Matthew’s gaze was frosty, but at least he was listening.
“If you order a witch here, one will come. Matthew Roydon always gets his way. But instead of help, I’ll get another performance like the one Widow Beaton gave. That’s not what I need.”
“You need Hubbard’s help even less,” Hancock said sourly.
“We don’t have much time,” I reminded Matthew. Hubbard didn’t know that the baby was Matthew’s, and Hancock and Gallowglass hadn’t perceived the changes to my scent—yet. But this evening’s events had driven home our precarious position.
“All right, Diana. We’ll leave the witches to you. But no lies,” Matthew said, “and no secrets either. One of the people in this room has to know where you are at all times.”
“Matthew, you cannot—” Walter protested.
“I trust my wife’s judgment,” Matthew said firmly.
“That’s what Philippe says about Granny,” Gallowglass muttered under his breath. “Just before all hell breaks loose.”
Chapter Nineteen
"If this is what hell looks like,” Matthew murmured the week after our encounter with Hubbard, “Gallowglass is going to be sadly disappointed.”
There was, in truth, very little fire and brimstone about the fourteenyear-old witch standing before us in the parlor.
“Hush,” I said, mindful of how sensitive a child that age could be. “Did Father Hubbard explain why you are here, Annie?”
“Yes, mistress,” Annie replied miserably. It was difficult to tell if the girl’s pallor was due to her natural coloring or some combination of fear and poor nutrition. “I’m to serve you and accompany you about the city on your business.”
“No, that wasn’t our agreement,” Matthew said impatiently, his booted feet landing heavily on the wooden floor. Annie flinched. “Do you have any power or knowledge to speak of, or is Hubbard playing some joke?”
“I have a little skill,” Annie stammered, her pale blue eyes contrasting with her white skin. “But I need a place, and Father Hubbard said—”
“Oh, I can imagine what Father Hubbard said,” Matthew snorted contemptuously. The look I gave him held sufficient warning that he blinked and was quiet.
“Allow her a chance to explain,” I told him sharply before giving the girl an encouraging smile. “Go on, Annie.”
“As well as serving you, Father Hubbard said I’m to take you to my aunt when she returns to London. She is at a lying-in at present and refused to leave while the woman still had need of her.”
“Your aunt is a midwife as well as a witch?” I asked gently.
“Yes, mistress. A fine midwife and a powerful witch,” Annie said proudly, straightening her spine. When she did so, her too-short skirts exposed her skinny ankles to the cold. Andrew Hubbard outfitted his sons in warm, well-fitting clothes, but his daughters received no such consideration. I smothered my irritation. Fran?oise would have to get her needles out.
“And how did you come to be part of Father Hubbard’s family?”
“My mother was not a virtuous woman,” Annie murmured, twisting her hands in her thin cloak. “Father Hubbard found me in the undercroft of St. Anne’s Church near Aldersgate, my mother dead beside me. My aunt was newly married and soon had babes of her own. I was six years old. Her husband did not want me raised among his sons for fear I would corrupt them with my sinfulness.”
So Annie, now a teenager, had been with Hubbard for more than half her life. The thought was chilling, and the idea that a six-year-old could corrupt anyone was beyond comprehension, but this story explained both her abject look and the girl’s peculiar name: Annie Undercroft.
“While Fran?oise gets you something to eat, I can show you where you will sleep.” I’d been up to the third floor that morning to inspect the small bed, three-legged stool, and worn chest set aside to hold the witch’s belongings. “I’ll help carry your things.”
“Mistress?” Annie said, confused.
“She brought nothing,” Fran?oise said, casting disapproving looks at the newest member of the household.
“Never mind. She’ll have belongings soon enough.” I smiled at Annie, who looked uncertain.
Fran?oise and I spent the weekend making sure that Annie was clean as a whistle, clothed and shod properly, and that she knew enough basic math to make small purchases for me. To test her I sent her to the nearby apothecary for a penny’s worth of quill pens and half a pound of sealing wax （Philippe was right: Matthew went through office supplies at an alarming pace）， and she came back promptly with change to spare.