“You think not to confront him directly, then?”
“No. Father will present himself as a concerned friend and business acquaintance. We will offer him the chance to apologize for what happened at the ball. You might suggest speaking to him on the matter of his marriage?”
“Yes, I can do that, though with little expectation of a good outcome.”
“None of us believes he will mend his ways, but it provides us a reason for our visit. We will wait for His Lordship to break cover.”
“Hecate, I want you to have this.”
John took a small, flat box from the pocket in his vestments and handed it to her. She opened it to find a little gold crucifix on a short chain.
“Oh, it is very lovely, John, but I could not possibly…”
“It is for your protection. We are engaged in dangerous work, and that work is of a spiritual nature. You know that, else you would not require the services of an exorcist. Please, for me, say you will wear it.”
She was touched by his concern. It was a modest piece of jewelry, pretty, delicately worked, and would not be a hard thing to wear. She was not certain how much she trusted it could protect her, but John clearly believed that it could. Perhaps, she thought, that was all that mattered.
“Very well. For you, I will wear it.”
On hearing her words he visibly relaxed. Taking the necklace from her, he reached forward and placed it around her neck, securing the clasp carefully.
“It belonged to my grandmother,” he told her. “You remind me of her, sometimes. She, too, was … a rare bird.”
Hecate smiled. “I’ve never been called that before,” she said. “It is a very thoughtful gift. Thank you. As a matter of fact, there was something I wanted to ask you.…”
“Yes?”
“Could you possibly obtain some holy water for me? Only a very small amount. A cupful would do.”
“Hecate, you would never attempt to perform an exorcism without me, would you?”
“No, no, nothing like that. Only, well, it seems you and I are of one mind: It is sensible to equip ourselves with what defenses we may find.”
“Quite so.” He nodded. “I shall acquire some for you.”
“Capital!” she said without thinking, surprising herself in her use of her father’s favorite exclamation. Was she becoming more and more like him, she wondered. Noticing the seriousness in his expression she briefly squeezed his hand. “Come along, we shall be missed. Can’t have the parishioners forced to go in search of their vicar on such a day.” She stepped away from him then and he followed her back to the front of the church.
As she readied herself for work the next day, Hecate felt a new excitement. Today she would use her keys. Reverend Thomas had an appointment in the afternoon that would leave her alone in the library for the first time in many days. She would seize the opportunity. It would be so much better to examine the books without first having to give some reason to the librarian as to why she wanted them, or to have him watch her as she read what she found. As she left her bedroom she felt hope rising within her. Surely the library would, ultimately, provide her with what she needed to send the dangerous spirits back where they belonged. Her new access to the treasures it held began today. As had become her habit, she pinned her cameo brooch to her dress, pausing for a moment to feel the smooth shell of the goddess’s portrait and spare a thought for her namesake.
Her happiness was to be shattered, however, upon finding her mother already at the front door, greeting Dr. Francis as he entered.
“Mother?”
“Oh, Hecate, your brother is unwell. He complains of a sore throat and in the night developed a cough. Dr. Francis, would you come straight up, please. Hecate, do not dally on the stairs, child, let the doctor pass.”
Her mother might have expected her to step down into the hall but instead Hecate turned on her heel and trotted up ahead of Dr. Francis. She found Charlie sitting up in bed, his color high, his skin blotchy, a worrying dampness about his brow. He attempted a smile on seeing his sister but fell into a bout of coughing. She sat on his bed and took his hand while the doctor walked to the other side, setting his bag down on the chest of drawers.
“Now then, young Master Cavendish, your mother tells me you are in the wars again.” As he spoke he leaned forward and took the patient’s hand in his own, expertly assessing both pulse and skin temperature. He was a man unremarkable in appearance who wore his learning lightly.
“I have a head cold, Doctor, nothing more,” Charlie insisted.
Beatrice had come to stand at the foot of the bed, her face stern with disapproval, as if she could rid her son of his ailment simply by dint of her will and her standing in the household. It was not in her nature to show her fear, and the doctor had her trust. Nevertheless, all present in the room knew how quickly a simple malady could become a life-threatening illness for Charlie. Dr. Francis completed a swift examination.
“Plenty of rest, nourishing food in small quantities. Mrs. Cavendish, I will leave you with a syrup to soothe the cough. While it can be effective, it is best Charles does not exert himself in a way that might provoke a bout. Cold compresses on the throat may be helpful. Here is another bottle of tonic, three spoonfuls a day.” He paused to smile as Charlie pulled a face. “As long as the patient is able to complain of its less-than-pleasant taste he should give us no cause for concern.” He snapped shut his bag. “Mrs. Cavendish, call me if you have any concerns. I leave him in your exemplary care. Good day to you,” he said, nodding to Charlie as he left the room.
“Do you feel hungry?” Hecate asked her brother. “Shall I have Stella fetch you some cake?”
“Really, Hecate”—her mother was unimpressed—“what is required here is nourishment, not indulgence.”
“I should have thought anything to tempt Charlie to eat was a good thing. Surely we must keep him happy, keep his spirits up.”
“There is too much emphasis put on enjoyment in this house, over and above what is good sense. Broth is what is called for. I have Cook making some now. Charles may have a bowl after he has taken his tonic,” she declared, fetching the bottle and a spoon from the bedside cabinet.
Hecate and the boy exchanged grimaces. “Never mind,” she told him, “I’ll bring you back a pie from Askews when I come home. Would that be more acceptable, Mother?”
Beatrice brandished the spoon. “You mean to go to your work?”
“Naturally.”
“When your brother is unwell?”
“But … surely, Mother, I am not needed here.…”
“This is your family. This is where you are needed most, but it is obvious your priorities lie elsewhere.”
“Would you have me shirk my responsibilities?”
Her mother poured the tonic and advanced toward her son with the filled spoon. “I have made my opinion clear on the matter,” was all she would say.
