Her husband was incompetent, but he was consistently incompetent. He had done few things properly in life, and now managed to make a mess of his death. Most people when their carriage fell into a ravine either survived or died. Josiah had lingered between life and death like a lame animal for months, requiring servants to take care of his every need. His lucid moments were the worst, where he bellowed for a Miss Thompson who was long gone and screamed at everyone who did not share Miss Thompson’s good fortune. 

Her maid Molly helped her into the mourning dress and her slippers. A year, she had to spend in black, away from festivities. Mourning after what was possibly one of the happiest occurrences of her life.

Beatrice stood at the window and looked at the road that led to the family tomb. She had walked past his room in the days after his death, shuddering when she caught a glimpse of his body posed sitting against the headrest of the bed. When his body was placed in the coffin and carried off it was a relief. Now his bedchamber was locked until further notice. 

The house felt more at peace now. Samuel spent his days in London. She wondered if she was right to let him go so easily. He was young and vulnerable. Beatrice tied a black ribbon around her waist and exhaled. He was a young, wealthy baron with no responsibilities and more money than he knew what to do with. Whatever trouble he got himself into, it was likely he could get himself out of it as well. He had inherited his father’s title, which meant he was no longer her responsibility.  

“You have visitors, ma’am,” Molly said. “They are in the waiting room.”

“Who?” 

“A Mrs. Brist and her two daughters, ma’am.”

No festivities, but more than enough reasons to rejoice. She tapped her foot as Molly curled her hair into a bun.

“Have you served them tea?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“With the lemon tarts?”

Mrs. Brist would never admit it, but she had a sweet tooth. Beatrice had discovered the weakness during a trip to a bakery in London where they ate French pastries together. The expression of bliss on Mrs. Brist’s face had been unmistakable. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

When Molly stepped back she rose and hurried down the stairs, raising her skirts above her ankles. Mrs. Brist would not have come without reason. Oftentimes, she did not visit other peoples’ homes even if there was good reason, preferring to send missives detailing the issue and signing off with a polite request for a speedy response. 

 “Mrs. Brist, it is so lovely to see you again,” she cooed as she entered the room. She assumed her daughters would be young women, but they were only two small children, seated on either side of their mother and trying to be discreet as they examined their unfamiliar surroundings.

“This is not a social call, my lady,” Mrs. Brist said briskly.

“Of course not, but that does not mean we must keep our meeting devoid of social niceties.”

“Strange things are happening in the village of Clovebury,” Mrs. Brist said. “Word has reached me that untoward things are occurring in the village. Strange disappearances, dead animals, children behaving strangely…” 

Beatrice frowned. Clovesbury was only a few miles away from their estate. The scouts who were tasked with reporting strange occurrences back to their superiors should have come to her directly. It was inefficient and cumbersome to bother Mrs. Brist, who lived a day’s travel away and had two children to care for.

“Why was I not told of this sooner, Mrs. Brist?”

She noticed an almost imperceptible shrug from the woman. “They thought you would be too busy with your ailing husband. They offered you their sympathies in their letter, of course.” 

Beatrice scoffed. “Do I look like I want or need sympathy? No matter. How long has this been occurring?” 

“Two months now,” Mrs. Brist said.

“Two entire months?” 

It was difficult to be angry with Mrs. Brist.

“The scouts have increased surveillance. They found nothing. And a few weeks ago the pattern changed.”

Beatrice looked towards the children. In a household like Mrs. Brist’s, it was impossible for children to retain their innocence about the viciousness of the world, but what Mrs. Brist was on the verge of revealing seemed particularly grotesque. 

“Molly?” she called out. The maid came in from the hallway where she had been waiting. 

“Can you take the children to the kitchens and see if the cook can make them some rice milk?”

“Yes, maam,” Molly said, leading the children out of the room. 

“A virgin sacrifice,” Mrs. Brist said, as if it was nothing at all. “The vicar’s daughter.”

“We haven’t seen one of those in ten years,” Beatrice said. “And the only ones who perform such things. Do you suspect anyone in the village?” 

Mrs. Brist shook her head. “They’re all equally terrified from the looks of it. And we brought in a three-eyed seer. Nothing but humans in that village.” 

“I suppose we should go to Clovesbury immediately, Beatrice said. “I shall have a carriage readied. Molly will take care of the children.” 

“No. They will join us.” 

Beatrice balked at her friend. “Beatrice, they are still children. They should not be exposed to the atrocities we are going towards.” 

“They will see such things eventually. And they will see them frequently. However, they need to come with us because we need them. Sarah and Joan have unique gifts.” 

“We have defeated our enemies without using children before, I am sure we can spare their unique gifts this time. Let us go alone now, and if there is nothing to be found with our magic, Molly will bring the children to Clovesbury then.” 

The vein in Mrs. Brist’s temple swelled ever so slightly, but for a woman who rarely displayed emotion, it was a change that was difficult to miss. She did not agree with Beatrice, but in their hierarchy of power, Beatrice ranked higher. Theirs was not an organization that tolerated insubordination. 

“It is settled then,” she said, leaving the room to give the servants instructions.