She gave me one of her wicked smiles. “I’ll find a use for it.”

  I’d bet she would too. I didn’t ask.

  “I’m so tired,” Violet said. “I need to go to bed.”

  That broke up the evening, which was just as well, because I don’t think any of us wanted to sit around in Margaret’s living room socializing. She seemed as happy to get rid of us as we were to leave.

  “Blessed be,” she said as we were leaving, and we returned the salutation.

  Outside, Violet suddenly hugged me tightly. “Thank you, Lucy.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I don’t care. Thank you anyway.”

  Even Great-Aunt Lavinia hugged me. I watched them into their car and then walked over to the black car, where Rafe was quietly waiting. I got in and heard classical music playing softly. He looked at me searchingly.

  “You survived the ordeal, then?”

  Adrenaline was surging through my body. I felt like a kick-ass heroine. “More than survived. I feel powerful. Awesome. We did it, Rafe. It was so cool.”

  While he drove, I told him about the whole evening. Violet might be exhausted, but I was wired. “And my dagger glowed with power. I really need to learn more. I’m going to take my witch lessons more seriously from now on.”

  Once we were heading back, he said, “Do you fancy a nightcap? Or shall I take you straight home?”

  His place was much closer than mine. And I was so wired, I didn’t want to be alone. Besides, I wanted to be with him.

  “Your place.”

  Rafe wasn’t big on showy emotions. He reached over and took my hand.

  Chapter 15

  I wasn’t a bit surprised when Violet called me the next morning to say she couldn’t possibly come to work. She was still traumatized from the experience of having been hexed and terribly worried that all her hair hadn’t come back yet. Knowing Violet, I imagined she’d already spent some anxious hours in front of the mirror. I didn’t blame her. I’d probably have done the same thing. I assured her that I thought her hair had looked full and healthy even last night but told her to take her time coming back.

  I could always get extra help in the shop if I needed it. Mabel and Clara were only too happy to help, and even Hester could sometimes be relied on. I also had a couple of local university students who worked for me when they needed extra cash. However, I wasn’t sure I needed the help. I’d play it by ear. And so I opened as I usually did. Though I had added one extra step to my morning opening routine. I checked outside the front door that there was nothing magical cluttering the entrance to the shop. I was pleased to see there wasn’t but still took fifteen minutes before opening time to do a smudging ritual to get rid of the negative energy that was still hanging around, not only from the hex object itself but from Violet’s reaction to it.

  While I was waving a smoking stick of sage and chanting, Nyx was doing her morning rounds. When both of us were satisfied there was neither mouse nor bad energy in Cardinal Woolsey’s, we got on with our day. Me, to restock the shelves. Nyx for her morning nap.

  I felt so much lighter today. Not only because I’d cleansed my workspace but knowing that Violet was back to normal. I did spend a minute or two wondering who was on the other end of the hex and if they’d experienced any bad effects from it. Hopefully, reversing a curse when you didn’t know who’d put it on you was like marking an envelope “Return to Sender” that had no return address on it. I liked the idea that the hex was wandering aimlessly around in the atmosphere and would soon die, like a parasite without a host to support it.

  I did brisk business that morning, and surprisingly, or not surprisingly given the circumstances, everybody was in a buying mood. Customers weren’t leaving Cardinal Woolsey’s as quickly as they could. Today, it was as though the opposite had happened. As though I had some magic spell drawing them in. I would never do such a thing, even if I did know a spell like that. It would be cheating. For me, half the fun was seeing how I could grow the business using my burgeoning skills as a digital marketer. I’d followed my grandmother’s tradition of selling high-quality wools, and wherever possible, I sourced them from the British Isles. I highlighted that fact in all my marketing.

  By the afternoon, I knew my sales were way up over a typical day. I was thrilled.

  When Felicity Stevens and Jemima Taft walked in, I wasn’t even surprised, though I was gratified to see them. I had assumed all that talk about Jemima taking up knitting was just the slightly inebriated conversation of someone who might think it was a great idea to take up knitting after drinking a bottle of wine and then woke up the next morning to realize it was a terrible idea.

  If they even remembered the conversation.

  The fact that she was here suggested the opposite.

  Felicity Stevens came towards me as though we were the best of friends. “Lucy. I’ve had the best idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “Jemima and I were just passing, and we thought it would be fun to get together tonight for a girls’ night.”

  I felt so flattered. I had friends in Oxford, sure. But they tended to be either undead or of the witch variety. With regular mortals, I struggled a bit. I was friendly with Alice, who worked across the street in Frogg’s Books. But since she’d married Charlie, the owner of the shop, she didn’t have as much time as she once had.

  To have non-magical women around my age seeking me out for friendship was kind of a thrill and felt like part of the great trajectory this day was already on.

  “Absolutely,” I said, sounding as pleased as I felt. “I’d love to.”

  They shared an almost conspiratorial grin. “I told you she’d say yes,” Felicity said.

  Jemima spoke up now. “The thing is, I’ve got a business dinner I have to attend first. Why don’t I meet you both in the front lobby bar of the Wainwright Hotel?”

  My eyebrows rose of their own accord. The Wainwright Hotel was a long way from The Flag and Bear. It was one of the best hotels in Oxford and catered to a very high-end clientele. I imagined the drink prices in the lobby bar would be eye-wateringly high. However, I consoled myself that I rarely went out. I could afford to splurge now and then.

  She continued, “It’s a bore, I know. But if we meet there, then we can head out somewhere more interesting after that.”

  That sounded fine to me, and so I agreed that I would meet Felicity at seven in the lobby, and then about eight o’clock, when her dinner was finished, Jemima would come and find us.

  I closed up shop at five as usual, fed Nyx, decided I hadn’t been eating enough greens so made myself a very healthy salad with a piece of grilled salmon on it. Having polished that off, I discovered I was still hungry and dug into my grandmother’s ginger snaps, which she kept me supplied with in the special cookie tin she’d had ever since I could remember.

  It was weird to feel nostalgic about someone who was still in existence, but there was no mistaking the fact that my relationship with my grandmother was very different. We couldn’t sit around together over cookies and tea the way we used to. Still, I was glad I still had her in my life. Even if it was weird to see her sleek and strong, no longer needing her glasses, and since Sylvia had gotten hold of her, she bought expensive clothes and always had hair and makeup impeccably done. I finished up my cookies, tidied the kitchen and brushed my teeth.

  Then came the dilemma.

  The perennial dilemma of every woman I knew. What to wear?

  My wardrobe, understandably, was filled with knitted items, none of which I’d actually knitted myself. I had a couple of dresses suitable for fancier occasions but nothing that said Wainwright Hotel.

  I glanced at my watch. If I’d had time, I’d have run up to the shopping center. With a couple of days’ notice, I’d have gone to London to shop. However, I didn’t have time to buy a new outfit and get to the Wainwright in an hour. Anyway, this wasn’t a job interview or my wedding. It was three women getting together for drinks. They’d seen me in my hand-knitted jumpers and jeans. They must know I wasn’t a fashion plate.

  In the end, I settled on a beautiful midnight-blue sweater that Sylvia had knitted me. I hadn’t worn anything Sylvia had knitted for me in some time, but it was time to get over myself. With it, I wore a very tasteful diamond necklace she had bought me. Just putting those clothes on made me soften my feelings towards the glamorous vamp. She was who she was. I hadn’t died, no thanks to her, but maybe it was time to forgive. I had a pair of black silk trousers that went with the sweater, and I put on the best black shoes that I had. No one was going to confuse me with the very posh Jemima, but they weren’t going to throw me out on the street either.

  I let my hair hang in loose curls, went heavier on makeup than usual, and called myself done.

  Since I’d be drinking, I called a cab to take me to the inn, which was on the edge of town.

  The car dropped me off a couple of minutes before seven. A uniformed bellhop greeted me and rushed ahead of me to open the door, and I walked into hush and splendor.

  I’d never been inside. Originally a Tudor coaching inn, the Wainwright had kept the best of the old inn—the massive fireplaces, dark wooden beams and the old windows—but added all the luxuries of the present time.

  I looked around for a couple of minutes, getting my bearings and then saw the lobby bar discreetly off to the side. It looked to be an anteroom for a fancy dining room. No doubt that’s where Jemima was at the moment. A lot of her business seemed to involve wining and dining her very important and wealthy clients.

  Felicity was already there. She was concentrating on her phone. A bottle of champagne sat cooling in a bucket beside her, and a tray with three glasses sat on the round table in front of her. I walked up and said, “Are we celebrating?”

  She glanced up, again looking delighted to see me. Her eyes were sparkling as though she were looking forward to something really fantastic. “It’s from Jemima. She told us to get started and she’ll join us as soon as she can.”

  “That’s generous of her,” I said, now able to glimpse the label. I might not be a champagne expert, but I knew that vintage Dom Perignon did not come off the wine shelf in Tesco.

  Felicity didn’t even signal before a uniformed server appeared at her elbow. “Shall I open the champagne, madam? Or are we waiting for a third?”

  “Go ahead and open it now.”

  The bottle made a very discreet pop. There were no flying champagne corks and foaming bottles in this establishment. He poured us two glasses and returned the champagne to its bucket and, with a small bow, disappeared as silently as he’d appeared.

  Felicity held up the flute of bubbling, straw-gold liquid and tapped my glass with it.

  “To new friendships.”

  “To new friendships,” I echoed. I don’t know why, but something about her excitement was making me uneasy. I mean, I was a nice person, and who wouldn’t want to be friends with me? But her suppressed excitement seemed a bit over the top.

  Still, I was the first to admit it had been a while since I’d been able to let loose and enjoy a night with normal, female friends. I was probably imagining things. I sipped the champagne and found it as delightful as I’d imagined it would be.

  “Tell me about yourself,” she said, leaning forward.

  That’s one of those questions that always leaves me tongue-tied. The most interesting parts of my life, I couldn’t talk about, and nobody wanted to hear me ramble on about wool and customers. I stuck to a skimpy autobiography. How I’d grown up in Boston and when my beloved grandmother had died, she’d left Cardinal Woolsey’s to me.

  “That was nice of her. That property must be worth a few quid. I wish someone would leave me a prime bit of property in Oxford.”

  I smiled politely. My fingers were beginning to tingle with some kind of witch’s intuition. Never a good sign. “Your turn,” I said cheerfully. “Tell me about yourself.”

  I’d barely drunk half my glass of champagne, and I saw her signal the waiter to come over and top our glasses. Was she planning to get me drunk? Why would she? Again, I doubted my suspicions. But I couldn’t get away from the instinct that something odd was going on here.

  Chapter 16

  “My life hasn’t been easy, Lucy,” she said, looking very sorry for herself. “Daddy and Mummy ran through the family money, you see, so I’ve had to make my own way. Not like so many of my school friends.” She cast an almost furtive glance toward the dining room, where even now her best friend, Jemima, was at a business dinner. If she was implying that Jemima had it easy, I’d seen no evidence of that. Jemima looked like a card-carrying workaholic to me.

  “After school, I got a job in the Peter Bedworth Gallery here in Oxford. Peter’s an old friend of Daddy’s from Eton. Comes from old money. He’ll be a baronet one day. He studied fine art and then set up a gallery.” Her face twisted as though she were about to sneeze. “He employs young women who’ve been to the right schools, like Salisbury Ladies’ College, where Jemima and I met. People like us can get the right prospects to pay an arm and a leg for a painting.”

  “That’s quite a way to do business.”

  “Was, darling. I got the sack,” she said.

  “Really?”

  I wasn’t all that interested, but I could tell she was enjoying sharing her supposed hard-knock life. “After his divorce, Peter wasn’t the same.” She held her hands up and wiggled her fingers, nearly slopping champagne in the process. “Got very handsy.”

  I nodded.

  “I helped bring in a Paul Klee, and we got top price. Peter wanted to celebrate, just the two of us, if you know what I mean.”

  Of course I did. I hated these kinds of stories. Powerful older men abusing their authority over much younger women. “He made a pass at you.”

  “And when I slapped his face, he was furious. He didn’t say anything, but a few days later, he telephoned me at home to tell me not to bother coming in anymore.”

  “But that’s illegal, surely?”

  She shrugged. “I went to a solicitor, but since he paid me a reasonable sum, there wasn’t anything I could do. So you find me temporarily jobless.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

  She waved a hand as though conducting a choir. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll come out all right. I have plans.”

  I had a sneaking suspicion that her latest scheme involved William.

  The bottle was growing low, and I tried to go easy. I wasn’t a big drinker, and the champagne was getting to me a little bit. It seemed to be hitting Felicity harder, though. She was getting quite flushed in the face.

  Finally, she leaned in. “I’m so pleased we’ve got this time alone together. I feel I can trust you, Lucy. I’ve absolutely fallen for William Thresher. Tell me what I have to do to show him I care?”

  Now the penny dropped. Or I should say the millions of pounds dropped. Every conversation I could recall with Felicity had ended up about money or property or her wishing she had more. I didn’t grudge her wanting to marry rich. Loads of people did. But I definitely grudged her William. I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but somebody with dollar signs in their eyes was not going to be the right wife for him.

  I thought my best bet was to head her off gently. “William’s an amazing butler. He’s made a profession out of something that few people care about anymore. Plus, he cooks like a dream. You’ve tasted his cooking.”

  “Yes, yes. But, surely, once he settles down, he won’t want to be a servant anymore.”

  And there it was. That snobbery that I knew and did not love.

  “I don’t think William sees it as servitude. He sees his role as a career.” I gave her a smile as fake as her own. “And anyone who settles with William is going to have to be okay with that.”

  This wasn’t the answer she wanted. “And what’s his wife supposed to do while he’s polishing the silver and delivering messages to his lordship? Scrub the fireplaces?”

  “I suppose that would be up to William’s wife.”

  “Well, you’re rather cozy with his employer. Couldn’t you hint to him that he should start looking for another butler?”

  “I wouldn’t dare. Those two have a bond. He’ll never find anyone who manages his estate better, and William is happy.”

  “But William doesn’t need to work.”

  I was furious. Coldly furious. I knew darn well that William hadn’t told her about his circumstances. I suspected she’d pumped her financial advisor friend as ruthlessly as she was trying to pump me.

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said. Technically that was true. Rafe had refused to tell me any details about William’s financial position, but I wasn’t a fool. It was pretty clear the Thresher family had been well provided for throughout the years.

  I wasn’t sure how the conversation would have turned from there, but the awkward moment was saved when Jemima Taft walked out of the dining room. With her was Nico, the man I’d seen her with earlier, and another man I didn’t know. She looked cool, impeccable, and stone-cold sober.

  She paused as though surprised to see us and said, “Hello. How nice to see you both.”

  Nico followed her gaze, and his eyes narrowed slightly when they rested on my face as I saw him trying to place me. Then he came forward, looking both charming and somewhat wolfish. “Your advice was excellent. The meal your friend William prepared us was magnifico.” And he made a starburst motion with his hand. So very Italian.

  I felt as flattered, by proxy, as though I’d had anything to do with the dinner. “I’m glad. William really is an artist in the kitchen.”

  Then he nodded to Felicity. “Evening.”

  “Good evening.” Felicity looked delighted to see him. “Won’t you join us?”

  So much for girls’ night out. But it made sense. If Nico had been at Jemima’s dinner, he must be rich too. I was glad to see Felicity spreading her net wide. She’d need to, as I was going to do everything I could to make sure William swam out of her reach.

 

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