Page 46 of As Many Souls as Stars
Esther bit her lip, considering. Then she turned away. ‘Very well. Wait here.’
She shut the door in her face, and Miriam had to wait on the step for a few more minutes before it opened again. Esther was now wearing a pair of long gloves, and a lace shawl had been tied over her mint-green gown. She had rouged her lips and cheeks, also, and it occurred to Miriam that she looked beautiful.
‘We’ll have to take a hackney.’ Esther turned back inside, and hollered, ‘Isaac!’
Her brother’s face appeared around the corner of the hallway. He was in a state of some disarray, waistcoat unbuttoned, dark hair flopping foppishly into his eyes. Miriam had never seen him otherwise, not once, after years of spying through their windows.
‘Ah, hello,’ he said cheerily. This was unusual. Most men found Miriam immediately disturbing; Isaac Harding was either extraordinarily brave or entirely lacking in survival instincts. ‘Esther’s friend, are we? What a distinctive cravat. I didn’t know knots could be tied in such a fashion.’
‘They can’t,’ Miriam replied.
Esther said, ‘Ignore her—she’s mad. We’re out today. I’ll be gone until late.’
Isaac nodded. ‘Righto. Vauxhall, is it?’
‘Yes.’
He eyed Miriam again. ‘You’ll make a splash. Bring me back a Shrewsbury, would you?’
‘Fine. Can you tell Thomas? Where is he?’
‘In his study, probably, crying about his dead wife or frigging himself over a venerable ancestor.’
Esther didn’t even blink at his crudeness. ‘He is the only reason we have a roof over our heads,’ she said, ‘so mind you don’t talk like that to his face.’
Isaac huffed as Esther tugged Miriam away from the door.
Esther hadn’t asked Thomas if she could use the carriage—Miriam wondered if she was embarrassed by her company?—so they had to hail a hackney coach on the street, which Esther clearly found demeaning; she was flushed with shame the entire time. Once they were inside the hackney, however, she seemed to calm down. She sat opposite Miriam and gave her a sceptical, narrow-eyed look.
‘Don’t try anything,’ Esther said.
‘Like what?’
‘The magic you used yesterday. Who knows what you could do to me, if you were so inclined.’
Miriam smirked. ‘What sort of things would you like me to do?’
‘Notthat,’ Esther replied curtly. She flexed her hands fretfully in her lap, stretching the fabric of her gloves. ‘I still can’t trust you.’
‘That much is evident. But I am not the one you should be afraid of, Esther.’
‘You mean Thomas.’ Miriam nodded. ‘You haven’t evenmethim. None of your accusations make any sense. Yesterday, you wouldn’t explain—’
‘I can explain now, if you wish.’
This surprised her. She untangled her fingers on her lap. ‘Go on, then.’
Miriam had spent some time considering the lie, and so it was with practised smoothness she replied, ‘I have long been a scholar of the occult. I have been tracking the whereabouts of a book: a grimoire of Christopher Harding’s. It outlines several important rituals.’
Esther frowned. ‘A grimoire? There was a big fire at the old estate, in the Elizabethan period—you’re saying it survived?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thomas’s father collected old family relics,’ Esther murmured to herself. ‘If he found it, then Thomas…’
‘Exactly. Your cousin has obtained this book.’
‘And you want it from him, I presume. That’s why you talked to me.’
