Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Well?” Lord Willoughby demanded.
Sterling placed the ring on the table in front of him. There was a crack through the center of the diamond and its color had dulled. “It’s done. The spirit has been vanquished and the curse lifted, thanks to Miss Sheffield.”
Lord Willoughby recoiled. “Get that thing out of my sight.”
“You don’t wish to keep it, my lord?” Sterling asked.
Willoughby shook his head abruptly.
Edwina sighed and pocketed the ring. “We’ll get rid of it,” she promised.
Willoughby crossed himself.
Lady Willoughby clasped Edwina’s fingers. There was color in her olive skin again, and a vivacity in her eyes that had been missing the last they met. “Thank you ever so much, Miss Sheffield. It’s like some great weight has been lifted from me that I didn’t even know I was carrying.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Edwina said. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t curtsy…. The spirit was stronger than expected and took some encouragement to move on.”
Sterling pressed the tip of his tongue against his teeth. She was fine, of course. He’d checked her over most thoroughly, but she was having none of his “molly-coddling.”
Far be it from him to point out that she’d almost stopped bloody breathing.
But if there was one thing he knew about her, it was that insisting she rest when she had her mind set on finishing this case was akin to tossing a gauntlet down between them.
He was going to have to learn to pick his battles when they were married. It was the only thing keeping him from blurting out that she ought to bloody sit.
Lord Willoughby shuddered. “Who would have thought that I was the reason behind this?”
“Oh, Willoughby.” His wife touched his shoulder gently. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I thought I was honoring you with the family heirloom.” He closed his eyes as if seeing some truth he did not wish to peruse. “How on earth did grandmother manage to sidestep such a vengeful spirit? It only happened to her once.”
Sterling shared a look with Edwina. “True, my lord. But we did a little sleuthing at the inn the day we arrived. There was some mention that your grandfather suffered a fatal heart seizure three months before his son and heir was born. Perhaps… perhaps the spirit was sated with his death.”
“Sated? Then it bore him a grudge too?”
But it was Lady Willoughby who asked, “Who was she?”
“Her name was Clare Worthington,” Edwina said. “She was a local girl who believed herself in love with the original Lord Willoughby.”
“Clare Worthington?” Lord Willoughby frowned. “Why does that ring a bell?”
“Would she have been a past… relative of Sally’s?” Lady Willoughby said.
“Perhaps.” Lord Willoughby gave them a look. “The Worthington’s have served my family for years. Our undercook, Sally, is the only one currently in employ, but there’s always been a Worthington here at the manor.”
Edwina’s expression softened as she glanced at the ring.
“I think… your grandfather may have seduced her and led her to believe he would marry her. He may have been untruthful to her, my lord. And when his engagement to Lady Annabelle was announced, she went to a witch for the means to bring him back to her. The witch asked her to steal the wedding ring so she could bind Clare to the ring, and thus win his heart back. Or so Clare believed.”
“That poor girl,” Lady Willoughby whispered.
“Poor girl?” Lord Willoughby gasped. “She nearly killed you.”
“It was not Clare, so much as an echo of her spirit,” Edwina corrected gently.
“And she died in such circumstances—betrayed by the man who ruined her, betrayed by the witch who preyed upon her—that it is only natural that her psychic remnants fed upon the emotions of her last moments. Pain. Rage. Betrayal. Suffering. I don’t believe her intentions—or what was left of them—were to harm Lady Willoughby.
She was merely a tool used by a malevolent witch. ”
“A witch.” Willoughby looked like he wanted to sit down.
“Long gone,” Edwina assured him.
But Sterling cut her a look.
Witchcraft was an old profession, and whilst sorcerers had arisen as enlightenment crossed the nation, and the study of magic and thaumaturgy began to be deemed acceptable, there were still witches out there practicing their blood magics.
He’d never encountered one before, but he knew a little about blood magic. If a witch could bind herself to enough souls, there was a possibility her life might be extended.
And if so, then it was highly likely she was still out there.
Somewhere.
“Thank you ever so much,” Lady Willoughby gushed, clasping Edwina’s hand again. “You cannot know how grateful I am.”
“We are,” Willoughby broke in. His cheeks flushed with ruddy color. “I do hope that we can repay you in some—”
“Absolutely not,” Edwina said. “The Order of the Dawn Star serves the queen and our country. This is what we do.”
“But….” Sterling broke in. “You do serve in the House of Lords, do you not?”
Willoughby blinked. And then his expression tightened. “I do.”
“I ask nothing of you but your abstinence then,” Sterling said swiftly, reading trouble in his lordship’s frown.
“As you know, there is a growing movement of voices in London who do not understand sorcery. My father is one of them, but his voice holds a lot of sway among certain members of the aristocracy. Should a bill ever pass through the House of Lords, calling for our order to be disbanded, I only ask that you consider your wife’s good health, and remember the good that we have done. ”
Willoughby considered it. “Of course.” He spared his wife a faint smile. “It is little payment enough, but you have my word, Reed. If a vote is ever presented, I shall abstain.”
“Where next?” Sterling asked, as they left the manor.
“The cemetery,” Edwina whispered, setting off toward the church and the small graveyard there.
He couldn’t quite fathom where her mind was at right now, but he followed along behind her, breathing a sigh of relief as the moon shone down upon her familiar silvery hair.
The cemetery gate squeaked, and then she was moving among the tombstones, looking at their pale faces.
“Edwina? What are you doing?” he murmured.
She paused, and then she moved toward a little tombstone in the back of the cemetery, which was somewhat overgrown with weeds. “There she is.”
“She?” He caught a glimpse of the name on the stone. Ah.
Clare Worthington.
Born 1834—Died 1851.
Beloved daughter of Moira Worthington.
Tugging out the weeds that blotted out the grave, she swiftly neatened it, and then sat there on her knees.
He sat beside her. “You felt sorry for her.”
There was a tear slowly working its way down her cheek. “She was just a girl, Sterling. Perhaps a maid at the manor. One who caught the eye of a powerful man. It’s a tale as old as time.”
Gently, he rested his hand over hers. “But she had you, Edwina. You let her move on. She’s at peace now.”
Edwina dashed the tears away. “I know. I just wish there was something more I could have done for her.”
Her sense of empathy frequently floored him. It was moments like these that remined him why he’d fallen in love with her all those years ago.
Moving to her knees, she parted the soil of the grave with a single word. And then she dropped the ring inside the small pocket of ground and covered it over, until barely a disturbance remained.
“Is that entirely wise?”
“The curse is broken. The ring is inert. And if the Willoughby’s don’t want it…. Well. It belonged to her more than anyone.”
Sterling helped her to her feet. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head then rubbed her arms. “Come on,” he said. “You look like you need a bracing pot of tea.”
Edwina gave him a faint smile. “More tea, Sterling?”
“You’ve utterly corrupted me, Miss Sheffield. I shall never hear the end of it.”