The Witches Three Cozy Mysteries 4-6

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It quickly became apparent that letting Sophie drag me out onto the dance floor had been a very bad idea. I had no idea how to dance the Charleston. I'm pretty challenged with not looking like a spaz when dancing to modern music. And it clearly was not yet a thing for three young women to form a circle and dance for each other rather than waiting for a man to come along.

We got a lot of stares. Some of the young women standing close to the wall in groups were tittering at us. Not kindly. I went to high school. I know what it sounds like when the mean girls are laughing at you.

But Sophie was oblivious to it all. She had left behind her lifelong ambition to be a ballet dancer when the three of us were called to take on the guardianship of Miss Zenobia Weekes' Charm School for Exceptional Young Ladies. I had never actually seen her dance ballet, only the sort of dancing she did that channeled her magic.

What she was doing now wasn't like either of them. She seemed to draw in what the other dancers around us were doing and worked the bits she liked into a tapestry of movement that was still largely driven by her own interpretation of the music. She was having a ball.

Then the band started playing for her, improvising extra bits to see what she would do with them. And she was wonderful. But with every spin and backbend she worked into her dance, more eyes were on us.

I tripped on the end of my gown and took that as an irrefutable sign, stumbling off the dance floor to collapse against the wall and catch my breath. I tried to see if I had torn the back of my gown when it had caught on the heel of my shoe. It would be a shame to destroy something so lovely, even if I had no idea when I would ever wear it again.

A roar echoed through the room, and a few people broke into spontaneous applause as Sophie danced her way down to a split that somehow her skirt accommodated, then burst up like a red-beaded rocket high into the air.

I realized to my surprise that Brianna was still out there, dancing away. She was no more coordinated than I was, but she didn't seem to mind a bit what she looked like or what those young women watching her were thinking. She just had her eyes closed, moving her arms and legs in whatever manner she wished.

I wish I could do that. Just tune the rest of the world out and be myself. But then, Brianna being herself is sort of apart from the rest of the world just by her very nature.

I had never thought about that before. I knew that Sophie had left someone behind when she'd left New Orleans. She never told us his name or anything about him, but I knew he existed. And I had left an adopted family behind when I came to the charm school but had quickly found friendships with two guys in two different time periods. I just always made connections with people. But Brianna didn't seem like she ever did. She had an old mentor that she spoke with, but I'm not sure how close their bond was.

Was Brianna lonely? She didn't seem unhappy. But maybe there was more Sophie and I could be doing to draw her out.

Like this party. This had been a good idea. Even if the other people in the house with us seemed largely superfluous to Brianna.

I turned my attention back to my skirt, but as much as I twisted, I couldn't get a clear view of where I thought I might have ripped it.

"Oh dear," said one of the young women. I bristled, steeling myself for a mock show of concern that was really going to contain a dozen barbs about how I didn't fit in. But this young woman was standing apart from the others, setting aside a glass of champagne that looked untouched as her hands reached out to me.

She sounded sincere. The concern in her large blue eyes felt sincere. But there was something about the shade of her brown hair, the structure of her face. It was reminding me of someone I didn't trust. But who?

I flinched as her hands closed on my arm, but she was just turning me a bit so she could see the back of my dress. She made a tisking sound. "Come with me. I can fix that in a jiffy," she said, linking her arm through mine and leading me out of the ballroom. I tried to catch either Brianna or Sophie's eyes, but they were both too caught up in the dancing to see me being dragged away.

Was this one of Evanora's witches? Was I being led into a trap?

"Do I know you?" I asked, but she didn't answer as she led me down a short corridor to a softly lit room. By day I'm sure it was the lady of the house's parlor, with over-stuffed chairs close to the fireplace and tables perfectly positioned for serving tea. The young woman let go of my arm and started digging through the drawers in a desk under a window that looked out on the back garden. Torches had been placed around the edges of the patio that had been swept clear of snow.

"Here we go," she said, turning back to me with one hand closed around something I couldn't see and a pair of sharp scissors in the other. The light from the fire raced down the length of the scissors as she turned.

"Who are you?" I asked again, trying not to sound panicked. I clutched my bag, felt the shape of my wand within. Not that it would help me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, lowering the scissors to a less aggressive position. "You asked before. I was distracted trying to remember were Ivy's mother kept her sewing kit. Not that she sews, but this room is always the emergency retreat for us ladies when there are parties on." She seemed to realize she was rambling without quite answering the question and blushed, then switched the scissors to her other hand so she could offer the empty one to shake. "Mary Taylor."

"Mary Taylor," I said, still trying to figure out why she seemed sort of familiar. But then it clicked. Her hair, her face, even the color of her eyes, was the same as Charlotte's. But her temperament softened the features that seemed too harsh in her little sister. "You're Charlotte's sister."

"Yes! Yes, I am," Mary said.

"I'm Amanda Clarke," I said, finally shaking her hand. "I'm a friend of Coco's."

"Coco is such a vivacious girl," Mary said.

"Yes, she is."

"Come," Mary said, taking my arm again and bringing me closer to the fireplace. "Can you turn a bit? I need more light."

"For what?" I asked. While Mary had none of Charlotte's glowering negativity, I still wasn't sure I wanted to turn my back to her and those scissors.

"You have a tear in your skirt. But don't worry! I have a very good hand. I'll stitch it up in a jiffy, and no one will ever be able to tell the difference," she said.

"Oh, that's very kind of you," I said.

"I'm sure you would do the same for me if our roles were reversed," Mary said, squatting low to examine the tear at the hem of my dress then fishing a needle and a spool of thread out of the little sewing kit.

"I might like to, but believe me, if I did it, everyone would see the seam," I said. Mary laughed.

"My mother was a seamstress. I used to help her sometimes. This is a pretty simple mend, really. I can see that your heel caught here from the scuff on the inside of the skirt, but it pulled over here right at the seam. That's easy to hide the mending," Mary said, her eyes focused on threading the needle. She did it in one go then set to work.

"Coco tells me this party is going to end with a surprise," I said. "Do you have any idea what she's talking about?"

"Ivy's parents are announcing her engagement," Mary said. "But that's not exactly a surprise."

"She's been holding court for a while, to hear Coco tell it," I said.

Mary laughed. "That's quite a way to put it. Yes, I suppose she has, but truly her heart has always been settled on just one man."

"Coco said you two were best friends," I said. "You and Ivy."

"Since we were too young to talk," Mary said and smiled up at me. "It's a shame Coco and Charlotte were so far apart in age, or they could be friends too."

"I'm not sure even then they would have much in common," I said.

"That's true," Mary said. "Coco is very unique. Her parents are going to have their hands full when she comes of age."

"Oh, I don't think she'll be running with boys," I said.

"Nor I," Mary said, snipping the end of the thread then taking my extended hand to pull herself back up onto her feet. "Unless those boys are pirates, or rumrunners, or perhaps even revolutionaries."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "That does sound just like Coco."

Mary was smiling back at me, but then the smile melted away into a look of confusion. "She exaggerates and tells stories, but never outright lies. I wonder what she means that Ivy has some surprise in store? She's never said anything like that to me."

"I thought perhaps her choice of fiancé might be a touch scandalous," I said.

Mary's frown deepened. "Because he's poor or because he was raised in an orphanage, you mean?"

"I'm not judging," I said. "I just thought that might be the shock Coco meant."

"No, it can't be that," Mary said. "Everyone knows how much Ivy adores Edward. You only have to spend a moment or two with them when they're in a room together to feel that."

I bit at my lip and tried to keep an interested look on my face, but in truth, those words stabbed a little. I had never met Ivy or seen the two of them together, but I had heard Edward talk of Ivy. I had known how much he thought of her since the moment I first met him. But clearly, I hadn't let myself give any thought to Ivy's end of things.

"Her parents?" I prompted.

"Love him," Mary said earnestly. "Ivy's father is full of praise for his intelligence and work ethic. With his good character, there is no limit to how far he'll go. That's what he says, and I know Ivy's mother adores him. And just between us, I think his lack of living family is a plus for her. Now she doesn't have to share Ivy with another prominent family. In all but name, she'll still be a McTavet."

"It sounds like they'll be very happy together," I said.

"I hope so," Mary said, turning to put the sewing kit away. "Ivy has always been very good to me. After my father died and left us penniless, most of my friends from school just disappeared. But not Ivy."

"It's so strange for me to be here," I said. "Do you know I've never even met Ivy? Only Coco."

"And how do you know Coco?" Mary asked, once more linking her arm in mine as we walked back to the ballroom.

"She's helped me with a few things since I came to town in October," I said. "I live just next door."

"You're from the charm school?" Mary asked, and her eyes got even wider than usual.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry I didn't place your name before, but Coco has told me so many things about you and your friends," Mary said.

"What sorts of things?" I asked.

"Well, one does have to take Coco's stories with a grain of salt," Mary said, which pretty much answered my question. Coco hadn't seen any of us do anything magical, but she had helped us solve a murder. That was story enough. "And you know Edward?" Mary said, looking not at me but at the open doors to the ballroom.

"I do," I said. I really didn't want to say more than that.

"And Edward's friends," Mary went on.

"Some of them," I admitted. "Why?"

"Because that alarming gentleman has been watching us since we came out of the parlor, and I'm fairly certain it's not me he's looking to talk to," Mary said.

I looked up to see a solitary figure leaning against the doorframe at one of the few places where the light from the ballroom didn't fall. While most of the men around us were in top hats and tails, black and white like the penguins they are often shown as in cartoons, he was wearing a suit of bottle green, the coat long but without tails. His thumbs were resting in the pockets of a dark violet waistcoat, the golden chain of a pocket watch spanning between them.

Mary, still clutching my arm, came to an abrupt halt as the man pushed away from the doorframe to walk towards us. Then he pushed back his bottle-green bowler hat, and I saw his eyes.

"Hello, Amanda," he said.

"Hello, Otto," I replied.