Page 56 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
“… look so stricken,” her mother was saying. “I would have been perfectly happy if she just left, but you saw how that worked. I try to upset her, have Falada lurk where she can see him, and she makes a damnable story over breakfast of it! And you couldn’t find any information worth having on her. No, it was obvious that I had to take matters into my own hands.”
Cordelia swallowed. “You… you could have tried again. With Falada. Couldn’t you?”
Evangeline rolled her eyes. “And she’d find a way to become the center of attention again if I did. The Squire kept mentioning her as it was.” Her face softened suddenly and Cordelia braced herself. “Perhaps you’re too young to know. I suppose it’s the sort of thing you only learn with time. If a man keeps bringing up another woman’s name, be on your guard. He’ll tell you that they’re friends or that it’s over between them, but if her name’s on his tongue, it means she’s in his thoughts. Remember that, won’t you?”
“Yes, Mother,” whispered Cordelia, thinking, Who the hell cares what some hypothetical man is thinking about, you murdered a woman last night!
She wanted to be the sort of person who said it out loud. Penelope Green would have. But if she did, her mother would just wave her hand and make her obedient and it wouldn’t help anyone.
Cordelia had no idea what she could do that would help anyone. She’d told Hester everything. What else was there? She lifted her eyes to her mother, who was inspecting her nails with a slight frown.
I could try to kill her myself.
The thought arrived, seemingly from nowhere, and squatted on her heart like a toad. She could not look at it. She could not look away from it. It was huge and impossible and fascinating.
She can’t read my mind. If she could, she would have known right away what I told Hester. I could get a knife from the kitchen and stab her from behind.
She pictured it vividly, the knife going in, her mother falling to her knees, blood pouring down the pale fabric. Then she almost snorted at her own thoughts. You’ve never stabbed anything, except potatoes. The neighbor lady kills the chickens, and even cleans them for you. You cannot simply stab your mother like she’s a potato. Do you think a knife just goes into somebody’s back like that? With all those ribs in the way? You’d end up cutting her, maybe, and then she’d turn around and see you with the knife and make you obedient for the rest of your life.
The outer door opened, startling Cordelia so badly that she jumped. “That will be the tea, I expect,” her mother said. “Don’t just stand there staring. Open the door!”
Cordelia fumbled with the latch. In the outer room, she heard the maid’s voice, and then another, deeper one. Her mother’s breath hissed in with excitement. “The Squire!” she whispered, and fell back against the pillows, arranging her hair with a few swift motions. “Open it, quick!”
“I—oh, hello, m’dear.” The Squire smiled at her. “Is your mama awake? Just wanted to check in on her.”
“Samuel?” Her mother’s voice was tremulous again. “Is that you?”
“Large as life.” The Squire gave Cordelia an apologetic look as he slipped past her. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came to see if you’re feeling any better.”
“Samuel,” her mother said, in a soft, tremulous voice. “I’m so glad you’re here. I know you’re terribly busy with all that’s gone on—with more important things—”
“Nonsense! Nothing more important than your recovery, m’dear.”
She reached out a hand and laid it on his arm, her eyes shining. “It means so much to me. I can’t tell you… somehow I only feel safe when you’re here…”
Cordelia quietly let herself out. When she went back to her room, she looked out the window and saw a white shape moving in the distant trees. Even from this distance, she recognized Falada.
He passed out of sight, moving from right to left. She waited there, holding her cup of tea while it cooled. She could hear Alice moving in the next room, laying out the next day’s clothes, and wondered if the maid could see him too.
A little while later, she saw him again, still moving at an easy trot, circling the Squire’s house like a carrion-eater waiting for someone else to die.
CHAPTER 20
Another day passed, and another dinner. Conversation, already stilted, became nearly impossible. Hester was forced to be grateful to Imogene’s son, Jacob, who embarked on a treatise about horse training that would normally make her want to run screaming into the night, but which was significantly better than silence.
She wondered where Richard was, and how he was faring. Maybe it was a fool’s errand. Probably it was. She wavered back and forth between believing Cordelia’s story and doubting it, often several times an hour.
After dinner, the party retired to the parlor. Samuel excused himself to go check on Evangeline, and the rest of them sat around the room, looking at each other with dull eyes. Even Master Strauss’s well of horse-related information eventually ran dry.
“Cards?” asked Imogene, waving a deck in the air. “Anyone?”
No one said anything.
“We needn’t play for money.”
Still no one said anything.
“Come on, I’ll spot you an ace. Cordelia? Hester?”
