? Any woman trying to help another through her labours? A witch.”
One by one the girls stopped talking. Élisabeth took a deep breath. “Once I take back Chamberlen’s Secret there will be such a witch craze in Ville-Marienone will be safe. None can hide. Thus, I propose that we do not cringe. We do it together. The more powerful we appear, the safer we will be.”
“This is not right,” Jeanne Roy said. “The solution to a witch craze cannot be to create more witches—”
