The Return of the Witch (27 page)

As I entered the district that had been my home all those years ago, the streets became narrower and scruffier. Soon I had left behind the elegant houses and the well-dressed ladies and prosperous gentlemen of the better boroughs. Here were the barrow boys, stallholders, and hawkers. Here were children begging, careworn women showing shocking amounts of ankle, their bright clothes at odds with their dull expressions as they touted for custom. On each corner, street food was being cooked over braziers, filling the air with the aroma of roasting chestnuts and baked potatoes, masking the stench of sewers and rubbish for a few strides. I recognized the tailor's shop in the street where I had lodged. The buildings were strangely familiar, although it had not yet become my street. The notion that I was out of place, not in this
place
, but in this
time
, added confusion to my already highly wrought thoughts. A sense of unease settled upon me. It could have been the aftereffects of Time Stepping and, of course, the constant worry about Tegan, and fatigue from so much walking without having eaten anything. My mouth watered as I passed by a pie stall, but the knot in my stomach was not prompted by hunger. I found myself glancing over my shoulder. I had the strongest impression that I was being followed. I reminded myself that this was an unsafe place for a woman walking alone, and took the precaution of stepping more into the center of the road, preferring to dodge the slow-moving traffic rather than risk being bundled down an alleyway.

Dusk was falling. A lamplighter went about his work, putting a spill to the gaslights that were too few and too far apart to avoid the shadowy places that had to be crossed in order to get anywhere. Gradually, the sights and sounds of daytime London were slipping away and being replaced by their gloomier, murkier nighttime cousins. More street women appeared, growing bolder in their approaches. The noise from the public houses increased, its clientele spilling out onto the pavements, smoking, swearing, or brawling. The stallholders packed up their wares. The barrow boys wheeled their weary way homeward. Men with hats pulled low over their eyes glanced warily about them. From one tavern came the sound of a piano being played with heavy hands, accompanying lusty singing. Even through all this noise and life, the feeling that I was being stealthily stalked persisted. I saw then how foolish I had been to venture into such a place alone in the evening. I turned down a side street, then another, in an attempt to shake off my pursuer, but even so I glimpsed a figure following. Could it be Gideon? Had the hunter become the hunted again? My heart hammered painfully beneath my corset. I spied an abandoned wagon in a small open yard and quickly ducked behind it. There I waited, watching the street down which I had just walked, concealed behind the wagon, my eyes fixed on the dimly lit stretch of cobbles for any sign of the one who was tracking my steps. I forced myself to be calm, willing my mind to quiet, so that my witch senses might be clear and alert and able to detect the presence of magic. The presence of another witch. There was something, but I could not be certain.

“Elizabeth…”

I let out a cry as I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning, I was astonished to find Erasmus standing behind me.

“You scared me half out of my wits!”

“I am sorry, I…”

Shrugging off his hand, I stepped forward so that I could pace about as I spoke. “What on earth did you think you were doing?” I demanded, relief and anger lending an edge to my voice. “You might have warned me it was you.”

“And what if it hadn't been?” He stepped forward into the jagged light of the lamp at the entrance to the yard. “This is not a safe place for any woman alone at night, let alone someone in your circumstances.”

“I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Ordinarily, yes, but I know how distressed you are about Tegan. You are not thinking clearly.”

“Do you know me so well that you can read my mind now?”

He sighed and held up his hands. “I am sorry. I was being … presumptuous.”

“I am not some silly, hysterical woman who needs looking after.”

“Of course not. You are a strong, sensible, intelligent woman,” he said, and then added, “which is why I am certain that by now you will have realized that this is not the way to find Tegan. Please, Elizabeth, come home with me.”

He held out his hand, and the look he gave me was not one of a person doing his duty by looking after someone placed in his charge. It was a look of genuine care. Of warmth. I mattered to him. He could not have told me plainer had he spoken the words.

Silently, I nodded and put my hand in his. Together, we threaded our way out of the winding streets and when we reached Holborn he hailed a cab.

 

19

When I came to I couldn't see anything at all. The darkness was so black it was suffocating, and I had to steady myself with deep, slow breaths. I closed my eyes. It's different, the darkness you see there. It's your own, and you have the feeling you are in control of it. To open your eyes and find nothing but choking blackness, well, that's more difficult to manage. I kept very still, waiting for my other senses to properly wake up. There were hardly any sounds, and what I could hear was muffled. Distant rumblings. Wheels, perhaps? No voices. And I could feel juddering through whatever I was sitting on, now and again, not constant. And something else, gentler. The sound of water lapping at stones. I could smell damp air, musty, old, and wax, most likely candles. Candles! I opened my eyes again. They had done any adjusting they were likely to do, and it didn't amount to much. The only thing I could make out was a slight lightening of the blackness a short way in front of me, in a thin, rectangular shape. A door, I decided. Solid, but a door at least. I felt about me. I was on a bed. I could feel rough blankets, a pillow. I leaned to one side. Yes, there was a locker, and there was the candle. And matches! My hands were trembling as I struck one and put it to the wick.

I was in a windowless room with a low, curved ceiling, and everything was constructed of what looked like very old brick. I was right about there being no window. There was nothing to let the air in except two vents high up on the far wall. There was a washstand with water jug and bowl, a chamber pot under the narrow bed, a chair, table with a couple of books on it and some folded clothes, a basket with a few pieces of fruit, and some bread and cheese and that was it.

I tried to piece together what had happened. I felt as if I had the grandmother of all hangovers again, but I didn't remember drinking. I was still wearing only my white cotton petticoat and shift, the things I'd had on when Elizabeth got me away from Gideon's town house and the twins. I remembered the woods. And Elizabeth. And Gideon. One minute we were all there, the next … it was hazy, but I recalled the sense of falling. And my name being shouted. First by Elizabeth, then by Gideon.

We had stepped through time again, that had to be it. Wherever this was, it wasn't Batchcombe Woods. I picked up a dress from the table. It was clearly nothing special, a brown-and-cream-checked cotton, something a housemaid might wear on her day off, if she ever had one, but even so there were yards and yards of fabric in it, and underskirts, and leg-of-mutton sleeves. Nineteenth century, I decided. The few bits of furniture, the matches, the books, they weren't right for the Civil War, either, that much I knew. Where had Gideon dragged me to? And, just as important,
when
? And what had happened to Elizabeth? Had she been able to get away? I could remember hearing horses galloping, coming closer. Coming for her. And someone else was there. Yes, I could see his face. Elizabeth's friend, William. She said they would hang him for a traitor if they caught him. And, oh! What had happened to Aloysius? I checked my pocket but he wasn't there. I tried the bed, gently patting the bedding and lifting the pillow.

“Aloysius? Aloysius, where are you, little one?” I couldn't bear the thought that he had been left behind. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a tiny movement in the shadows of the flickering candle. I got off the bed, my legs still shaky, and crouched down on the gritty floor.

“Aloysius, is that you?” I called.

Slowly and silently the old mouse crept out from under the washstand. I picked him up. I was so pleased to see him I started crying, and my tears splashed onto him, dissolving some of the grime that was smudging his downy white fur. He looked as shaken as I was, but otherwise unhurt. It was daft, how much comfort I got out of having him with me. I found a cloth and water and wiped him until he was less sooty. He seemed to be covered in coal dust, but I was pretty certain we weren't in a mine. He and I shared some of the bread and cheese.

“Whatever we're in for, fella, we have to keep our strength up, don't we?”

The room was beginning to feel really cold, so I put on the dress. I felt ridiculously girly in it, but at least as the buttons were at the front I was able to do it up. At last my mind felt sharp again. It was time to try some magic. I couldn't tell if my general feebleness was due to the aftereffects of the Time Stepping, or if Gideon had put another spell on me. Either way, if I was going to get out of my grimy little prison cell, I was going to need some serious magic.

I stood in the center of the room and shut out everything outside of myself. There wasn't much
to
shut out. I concentrated on my breathing, on my body, becoming more and more aware of the beating of my heart, of the pulsing of my blood through my veins, of the whispering of my breath as I drew it slowly in and let it slowly out. I could feel the core of my being start to stir; the part of my soul where my magic lives. There is a bliss to connecting with that place. Good magic is pure, and strong, and wonderful, and to know that it is a part of me is the most amazing thing. I tried calling to my sister witches, reaching out to them, hoping against hope that I would be able to find Elizabeth. I was not surprised when there was no response. None. It was as if I was broadcasting on entirely the wrong frequency. Or as if my signal was being blocked. It was the same when I tried to work a simple spell, just to warm up. I attempted to raise a book from the table, but I could only just get it to budge. I tried making the candle flame grow and leap. It danced a little, but that was all. This had to be more than just Step lag. Gideon had put a hex of some sort on me and it was a strong one. How had he been able to do that? After all the skills, all the craft, all the experience I had gathered, I was surely more powerful than that? How could he have so completely flattened my own magic? Was I really such a pathetic witch? Perhaps I deserved to be locked away, deserved to be taught the truth about just what rubbish I was. Had all my studying and traveling been nothing more than an extended gap year?

Footsteps shook me out of my moment of self-pity. My senses were still able to tell me that someone with magic in their bones was approaching. Aloysius burrowed deep into my skirt pocket. A key turned in the lock and the door opened.

“Good morning, Tegan,” Gideon said with what from anyone else would have been a friendly smile.

“Is it? Hard to tell in here,” I replied.

“A necessary precaution,” he told me, closing the door and locking it, slipping the key into his waistcoat pocket. He was dressed, as always, in black, smartly turned out with a long tailored coat and bowler hat, which he removed, dropping it onto the table. If he was still suffering any ill effects from the Time Stepping they didn't show. “I apologize for any … discomfort. I can assure you, the sun is shining.”

“Glad to hear it. Though I'd prefer to see it for myself.”

“You will not have to remain here long.” He took a step toward me. My instinct was to move away from him, but I fought it. I was in no condition to fight my way out of my situation, and much as I wanted to scream and rage at Gideon, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset. If I was going to get out of the cell he had so cleverly put me in, and out from under his spell, I was going to have to find a way of doing it that he hadn't planned against. For whatever reason, he had chosen a lighter enchantment to hold me than the one he had used in Batchcombe. I still had a reasonably clear head. I still had my wits. I had to use them. I held my ground and raised my eyes to meet his.

“Look, I don't know what you want, really; I've given up trying to figure it out,” I said. “All I know is you must want it pretty badly to go to all this trouble, dragging me through time, trying to hide me away. Why don't you just come out and tell me what it's all about? I mean, we used to be close, you and me, once.” I had never been much of an actor, but this time I had a lot riding on my performance. Could I really get him to believe he had won me over, even that I might have fallen for him again? It had to be worth a try. Elizabeth had always said his arrogance was his weakness.

“Ah, Tegan, it would be so much easier if we could work together, you and I,” he said, and I noticed his gaze drop down to the low neckline of my dress. “This garment suits you,” he said.

“Do you think so?” I tried to keep my voice level.

“It is a rare treat to see you clothed in something feminine.”

As he spoke he reached out and placed his fingers lightly on my throat, letting them trail softly over my skin. I felt my stomach constrict at his touch. I knew what this man was capable of. I knew what lay beneath the handsome exterior. I would never forget the truth that Elizabeth had shown me in the enchanted pool behind the cottage. He might look like a hero, but Gideon was a monster, rotten to his black heart. However hard I tried, I could not stop his touch making me shiver. He smiled, his hand drifting lower. He leaned closer to me, his voice not much more than a whisper, and I could feel his breath on my ear as he spoke.

“You are something very special, Tegan. Elizabeth does not realize how special. You don't even know it yourself. I was fortunate to have, shall we say, a powerful friend. Someone who was able to give me an insight into what magic you hold within you. Elizabeth lacked my advantage; if she had been shown, as I have been shown, she would be proud of you, of what you have become. Is she a little jealous, I wonder? She has cause to be. You are young, after all, and grown beautiful. Such a lovely little witch.”