Page 94 of A Devil in Silk
Alfie’s grip on his cap tightened. “Yes, milord.” He shot a wary glance at Mrs Peverill before darting from the room, as though afraid she might strap him to the chair.
Bentley watched him go, noting the matron’s scowl and the stiff set of her shoulders. Whatever claim she had on the boy, she didn’t seem pleased to lose it.
“That was extremely kind of you,” Miss Woolf said quietly.
Rothley cast her a sidelong glance. “In case you haven’t been paying attention, Miss Woolf, I am not entirely without mercy.”
As the door closed, Clara addressed Mrs Peverill. “My mother attended Rosefield years ago. She knew Miss Forbes. The student who took poison after being ruined by her tutor.”
Mrs Peverill’s lips thinned. “I’ve heard the story. Girls do love to gossip. It cast a blight on Rosefield’s name, one that lingers still. Families of rank turned away, fearful of tarnishing their own.”
“Was Miss Forbes from an aristocratic family?” Clara asked.
“No,” Rothley said. “I’m familiar with every name in Debrett’s.”
“I wouldn’t know. Details of past pupils are kept in the archives,” the matron replied primly. “Those that haven’t already been destroyed.”
Bentley caught the slight pause before her last words. “Did the intruder take a file from the archives?”
“I’ve yet to determine what’s missing.”
Ever the keen enquiry agent, Clara asked the most telling question. “Have you ever heard about the curse Miss Forbes was said to have placed on the other ladies in her dormitory?”
Mrs Peverill paled. “Only the rumours, though there is evidence such a thing exists. The girl etched a curse beneath one of the chapel pews.” She pressed her lips tight, as if regretting the admission. “It accounts for the disastrous years since.”
Bentley studied her. “And what if I said there was a way to break the spell? That you might cleanse these walls of the stain.”
Mrs Peverill gave an incredulous laugh, though her eyes betrayed something closer to hope. “If such a thing were possible, my lord, it would be a blessing beyond measure. But curses are not so easily lifted. Every chaplain who’s served Rosefield has tried in vain.”
Miss Woolf stepped forward. “Not easily, no, but not impossible. A curse etched into wood can, in theory, be countered—scratched out, burnt away, or buried beneath words of greater power.”
Rothley’s brow rose. “You sound as though you speak from experience, Miss Woolf.”
Her smile was faint, enigmatic. “Only from what I’ve read.”
Mrs Peverill shuddered. “The pew was burnt years ago. Mrs Rosefield hoped to rid the house of the girl’s blasphemy.”
“Do you keep sage in the herb garden?” Miss Woolf said.
The matron blinked. “Of course.”
“Then there is still a chance. If you can tell us where we might find Miss Forbes’s family, I will burn the sage and perform the ritual. It may ease the stain she left behind.”
Mrs Peverill drew herself up and was already striding out the door. “Follow me to the stillroom, Miss Woolf. I assume you want dried sage.”
As Miss Woolf moved to leave, Rothley caught her wrist. He bent close, towering above her. “Dabbling with curses is unwise.”
“I mean only to recite a few lines of the old graveyard poets.” She paused, then whispered, “From Robert Blair’sThe Grave.It will sound like an incantation.”
Rothley looked impressed. “The Grave.A poem of hollow tombs and dead men, dressed as sorcery. How clever.”
Miss Woolf’s faint smile lingered as she slipped from his grasp and followed Mrs Peverill into the hall.
While they waited, conversation turned back to the case.
The intruder cannot be Mr Murray or Lord Tarrington,” Clara said. “Both were in London when it happened, and Mr Daventry had men watching them.”
Even so, Bentley couldn’t shake the suspicion Tarrington knew more than he admitted. His aunt had been among the girls in Miss Forbes’ dormitory, and such a legacy was not easily ignored.
