Authors: Marissa Doyle
Allardyce, who always joined them for family meals.
Mama looked at the clock on the chimneypiece. “Where is your brother?”
“I don’t know. He left the schoolroom before we did,” said Persy. She did not add that he had done
so in a temper, tired of Pen’s spotty success at halting spells: After he’d been jerked back and forth
half a dozen times as her spell faded in and out, he had fled.
“It is fortunate that he will return to Eton in two days,” offered Ally. “He is getting restless. Shall I
ring for him?” She turned toward the bellpull.
“No, no. Let him miss a course, and then we shall see if he pays attention to the bell next time,”
Mama replied as she took her seat at table. “James, dear?”
“Of course.” Papa slipped a ribbon into his book and put it on the table next to him, where he kept
glancing at it longingly as Harry the footman brought in a platter of cutlets, followed by Mrs.
Groening, the housekeeper, with a bowl of beetroot salad.
“Girls,” said Mama as Harry served her, “now that Easter is past we will be leaving for London to
shop for your clothes. Mrs. Albee has done an adequate job on your daytime dresses, but of course
your party and ball dresses must be made in town. On Wednesday Miss Allardyce will go up to
London to help open the house and start seeing about your wardrobes. We shall follow along in a few
days—”
“But that means we’ll miss lessons,” Persy interjected.
Mama looked nettled. “Persephone dear, you would do well to put more effort into your dancing
and less into Latin. I do not want you being called a bluestocking before you are even out.”
Before Persy could open her mouth, Ally chimed in. “Mrs. Forrest was saying just last week at
their party how well Persephone carried herself while dancing. The vicar’s wife agreed, and she is
the daughter of a baronet and was presented at court.”
“Did she? Well …” Their mother picked up her fork again, mollified. “However, you must show
me your court curtsies. I will get a sheet from Mrs. Groening after luncheon and see how well you can
do them with a train.” She looked again at the clock. “Now, where could that boy have got to?”
“He’ll remember hot cutlets regretfully enough when he’s on the coach back to Eton and has only
cold bread and meat to eat,” said Papa, helping himself to seconds at the sideboard. “When I was his
age—”
“Oh, dear,” said Ally, rising and hurrying to the window. Mama rose too and gasped.
Just then Persy heard it—a thin high wail, rather like the sound the enormous copper boiler in the
kitchen made when Mrs. Groening was putting up marmalade. She and Pen rushed to the window after
Ally.
The strange wail was coming from Charles, being carried up the terrace stairs by the head
gardener. His brown curls were damp and matted with leaves, and his left arm had been hastily
wrapped in what looked like the gardener’s coat.
Mama was not a duke’s daughter for nothing. After that one shocked intake of breath, she glided—
albeit quickly—through the connecting door to the morning room, where doors to the terrace were
open in the spring sunshine.
Persy and Pen exchanged anxious looks. Charles was a great boob sometimes, but if anything had
happened to him …
“Sit, girls, and finish your meal,” Ally enjoined them. “Your mother and I will deal with this. I
rather doubt Charles will be returning to Eton anytime soon.” She rang the housekeeper’s bell
vigorously and followed Mama into the next room.
“Ow! You’re tugging too hard!” Pen squirmed in the chair before the looking glass.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Just thinking.” Persy made a face in the mirror over her sister’s head
and kept on brushing the wavy honey brown veil of hair. Pen’s hair was so thick and beautiful.
Brushing it out was always a soothing and absorbing task for Persy, but one that left her feeling
vaguely unsatisfied with her own hair. Even if it were exactly the same color and texture as her
sister’s.
Ally chided her for thinking Pen prettier than she, but Persy couldn’t help it. Maybe it was Pen’s
lively, outgoing nature that added that extra sparkle to her blue eyes and animation to her features.
Whatever it was, Persy felt like a pale, washed-out version of her sister.
“Thinking about what? Chuckles?” Pen set down the book she’d been squinting at in the dim
candlelight.
“About Charles, and other things. He told me while Mama was getting the poppy tincture that he’d
climbed the ivy vine so that we’d think he was doing a hovering spell outside the schoolroom
window. We weren’t even in the schoolroom anymore, which he might have deduced if he’d looked
at a clock. Watching us practice magic and not being able to do it himself bothers him. One plait or
two?”
“One, please.” Pen bowed her head and sighed as Persy started braiding. “And now Mama won’t
let him go back to Eton until his wrist heals. All she needs is a fretful boy to deal with while she’s
getting ready for our coming out. Really, Perse, we had more sense at two than he does at eleven.”
“He’s a boy. They don’t learn sense until they’re thirty. If then.” Persy scowled at the thick braid
forming under her fingers, then tied it off with a ribbon. Boys! And now they would have to go to
London and deal with crowds of them.
“Stop frowning. It gives you wrinkles.” Pen jumped up and pushed her down into the seat.
“Anyway, we won’t be doing lessons with Ally gone. Chuckles won’t have to fret too much. Oh,
Persy, London dresses! And Ally will be helping with them, so they’re sure to be perfect.”
“But then we have to go out and wear them in public.”
“That would be the general idea,” agreed Pen. She bent and put her face close to Persy’s so that
they were reflected side by side in the mirror. “Very well, Persephone Augusta Caroline. Tell me that
you’re not the least little bit interested in going to London.
Swear
it.”
Persy shifted in her seat and averted her eyes. “Stop that. All right, I can’t. I
do
like the thought of
wearing pretty new gowns and being presented to the queen and seeing—seeing everything. London.
The streets and the shops and the people. The parties and balls and the people in their jewels being
gossipy and fascinating. Even the princess, if we’re lucky. I just wish I could be invisible while I do
it. Don’t you understand? When I’m at a party my mouth goes dry and all the scraps of conversation
about the weather I’ve planned out beforehand vanish. And my gloves get damp because my hands are
sweating, and I can’t remember anyone’s name even though they’ve just been introduced to me. And
that’s just at the little country parties we’ve been to. What will it be like at a London ball?”
“Hold still. You’ve a nasty knot here.”
Persy gritted her teeth as the brush tugged at her hair. The scent of lavender oil drifted past her; Pen
had drizzled a few drops onto her brush to help smooth out tangles. She closed her eyes and inhaled.
She usually found the scent of lavender calming, but tonight it didn’t seem to work.
“You know you can’t stay here and hide forever,” Pen said after a few more strokes of her brush.
“Life is full of challenges, as Ally’s always saying.”
“Studying magic is a challenge too. It just happens to be a challenge that I’m not afraid of meeting.”
“Then it’s not much of a challenge, is it?”
“Oh, hush. You’re not Ally. You can’t get away with saying things like that. I’ve got an idea, Pen.
You can go to London and come out for both of us. We’re twins, after all. You’ll do it beautifully.
Then Papa can tell suitors, ‘If you like this one, there is another just like her at home.’ Or better yet,
he can tell them I’m a frightful bluestocking, spend all my time with my nose in a book, and can only
speak Latin, so they’re best off forgetting about the other Leland twin.”
Pen laughed and shook her head. “Shall I tell Papa that?”
“I was joking, goose. I know I don’t have a choice. I’ll just be dreadful at it and disappoint Mama
sorely and be miserable for the rest of my life.” Persy grimaced at her reflection.
“You won’t be dreadful. You’ll be fine. Besides, what would you do if you didn’t go to London
and come out?”
Would Pen laugh if she told her? “Oh, I don’t know. Anything.” She took a deep breath and spoke
in a rush. “Be a teacher like Ally, and find children to teach in families that have a history of magic,
like she did with us. Or go to a university and study. I’d love to do those things more than anything.”
Pen shook her head. Persy could read the skepticism in her eyes. “Persy, that’s—that’s very noble
and everything, but it’s not what we are. Papa’s a viscount. Viscounts’ daughters don’t become
governesses or scholars or anything. They marry men of their own class and have babies and run their
husbands’ houses. Now, stop looking so grim. It will be all right. We’ll be doing London together,
remember?”
“Are you two
still
talking about London?” Miss Allardyce, wearing a flannel night robe and an
indulgent smile, came into the room.
Persy turned in her seat. “I wish I could come with you on Wednesday and visit your family’s
bookshop. That would give me something pleasant to look forward to.”
“I promise to take you there when you arrive next week, if you are not too busy shopping.” Ally
took the brush from Pen and finished brushing Persy’s hair. Persy saw her smile in the mirror become
pensive. “I shall miss you, you know. I have enjoyed my years with you very much.”
“But you’ll only be gone a few days—” Pen began, then stopped. “Oh. I’d not really thought about
that.”
Persy’s melancholy deepened. She and Pen were about to take their places in society as adults.
There would be no reason for Ally to remain as their governess once they were out. But Ally had
been with them for ten years, since they were small. She was practically part of the family. What
would they do without her?
“Just because we’re coming out doesn’t mean that we want you to leave us,” she added, to fill in
her sister’s abashed silence.
“Thank you. However, your parents might find my continued presence superfluous.” Ally put the
brush down on the dressing table and plaited Persy’s hair.
“But we’re just now really getting good at magic—at least, Persy is. I should have worked harder.
I somehow never thought that you’d have to go away someday.” Pen gave her a stricken look in the
mirror.
“Not many young wives take their governesses with them when they marry,” Ally teased gently.
“How would you and Persy decide who got me? Or will you take a leaf from Solomon’s book and
divide me in two?”
“If anyone could manage that, it would be you,” Persy said.
“Ah, if you think I am powerful, you should have met my grandmother. You read her grimoire,
Persy. Couldn’t you feel her power in it?”
“Yes, especially when the pages turned themselves to where they thought I should read,” Persy
agreed.
Ally nodded. “I doubt another witch of her time was as powerful as she.”
“What about you today? How many witches are there in England who can do half of what you
can?” Persy demanded.
“As the first tenet among witches is to conceal their powers, I could not say.” Ally’s voice was
prim, but Persy caught the note of pleasure in it. “You would do well to remember that, especially as
you enter society.”
“We
know,”
said Pen. “You’ve told us before.”
“I shall say it again, and it will not be the last time. Consider it in this light. The last execution for
witchcraft in Great Britain occurred less than a hundred years ago. I know that sounds like a very long
time ago at age seventeen—”
“Almost eighteen,” Pen reminded her.
“—but in terms of how far the nation has come in overcoming superstition, it is no time at all. Most
of the people who were executed as witches probably weren’t witches at all, but that did not matter,
did it?”
“But as you said, no one’s been executed for witchcraft for a hundred years. I don’t see what
you’re so worried about. We’ll be careful,” Pen protested.
“No one’s been executed. But there are other ways to die, ones that do not involve bloodshed.
Think about what would happen if it were to become known that you were witches. You wouldn’t be
burned at the stake, no. You might even find yourself popular with those who would try to manipulate
you into using your power for their benefit. But the greater part of society would shun you. Carriages
would speed up when they drove past your house, to avoid contamination. You would never be
welcome at court. And all your suitors would vanish like fog at sunrise. It would not matter that you
are both lovely, charming girls. The assumption would be that you are somehow evil.”
Even Persy felt stricken at the picture Ally painted. “But we aren’t evil.”
“Of course you aren’t. But in the face of popular perception, truth has little power. Do you see?”