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.
“That was unnecessary,” Bacchus growled, but his eyes remained on Elsie. Beside him stood Ogden, his lips pulled into a frown, his arms folded tightly across his chest in displeasure.
Lord knew she ought to be embarrassed to be seen like this, disheveled, dress wrinkled, curled up like a beaten dog, but all she felt was relief. She stood too quickly, which made her head swim, and only just avoided smacking her crown on the ceiling. Leaning on the wall to orient herself, she stumbled. “I-I thought I wasn’t allowed visitors.”
“Not poor ones, anyway,” the guard said, eyeing Bacchus. “Five minutes,” he added before strolling down the hallway and out of Elsie’s line of sight.
Ogden reached through the bars; Elsie crossed the tiny space, stooping, and grasped his hand. “It’s not so very terrible,” she lied. Then, to Bacchus, “I don’t suppose this was the meeting you had in mind.”
Bacchus scoffed. “At least they haven’t curbed your sense of humor.”
Elsie smiled at that . . . until she noticed her chamber pot only a few feet away. Her entire body pulsed crimson.
“I’ve caught him up,” Ogden said, referring to Bacchus. “He knows everything.”
Elsie swallowed. “She came, last night.”
Bacchus blanched. “Merton? Here?”
“A projection. Practically admitted to everything—finding me at the workhouse, controlling Ogden, turning me in. She offered to get me out if I came with her willingly.”
Ogden frowned. “She still wants you, then.”
At least somebody does, but the thought sickened her. After all, hadn’t Bacchus and Ogden gone to great trouble to be here?
Bacchus, practically squatting to see through the bars, murmured, “No one saw her?”
Elsie shook her head.
He considered a moment. “Your sole witness won’t convince anyone. But I’ve garnered an appointment with the magistrate to discuss your case. There may yet be a way to twist this in your favor.”
Elsie’s heartbeat skipped. “Truly?”
“There’s a forgiveness period for spellbreakers, since their abilities are inherent,” he said, his voice warm and quick. “I looked into it.”
A sour taste filled her mouth. Elsie had known she was a spellbreaker since she was ten. “How long is the leniency?”
“A year.”
She hugged herself. “Bacchus—”
“Let me speak with him,” he insisted.
Ogden said, “Have you admitted anything?”
“No.” At least there was that. “I haven’t said a word.”