Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(9)
Elsie turned toward the window, which was two stories up. How absurd it would be for someone, especially a cloaked someone, to hover on the precipice, watching her and learning her habits. She could almost laugh at the notion.
And yet the letter had been waiting.
She used her fingernail to break the seal. A few shillings fell into her lap.
Power taints all. Someone at the Duke of Kent’s estate has enchanted the servants’ door, forbidding them outside after sundown. It is a spell of heat. Be prepared. Take a carriage, but be discreet. At the wine shop in Kent, ask for Mrs. Shaw’s basket.
That was it. No name, no date. She’d have to find a wine shop near the duke’s estate—the note didn’t include an address. What would she do if there was more than one?
Her stomach squirmed. In truth, the wine shop was the least of her troubles. This was the riskiest task she’d ever been given. Hopefully this duke was not a spellmaker as well—they tended to ward their property with all sorts of nasty things, a precaution passed down from the revolts two centuries past. And she’d have to trespass onto his property, not merely brush her fingers across an exterior wall. Swallowing, she reassured herself that the Cowls would not ask her to do anything she wasn’t capable of doing. Perhaps Mrs. Shaw’s basket would lend some aid.
Elsie tried to imagine what it would feel like if Ogden bespelled the stonemasonry shop to keep her and Emmeline locked indoors. The note had said it was a fire spell . . . Did it burn the servants when they attempted to escape? What was it about wealth that made the upper class treat other human beings like they were livestock to keep penned?
She pressed her lips together. Kent wasn’t far. If she took a carriage, she could be there and back before nightfall. The squire would be a fool not to hire Ogden, which meant her boss would likely be busy for the next few days.
It was settled, then. Elsie would rush through her work and ensure everything was in order before leaving. Emmeline could listen for the door and see to any late-day customers.
Replacing her novel reader on the shelf, Elsie tore the silvery note in half, then in half again. Despite the warm weather, she lit the fireplace in her room and tossed the pieces onto the flames, making sure they disintegrated to ash before she ventured downstairs.
There was a wine shop a good walk’s distance from Seven Oaks, the Duke of Kent’s estate. It had a very fine storefront, so Elsie straightened her shoulders and her hat before going in. A rotund man greeted her, and as directed, she requested Mrs. Shaw’s basket.
She hadn’t a clue who Mrs. Shaw was, nor whether or not she existed.
The man stepped into a small back room and brought out a sturdy basket with two bottles of an expensive Madeira, as well as a few cheese wedges and a layout of grapes that smelled strongly of earth. The grapes were just fine, they’d simply been enchanted with a temporal spell to keep them fresh. The scent was off-putting, which was why Elsie didn’t often eat temporally enchanted food. The Christmas turkeys Ogden brought home usually had a similar rune on them, but she’d always subtly removed it before enjoying the meal.
The food was already paid for, so Elsie thanked the man, hung the heavy basket on her arm, and departed.
Although no note had been tucked into the basket, Elsie understood the tactic. The spell in question was on a servant’s door, so Elsie would need to approach it as a salesman—and given the finery in this basket, she probably had something the housekeeper would want. She wondered how much the food cost and what she should do with what she didn’t sell. Would the Cowls want it returned somehow? They’d left no directions in her note, but it didn’t feel right, keeping it, when someone else could enjoy it so much more than she could.
She paused by a few select merchants on her way, purchasing a used book with her own money and trading one wedge of cheese for a buckle clasp and shoeshine. Best to have an array of goods. If not to tempt the duke’s servants, then to better disguise herself as a peddler.
She glanced over her dress. She tried to keep up with fashion, but being too fashionable might make her suspect. When she finally reached the enormous estate, her arm aching from her load, she forced herself to pluck the adornment off her hat—she’d pocket it and fix it later—and did her best to wrinkle her skirt. Clean and trustworthy, but not well-to-do. That should be enough.
She wasn’t sure which side of the house the servants’ entrance was on. The house—do not ogle the house—had to fit at least twenty bedrooms. But it would not do to dawdle. She wanted to look like a local, like someone who’d done this before. A businesswoman. The ruse would have been easier if she were a businessman, but one had to work with what one had.
She spied a narrow path leading off to the left and took it around until she found a relatively plain-looking door near the back. A skinny wisp of a girl was dumping out a small washbasin nearby.
Elsie spied the slightest wisps of orange light emanating from the doorknob. She reached for it—
The door swung open, and a wide-faced woman of about forty startled, her hand flying to her chest. Pieces of sweaty curls stuck out from her cap.
“Goodness, girl, you scared my blood cold!” she exclaimed, looking Elsie up and down.
“Forgive me, I was about to knock. I’ve come hoping to sell.” She gestured to her basket.
The woman—she looked like a cook—was about to wave her away, but her hand stilled when she saw the Madeira. “What are you selling those for?” She gestured to the bottles.