Chapter 6 #2
“Of course I didn’t. Creating wolfsbane potion has to be very exact and she can discern if it’s ever not perfect.
We’ve had to restart potions that weren’t correct.
Her magic could tell.” She fixed me with an imperious look that reminded me of Duchess.
“And I’d never mess with a potion once it’s brewed.
You think I want to kill someone or ruin my side gig? ”
“Is there a potion that could make a person unaware of what happened?”
Lydia blinked. “What?”
“Because Frank said he took it, but the rest of the night is blank.”
Her face grew pale. “N-no, no, that can’t be correct.”
I watched her, sensing I missed something crucial. “What is it?”
She straightened, her eyes flashing. “I think Frank forgot to take the potion, and he started to change. The last thought on his mind was Isabella, so he tracked her down in wolf form, lost control, and bit her.”
That couldn’t be true, but an uncomfortable twist of anxiety gripped my heart. What if Isabella had been the last thing on his mind? If they were in a relationship, that could very well have been the case. “Frank took his potion.”
“And how do you know he’s telling you the truth?” Lydia snapped.
The sound of a bell indicated that someone was at the closed entrance of Cupid’s Confections, stalling our conversation.
“Lydia!” Mom called from upstairs. “Will you answer that?”
She cast me a hard glare before responding. “Got it.”
I gripped her arm. “Lydia—”
“We’re done,” she hissed. “Don’t ask me about this again.” She tore her arm from my grasp and marched for the door.
Her high heels struck the floor with her crisp walk as she strode over to the dial on the wall, flipping it from red to blue.
I grabbed the large beach bag with the potion ingredients that sat next to the table.
The world shifted, and suddenly we were standing in the much larger kitchen area of Cupid’s Confections.
Lydia left me, entering the shop. “Sorry, we’re not open yet—Pastor Collins?”
What was he doing here? I didn't need to be at my internship for another hour. Hopefully, he wasn’t upset with my work. I hurried to the shop entrance where Lydia was already unlocking it.
The sweet scent of freshly baked treats filled the air even when the store was closed. I rushed past the display of pumpkin-shaped pastries and ghostly cupcakes meant to welcome visitors.
“Good morning.” Collins’s no-nonsense voice came through the door. “May I come in? There is a delicate matter I wish to discuss with your mother.”
Lydia stepped aside, and Collins entered.
His eyes glanced around the space, roving over the wooden shelves adorned with small autumn-themed accents like mini broomsticks and tiny skulls, while vintage-style candy corn garlands drape from the counters.
I realized this was the first time he’d ever set foot in our store.
“What a charming little shop you have. Is this where you sell your witchy concoctions?”
Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Um, yes?”
Collins sniffed. “Yes, well, it’s quite the homey space. Although not as great as my Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s grand manor.”
“You know this is the shop and that our home is in the back, right?” Lydia said.
I moved out into the darkened store before my sister’s attitude upset my boss. “Hello, Pastor Collins. Is everything okay?”
His gaze fell upon me with a superior air. “Everything is fine, Mary. Shouldn’t you be at the church?”
Oh no. He was here about my internship. “You said not to come before 9:00 a.m.”
“So I did.” He looked at his watch and sniffed again. “Then I will see you soon.” He looked between Lydia and me. “Your mother?”
“I’m here!” Mom burst into the room. “Lydia, Mary, turn on the lights, for heaven’s sake.” She flipped the switch as she walked in. “Pastor Collins, welcome.”
“Mrs. Bennet, it is so good to see you. I was admiring your lovely shop. My bakery, were I to open one, would resemble this. I can’t imagine another way to enhance such a comfortable atmosphere. Although I might omit the witch potions.”
“I’m so glad you’re pleased with it. We try so hard to ensure everyone feels welcome here,” Mom answered, ignoring the witch comment. “Are you here to see my husband?”
“Your husband?” Collins straightened. Clearly, Dad’s condition hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Ah… yes. How is he?”
“He’s holding in there the best he can, poor soul. Should I show you to his room?”
His pale white skin grew paler. “Oh, um well…”
“Come, he’s this way.” Mom motioned for him to follow and led Collins toward the rear of the house.
Lydia sighed, grabbed a $2.99 muffin with a skull head frosted on it off the counter, and headed for the store’s exit. “Lock the door after me,” she said over her shoulder.
The doorbell jingled its cheerful tune as it shut, and I hastened to throw the lock, then rushed after Mom, wondering why the pastor was truly there.
Collins stood at the entrance to Dad’s sickroom, his sleeve over his nose and mouth.
“Happy to see you, Mr. Bennet. I hope you make a swift recovery.” His raised hand revealed a white bandage wrapped around his arm.
A bit of red, irritated skin peeked out from the wrapping. I edged closer for a better view.
“Pastor Collins, I can assure you, whatever curse afflicts my husband, it doesn’t spread through the air,” Mom said.
“Yes, I’m sure it doesn’t,” he replied, though he didn’t lower his arm. “Mrs. Bennet, is there a place where we may discuss things… in private?” He threw me a glance, as if I were an annoyance he wished would go away.
Mom stood with him, looking a bit perplexed. If he hadn’t shown up to see Dad, why had Pastor Collins deemed to come down from his pulpit and grace us with his presence? I stared at his wound. Where could a pastor have gotten such an injury?
“Follow me. The living room’s here,” Mom said.
While they entered the living room, I hurried into the kitchen and parked myself behind the slightly ajar door between the two rooms. Duchess climbed up on a shelf and was batting at a bag of flour, like she wanted to tip it over. Luckily she was a ghost cat, so her paw went straight through it.
I wished mom would ask Collins about his wound, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Ah, how these curtains, with their gentle, undulating folds, bring an air of elegance to the room! They are, without a doubt, the most exquisite example of drapery I have ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon.”
“That is kind of you, Pastor Collins!” Mom exclaimed.
“And good heavens! This couch, I must say, is a triumph of comfort and refinement. The piece’s gentle support speaks volumes of the upholsterer’s skill.”
Collins had never been so complimentary to my family. Usually, he tolerated our presence at best. I couldn’t help but wonder what had brought his notice. I prayed it had nothing to do with my internship, as he’d never deigned to visit us before over me.
“It is a comfy couch, isn’t it?” Mom said. A soft patting of the cushions reached my ears. “You’re very different from when you give your sermons.”
“Yes well, I try to give every situation the appropriate attitude that it deserves. For preaching, I must make sure those in my congregation understand the seriousness of their salvation.”
“I see.”
“But here, visiting you, I find it better to be more complimentary. That is how religious folk like their pastors these days. More approachable.”
Oh dear. I hoped Pastor Collins wasn’t about to go off on one of his tangents. Outside of sermons, he tended to digress into side thoughts that lasted up to an hour at a time. Brexton and I had learned how to redirect him so we didn’t have to listen to his long rants.
“That seems likely to me.” She paused for a moment. “Is there a reason for your visit, Pastor Collins?” Apparently Mom wanted to get down to business as well.
“Absolutely. I’m certain you are aware of the esteemed and venerable Lady Catherine De Bourgh. She makes quite the donation every year. In fact, we wouldn’t have our congregation without her.”
“Lady Catherine? Yes, she is a great fae lady.”
“Then you know she is not only a generous woman, but she is the maternal aunt of the distinguished crown prince, Fitzwilliam Valemont.”
“Yes, I was aware of that.”
“Well, it seems of late that the church seeks to make certain… adjustments where witches are concerned.”
I leaned forward, considering. By ‘the church’, it sounded as if he meant Lady Catherine.
“Oh?” Mom replied.
“Yes, yes. As your daughters are half-fae, you can see why they might play an important role in such a critical time.”
A lengthy silence preceded Mom’s words. “I’m sorry? I’m afraid I don’t see.”
“It is the express desire from Lady Catherine de Bourgh that I show the church’s… tolerance by marrying a creature of… lesser magic, and your daughters, being half-fae and half-witch, are the perfect choice.”
He couldn’t be serious. We weren’t objects to be sold off to the highest bidder. I reached into my bag to fiddle with Isabella’s journal, seeking the dry paper in an attempt to calm my heightened anxiety.
“You want to marry one of my daughters?” Utter surprise laced Mom’s voice.
“Rest assured, as my wife, she will receive all the prestige that Lady Catherine bestows upon the church and, by extension, the approval and approbation of the royal family.”
“That is generous. But I wish my daughters to marry for love…”
Mom wouldn’t fall for it. Good. I flicked the pages a final time. Then paused as a loose page moved against my fingers. I ducked my head to look in my bag, worried I’d torn it.
“Of course. I assure you I will shower whichever woman I marry with all the adoration that I can give. I shall endeavor with all the fiber of my being to win her heart.” He cleared his throat.
“Now, your younger daughters are much too young. Mary is interning under me, so that would be highly inappropriate. What about your eldest daughter? She is very lovely, and demure, if I recall.”
Oh dear. There was a loose page. I pulled it out.
“I’m afraid that Jane is soon to be engaged to someone.”
That drew my attention back to the conversation, holding the loose page. Mom was considering this?
Silence ensued. Relief washed over me. The discussion was concluded. Although I imagined being a pastor’s wife would be thrilling, the idea of my sister marrying someone like Collins, who despised witches, made me sick to my stomach.
“My second daughter, Lizzy,” Mom said, “has no attachments I’m currently aware of.”
“Really?” Interest peaked in Collins’s voice, making me queasy. Lizzy found Collins ridiculous. The only reason she attended his sermons occasionally was to keep Mom from complaining too much.
“Would you like her phone number?”
I heard the sound of paper rustling.
“Yes, that would be most kind of you.”
“Where do you live, Mr. Collins? I assume it isn’t very far away,” Mom said.
“It is close. I have a home precisely on the edge of Fairwood Forest.”
I inhaled a small breath and moved closer to the door. They’d discovered Isabella’s body in Fairwood Forest.
“Splendid,” Mom replied.
“You understand this situation is delicate, given the recent loss in our town.”
“Oh dear me, I got a paper cut,” Mom exclaimed. “Silly me and my unsteady hands. Of course, I understand, Mr. Collins. And surely, if you’re planning on pursuing Lizzy, that means you’ll stop preaching against witchcraft in your sermons?”
“Mrs. Bennet, I only teach the holy writ. However, because of the latest advice of Lady Catherine, perhaps you are right. I should emphasize other overlooked sacred texts.”
“I believe that would be wise.” I heard the tearing of paper. “Here is Lizzy’s phone number and address. You can contact her anytime.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bennet.”
“You are most welcome, Mr. Collins. I will see you out.”
Whatever was going to happen with Pastor Collins would end up a disaster.
The loose page still rested between my fingers.
I looked at it. The paper may have been deliberately removed.
It contained dates, times, and names. I examined more closely the names on the date of the last full moon.
There were only three appointments. First was Frank Churchill at 5:00 p.m. Right underneath him was Wickham at 7:00 p.m. What was he doing on there?
My heart pounded in my ears, because beneath Wickham was yet another name I recognized.
Set for 8:00 p.m. was the name of the man saying his goodbyes at the front of our shop at that very moment.
None other than Pastor Firth Collins.