Chapter 5
Chapter Five
THEO
It had been a month since my accident and my kiss with the mysterious girl with the turquoise eyes.
I touched the scar on my forehead that she had tended to so expertly.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her, or dreaming of her gentle touch and how her lips against mine had ruined me for any other woman.
Not only had she helped me, she had saved my precious horse from injury.
Even if she didn’t want anything to do with me, I wished I could thank her, but to be able to do that, I needed to know who she was.
I had asked around but no one was willing to admit to knowing her.
What was it about that girl that made people want to protect her and keep her identity from me?
After she had run off I had led Warrior up to the cottage in Crack Ankle Lane to thank the woman, Clarice, for providing the things my saviour had needed to dress my wound.
I asked her the girl’s name. Defiant, despite the fear I saw in her eyes, she obviously had little intention of revealing the girl’s identity to me.
Somehow, despite my visits to Stanthorpe, I was yet to come across her again, and instead of getting over my feelings for her, I was all the more frustrated at not finding her.
Today I was on my way there again, but taking a detour through the pretty but run-down village of Thistlebury to deliver a message to my father, who had meetings with several people in the village.
The sound of the market grew louder as I rode closer.
I smiled, hearing voices calling out their wares to villagers, mothers calling for children to behave, and two men discussing loudly and with barely contained irritation why one had grown far better carrots than the other, each hoping that the manservant in front of their stalls would make the right choice when buying.
I groaned to see the crowds. How typical that I should be here on such a busy day, I thought wearily.
I wondered at the strange tiredness that had weighed on me since the festival.
It came with a sadness I hadn’t experienced before – one I couldn’t seem to shift.
It wasn’t like me to be miserable for hours, let alone for a month, but no matter how I tried to pull myself together, for some reason I couldn’t do so.
I batted away an insistent fly from Warrior’s black mane.
As usual, whenever I was away from home, I kept alert for any sight of the auburn-haired girl I had fallen in love with.
Warrior whinnied. I stroked his neck and wondered what might have caused him to react in such a way. I looked to my right.
I sensed her presence before I even saw her.
My heart leapt. There she was: the girl with the turquoise eyes.
My breath caught in my throat. She hadn’t seen me and was deep in concentration, holding a small open packet in the palm of one hand and pointing to it with the other as she explained something to a customer.
I urged Warrior to move closer to the stall.
‘Make an infusion by putting a large pinch of this in warm water an hour before you go to sleep,’ she explained, pushing a strand of hair from her face.
‘It will help you settle for the night. If you still have a problem after you’ve tried this for a few days, come to the house and I’ll ask my aunt or grandmother for alternative suggestions. ’
The woman took the girl’s wrist and slowly drew it closer to her. She sniffed the concoction in the open packet. I smiled to myself as she grimaced and pushed it away.
‘It smells like old feet.’ Her tone was accusing.
The girl grinned. ‘I agree, but I promise it works. I can add something with a more appealing scent if you wish.’
The woman crossed her arms under her large bosom and pulled a face. ‘You’ll need to do something if I’m to sup something that smells that bad.’
The girl took the lid off a jar of what looked like crushed petals and added a small amount to the brown paper sachet before twisting the top of it closed.
‘There you go, Lila, try that,’ she said sympathetically.
The woman placed a ha’penny in her hand, took the small packet from her, lifted it to her nose and took a sniff. ‘Much better.’
The girl laughed, causing my heart to race at the joyous sound.
Unable to tear my eyes from her, I watched transfixed as I recalled the sensation I had felt as our eyes met that first time at the festival, and the warmth of her skin beneath her dress as I held her in my arms.
Her laughter died. She seemed to sense she was being watched and looked directly into my eyes, a defiant expression on her beautiful face, as if daring me to approach her.
Stunned by her reaction, I felt as if an invisible hand had thrust into my chest and gripped my heart so tightly it hurt. I hadn’t exaggerated her beauty, nor her effect on me; that much I now knew. She really was mesmerising.
Gathering my senses, I raised a hand in acknowledgment. Her gaze hardened. I was shocked to see that, instead of my happiness being reflected in her eyes, all I saw was loathing as she narrowed her eyes and turned away.
I had only been my father’s assistant for several months but clearly she wasn’t one of the locals who respected him and welcomed his hard work to rid the island of undesirables.
I wondered why this might be. Could she be sympathetic to witches?
I watched her tidying the bottles and packages on her stall, pointedly ignoring my presence.
Why would this young woman, whom I presumed to be a herbalist, show such obvious disdain for the work my father and I did?
Or was it simply that she, like many others, feared him and his power to deal with people other islanders accused of witchcraft?
Surely she didn’t have any reason to fear my father or me?
But if she didn’t, why had she so blatantly taken against me?
Saddened not to feel able to speak to her and thank her once again for coming to my aid, I watched hopelessly as she focused on a new customer.
‘Don’t bother with her,’ a woman said, resting a hand on Warrior’s shoulder. I looked down at her, intrigued that she should say such a thing. ‘She thinks she’s better than us because she comes from the manor.’
It took a moment for me to realise this was one of the women who had spoken to me at the May Day celebrations before I had asked the girl to dance. I was keen to find out more about the mysterious girl. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Her upper lip curled in distaste. ‘When you think who her mother was and what she did.’ She scowled. ‘I think we should be the ones looking down on that snooty piece, not the other way round.’
Her mother? Was this person implying that the girl’s mother was a witch? ‘I’m sorry, I’m at a loss to understand what you mean.’
‘Her,’ the woman snarled, cocking her head in the direction of the stall. ‘She might be Lord Thistlebury’s—’
The rest of her sentence was drowned out by angry shouts as two men began exchanging blows. Others shouted and stepped in to try and stop them.
The woman I had been talking to rushed off to see what was happening and, relieved to be able to turn my attention back to the stall, I looked towards it – to find that not only was the girl no longer there, but all her produce had been cleared away too.
Frustrated at losing her, I tried to fathom how she had managed to pack up so quickly. I looked about me, checking all directions to see where she might be, but there was no sign of her. She had gone. Yet again.
A small group of people were staring at me, I presumed because they had noticed me watching her.
I clicked my tongue, giving Warrior the command to walk on.
As people moved aside to give Warrior space to pass through the crowd, I doffed my hat to those who greeted me, determined to hide my devastation at not being able to speak to her.
I reached the other side of the market square and dismounted at the address my father had given me.
Tying my horse’s reins to a pole outside the building where he was holding his meeting, I greeted a couple of men who were exiting.
They acknowledged me with a nod and a half-smile as I walked up to the front door.
Again, looks of dislike masked by forced smiles.
I sighed as I entered the building, hating that people were judging me by my role as my father’s assistant.
As much as I knew I should not still be struggling with this aspect of my role, it was difficult to be found guilty because of my association with my father.
But what could I do about my parentage? It was a question I would like to put to the mysterious girl.
Surely she knew as well as I that no one had any choice about their heritage, especially if the insinuations the woman had made about the girl’s mother were true.
What right would she have to look upon me with such disdain?
My thoughts were distracted by a maid who hurried from the room where my father was meeting two associates. Aware my father would be furious if I did not arrive on time but not wishing to interrupt a private conversation, I knocked lightly on the door.
‘Enter.’
I opened the door.
‘Do come in, Theo,’ he snapped waving impatiently for me to join him. He pointed across his treasured walnut desk, indicating that I should sit. ‘I’ve decided it’s about time I sent you on your own mission.’