Page 51 of A Sorceress Comes to Call
Guilt rose up in her like bile, swamping her senses. Hester closed her eyes, forcing herself to picture geese again, a flock on them on the water, their heavy bodies suddenly as graceful as swans. From a great distance, she could hear Mary scolding the constables about “bothering a sick old lady” and thought, Am I an old lady, then? Already? But I haven’t figured out how to age gracefully yet.
Penelope would have known how. She was doing it. What changed?
She sighed and let Mary fuss over her, bringing a fresh cup of tea. “No, I don’t want to go back to bed,” she said, in response to the fussing. “Getting out of it was too much work.”
“I can bring you a tray in bed, you know.”
“Yes, and I’ll spend the night with crumbs if you do. You might bring me my embroidery here.”
There was a hesitant tap on the door. Mary glared at it. “That had better not be those policemen again,” she muttered, but opened it anyway.
Cordelia stood there. The young woman’s lips were pale and bloodless, but her face was composed. She bowed her head too deeply to Mary. “May I come in, please?”
“Lady Hester’s not feeling quite the thing—”
“Let her in, Mary.” Perhaps she’ll have another question, like the one about being compromised. God knows, I could use something to distract me completely, or I’ll sit here brooding until nightfall. “What brings you here, child?”
“Are you all right?” Cordelia asked. “You weren’t hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. You’re kind to ask, though.”
The girl bit her lower lip, bringing a brief flush of red to it. “I… that is… I wanted to say…” Her eyes sought out Mary, who was bustling determinedly over the tea service.
“Mary,” said Hester, “I think I could eat a little after all. Will you go down to Cook and ask if she has anything very light? A thimbleful of broth, perhaps?”
Mary gave her a long, level look that said that Hester was not fooling anyone, but said, “Very well.” She swept out the door with more dignity than Hester had ever managed at any point in her life. Cordelia’s gaze tracked her departure.
“Now,” said Hester, “what is it that you wished to say in private?”
Cordelia squared her shoulders and met Hester’s gaze with great calm.
“You probably won’t believe what I’m going to say,” she said. “I know that. But I have to tell you anyway. It’s the only thing I can think of to do. Maybe you’ll have some way to fix it.”
Hester stared at her, completely at sea.
Cordelia lifted her chin. “I think my mother killed Mrs. Green.”
CHAPTER 18
Cordelia was calm.
She had been washing her face when Alice burst in and told her the dreadful news. She was still holding the damp washcloth as she sank down in her chair, while the guilt and horror grew inside her head with every word. You failed. All your hand-wringing and hoping and dithering didn’t change anything. Mrs. Green died like Ellen died and you did nothing to stop it.
You heard what they think of sorcerers! No one would have believed me if I’d tried to warn them! And if Mother had found out what I said, she would have… would have…
The voice in her head whispered, But you didn’t even try. She wrung the washcloth between her fingers, feeling tepid water drip down her wrists.
“It’s awful,” said Alice, in unconscious echo of her thoughts. “No one can believe it.”
Cordelia could believe it. Mother could make me obedient. Mother could make me stab you while I was obedient, and afterward everyone would say they didn’t believe it. And there is nothing that I could do to stop her.
There is nothing that I can do to stop my mother from killing anyone who gets in her way.
Something inside her snapped. She could feel it like a physical blow, like a bone breaking. The weight of dread on her chest crashed down and the scaffolding that had held it up was crushed underneath.
And suddenly she was calm.
It was the calm of a burned-out house or a ravaged field, the calm that comes where there is no longer anything to lose. It was almost like being invincible. The endless frantic fluttering of her thoughts had stilled. She knew what she needed to do.
