50. Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty
‘ A mber’s still asleep. And Glenn will be over later to pick her up,’ Nate said, placing a tray loaded with fresh croissants, jam, and tea brewing in a pot on the bed. He’d added a small jug of dahlias and valerian, hand-picked, she assumed from her yard.
‘Interesting choice of flowers,’ she commented, shifting further on the bed so he could sit next to her. Was he aware they meant commitment and readiness? Was it a message for him or her?
‘What? I just thought they were pretty,’ he replied, breaking open a croissant.
‘They are. I love them, and breakfast. It was a late night. Thank you.’ She leant over and kissed him. ‘Amber and I spoke for hours but she’s still adamant she won’t talk to the police or press charges.’
‘Why not? The more trouble that bastard gets into, the better.’ Ever since he saw Amber’s vulnerability last night, and heard her muffled anguish over Clive’s letters, he’d wanted to grab Clive and finish what Artie started. One black eye wasn’t good enough for him. Only Willow’s insistence not to stopped him. He’d nearly lost her twice, he wasn’t prepared to risk it again.
‘In the scuffle before Artie arrived, Clive released her because Beetle bit him. Ferrets can be ferocious biters if provoked. And they are very loyal and protective. Always a good choice for a witch, I think. She believes if she presses charges for assault, Clive will respond by taking action against her for his injuries.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, I wonder what’s going on at Mercer’s Estate Agency. When I walked past to the bakery, the police were there and the staff look worried.’
‘Maybe we should go there.’ Willow ripped apart a croissant, releasing the warm, yeasty aroma, and smothered it with raspberry jam. ‘After breakfast, of course.’
Their arrival at Mercer’s Estate Agency was met with a flurry of frantic activity. Paperwork piled high on desks and a computer was in the process of being taken away by a police officer. Cold mugs of coffee remained on the desks of the pale, anxious employees.
‘I’m sorry, we are closed today,’ an agent, Laura, according to her name badge, said.
‘We’re looking for Clive,’ Willow explained.
‘Aren’t we all? You’ll have to join the queue.’ Laura indicated for them to leave.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He has scarpered, hasn’t he?’ Laura said, ignoring the police officer’s shake of the head. ‘Head office flagged up an anomaly in the accounts yesterday. Before we had a chance to look at it, he’d gone. Disappeared with yesterday’s takings too. It wasn’t the only anomaly either. His business side is rife with them. Siphoning money meant for rental repairs into his own account and more. So, you’ll just have to wait.’
‘Can you tell me if my property, Speedwell Cottage in Mexenby, has been affected, please?’
Laura paled and the police officer came over. ‘It was one of the first.’
***
Speedwell Cottage felt different from Willow’s first visit. Was it because she was alone or had her orchard experience connected her to the house, making it truly hers? It welcomed her with the warmth she recalled as a child, and the sense of emptiness had receded. Dust motes still danced in the muted sunlight creeping through the grubby windows, several bleached shapes still lined the wallpaper where pictures once hung, and indented marks were all that remained of much of her furniture. But overnight, Grandma Jax’s rocking chair had appeared near the hearth, as had the patchwork quilt folded on the seat. Picking it up, Willow stroked the threadbare material and tears threatened to fall. Many evenings, Grandma Jax wrapped it around herself while immersing Willow in the world of the fae, giants, and the Moors. The rhythmic creak of the chair and crackle of the fire added to the experience. This was home.
The large box on the kitchen table confirmed her suspicions the twins had been there under Harry’s instructions. Written in a shaky cursive was a note.
My dearest Willow,
These belong with you.
Love Harry x
Removing layers of newspaper dated decades before, Willow peeked inside. She beamed with the unwrapping of a small red teapot and several cups she recognised, followed by a battered metal kettle with its accompanying whistle. Tears flowed as she discovered Grandma Jax’s preferred cup and saucer as well as her own. A cloth bag next to the box held more treasured gifts: a bag of loose-leaf Yorkshire tea, sugar, biscuits, and the promise of milk in the fridge. With a thanks to her newfound friends, she did what she needed to do and put the kettle on.
Sitting in her childhood’s favoured spot, the back doorstep, Willow sipped her tea. The fresh air enhanced the clarity of the taste, making her sigh with pleasure. She viewed her garden, as confirmed by Jax’s solicitor that morning. After years of looking, Speedwell was hers. Mr Browne, Junior, also apologised for their handling of Jax’s affairs and confirmed this cottage had been part of Clive’s simple scam to divert money meant for repairs and upkeep of empty and rented properties on Mercer’s books into his own bank account. No one had checked whether repairs were made or even needed. They trusted his word and the fake receipts he gave. She doubted Clive’s threats were ever about her witchiness or jealousy as Nate speculated, but greed and fear they would uncover his fraud once she found Mexenby. No wonder he’d reacted on Boxing Day while Nate and she discussed her dreams of finding this place.
Strips of land lay fallow like the front garden, allowing nature to take over, rewarding her with a vibrant display of colour and sound. Her sharpened senses had not dampened overnight. The whistle of the swaying grasses and percussion of insects’ wings as they darted from flower to flower accompanied the orchestra of birdsong. It was a perfect start of the day.
With the walled garden full of traditional herbs and plants, the orchard and small woodland, she could harvest her own ingredients for remedies and tea. A plan began to form for the future. They could extend the range offered at the Enchanted Emporium. Maybe even open a second store in the village. To the side of her property lay the smallholding area where Jax had kept her sheep and chickens. Speedwell Cottage was a place to be self-sufficient. The house required love and renovation to be habitable and become a home. She longed to start, but could she really leave her flat and ghosts behind?
***
The car door slammed. Nate walked round to the back, seeing Willow standing tall with her arms outstretched, looking into the distance. The gravel crunched beneath his feet, alerting her to his presence.
‘When I was little, every sunrise Grandma Jax and I would say hello to the sun and at sunset she’d welcome the moon. I never realised the significance until I was older. Despite her sorrow and crotchetiness, she remained grateful for all she had. And harnessing their power. This place is special, don’t you think?’
‘Are you any closer to knowing what you want to do?’
‘Maybe. Shall we go to the orchard?’
Holding hands, they walked down an avenue of trees. Willow reached to catch a ripe apple before it fell to the ground and gave it to him. The fresh sweetness took his breath away. There was only one tree in bloom.
‘This is Jax’s tree. Planted for her birth and I doubt it will see another year. It’s having a final glorious farewell before it returns to the earth.’
She guided him further into the orchard to a smaller tree, smothered in fruit.
‘This is mine. Not that I knew it until Harry told me. As much as I adore living in the Emporium, this is where I belong.’
Nate nodded and wondered why she sounded so surprised. Everyone saw it the moment she arrived at the Old Ram. He just hoped the ghosts at Whitby understood.