By the end of their dinner, Arabella and the Lady Pole had both clearly decided that Missy was not to be trusted. Missy, sensing their disdain, spent the rest of the evening pretending to be engrossed in the gentleman with the thistle-down hair - who was, in fact entirely focused on Stephen and his desire to make him King of England. So, in other words, she kept mostly to herself.

"I do not know how I shall survive any more dancing!" She heard the Lady Pole groan to . "Every morning when I awake, I feel as though weights have been strapped to all of my limbs, and a fog has been placed about my head."

"I suppose I should count myself lucky that he keeps me at Lost Hope." sighed. "At least I can go on dancing for ever and ever."

"We shall find a way out." It was the most positive thing Missy had heard from the lady all evening. She turned to look at her, lady caught her eye and fell silent.

Finally, it was time for the others to attend their ball. Stephen and the ladies all departed without a word, looking solemn and tired. The gentleman kissed her hand, and then her cheek.

"Until next week." He vowed.

The hall dissolved, and her oversized room appeared. Missy curled up on the bed and stared at the wall.

That Sunday , as soon as she got up, Missy took two pages from the little pile of spells which she had stashed in the dressing table drawer. She also emptied a little tin of toffees and put it in her pocket along with the spell.

First, she went to the kitchen complaining of a stomach ache. The chef, busy preparing breakfast for the family as well as the servants, told her to help herself to the herbs.

She then went out to the garden 'for some air', and no-one paid her any heed. She was able to pluck at petals and leaves at her liberty.

The last item was the trickiest; a crystal container. She knew the mistress had a little cabinet full of crystal and China in the living room, but how could she get her hands on some without anyone noticing? The spell had to be completed before sunset, and The concoction left to sit before a mirror for at least six days.

She decided to try her luck while the family was eating breakfast, as they and most of the servants would be busy. She continued to complain of stomach problems, and excused herself from the service.

The living room was empty, but the large cabinet stood across from the two massive doors, which were always kept open. She would have to turn her back on the hallway, which she did not like. Casting a quick muffling spell, she darted past the sofa and armchairs. The display was quite grand, and Missy despaired to see that the crystal containers all appeared to be large carafes, far too big to remove without notice. Just at the back, however, was a small oil bottle. It was tucked in among the grander pieces, possibly because it was quite plain and would never impress any of the Fitzgeralds' guests, so getting it out involved a lot of carefully removing and replacing its neighbours. The muffling spell held true, however, and she was able to take it without a symphony of clacking and clinging, as would have occurred otherwise.

Missy placed the bottle on a near table as she closed and locked the door. As she reached to return the key to its place on top of the cabinet, a hand came down firmly on her shoulder and spun her around.

It was the butler. His mouth opened to yell, but no sound came (he was still holding Missy, and therefore still under the muffling spell). As he frantically searched for his voice, Missy slid a hand into her pocket and crunched up a dried leaf. The butler, obviously assuming she was reaching for a weapon, gave her a swift backhand to the face, which dazed her for an instant as he continued to call (or attempt to).

Missy shook the stars from her eyes and lifted the handful of powdered leaf. As soon as she blew it into the butler's face, he dropped to the floor. She snatched up the bottle and was up the stairs in an instant.

The spell proved more difficult than she had anticipated. So much so that Missy feigned illness in her room for the entire afternoon. Everything had to be done exactly; a leaf cut in a certain way with a silver knife (pilfered from the kitchen), a petal folded thusly, a sprinkle of rosemary accompanied by a verse in Latin. In the end, she had a murky, brown suspension that did not look like anything more than a couple of dirty leaves floating in dirty water. She placed it before her mirror and returned downstairs for the dinner service.

Missy had 'lain down' all day, so she was expected to relieve some of the others in the evening. First was the butler, who remembered nothing of their previous encounter and asked her how she had gotten the red mark on her cheek. She blushed and told him she had put too much sugar in the master's mid morning coffee. He tutted and strode away without another word, leaving her with a case full of silverware to polish (one knife seemed to be missing, and she reported this to the server, who had not seen it, and could not find it in neither the dining room nor the kitchen).

After the butler, she had to attend to the himself, who was drinking whiskey by the fire and always liked to have someone at hand. He also asked about the mark, and nodded approvingly when she explained that she had dropped a cup (not a China one), and the butler had disciplined , she was told to dust down the the entire living room and clean out the fireplace.

It was well after midnight when she finally staggered up the stairs, and Missy was not at all surprised to find the gentleman with the thistle-down hair in her room. She was made slightly uneasy by the interest he was showing in the bottle on her dressing table, however.

"Please don't touch that!" She said. "I should leave it there until Saturday, and it was such a hassle to make!"

The Gentleman did not turn around; he was peering into the liquid with some intensity. "What is it supposed to be?"

"It is a remedy for the Lady Pole." She replied.

"A remedy?" He gave her a puzzled look. "Whatever for?"

"Well, I was speaking to her the other night, and we quite hit it off." She lied. "And she asked me 'how do you cope with the tiredness?'

'tiredness?' I asked, not understanding what she meant.

'oh, when you return from fairy' she said. 'I often feel heavy and out of spirits.'"

"Why would she feel so?" He stood up straight now, and stalked over to her, as one daring someone to make an accusation.

Missy did not blink. "Well, to be honest, I felt the same way after our first dance. I thought I would never be able to pull myself out of bed. Sort of like a melancholy that weighs on all of one's limbs. I expect it has something to do with leaving such a wonderful place to come back here." She gestured broadly.

"So you made this just for her?" The gentleman's expression was unreadable.

"Well, yes." Missy put on her smile.

"How very generous you are!" The Gentleman took her and turned her in sudden dance, and they both laughed as he kissed her cheeks.

As soon as the dance stopped, Missy became aware of how close his face was to hers. He paused as well, considering. His eyes darted to her lips and his mouth moved to follow.

Missy shoved him away roughly. "No!"

The Gentleman retreated. "I'm sorry!"

"Please go." It was an order.

"Maebh, I-" He stammered. "I thought you wanted-"

"GO!"

He was gone.

She sat down heavily on the bed, her mind a jumble of thoughts. He had tried to kiss her, and she was certain it was not one of his tricks. Did she want him to kiss her? She had considered it. She wondered what it might be like...

He called me Maebh

The realisation turned her insides to knew her true name. He could use it against her. I have to discover his. "A stalemate." She said aloud. But is a stalemate enough?