The Witch of Tin Mountain(56)

Do it, she heard a voice whisper. No one will ever know it was you.

No. She willed Gentry’s reckless persuasion out of her head. Her fingers relaxed and she stepped backward, pressing her shoulders against the wall, just in case the temptation overtook her again. How foolish it would have been to follow her impulse!

“What’s wrong with you?” Phoebe hissed. “You’re always staring at me. Maybe I should tell Miss Munro, after all. It makes me and the other girls nervous, having your sort around. You might get ideas.”

Deirdre choked back her laughter. “You’ve nothing to worry about, Miss Darrow. I would never. The thought makes me positively bilious.”

Phoebe sputtered with indignance, her face reddening even more.

Just then, Nancy Caruthers, their cohort’s captain, came around the turn on the balustrade. Her narrow features creased into a frown. “What are we on about, ladies?” she asked crisply. “I see neither of you are working. Miss Werner, back to your dusting. Miss Darrow, come with me. There’s something we need to discuss.”

Phoebe hurried off behind Nancy, shooting a scowl over her shoulder.

Wretched cow. How dare she threaten to report Esme! Something had to be done about Phoebe, but it needed to be something that couldn’t be traced back to Deirdre.

Deirdre waited a few moments until the sounds of the other girls had grown distant and the anger coursing through her diminished. She flew to her room and closed the door. Esme was still downstairs, helping her own cohort arrange flowers for the ballroom. She pulled the grimoire from beneath her bed and removed its tapestry cover. The book had been tampered with—she could see from the way its metal closure had been refastened—clumsily, with the clasp only halfway threaded through the eye. She had suspicions Constance had snooped in their room, at Phoebe’s bidding.

It was well past time for some sort of recompense.

Deirdre tucked herself into the narrow space between her bed and the window and opened the grimoire. She rested her hand over the surface of a page and closed her eyes, moving her hand slowly over the parchment. She’d learned this was the best way to use the spell book. It already knew what she wanted, what she needed, just as it had when she sought it for the purgative teas she’d drunk after her trysts with Robbie. She’d never used the book for anything other than simple charms and tisanes. The closest she’d come to actual conjuring was when she and Esme dabbled with the divination methods—crystal and rock scrying—which they had only done in good fun.

Pa’s admonishment to do no harm rattled her. What if her intentions were to do harm? Would the book still obey her?

Deirdre closed her eyes and turned the page, passing her hand over its surface again. “Show me something I might use, book. I only want to teach Phoebe a lesson. Only to humble her.”

Suddenly, almost as if she were dowsing for water, she felt a tug on her finger. She opened her eyes.

A simple drawing of a common white mushroom lay beneath her fingertip.

In the shadows, the darkness smiled.



The next morning, Deirdre woke before dawn and crept down the gaslit streets to the park across from St. Michael’s church. Deirdre easily spotted the mushrooms in the damp, musty reaches of the oak grove, where they sprouted like pale, squat parasols. She plucked one carefully, then wrapped it in a handkerchief and secreted it in her pocket. Gentry’s specter perched on a moss-draped oak branch, watching her. Always watching.

Later, as the girls gathered for breakfast, Deirdre made sure to sit next to Phoebe. The other girl was in high spirits, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she chattered to Constance about her new ball gown and the young men she hoped to dance with.

Once Constance had excused herself from the table, Phoebe turned to Deirdre, as if just noticing her presence. “I have a conference with Miss Munro tomorrow,” she said giddily. “Miss Caruthers’s fiancé proposed by letter. She’s departing after the ball to plan her wedding. It seems I’m next in line to be our cohort captain.” Phoebe raised her teacup and sipped from it. “I think you know what that means, Miss Werner.”

Deirdre pressed her lips together. “I certainly do.” More work. More chores. As captain, Phoebe would have an added measure of power over Deirdre. If she refused to comply with Phoebe’s orders, she might tell Miss Munro about her and Esme, which would mean expulsion and a train back to Tin Mountain for Deirdre. For Esme it would mean much, much worse. An asylum. Deirdre would never let that happen.

“I’m glad we understand one another.” Phoebe smiled at her, catlike, and went to fetch more toast from the buffet.

At last, Deirdre had her opportunity. She glanced from side to side, furtively. Most of the girls had left the breakfast hall and had gone back to their rooms. No one would see. Quickly, she pulled the handkerchief from her pocket, broke off a piece of the mushroom’s cap, and crumbled it in her hand. She sprinkled the mushroom into Phoebe’s porridge, gave it a quick stir, then washed her fingers in her finger bowl.

It should be just enough to make Phoebe sick. Just enough.

A few moments later, Phoebe returned. She shoveled the tainted porridge into her mouth with her toast and chased it with the rest of her tea. “We’ll get started with the new chore list on Monday. I’ve some mending I need done as well. You wouldn’t mind taking it on, would you?”