Chapter 17

September 1985

"Are you quite alright Constance?"

Constance was assisting the now Mistress Fairwind, for her doctoral thesis was now complete, to prepare for the following morning's first year potion class. Usually Constance looked forward to her time helping with the potion preparation, she and Gwendoline were quickly learning that they had much in common and the cheerful chatter worked better than any happiness tonic Constance could have brewed. This evening however, her responses to Gwendoline's conversation had grown ever shorter until eventually the two had found themselves decanting glistening black beetle wings and vivid yellow dandelion heads into glass phials in silence.

"I had another letter this evening, that's all" replied Constance, inclining her head towards the already opened envelope on the work bench beside her.

Gwendoline didn't say anything, she merely nodded understandingly before handing Constance an overflowing basket of acorns that needed to be removed from their cups.

Celeste and Roberta wrote regularly to Constance from their travels and each letter brought with it a new wave of sadness that Constance just couldn't seem to shake. At first Gwendoline had though the letters brought some bad news but that wasn't the case, quite the opposite in fact. The letters were always full of bright, vivid descriptions of the latest cobbled mountain street or bustling port and funny stories and anecdotes from their travels. The two young witches seemed determined that Constance got to share in as much of their trip as possible. The latest letter was taken up with the story of how Roberta and Celeste had got a job for a few weeks in a bakery in a small Italian village and had bewitched the oven to cook the bread in a quarter of the usual time. They said they knew the man who ran the bakery desperately wanted to sack them because they spent all their time sunbathing in the small courtyard at the back of the bakery and flirting with the boy who delivered the flour but he couldn't quite find a reason to get rid of them because the bread was always ready whenever he asked for it.

Inside the letter had also been a photograph from their last impromtu job picking fruit. The two girls were stood among the fruit bushes with a large basket gripped between them. Roberta wore jeans rolled up to her knees and a striped t-shirt stained with fruit juice, her dark cropped hair was standing wildly on end as she grinned into the camera, her eyes screwed up against the sun. Celeste looked serene in a wide brimmed straw hat and flowing green dress, her feet were bear and she wore a long chain of wildflowers around her neck. The photographs were always the worst for Constance. If things had been different, if she had been free from Mistress Broomhead's suffocating control, Constance would have probably enjoyed her time at the college for she had always had a great love for studying. But as it was, the photographs served as a regular and painful reminder of everything she was missing.

Gwendoline watched Constance as she gently coaxed each glossy acorn from its cup with her long, dexterous fingers. She knew about the bouts of melancholia that the letters brought, but over the past three years she had also observed Constance's strong, determined spirit and knew that this latest spell wouldn't last long. As Constance continued her task, Gwendoline saw the familiar signs; the crease in Contance's forehead gradually cleared and her stiffened shoulders relaxed as she grew absorbed in the familiar monotony of her actions. After a few moments, she risked asking Constance how she was progressing with her task and gradually the two fell back into the easy conversation they had become accustomed to.

Eventually Gwendoline even managed to make Constance laugh with a story about one of the first year's more spectacular potion making disaster's that morning; a billowing haze of steam which had turned somehow turned the skin of every girl in the class a violent shade of aquamarine. Gwendoline was concerned in the changes she was seeing in Constance as the term progressed; she was growing more withdrawn and, even for a young woman who was naturally reserved, her emotions were becoming almost rigidly controlled. Constance's laughter was something she so very rarely heard, so she felt a mixture of both delight and relief so see her laugh so openly; her slender shoulders shaking with mirth as Gwendoline recounted the tale.

"I see you are enjoying yourselves"

Constance's laughter died as quickly as it has appeared. Mistress Broomhead had materialised silently in the middle of the room, frowning sternly at the sight in front of her.

"Clearly" Mistress Broomhead began in a disdainful tone "if there is time for such needless frivolity then this is not a task that requires the two of you. Constance, you can come with me to my classroom and I will show you the ingredients that need preparing for my third year class tomorrow. I trust you are capable of managing this level of basic preparation on your own Mistress Fairwind?

Gwendoline nodded wearily.

"What is that Constance?" Miss Broomhead demanded, sharply turning to fix her attention back on the younger witch

Constance had silently slipped the letter and photograph from the work bench beside her onto her lap with the intention of concealing it within her bag.

"Give it to me."

Mistress Broomhead flicked her hand and the letter jerked slightly before settling back onto Constance's lap. Constance was sitting perfectly still but Gwendoline could tell from her firm set shoulders and the brightness in her eyes that she was countering Mistress Broomhead's spell with one of her own.

"Enough" spat Mistress Broomhead

She gave a stronger sweep of her hand and the bundle of paper on Constance's lap was suddenly alight with acid green flame. Constance leapt up in alarm and the letter fell to the floor where it blazed brightly for a few seconds before disappearing into nothing.

"My classroom - at once Constance" Mistress Broomhead ordered before disappearing. Leaving Constance to stare at the charred remains of her friends' letter still smouldering at her feet.