the centre of the sea of dandelions outside the library windows. Merrythought had still been rich and smart-looking then, even though the Decree had already come into force. The date written underneath was June, 1865 – twenty-five years ago.
‘What is it?’ Georgie asked, coming to look over her shoulder.
‘Portraits – look, their wedding.’ She turned the page. ‘And Mama with a baby. Oh! This is Lucy. And she was born only a year after they were married – she would be twenty-four now, if she hadn’t died…’
Henrietta leaped up onto the armchair to see the pictures too. ‘How very interesting. Arabel and her sisters went to an exhibition of daguerrotypes in London once, and took me, but I have never seen anything like these. They all look rather miserable,’ she added, wrinkling her nose as Lily turned the pages on several pictures of girls around her own age.
‘You have to stand very still,’ Georgie explained. ‘That’s why everyone always seems grumpy. It takes ages.’
‘Lucy and Prudence,’ Lily muttered, turning the pages. ‘They were older than me, I think. They weren’t babies when they died, Georgie. More your age, at least.’ She bit her lip, glancing up at Georgie worriedly.
‘Children die sometimes too.’ Georgie’s voice was stubborn. Then she sighed. ‘But not two of them, surely? Unless they had typhoid, perhaps? But it would be terribly unlucky, to take both girls.’
‘It didn’t happen all at once, anyway. Lucy’s gone in this one, see – it’s only Prudence, and that must be you she’s holding, Georgie,’ Lily murmured.
‘No photographs of any of them aged much older than you.’ Henrietta nosed one of the pages to turn to the next portrait – Prudence, her light hair in long, soft ringlets. She looked as though she had been very well-named, her face sweet and biddable-looking. In fact, she looked remarkably like Georgie. Even down to the worried, frightened look in her eyes. She was holding the baby this time, a pretty fair-haired little lump. Prudence seemed to be eyeing her rather anxiously, but Lily wasn’t sure if that was her imagination.
‘She knows,’ Henrietta muttered, and Lily shivered. Not her imagination then.
‘The rest of it is empty,’ she said, flicking through the fraying pages. ‘Oh, except there’s a pocket at the back.’ She unfolded the little envelope, and drew out a piece of paper, which seemed much newer than the rest of the album. It was written in the darkest blue ink, in her mother’s tight, spiky writing. ‘It’s a list of spells, I think,’ she said doubtfully, handing it to Georgie.
‘Yes.’ Georgie frowned. ‘All horrible ones. Just reading the names of them makes me shiver.’
‘Show me,’ Henrietta asked, scrambling up into Lily’s arms and leaning over. ‘Ugh. Not just horrible. I’ve heard of some of these. They’re for killing people.’
Georgie shook her head. ‘No. No, some of them are dangerous, but they can’t be for that. This one definitely isn’t, look. I know this one. I’ve done it. I think.’ She pointed to one of the lines halfway down the list.
Lily stared at her sister, wide-eyed, and Henrietta froze in her arms. ‘Look at what it says underneath,’ she growled softly.
Georgie glanced at them both crossly, and read out, ‘Steals the breath and thins the blood. Eventually effective but rather slow.’
‘Who did you cast it on?’ Lily whispered, the words sticking in her throat.
‘I – I don’t know. Mama just told me to practise it, and I still can’t remember properly…’ Georgie dropped the piece of paper, and seemed to sway on her feet, clutching at the back of the chair to hold herself up. ‘Have I killed somebody?’
Henrietta stared at her for a moment. ‘I should think that depends on how well you did the spell.’
Georgie swallowed. ‘She was very cross about it. She said I was useless. Oh, then perhaps I didn’t! I can’t have done… Can
‘What is it?’ Georgie asked, coming to look over her shoulder.
‘Portraits – look, their wedding.’ She turned the page. ‘And Mama with a baby. Oh! This is Lucy. And she was born only a year after they were married – she would be twenty-four now, if she hadn’t died…’
Henrietta leaped up onto the armchair to see the pictures too. ‘How very interesting. Arabel and her sisters went to an exhibition of daguerrotypes in London once, and took me, but I have never seen anything like these. They all look rather miserable,’ she added, wrinkling her nose as Lily turned the pages on several pictures of girls around her own age.
‘You have to stand very still,’ Georgie explained. ‘That’s why everyone always seems grumpy. It takes ages.’
‘Lucy and Prudence,’ Lily muttered, turning the pages. ‘They were older than me, I think. They weren’t babies when they died, Georgie. More your age, at least.’ She bit her lip, glancing up at Georgie worriedly.
‘Children die sometimes too.’ Georgie’s voice was stubborn. Then she sighed. ‘But not two of them, surely? Unless they had typhoid, perhaps? But it would be terribly unlucky, to take both girls.’
‘It didn’t happen all at once, anyway. Lucy’s gone in this one, see – it’s only Prudence, and that must be you she’s holding, Georgie,’ Lily murmured.
‘No photographs of any of them aged much older than you.’ Henrietta nosed one of the pages to turn to the next portrait – Prudence, her light hair in long, soft ringlets. She looked as though she had been very well-named, her face sweet and biddable-looking. In fact, she looked remarkably like Georgie. Even down to the worried, frightened look in her eyes. She was holding the baby this time, a pretty fair-haired little lump. Prudence seemed to be eyeing her rather anxiously, but Lily wasn’t sure if that was her imagination.
‘She knows,’ Henrietta muttered, and Lily shivered. Not her imagination then.
‘The rest of it is empty,’ she said, flicking through the fraying pages. ‘Oh, except there’s a pocket at the back.’ She unfolded the little envelope, and drew out a piece of paper, which seemed much newer than the rest of the album. It was written in the darkest blue ink, in her mother’s tight, spiky writing. ‘It’s a list of spells, I think,’ she said doubtfully, handing it to Georgie.
‘Yes.’ Georgie frowned. ‘All horrible ones. Just reading the names of them makes me shiver.’
‘Show me,’ Henrietta asked, scrambling up into Lily’s arms and leaning over. ‘Ugh. Not just horrible. I’ve heard of some of these. They’re for killing people.’
Georgie shook her head. ‘No. No, some of them are dangerous, but they can’t be for that. This one definitely isn’t, look. I know this one. I’ve done it. I think.’ She pointed to one of the lines halfway down the list.
Lily stared at her sister, wide-eyed, and Henrietta froze in her arms. ‘Look at what it says underneath,’ she growled softly.
Georgie glanced at them both crossly, and read out, ‘Steals the breath and thins the blood. Eventually effective but rather slow.’
‘Who did you cast it on?’ Lily whispered, the words sticking in her throat.
‘I – I don’t know. Mama just told me to practise it, and I still can’t remember properly…’ Georgie dropped the piece of paper, and seemed to sway on her feet, clutching at the back of the chair to hold herself up. ‘Have I killed somebody?’
Henrietta stared at her for a moment. ‘I should think that depends on how well you did the spell.’
Georgie swallowed. ‘She was very cross about it. She said I was useless. Oh, then perhaps I didn’t! I can’t have done… Can
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