Chapter 13 #2
They passed a small draper’s shop with bolts of fabric arranged in overlapping rows behind wavering glass. Most were practical stuffs of brown, gray, and muted blue, but one length of velvet ribbon lay among them, deep green and lustrous as pine needles. Minerva slowed despite herself.
She imagined it stitched to the collar of her brown gown. Such a small thing, and yet it would soften the garment entirely.
She could easily afford it.
Therein lay the danger.
Poverty had taught her what was necessary and what was sure to be future regret. Coal. Bread. Lamp oil. Those things were worthy purchases. Velvet ribbon was not. The habits of poverty were not forgotten with the arrival of income.
Minerva turned away.
They walked on, past the chandlery with its ropes and tallow, past the Lugger Inn with its painted sign.
The fishmonger’s trestle stood outside, the morning’s catch laid flat on the stone slab, the air carrying the smell of brine and fish and the cold iron smell of the ocean.
An older man in a slat-stiffened apron told them Mrs. Todd had been “touched,” and made a warding motion as he handed Kitty two pilchards wrapped in paper already damp with brine.
As they came away, Minerva caught sight of the same unkempt man who had watched her earlier. He was further along the street now, outside the tavern, but his eyes found her immediately, as though he had been waiting for her.
“Nessa’s father,” she said quietly.
“How do you know?” Kitty asked.
“I know,” Minerva said.
She glanced back as they walked on. He stood staring after her from beneath lowered brows, meaty arms crossed over his chest. She thought she ought not have given him that glance, but it was too late to undo it.
She walked a little faster.
They were making their way to the chemist’s when Kitty stopped so abruptly that Minerva walked two paces before she noticed.
She turned to find Kitty standing quite still in the middle of the street, her basket held against her middle, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere past Minerva’s left shoulder, her lips curved in a secret smile.
Minerva turned.
Thom Gloyn was crossing the street toward the chandlery, a coil of rope over one arm. He saw Kitty and stopped, his boyish face lighting.
“Miss Dorsey,” he said, pulling off his cap.
“Mr. Gloyn,” Kitty said. She now held her basket behind her back and produced a smile of devastating sincerity. A blonde curl had blown loose against her cheek. She did not tuck it away.
Minerva looked at the sky, studying it with utmost interest for the duration of the exchange, which lasted perhaps thirty seconds and consisted mostly of Thom asking if they had found everything they needed and Kitty saying they had, nearly, and Thom saying he was glad to hear it, and Kitty saying she was glad he was glad.
“I wonder, Mr. Gloyn,” Kitty said then in a tone of perfect innocence, “whether you might know a pleasant walk near Cliff Cottage? We have not seen much of the area, and I should like to explore.”
Thom’s cap, already in his hands, underwent some punishment as he twisted it.
“I know a few. I could— That is, if you’d like, I could show you one. If you’d like.”
“I would like,” Kitty said with another smile.
Minerva pressed her lips together and returned to studying the sky with infinite fascination, watching their interaction play out from the corner of her eye.
They agreed on a morning later that week, the details negotiated with great seriousness and very little eye contact on Thom’s part and a great deal of it on Kitty’s. And then he took his leave.
Kitty watched his back for a long moment, then turned to Minerva and said, “The chemist’s?”
“Indeed,” Minerva said with utmost solemnity.
The chemist’s shop was narrow and dim, smelling of sulphur and something sharp and medicinal.
A thin, sharp-eyed man stood behind a counter that held a mortar and pestle, a small brass scale, and a leather-bound book open to a half-filled page.
Drawers lined the wall behind him, each labeled with a careful hand, and above the drawers, glass shelves displayed bottles, some amber, some cobalt, some clear.
“I’d like some camphor,” Kitty said with a glance at Minerva. “To ward off illness and bad airs.”
“And lavender water, as well,” Minerva added, thinking of the strange, stale scent that lingered in some rooms of the cottage despite the sea wind.
As the man gathered their purchases, Kitty asked if he had known Mrs. Todd.
“Lived here all my life,” he said, as if that were answer enough. The silence stretched, as he stared at Minerva. “You have the look of her. And I see you wear her pendant.”
Minerva touched the stone, then let her hand drop.
The man jerked his chin at her. “And have you a fondness for laudanum, like her?”
Almost did Minerva offer a tart reply, but she bit it back, thinking that she did herself no favors if she alienated the local shopkeepers. Instead, she said simply, “I do not.”
He studied her a moment longer, then nodded. “She came to me for laudanum. Said she needed sleep. Said the cliff would not rest and the dreams would not stop.”
Minerva’s stomach clenched. “What dreams?”
The man shook his head. “She never said.”
Kitty shifted closer. “And what of the cliff?”
His lips thinned. “The cliff is always part of the talk.”
“Because of my cousin?” Minerva asked. “Because of her fall?”
“Because of what happened before,” he said.
“Before?” Kitty asked.
The chemist’s gaze shifted to the street and back. “Years ago, a boy died there.”
“Yes,” Minerva said evenly. “Jory Tregian. We’ve heard the story.”
The man studied her, measuring. “Well then,” he said. “You know the town disagrees on the truth of the matter.”
“We heard that some say he slipped,” Kitty said.
The chemist glanced first at her, then at Minerva.
“Your cousin said so.” He paused. “Others say he was pushed.” His tone made it clear the debate was old and worn smooth as river rock, and he had no intention of adding to it.
“There are those who will tell you who stood on that cliff with him that day. And those who would rather you did not ask.”
“In which camp do you fall?” Kitty asked.
He paused, wrapping their purchases with slow care, folding the paper over itself.
“What most don’t say,” he continued, the fact that he ignored Kitty’s question providing Minerva with all the answer she needed, “is that folk talked about the cliff long before Jory Tregian broke on the rocks below.”
Minerva’s chest tightened.
“What sort of talk?” Kitty asked, eyes wide.
The chemist leaned one elbow on the counter and beckoned her closer.