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I did not know any more who or what I was, only that I had left behind, forever, the person I had once been.
I shivered – it was as if the photo itself foreshadowed the coming tragedy.
‘All is not well at Iskar,’ she whispered. ‘You feel it, don’t you?’
I continued to hold her and a conviction came to me that I had always been destined to come to Skelthsea and to take charge of Mary. That somehow, we had been meant to find each other. And we sat together in the chill of the room, sadness splitting the air about us.
There was menace and intent to the sound, yet the landscape was empty of a cause.
‘You mean like witchcraft?’
Oh the scandal
‘In those last months, Hettie was believed to be a witch.’
I was being ridiculous. Ghosts did not exist. The dead did not walk. If they did, would not Clara have come to me? Had I not begged for one last glimpse, a glimpse that would have shown me that, wherever she was, she was happy?
‘Hands that can heal may also be hands that can harm.’
‘Have you heard of a widows’ whistle?’
‘Some souls are made to be dark.’
‘There are other things that young ladies with no suitors can gain from me,’ he smiled, ‘and they would be free.’
Eurgh. Creep.
Night spilled from th’garret stair And weaved a shadow on the air Now something lives inside the spaces Of those silent, secret places. Anon (1748)
It was Greer that I pictured then, not Hettie, winding hair about the pebbles and whispering spells.
Probably was
I am going to die.
Poor little thing
It was impossible to imagine Miss Gillies at Gulls Cry and the decay was evidence of that.
omg is all this because of her!!?
And as I sat there, her lies settled upon me and fell like cards upon falling cards, their faces hidden, overlaid by others.
I was listening to you and Mary playing hide-and-seek recently and it reminded me of a game that Evangeline and I played. We called it, “Whistle and I’ll Come”.’
‘Who was the servant?’ I asked finally. Her voice grew sober. ‘It was Greer’s mother,’ she said.
They did not harm, I told myself; it was the fear itself that would hurt me if I let it.
You will regret this. Forever.’
Yeeeesh. Doomed in death too....
I was not alone and I could have wept with the relief of it.
if the dead could be drawn from their graves, could they also be returned there? And I felt a prickle of hope.
Finally, I paused in shock. It was clear. There could be no mistake. Hettie had never caught the boat to America.
William died because he could not keep his tongue still. If you speak of what you know I shall still not only yours but Elspeth’s too.
