Chapter Twenty-Two
Death and Magic
Resting on Gran’s lap was a very old and tattered-looking book. The edges of its leather cover peeked out from behind the yellowed paper, and she repeated the words once again in the same rhythmic cadence, like an ancient chant. As if searching for something, she ran her fingers along the lines of script in its pages, and her singing stopped, leading to a fit of coughing.
My heart pounded inside my chest so loudly I feared she might hear. I stepped back into the shadows of the room, watching as she continued the charm reminiscent of the old pagan ways. What was she doing, and why did she dare do it here on the duke’s property? Though the witch trials had died down, the threat still lingered, and if she were caught in such an act, we could both face dire consequences, even in these supposedly quieter times.
I recalled a whispered conversation I had overheard between my mother and Aunt Beth last winter. Beth had returned from a visit to Gran’s with some of her tonics, expressing concern that Gran was becoming careless in her old age. She mentioned that Gran had her books and herbs openly displayed in the house instead of in her altar room where they should have been hidden away. At the time, I thought it was merely Beth worrying about the possibility someone might think Gran’s practices were witchcraft, but now different thoughts were emerging about that conversation.
Beth had also shown Mother a small silver hair clip that Gran had given to her, claiming it would help attract suitors after the tragic loss of her husband. Beth, accustomed to the comforts of high society, had quickly spent what little her husband had left her. She believed she needed another well-to-do man to maintain that lifestyle and had been on the search for a new husband directly after the appropriate mourning time was over. Not more than a week after she began wearing the clip, two influential men were courting her. I had dismissed it as a coincidence, but now I couldn’t help but wonder if Gran had charmed the hair clip.
This brought me straight to the thought of the stomacher Gran had embroidered for me. As she sewed it onto the dress, she expressed her hope that it would bring me luck in finding a suitor. I wondered if that was the reason my dance card had filled so quickly. Had it all been due to a spell she had placed on the stomacher, intending to aid me in finding a husband?
My head spun as whispered words wove threads that connected to tales and stories about Gran being a witch. There had been talk of her miraculous deeds: saving livestock, crops, and even people from ailments that should have claimed their lives. Then came the whispers of her narrowly escaping death herself when she was young, after one of her close friends, Freya, had been hanged as a witch. I hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now there was no hiding the fact. I tucked myself back into bed, restedmy heavy head on the cold rigid pillow, and willed myself to sleep.Perhaps by morning, it will all be just a bad dream, conjured from too much dancing and a tired mind,I thought as my eyes grew heavy, and sleep finally overtook me.
The cold woke me the next morning, seeping its way into my blankets and pulling me from the realm of dreams. I rose from bed and slung my cape over my shoulders to ward off the chill. The fire must have gone out in the middle of the night,I thought as I pulled the curtain aside and glanced toward the kitchen. It was then that reality pierced through the foggy haze of my morning thoughts, and I recalled the events of the prior night. Not the ball, but Gran sitting by the fire, weaving some sort of spell with her herbs and song. My skin prickled with fear as I ventured into the kitchen.
To my horror, Gran was lying face down on the cold wooden floor in a pool of vomit. She was cold to the touch, and for a fleeting moment, I feared the worst. I rested my head on her chest; to my relief, there was a very slow and very light beating. I attempted to get behind her and pull her toward the bed, but I was only able to move her a few feet. In a state of panic, I grabbed blankets and a pillow, creating a makeshift bed for her on the floor.
“Gran, wake up!”I yelled, trying to rouse her, but she didn’t move.
I hastily grabbed my cape and donned my boots and hurried out the door, leaving them only partially fastened. The frigid cold sliced at the exposed skin on my ankles as I briskly traversed the snow. As the chilly air cut through my lungs, I had to gasp for breath. The castle wasn’t too far from the cottage, but the snow and my hastily chosen attire hindered my progress.
With each freezing step, my mind raced, fearing that if the cold hadn’t roused me, it might have been too late for Gran. Though only a few minutes passed, it felt like an eternity by the time I approached the grand front doors of the castle. A surprised footman opened them for me as I sprinted up, clad in my nightwear, my cape wrapped tightly aroundme. I swiftly recounted the situation to one of the servants, who promptly sprinted up the lengthy hallway. I doubled over, gasping for breath as the cold air continued to sting my lungs.
In a matter of moments, the duke appeared, and I straightened myself, bowing respectfully as he approached. I tried to maintain whatever semblance of dignity I could muster, even though I stood before him in nothing more than my undergarments and a cape.
“What has happened?”he inquired, his voice filled with genuine concern as he assessed my distressed state.
“Gran has fallen ill, my lord. She lies unresponsive on the cottage floor, and I couldn’t manage to lift her into bed. I fear something grave is amiss,”I explained, my words tinged with fear as I fought back tears.
“Gwen, go and fetch Arthur and Henry, send them to Thistle Cottage right away, and wake my son as well,”he ordered in a tone I had not heard him use before.“Come, let us go to her,”he continued, taking his coat from Gwen and leading the way toward the front doors. He signaled to a tall man outside, who promptly disappeared and returned with a small carriage.
We entered the carriage in silence, not exchanging a word during the short trip to the cottage. Honestly, I hadn’t anticipated the duke himself coming. I had assumed he would send for a doctor, forgetting the deep bond he and my grandmother shared. The duke felt a debt to Gran for saving his son and wife’s lives years ago and from the look of it, he intended to honor that debt.
When we entered the cottage, Gran remained in the same spot where I had left her, swathed in blankets, cold and unresponsive on the floor. The duke knelt beside her, lowering himself to her side and bringing his ear near her mouth.
“She is breathing, but barely. Has she been feeling unwell lately?”he asked, looking up with concern in his eyes. I thought back to the priorday and how she had been having fits of coughing when she spoke. Before I could reply, a small group of men entered the house.
“Lift her gently, and let’s get her back to the castle,”he instructed the men.
They delicately raised Gran as if she weighed little more than a twig and carried her out to a much larger carriage.
“Go get yourself dressed. My men will transport her to the castle and place her in a guest room until a doctor can properly assess her condition.”
I hurried into the back room and changed into a simple green wool skirt, forgoing the tightening of my corset. I quickly threw on a matching bodice and pinned up my hair. Meeting the duke back in the kitchen, we both felt the discomfort of being alone in each other’s presence and hastily made our way back into the cold morning air toward the waiting carriage.
Upon our return to the castle, the men had already settled Gran into a room, where she lay comfortably in a large bed with a warm fire crackling in the nearby fireplace.
“The doctor has been summoned, my lord,”Gwen, the duchess’s lady’s maid, informed us as we entered the room.
“Thank you, Gwen. Tea?”the duke requested, his gaze filled with compassion as he looked down at Gran.“You never answered my question. Had she been ill?”he asked, turning back to me.
“Nothing more than a light cough, my lord.”
He took a deep breath and looked back at Gran lying motionless in the large bed.
“Why don’t you try talking to her? Perhaps you can reach her somehow, even in her forced slumber,”he suggested.“Gwen will bring you tea and something to eat,”he said before turning and leaving the room.
