She wasn’t sure she wanted darkness to come.
Perhaps it would have been better if she weren’t alone—if she were instead in one of the larger cells with other prisoners. At least then she’d have someone to talk to. But that company might consist of bandits, murderers, and other ruffians.
The chill finally grew sharp enough that Elsie took the blanket. It didn’t smell good, but it was clean, and she wrapped it around her shoulders, leaning onto one side to alleviate some of the pain building in her rump. At least they hadn’t put her in the stocks. She’d seen two of them on her way here, one of them in use. The man locked within it had great iron bowls strapped over his hands to dissuade him from using any magic. Praise the Lord, they hadn’t taken her hands away. Yet.
Elsie’s imagination bristled as the sunlight coming through a window in the hallway—there were none in her cell—faded to orange. Would they cut off her hands? Send her to the workhouse? Or merely put a rope around her neck and end it quickly?
A sob caught halfway up her throat. Elsie fumbled with her dress until she could loosen her corset and breathe. Then she brought her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them, hiding her face with the blanket. God help her, she’d never been so scared in her entire life. Even after her family had abandoned her and the Halls had brought her to the workhouse. At least then she hadn’t feared dying.
Shivering, she pulled the blanket closer. She wished she could just sleep and wake up when this was all over, but her fear-riddled body refused to rest. Elsie was fairly certain she’d never sleep again.
Clenching her jaw, she tried to pull her wits together.
Dear Lord, I know I’m not the most devout, but please help—
“What a drab place this is.”
Lightning shot up her limbs at the familiar voice, and she bolted upright, the blanket falling from her shoulders, the crown of her head knocking against the low ceiling. She looked wildly to the door, which remained firmly locked. The woman who had spoken was just inside it, against the left wall.
The cold seeped down to Elsie’s bones as she gaped at Master Lily Merton.
The middle-aged woman tucked a short curl behind one of her ears. “But it suits our purposes, doesn’t it, dear? We wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”
Elsie retreated until her back touched the wall behind her. “You did this.”
Master Merton waved a dismissive hand. “I couldn’t talk to you at the stonemasonry shop, now could I? Not with that lug lurking around the corner.” She clicked her tongue. “What a sorry loss. I really should be angry with you, Elsie.”
Her stomach curled. “Angry? After what you did—”
The words caught on her tongue as she stared at the shorter woman. She could see through her face and shoulders to where the stone behind her shifted from dark to light; the violet dress she wore seemed made of air, the edges blurry.
A projection. Of course. Most master-level spiritual aspectors had the ability to cast one. Yet the projection was solid enough that she had to be close. Perhaps not on the grounds, but in the wood surrounding them?
Elsie swallowed. “Where are you?”
Master Merton chuckled. “I’m not going to tell you that.” She looked behind her, but Elsie couldn’t tell if she was studying the prison outside the bars or perhaps peering at something in her true location. Maybe she’d heard a noise.
Elsie’s breath caught—if she could keep Master Merton talking, perhaps a guard would come by and see her! Then Elsie could tell the authorities everything and have Master Merton arrested. Elsie had nothing to lose, so long as she could keep Ogden out of the confession.
Calculating, she said, “That night, at the duke’s house—”
“I’m not here for chitchat, dear,” the projection replied, voice just above a whisper. No footsteps sounded overhead or in the halls. Did Master Merton know the guards’ schedules, or had she distracted them somehow? “But I will make you an offer. I’ll clear your name if you’ll come with me.”
Elsie gaped. “But why?”
The projection folded her hands together. “You really are valuable, Elsie, especially after what happened with Nash.”
Elsie pushed off the wall. “What happened with Nash was your doing—”
“And I’d hate to lose you,” Master Merton went on. “Really, you’re like a daughter to me.”
The sentiment pricked her. Once Elsie had considered the Cowls her treasured secret—the anonymous benefactors who had plucked her out of obscurity and given her something important to do . . . and then she’d learned the truth. She shook her head. The opus spell beneath her bodice pressed against her, reminding her of its presence, but it would do her no good here. “You’re a murderer and a thief. You used me from the start!”
“Hardly.” She looked away, expression downcast. “I didn’t involve you, in the beginning. I wanted you to learn your ability and use it to good purpose. The rest . . . it’s all happening much later than I had hoped.”
Elsie stared at her. In the beginning. Was she referring to the childhood tasks she’d assigned to Elsie? Dis-spelling the wall in the middle of farmland and bringing bread baskets to the orphanage? Did she think such small acts could really counterbalance murder?
“What do you mean it’s happening later than you’d hoped?” Elsie pressed carefully.
Merton glanced over, meeting her gaze. “I wanted to adopt you, dear child, when I saved you from that workhouse. But I knew if I were to use your talents, the connection would be too obvious. So I set you up in Brookley instead.”
“A-Adopt me?” Surely Merton was jesting. Yet she looked and sounded sincere. As sincere as such a woman could be.
She shook any soft feelings from her heart. “You put me to work under a terrible man.” Squire Hughes had been her first employer in Brookley, and he was no better than Robin Hood’s portrayal of King John.
“I put you to work under a rich man. You were provided for,” Merton countered. “And you saw firsthand the evils we needed to fight.”
The mention of evil brought Elsie’s teeth down on her tongue for the hypocrisy. She inched closer. “You took away Ogden’s will—”
“That was your doing, dear.” Her facial features sharpened again. “I would never have known about him if you’d stayed put.”
Elsie reeled back as though she’d been slapped. It wasn’t her fault. Deep down, she knew that. She hadn’t placed the spell on Ogden. She hadn’t used his secret abilities to plan the murders of aspectors and theft of their opuses.
Yet she had led Merton right to him, unknowingly.
Ignorance didn’t lessen the sting.
Master Merton brushed off her skirt. “Perhaps you need a little more time to think about it.” A pause. “I do hope the judge is lenient,” she added, tone flippant.
And just as quickly as it had come, the projection of Master Merton disappeared as though it never were, leaving Elsie utterly and helplessly alone.
Again.
CHAPTER 3
Elsie was dreaming of the stocks when a sudden banging on the bars jolted her awake. She’d stuffed herself into the far corner, head against the cool stone, and managed to fall asleep. It took her a moment to orient herself, to remember her surroundings and her predicament, and to recognize the people on the other side of the bars. The guard, who’d rattled the door with his club, was unfamiliar, but the sight of the other two sent her pulse raging, yanking her into complete wakefulness.