The Return of the Witch (29 page)

“Yes, but … I do not believe her to be a pupil any longer. She is, in her own right, in her own singular way, a mature and accomplished witch.”

Erasmus put my words in capital letters and underlined them. He straightened up and looked at me carefully.

“Do you think that Gideon knows what he has? Can he know how much she has changed?”

I nodded. “He must know.”

“In which case,” said Erasmus slowly, “we must conclude that Tegan herself is important to him now. She might once have been a route to you, or a way to exact revenge upon you, but now…”

“Now it is she who is of interest to him. It is Tegan he wants.”

“It would appear so.”

“But, he must know she will never, could never, want to be with him. Not as a lover, not as a witch, not in any conceivable way. His arrogance is shocking, but even he knows that she can never forgive him for the way he deceived her. And that she is repulsed by the darkness of his own magic. She is not an impressionable teenager with a flimsy control over her emotions. What's more, from what I recall of her travels and her learning, she could never reconcile her own outlook regarding the responsibilities of magic and its power with Gideon' s behavior.”

“As you say, he must know all this. He has had plenty of time to consider it. So what is it that he hopes for from her?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. I can't see it.”

Erasmus reached over and pulled the bell rope. “We require sustenance,” he said. “I shall have the good Mrs. Timms bring us something light to eat and something refreshing to drink. We will revive ourselves, we will continue our notes, and you, my dear Elizabeth, will bring to mind everything that Tegan told you about her apprenticeship to magic.”

“Everything?”

“Indeed. For I believe there is something she has learned, some transformation she has undergone, some talent, maybe, that is of particular interest to your nemesis. Once we have identified it, we will be on our way to fathoming his intentions.”

And so it was that we spent the greater part of the day in that room, with me scouring my memory for things Tegan had shared with me about those years and Erasmus noting them down, making connections and raising questions whenever and wherever he could. I told him of her year on the Welsh island following the Celtic traditions. I told him of her trip to America and her experiences of witchcraft there. I remembered what snippets she had told me of her time in the frozen beauty of Siberia. I also recalled her visiting the northern reaches of the Sahara, but there had not been time for her to tell me a great deal about what she learned there.

When we had exhausted my recall of Tegan's studies and travels we turned to what we knew of Gideon. I reasoned that, if it was truly Tegan who he wanted now, for whatever reason, perhaps he had chosen to lead me back to Batchcombe in order to try to get rid of me. After all, he would have known I could meet people there who mattered to me, people such as William, or others who might recognize me and seek to have me hanged as a witch. By choosing a time of war he not only gained power from the dark energy of conflict, but increased the possibility that I might not survive the journey. As to why he had brought Tegan to London, well, Erasmus himself was a city man, and I believed Gideon shared this preference.

“But, why now?” I asked. “Why this year, this date?”

“That,” said Erasmus, leaning back in his chair and biting into a small meat pie, “is the missing piece of the puzzle.”

Wearied from so much thinking and frustrated by our seeming lack of progress, I wandered over to the window. Squinting into the sunshine, which was strong still, even though it was nearly four o'clock, I saw a gaggle of children in the street below and recognized Lottie among them. She appeared to be watching the house. She must have followed me home.

“I am needed,” I told Erasmus. I hurried downstairs and outside, relieved to be able to do something I felt equal to. There was a general air of pleasant leisure in the street. This area was not made up of the teeming roads and raucous markets that were to be found at the center of the great city. Primrose Hill might not be the bucolic idyll its name suggested, but it was a pretty place, a gentle district. The presence of these half-starved children, however, served as a reminder that other people's wealth here came at a cost that had to be paid by someone. I crossed the road and smiled at Lottie. She regarded me warily, as if torn between fearing me and wanting my help.

“I'm so glad you found me,” I said. “That eye must be very sore. Come, let me make it better.”

I held out my hand. Lottie hesitated. She glanced at her friends, two of whom were backing away, while another nodded eagerly.

“All right,” she said, skipping past me without taking my hand, but heading for Erasmus's front door.

Once inside I led her through the shop, if such it could be called, and into the kitchen at the rear. As Mrs. Timms did most of the cooking for Erasmus in her own house—accessed through an adjoining door on the far wall—the room was clean, but with a slightly uninhabited feel to it. Nonetheless, it was well equipped and Lottie found it very impressive. It was not a large kitchen, but the child gazed about her as if she were in a wondrous place. She made a circuit of it, running her fingers over the spotless scrub-top table, reaching out to touch the shiny copper pots and pans, grinning with delight at the indoor tap.

“You've water inside the house, missus?!”

“Yes; you can turn on the tap, if you like.”

She did so, and giggled with glee as water poured forth so fast that it splashed against the china sink and doused her. When she turned to me her face was dripping. I pulled out a chair.

“You sit here, Lottie, where there is plenty of light from the window, and I can take a look.”

She did as she was told, sufficiently relaxed in my presence to enjoy the attention now. The infection in her eye had clearly been there for some time. Such a severe case of conjunctivitis could not only be painful, but it might result in permanent damage and possible loss of sight.

“How long has it been like this?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Dunno, missus. It comes and goes.”

“And does your mother bathe it for you?”

“Oh, yes. I have a special cloth and no one else gets to use it. Mum keeps it just for my eye.”

“That's nice,” I said, inwardly wincing at the thought of the germs being lovingly reapplied to the eye every time the precious piece of cloth was used to wash it. If I had been back at Willow Cottage in the twenty-first century I could have sourced antibiotics and cleared the infection in a matter of days. Had I access to my mother's seventeenth-century pharmacopeia I could have made a paste of eyebright and chamomile, and careful bathing—never using the same cloth twice—might well have effected a cure. In the time and place in which I found myself it would have been possible to find a doctor, or a pharmacy, but I was concerned that this might be the only chance I got to help Lottie. There was no guarantee she would return, nor that she would agree to accompany me to a doctor's surgery. Whatever I had to do, now was the time to do it. I switched on the gas and struck a match before setting the kettle over the heat.

“What are you going to do?” the girl asked, anxiety in her voice.

“I'm going to boil some water and put it in a dish to cool, because boiled water is the very best thing for washing a sore eye. And while it is cooling, you and I will have a cup of tea and a piece of Mrs. Timms's excellent shortbread. What do you say to that?”

Lottie revealed herself to be a natural talker. She chatted on about her family—a mother who took in laundry, a father who worked at a tannery in Chalk Farm, and three older sisters. Lottie was actually nearly ten, and the only one in her family who still attended school.

“I go three mornings a week,” she told me proudly. “Rest of the time I work down the tunnels. But it was too pretty to be underground today, so we bunked off and came to the park. Might get in trouble for it, old Mr. Antrobus is a sourpuss and no mistake. My dad says he's a man as could see a cloud in every silver lining. I don't know what he means, but it makes me laugh!” She grinned gappily as she chomped her way through a second biscuit.

“What tunnels are those, Lottie?”

“Them that go from the canal to the train station.” When I looked puzzled, she went on. “We help load and unload the wagons, see? Coal and stuff comes down the canal, then it gets shifted onto wagons, and we lead the ponies through the tunnels 'til we get to King's Cross, and then it's put on the trains. Goes all over the country, things we move about. Out to big houses, factories, all sorts of places. Some of it even goes to the seaside. You ever been to the seaside, Missus?”

“Yes, I have. It's very nice.”

“Oh, I'd love to go!”

“And perhaps you will one day. Now, sit still and just tip your head back a little for me. That's very good.”

Using the cooled and slightly salted water I gently bathed Lottie's eye. In truth, I knew however soothing such a treatment would be, it could not cure the infection. Something a little stronger was needed. A little drop of magic. While I might not be able to effect a miracle cure of a serious disease, and I would certainly have preferred to have one of my mother's recipes to help, I was confident I could work a healing charm. I placed my hand lightly over Lottie's eye and whispered a blessing, calling on the Goddess of the earth, with her nurturing power, to cleanse the child of her disease. I felt a special stillness settle about us. Even Lottie fell quiet for a moment. My palm grew hot, and I knew the girl's eye would be sensitive to that heat, but that it would not be painful or unpleasant. A moment later and it was done. I put away the dish.

“There you are, Lottie.”

“Is that it, missus?”

“No need to trouble your mother with bathing it today,” I told her.

The child grinned. “Feels better already, it does!”

I saw her to the door and watched her bound out to join her friends. It was cheering to have been able to perform such a simple act of healing. To remind myself that there was always work to be done in the world, that there would always be those whom I could help.

I was on the point of returning to Erasmus when the sight of a young woman on the far side of the street caused me to utter a cry of surprise. She was dressed very differently from when I had last seen her, and she was alone, which in itself was unusual, but I was certain I was looking at one of Gideon's loathsome twins. She was clearly watching the shop. She must have been sent to look for me, which meant Gideon was near, and knew that I had not perished in Batchcombe. That he was sufficiently concerned to send one of his minions to spy on me was strangely heartening, though I worried that we had lost any edge the element of surprise might have given us. As I stared out at her, the twin saw me, and saw that I had seen her. She turned on her heel and hurried down the street. I tore after her. There was an unhelpful number of people in my way, and I had to blunder through them, barging and pushing, eliciting several oaths and curses from bruised strangers as I went. I must not lose her! The girl was remarkably swift on her feet, while I struggled to run in my heavy skirts. The gap between us was widening, and I feared that in a moment she would be gone.

“Stop her!” I shouted, pointing at the twin as I ran on. “Stop that girl.” Nobody took any notice, save to step out of the way. “Stop, thief!” I tried. “Stop that thief!”

The effect was astonishing. Now everyone seemed ready to assist me. The baker lumbered from his doorway and grabbed at the twin, but she danced beyond his reach. Two young men tried to bar her path, but she darted around them. At last an elderly shoe-black stuck out his foot and sent her crashing to the cobbles. By the time I reached her, two passersby had hauled her to her feet. People worked hard to keep starvation at bay, they held what little they might have close to them against illness and hunger, they looked to no one else to support them; thieves took for themselves what others had slaved for. The upper classes despised them for daring to clutch at what they did not deserve, and the poor despised them for taking what they themselves could not afford to lose. The girl was held tight.

“I am no thief!” she declared, all but spitting in her indignation, her face contorted with fury at me. However, she was clever enough to realize that such a disposition would not help her case. In an instant she changed, pretending to faint into the arms of one of the men who held her. She sobbed pitifully and prettily. “Oh!” she cried, “I have done nothing and yet this woman sees me chased through the streets.”

The baker had joined the gathering. “If you've done nothing, why did you run?”

A woman in an elaborate hat put in, “A person with nothing to hide has no need to run.”

“I was terrified!” the twin explained. “This woman is disturbed. I think her unhinged. She muttered strange words at me as I passed by; she mumbled curious phrases that made no sense. When she began to chase me I feared for my safety. I am but a girl alone…”

“If she's a thief,” the baker wanted to know, “what did she steal?”

I tried desperately to think of something of value the twin might have on her. I could see no necklace or rings, and could not rely upon her having any money.

“My silver pin,” I said. “The one I was wearing on my collar. She snatched it from me and ran off with it.”

“So where is it now?” asked the woman in the hat.

“I have no pin,” the girl insisted. “My hands and pockets are empty, do you see?” She pulled out the linings of her skirt pockets and held her palms uppermost to the onlookers. “I am innocent of this cruel accusation.”

“She must have thrown it down,” I suggested, knowing that they could not find something that did not exist, “when she thought she would be caught. I insist I should accompany her to her home, to speak to her parent, or her guardian. There must be someone who can answer for this.” I hoped against hope that this would be seen as a reasonable course of action and the twin would be forced to lead me to her master.