The dogs are loosed. They attack one of the men, knocking him to the ground, where he screams and cowers. Daggers are drawn.
“Inspector Kent has come to call at Spence. I’ll run for him,” I say, but when I think of the unquiet woods, where ghostly figures seem to wait, my feet are like lead. I hesitate, and in that moment, Mr. Miller raises his pistol and fires two shots into the air. “Right. Who wants lead in his belly? I want to know where my missing men are.”
He takes aim at one of the Gypsy men. There is no time for the inspector. Something must be done at once.
“Stop!” I shout.
Mr. Miller cups his hand over his brow, peering into the dark. “Who said that?”
“I did,” I say, stepping forward.
Mr. Miller breaks into a huge grin and a big cackle. “You? Aren’t you one of them Spence girls? What ya gonna do, then? Pour me tea?”
“Inspector Kent of Scotland Yard has called upon us this evening,” I say, hoping I sound much surer of myself than I feel. My insides have gone to jelly. “If you do not leave at once, I shall send for him. In fact, he may very well be on his way now.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Miller nods and two of his men come for me. Kartik steps between us. He gets off a solid punch to each of them, but another joins the fray. He is outnumbered. He is hit hard across the mouth, his lip bloodied.
“Stop!” I growl.
Mr. Miller’s feral grin returns. “I told Missus Nightwing them dirty Gypsies would sully her girls. Guess I was right.”
I hate him for that. I wish I could show him how much, and at once, the magic eats through me with a terrible velocity. I am inside Mr. Miller’s head, an unwelcome guest.
I know what you fear, Mr. Miller, what you desire.
Mr. Miller whips around wildly. “Who said that? Which one of you?”
These woods know your secrets, Mr. Miller. I know them, too. You like to hurt things. You like it very much.
“Show yourself!” Mr. Miller’s voice is raw with fear.
You drowned a kitten once. It struggled and scratched for its tiny life, and you squeezed harder. You squeezed till it hung limp in your hands.
“Don’t you hear that?” Mr. Miller screams at his men. They regard him as one would a madman, for they hear nothing.
Retribution rumbles over my soul. I make the wind gather force. It rattles the leaves, and Mr. Miller sets off running, his men chasing after, all thoughts of revenge abandoned for now. The magic calms, and I fall to my knees, gasping. The Gypsies regard me warily, as if I were something to be feared.
“It is you who brings the curse,” Mother Elena says.
“No,” I say, but I’m not sure I believe it.
Immediately, the women set about cleansing the camp of the wickedness we foreigners have brought. They pour out water from all the pitchers. I see some of the women placing small bits of bread in their pockets, which Brigid has told us wards off bad luck.
Kartik offers me his hand, and I take it. “The men you saw in the woods—now you see they were not specters but flesh and blood. They had come seeking revenge on the Gypsies.”
I want to believe him. I would do anything to have it all explained away with easy assurances, like those from a governess patting a fretting child’s head. “And the windows?”
“A vision. A most unusual one. You said yourself that things are changing.” He combs his fingers through his thick curls, which I know he does when he is thinking. I find I’ve missed that. I’ve missed him.
“Kartik…,” I start.
Lanterns appear in the trees. Inspector Kent has come with Nightwing, McCleethy and two of our stableboys. Elizabeth trails behind. They call my name and it sounds foreign, the name of a girl who played happy games with her friends inside the realms weeks ago. I no longer remember that girl. I have become someone else, and I am not quite sure she is sane.
“I’m here!” I call, because I would be found.
Nightwing’s face displays a mixture of relief and fury. Now that she has found me safe, she looks as if she would kill me for the trouble I’ve caused.
“Miss Doyle, it was most ungracious of you to run off and abandon Miss Poole,” Mrs. Nightwing reprimands. Elizabeth slinks behind her.
I open my mouth to protest but it isn’t worth it.
“We heard shots!” the inspector says, taking charge. Just now he is not the twinkly-eyed man who sips tea by our fire. He is a hardened man of the law. It’s astonishing that men can inhabit their two selves so easily.
“Miller’s men came to hurt the Gypsies,” I say, and Kartik explains what has happened.
