Chapter 10 #2
As her head was fuzzy with pain, Evie didn’t put up a struggle.
She simply followed when Mrs. Pickleworth led her out the back door.
She blinked at her new surroundings. The pretty, sun-drenched courtyard had been transformed into a physic garden and was filled with troughs of plants.
Despite her headache, Evie identified most of the herbs immediately.
“Chamomile and meadowsweet,” she murmured. “And, over there, is that motherwort?”
“Indeed, my lady. Are you interested in herbs?”
A memory flashed of opening her mama’s carved wood case, a spicy, floral scent tickling her nostrils. She saw herself picking up one of the tiny tincture bottles. The drops fell like tears into the glass, vanishing in the amber liquid…
“No.” Evie slammed the door on the past. “Not specifically. But I have a general interest in botany.”
If the tremor in her voice betrayed her, Mrs. Pickleworth didn’t seem to notice.
The lady led her into a small shed; inside, the space seemed to expand as if by magic.
Somehow, there was ample room for wood cabinets, a drying rack, a small hearth and sink, as well as a seating area.
At her hostess’s bidding, Evie sat at the cozy table, examining the packets of herbs scattered across its surface.
Spotting a familiar book, she ran her fingers lovingly over the worn cover.
“Culpeper’s Herbal,” she said. “I have my mama’s copy.”
Mrs. Pickleworth looked over from the hearth, where she’d set a kettle over the fire. “Mine belonged to my grandmama.”
“Do you come from a family of herbalists?”
“Well, we never called ourselves as such.” Mrs. Pickleworth opened a cabinet, revealing narrow shelves lined with jars and tincture bottles.
“But the womenfolk in my family have a talent for kitchen physic. There hasn’t been a resident physician in Chuddums for as long as I’ve been alive, and when the villagers aren’t able to make the trip to Chudleigh Crest, they come to me. ”
With expert flair, she sprinkled herbs into a teapot. To that, she added drops of an amber tincture and other mysterious ingredients. Finally, she poured in steaming water, swirling before straining the contents into a cup. She brought the drink over, setting it in front of Evie.
“Try the tea, my lady,” she said.
Evie lifted the chipped cup, prettily painted with cornflowers, and sniffed at the murky brew.
“May I ask what herbs you used?”
“It’s an old family recipe.” Mrs. Pickleworth plopped into the adjacent chair. “The mix includes feverfew and chamomile to relax the nerves, mint to revive, and honey to hide the bitterness. Drink up, dove—before that megrim worsens.”
Since her head was pounding, Evie took a cautious sip. The tea had an earthy but not unpleasant taste. She took another sip, then another. By the time she drained the cup, a pleasant warmth had settled inside her. The tightness at her temples began to ease.
“Thank you,” she said in wonder. “Your remedy is quite effective.”
The good lady beamed. “In a few minutes, you’ll feel right as rain.”
“You’ve been most kind, Mrs. Pickleworth. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“You can start by calling me Loretta, as most folks do. And there’s to be no talk of debt after all you’ve done for the village.”
Evie furrowed her brow. “But I haven’t done anything.”
“Of course you have. Chuddums was on a downward spiral until the Harringtons came along. Your family has restored our hope and faith in ourselves…but don’t just take my word for it.
Look around you, and you will see the pride proprietors take in their shops, the way everyday folk whistle a merry tune as they make their way through the green.
For the first time in decades, they believe that they have a chance of prevailing over the curse. ”
“Lord Ethan and his wife were the ones who ousted that gang from the village and began unraveling the secrets of Thomas Mulligan. The Godwins helped to revive the spa and other businesses. As for me”—Evie shrugged—“I haven’t done a thing.”
“You were abducted right here in the village.”
The reminder chilled Evie’s nape, her hands curling on the table.
She tried to make light of it. “Not precisely helpful behavior on my part.”
“On the contrary, Lady Manderly.”
Mrs. Pickleworth placed a hand over Evie’s. The lady’s warm, firm squeeze was a stark contrast to Evie's cold and trembling fist.
“The villagers rallied to search for you and Mrs. Godwin because we admire your courage. And we know that both of you belong here.”
Evie felt a wistful pang. I’ve never belonged anywhere. The only place I’ve felt safe is with James…and he no longer wants me.
Swallowing, she said, “Gigi deserves your friendship, but you hardly know me.”
“Do you know how Chuddums came to be?”
Evie shook her head.
“Its founders were men and women who marched to the beat of their own drum. In life, they’d always been outsiders with their heads full of dreams and hearts full of passion.
Take my own great-great- grandparents. They were both in service in London, but they wanted to grow cherries.
People thought they were stark, raving mad, but they invested their life savings to buy the only patch of land they could afford and started a farm here in Chuddums.”
“Did their plans come to fruition?” Evie couldn’t help but ask.
“They had years of success and years of failure too. Such is life,” Mrs. Pickleworth said philosophically. “The important thing is that they lived their dreams. That is what people come to Chuddums to do.”
Is it possible? Is Chuddums a place where dreams come true? A place where I could be free to love my husband—and become a wife who is worthy of him?
A tear escaped, sliding down Evie’s cheek.
“Are you in pain?” Concern creased Mrs. Pickleworth’s features. “Is the megrim worsening?”
“N-no.” To Evie’s dismay, her voice hitched. “I-I’m fine.”
Mrs. Pickleworth took her hand, unfurled her fingers, and massaged her palm until she felt herself relaxing.
“I’ve found that a good chat can sometimes ease a headache as well as herbs. Especially when one has been through an ordeal.” Mrs. Pickleworth studied her with earnest eyes. “If there is anything you wish to speak about, I am here to listen.”
Evie knew the lady was referring to the abduction and wanted to confess the truth: she’d endured far worse.
Right now, she was being extorted by some mysterious villain from her past, and the only thing keeping her here was her love for her husband…
who despised her. Words crowded her throat.
She sprang up before they—or the tears pushing behind her eyes—could escape.
“You have been kindness itself, Mrs. Pickle—I mean, Loretta,” she said in a rush. “I cannot thank you enough. But I’m feeling much more the thing, and I must get back. The others will be wondering where I am.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Pickleworth was on her feet as well. “Would you like Liam to drive you back? We’ve only a cart but—”
“I’m fine. Truly. Thank you…thank you again for everything.”
Evie dashed off while she still could.