“I ... I can’t.” Deirdre bit her lip.
MissMunro sighed and rolled her head on her delicate neck. “MissWerner. If you refuse to cooperate with me, I’ll have your room searched this very moment.”
She’d have to bring it, then. Have to show her. She had marked the page with the mushrooms with a length of satin ribbon. She could remove it, of course, but she couldn’t tear the pages free. MissMunro would know. Dammit. Instead of dancing, she should have done what she’d planned and hidden the book in the gardens. “I’ll go fetch it, then.”
“Very good. I’ll wait here. Don’t tarry too long.”
Deirdre made her way up to the top floor, her knees trembling. She pushed open the door to her room and startled. Ambrose Gentry stood there, handsomely dressed in evening clothes, facing the window. He turned, his lips quirking up at the corners. Deirdre whispered a curse beneath her breath.
“Ah, there you are. You look stunning in green, MissWerner.”
He walked toward her, and for the first time, she heard his footfalls on the floorboards. His shadow stretched out long behind him. Deirdrereached out and poked a finger at his lapel and instead of the usual oily mire, felt fine summer wool. He laughed and grasped her hand in his. She jerked away at the feel of his cool flesh. He was truly here. Not just a figment of her imagination or the menacing specter that haunted her from the shadows.
“How did you get here?”
He shrugged. “I walked in the door. With all the other eager young men downstairs, it was easily done.”
Gentry clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth. Gone was the simple country pastor, along with the slow as molasses drawl. Instead, he held a veneer of city polish, a brash confidence befitting a well-to-do gentleman. He was ever a mimic, blending in wherever he found himself.
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve only come to help you. That’s what pastors do, Deirdre. They help.”
Deirdre lifted her chin and laughed. “Is that so?”
“There are pressing matters to discuss. Like that poor girl you poisoned, two floors down. The ambulance won’t arrive in time. There’s been a streetcar accident downtown, and many people are injured.”
The sick feeling twisted in Deirdre’s gut. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“Ah, but youdid! You have a vengeful streak, Deirdre. All the Werner women have it. But you, my dear—you have it in spades.” He waggled his finger at her. “They’ll hang you for it, you know.”
“You said you were here to help. I ain’t seen much help in what you’re saying at all.”
“First things first. Your spinster schoolmistress wishes to see the grimoire, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Well, let’s see it. Bring it out.”
“I’m not supposed to show it to anyone, leastwise you.”
“But you’ve already broken the rules. Showed it to Esme. You’re not in a position to quarrel with me, MissWerner, as I’m your only ally. I’m the only one who knows what you’ve done, and I’d wager you’d like to keep it that way. The clock is ticking. Remember poor Phoebe.”
Driven by guilt, Deirdre knelt at the foot of her bed, keeping a wary eye on Gentry. She pulled the tapestry satchel out and took the grimoire from it.
“Open the book and tell me what you see.”
Deirdre took a breath and opened the cover. The page was blank. She turned the next page, then the next. All were empty of their spells and charms. Instead, there were only the neatly written and festively illustrated recipes. Not for poison at all, but for gingerbread and spiced cider, kuchen and schnitzel. It was just as she’d told MissMunro—a journal with family recipes. But how? Deirdre almost laughed with relief.
“What do you see?” Gentry asked slyly.
“Nothing. Nothing at all apart from a few recipes. Did you do that?”
He chuckled. “It’s a mere glamour. A trick of the eye. It won’t last long, but it will last long enough to save you.”
“But Constance looked at it. She told MissMunro there were poison recipes inside.”
“That silly girl didn’t see a thing. When she tried to open the grimoire, the clasp cut her finger and she jumped to her own conclusions. The grimoire does protect itself ... and its owner.”
