“I’ll be all right. Thank you, though.”
He took another sip, feeling self-conscious under his sister’s gaze. Neither said anything more. Eventually the servant returned with a platter of bread, cheese, and apples. Ethan took some bread and cheese, but ate slowly. He wasn’t as hungry as he should have been given how much time had passed since his last meal.
From the back of the house he heard the opening and closing of a door, and a minute later Geoffrey joined them in the dining room.
“The messages are off,” he said. “There’s nothing to do now but wait.” He sat, looking hard at Ethan. “I need you to explain all of this to me. I know I don’t understand much about-” He paused, his gaze flicking toward Bett. “About conjuring,” he said at last, stumbling over the word. “But I want to understand what I saw on the ship.”
“Of course.” But Ethan hesitated, his eyes fixed on the food in front of him. Speaking of spellmaking in front of Bett was never easy, and he wondered how she would react to hearing of the conjurings worked by the Osborne sisters.
She seemed to read his thoughts. She stood and stepped away from the table. “I’m going to check on George. I think I would prefer that he didn’t walk in on the middle of this conversation.” She paused at the door. “Take care of yourself, Ethan.”
“Thank you, Bett.”
Once she had left, Ethan began to tell Geoffrey all that he had learned in the past few days. He had mentioned the pearls the last time they spoke, but at that time he hadn’t known that Osborne still lived. So he explained all of it again, describing as best he could all the spells that had been cast, answering questions whenever Geoffrey interrupted him, and telling him all that he remembered of those frenzied moments in the shack on Hull Street.
For some time after he finished his tale, Geoffrey sat unmoving, watching Ethan.
“I don’t know whether to thank you for all you’ve done, or to ban you from this house and demand that you never return,” he said, his glare smoldering in the candlelight.
Ethan stared back at him, unsure of what he had done to earn such a response. “I don’t understand. I didn’t-”
“It’s not a matter of what you did or didn’t do,” Geoffrey said. “But if this power you wield can give and take life with such ease…” He shook his head. “How can such a thing not be evil?”
“I carry a knife on my belt,” Ethan said. “I can take a life with it. Does that make the knife evil? Or does the question of good or evil fall to the man holding the blade?”
Geoffrey sat back, his eyebrows raised. Before he could answer, there came a knock at his door. He pushed his chair back and stood. “Excuse me.”
He left the room, only to return seconds later with Stephen Greenleaf in tow.
“Kaille,” the sheriff said, his lip curling. “I figured you had to be behind this.”
“You should be happy, Sheriff,” Ethan said, taking another bite of bread and cheese. “Caleb Osborne is dead.”
“I don’t even know who Caleb Osborne is. Unless you mean the Osborne who worked for Miss Pryce all those years ago.”
“One and the same.” Ethan stood. “We should go back and talk to his daughters.”
“Talk to them?” Geoffrey asked.
“You heard what I told you,” Ethan said. “They didn’t know they had killed anyone. We need to place them in the colonel’s custody, but I believe they should be shown mercy. They were ruled by a tyrant, a cruel and violent man who threatened and abused them. They intended only to help him get away from the army.”
“Hardly admirable,” Greenleaf said, glancing at Geoffrey.
“I agree. But I’m not sure theirs was a hanging offense.”
Another knock sounded at the door.
“That will be Colonel Dalrymple,” Geoffrey said, and left the room once more.
“You look like you took a beating,” Greenleaf said, sounding far too pleased. “All this for ten pounds. Are you sure it’s worth it?”
Ethan took one last sip of wine, stood, and left the room without bothering to answer. Geoffrey stood at the door talking to Dalrymple. They both turned at Ethan’s approach.
“Where is it we’re going, Mister Kaille?” the colonel asked.
“Hull Street,” Ethan said. “That’s where Osborne and his daughters held me earlier today.”
Dalrymple’s brow furrowed. “Osborne. Why do I know that name?”
“He was on the Graystone, sir,” Ethan said. “A member of the Twenty-ninth Regiment.”
“I thought Gant was the only man who deserted in time.”
Geoffrey and Ethan shared a quick look.
“Apparently Osborne got away, too,” Ethan said.
“Yes, all right,” Dalrymple said, sounding impatient. “Let’s be on our way, then.”
The colonel had a dozen men with him, and as it turned out the sheriff had brought two of his ruffians as well, both of whom carried torches. No doubt every man there would have been shocked to learn that if Hester and Molly Osborne decided to fight them, a contingent of men twice as large wouldn’t be enough to overpower them. But Ethan kept this to himself.
They set out northward toward Hull Street, Ethan walking with Geoffrey, the sheriff, and Dalrymple. The soldiers and Greenleaf’s men followed. It was a cold, still night and clouds still blanketed the sky. The streets were mostly empty, but those people they did encounter gave the company a wide berth.
They walked at a brisk pace and soon reached the coppersmith’s shop. Resisting an urge to draw his knife and push up his sleeve, Ethan led the men around to the grassy clearing behind the shop. Seeing the shack, his heart sank. The window was dark.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s here, Kaille,” the sheriff said, a smug grin on his face.
Ethan didn’t answer, but he held out a hand to one of Greenleaf’s men. “Give me your torch.”
The man glanced at the sheriff, who hesitated before nodding.
Ethan walked to the shack and pulled the door open. The room remained much as he had left it. Osborne lay in the center of the floor, drying blood pooling beneath his wounded arm, his eyes still wide, his mouth still hanging open.
Greenleaf joined him in the doorway. “That’s Osborne?”
“Aye,” Ethan said.
“And he killed Gant?”
“His daughters did. But they did so because he made them, because they were terrified of him.”
“And who killed him?”
“They did.”
Greenleaf glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. “Are you sure of that?”
“I was there when they did it. If they hadn’t, I’d be dead.”
The sheriff twisted his mouth. “Remind me to thank them,” he said, the words dripping with irony. “What now? Where else could they be?”
“They live on Wood Lane. Perhaps they’ve gone back there.”
“This place isn’t theirs?”
“No,” Ethan said. He descended the steps and trudged through the trampled grass. “This was Simon Gant’s house,” he said over his shoulder.
Ethan led the men back through the streets of the North End, to the wheelwright’s shop at fourteen Wood Lane. They went around to the side of the building and Ethan looked up the stairs. To his relief, the small window of the Osborne sisters’ room glowed with candlelight.
“This way,” he said, starting up the stairs. This time he did pull out his knife, but he kept it out of sight. He knew better than to think that he could conjure without drawing attention to himself and his spellmaking abilities. But after seeing what these women could do with their conjuring powers, he refused to meet them without a blade in hand.
Dalrymple, Greenleaf, and Brower followed him up the stairs. The others remained on the street.
Reaching the door, Ethan knocked once. When no one answered, he tried the door handle. The door swung open, and Ethan swore at the sight and stench that greeted him.
The two women dangled from the rafters of the room, nooses at their necks, chairs overturned beneath their feet, their dresses soiled where their bladders and bowels had released.