Spellmaker

Gritting her teeth, then relaxing her jaw, Elsie turned around, shielding her eyes from the sun despite her bonnet already doing it for her. “Oh, Misses Wright. How are you today?”

Rose and Alexandra Wright scrambled to her, kicking up dust as they went. “We are absolutely beside ourselves with glee,” the latter said, bouncing on her toes.

Elsie adjusted her satchel. “Whatever for?”

“Whatever for?” Rose Wright repeated, a hand pressed to her breast. “Why, your engagement!”

It wouldn’t have been in the papers already. Not that Elsie had to ask, for Alexandra Wright pushed in, “We spoke to Emmeline after you left yesterday! Quite a fine carriage, if I say so myself.”

“Of course you did,” Elsie said.

“A very fine carriage,” her sister agreed. “And quite a man.”

“A foreigner,” Alexandra piped in, as though Elsie didn’t know.

“Yes,” said Rose, “tell me, is he Turkish?”

Elsie resisted the urge to tell these women that they had no right to any of her personal information, especially since they couldn’t care less about her well-being when she wasn’t at the center of gossip. “He’s from Barbados.”

“Barbados!” Rose repeated, and her sister said, “Where is that?”

“Near Turkey,” Elsie lied.

Alexandra turned to Rose. “Well, that makes sense, doesn’t it? You were right, again.”

“Is he an officer?” Rose asked.

Elsie glanced around, wishing someone would come interrupt them. “An officer? In the army?”

“No, in the police force,” Alexandra said.

“We saw them at the stonemasonry shop last week,” Rose added.

Elsie blanched. “S-Something like that.”

“But,” Alexandra said, more to her sister than to Elsie, “an officer wouldn’t have such a fine carriage, would he?”

Elsie cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Oh yes!” Rose cried. “A working woman. I forget sometimes. Won’t that be nice, to have your support taken care of?”

Elsie frowned. “Indeed.”

“Do invite us for tea,” Alexandra pushed in. “It would be so wonderful to catch up.”

Pasting on a smile, Elsie said, “I shall have to do that.”

The sisters giggled in delight and waved their goodbyes, and Elsie hurried away from them. She’d rather be spoon-fed the dry leaves than waste tea on those two ninnies. She sighed.

It will all sort itself out, don’t worry.

If only she believed that.

She started for the shortcut to her house, behind the post office, when she saw a woman standing outside a curricle, holding a piece of paper to her face, spying around near the bank. She looked to be in her early thirties, with pale-brown hair pinned up from her face and a smart hat on top. The sun glinted off a delicate pair of silver spectacles on her nose. Elsie didn’t recognize her. She wouldn’t be from Clunwood, Brookley’s neighbor to the south. She was dressed too genteelly, and there was no driver in the carriage behind her, which suggested it might belong to her.

Checking the road for passersby, Elsie quickly crossed and approached her.

“Pardon me,” she tried, “but are you lost?”

A look of relief washed over the woman’s features. “Indeed I am, thank you. I’ve already asked for directions twice, and I swear the gentlemen told me differing things.”

Elsie smiled. “Men will do that. Where are you headed?”

The woman showed her the paper in her hand, upon which was scrawled a familiar address. “To the stonemasonry shop. There is a stonemason, isn’t there? Otherwise I’ll have to head back to London and start all over again.”

She chuckled. “There is, in fact. I’m on my way there now.”

“Bless you.” She tucked her paper away and followed Elsie down the road. “I hear he’s an aspector.”

Bells of alarm rang in Elsie’s ears, until she remembered the ruse about Ogden’s aspecting. “He is, a physical one. Only a novice, but the spells he does know aid his handiwork, which is quite excellent.”

“Glad to hear it. Oh, look at that.” She pointed at the narrow road leading off the high street. “I think I walked right past that and didn’t notice.”

They passed the cobbler and continued down the road. The clouds were parted today, letting the heat of the sun press down fully. Elsie was relieved to step out of it, and held the door open for the stranger.

Emmeline looked up from the other end of the studio, broom in hand. She noticed the woman. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello!” she called, and stepped around the desk and into the studio, offering a hand to Emmeline. “My name is Irene Prescott. You must be Elsie Camden?”

Emmeline shook her head. “You just walked in with her, ma’am.”

Miss Prescott turned around. “Oh my, I should have introduced myself.”

Elsie’s wrists itched as though she’d broken four dozen spells. “I should have done that myself.” What do you want? “How might I help you?”

Miss Prescott crossed the room once more, extending a hand to Elsie, which she hesitantly shook. “Did you not get my letter?”

“Post is late,” Emmeline said.

“Ah, well.” Releasing Elsie, Miss Prescott continued, “The board sent me. I’m to register you and start your training as a spellbreaker.”