Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

22 June 1023, Achin Court, Nexing Cross, Nexinghamshire

My dearest husband,

Today I took Jane on a pony ride, and introduced her to numerous sheep, goats, and farm dogs. Only after I had completed these duties and handed our exhausted daughter over to Margaux was I able to break away and take time for tea with John and Cathy. They were not expecting me, mind you, but agreeably halted their tinkering—and all the more eagerly, I believe, as once I arrived they discovered that they had not stopped for lunch.

Their servant brought tea, Cathy poured out, and once we were all comfortable I took the goat by the horns—having had practice earlier in the day—and said, “I’m afraid must raise a difficult topic.”

“Oh, yes?” said John.

“It’s about Octie.”

“I won’t see him,” said Cathy in a flat tone. “I wonder that you should ask me to.”

“Oh, but I don’t. Ask you to, I mean.”

“Then whatever is there to discuss?” asked John. “The man is mad for my sister, she won’t have him, and there’s an end to it.”

I shrugged apologetically. “I have indeed come on Octie’s behalf, but not to press his suit.”

John’s brows drew down in puzzlement they way they do when he’s considering the problem. “But then, why?”

“Because he believes himself to be bewitched. By Cathy.”

“I would never!” shouted Cathy, and John gathered himself to rise and show me to the door.

I held up a calming hand. “Please, my friends,” I said. “If I believed you capable of it, I would already have summoned the orthopractor. But Octie is in a bad way, and I so I have come to you for help.”

“What do you mean he is in a bad way?” asked Cathy, frowning. “Beyond being a lovestruck fool.”

“That is the point. I do not believe that he is a lovestruck fool.”

John relaxed a little, though he still had a dark look on his face, and said, “You’d better tell us the whole thing.”

And so I laid it out for them. And may I say, Max, that from her manner as I spoke I believe that Cathy is rather more inclined to your brother than she has let on.

“Cathy, you caught Octie’s eye at our engagement ball, and shortly thereafter he thought himself in love. He had never been in love before, he says, and it took a period of time for him to work up to it; for he wondered at the strength of his attraction. He’d known of you forever, but has never gotten to know you, if you follow me. But now nothing would do but to seek you out—and to keep seeking you out despite your discouragement. You are with me so far?”

They indicated that they were.

“But as the years went by he began to wonder at himself all the more. This love, which had so lifted his spirits, had become a heavy weight to bear. He did not want to pester you, he says, he did not want to rise and mount his horse and ride to your door, but he could not seem to help himself.”

“Many a lovestruck fool could say the same,” said Cathy with a note of bitterness.

“And then, about six months ago, he met a Miss Markham, the sister of Mrs. Davidson. She is often visiting her sister, and as he has become great friends with Mr. Davidson he has found himself often in her presence. He has come to know her, and to esteem her, to appreciate her wit, and her humor, and her skills. He find he is happy in her company in a way he has not known before.” I shook my head. “John, you described him as ‘mad’, and I must tell you that he has begun to think himself so. For while it is his dearest wish to marry Miss Markham, he still finds himself being taken by a kind of fit—that is his word—in which he he cannot turn his attention away from Cathy. Though he has not the least desire to take one step in this direction, he finds himself going to the stable and mounting his horse. Before, he was consumed self-pity during these rides, for he knew you would not see him; now he is filled with horror, for he finds that he cannot turn the horse’s head to the right nor the left except to arrive at your door step.”

Cathy stared at me, brows lowered. John said, wonderingly, gazing up toward the ceiling, “But that explains….”

“Yes?”

“His manner has seemed different over the last months. He used to look angry when I opened the door, and he would use hard words and storm off when I told him that Cathy wouldn’t see him. In the past months he has looked worried, and has gone away quietly. In resignation, I had thought, but now, looking back, I think in relief.”

“And he thinks I am responsible?” said Cathy, heatedly. “I would never!”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” I said.

“And in fact, she can’t,” said John. “She’s not a wizard.”

“She’s not?” I turned to Cathy. “You’re not? But everyone says—”

“They do. And I have often wished they were correct. But no, John is the only wizard in the family.”

“And I assure you,” said John, “that I too would never.”

“And why would you?” I said. “It hasn’t been any more pleasant for you too than for him. Rather less, I fancy. But what else is he to think? He’s in the grip of something, and it involves Cathy, and so far as anyone knows you two are the only wizards in the vicinity.”

“Are you sure it’s an enchantment?” asked John.

“No,” I said, shrugging. “My own talents are more in the line of setting things on fire. But I have seen such enchantments before, in Wickshire, and this seems not unlike. I can send a note to Dr. Tillotson or to Orthopractor Simms, but I wished to speak to you first, and see if you had any wisdom to share before bringing in outsiders.”

The two of them shared a long look, at the end of which Cathy bowed her head, her face in her hands.

“Cathy and I must talk,” John said, rising. “Please, if you would be so kind.”

I rose, and he led me to the door. “There is something, then?” I said, as I put on my gloves.

“There might be,” he said. “I’ll send word.”

And with that I had to be satisfied.

Your beloved,

Amelia

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