by Liz Tyner
Vivian gave a soft click of her tongue and tilted her head. ‘That was you? Well, I cannot complain as I wished to rest longer as well. My thanks.’
Ella Etta gave a nod. ‘The first gift I give you. The second will cost more. And who might you be?’
‘Vivian Darius.’
The hag’s head jolted forward and she examined Vivian. ‘A baron’s daughter. Lord Darius.’
Vivian nodded. ‘I’m impressed.’
Ella Etta placed her booted feet flat on the ground and gave a shrug. ‘I may not read The Times, but I read palms. All the same.’ She frowned.
‘I need your medicine,’ Vivian spoke.
The older woman shrugged. ‘You were hurt in a...’ she waved an arm and the people watching lost interest, turning to resume their day ‘...by a horse.’
‘Yes. I was knocked about by one. Years ago. I’ve not recovered no matter how many remedies I take. They’ve given me enough treatments to make me well a thousand times over, but none of them has worked.’
Ella Etta gave a bare nod to the camp and stepped towards a fire pit. ‘Treatments,’ she said. ‘Little bottles?’
‘All sizes.’
The air briefly fanned the flames, stirring embers, then a stillness returned. ‘Come with me,’ she said.
Around the cooking area, several stumps had been turned into seats.
The woman led Vivian and Mavis to the fire pit.
Three poles joined to hold a chain and a bubbling pot over the embers. Vivian smelled stewing meat, as tempting as any from Cook’s kitchen.
Vivian absently pulled at her skirt so she could sit without wrinkling it.
‘No,’ Ella Etta rasped, pointing a finger to a seat near her. Vivian moved where instructed, so close their hems touched.
‘It’s warm sitting near the coals.’ Ella Etta used the end of the scarf to give herself a fan. ‘But the breeze is cool and the cooking rabbit smells good.’
Vivian heard Mavis settle almost behind her.
‘I’ve heard you may have medicine which can cure me,’ Vivian spoke, trying to keep the hope from sounding in her words.
Ella Etta held out a hand. ‘Give me your palm.’
Vivian slipped her glove away, dropped the doeskin in her lap and forced herself to remain unmoved when she felt the roughened skin touch her hand, pulling her fingers closer.
Ella Etta peered at the palm. Then she examined Vivian’s fingernails before she pressed at the skin over Vivian’s cheeks, causing her to clamp her teeth together.
‘You’re supposed to be examining my palm,’ Vivian muttered. ‘I thought you were part-fortune teller, part-matchmaker and part a mixer of herbs for treatments.’
‘I fix problems.’ A gleam appeared in her eye and she again pinched near Vivian’s jaw.
Vivian pulled away. ‘I am not a horse.’
She inspected Vivian’s skin. ‘I treat them also. They never complain.’
Ella Etta leaned forward. She smelled the same as Cook, but with more spice.
‘The price is high.’ She laughed, more to herself than anyone else. ‘But I may save you and, if I don’t, you will not return for your funds back.’
Vivian recoiled. ‘You are evil.’
‘No, I’m Ella Etta. Evil Etta was my mother.’
‘This is nonsense and I am tired.’ Vivian rose.
The old woman shook her head. ‘I cannot let you go without my medicinal.’ She waved a hand. A man stepped from the woods, holding what appeared to be a bundle of thorns that he gave to Ella Etta.
She held the bramble nest with both hands and moved the bundle forward so Vivian could examine it.
A stopper rested at the top. The thorns surrounded a bottle.
‘You follow my words without fail if you wish to live.’
‘First I must hear what you say, then decide,’ Vivian answered, keeping her words firm.
The woman chortled, her teeth showing, then glowered. ‘You bargain. But I do not change price.’
Vivian put all her haughtiness into one tilt of her head. ‘Well, tell me. I don’t wish to keep you from your business any longer.’
Ella Etta nodded. ‘Your cost is marriage to the son of the Earl who lives in the big house you just passed on your journey here.’
Vivian searched her mind. She’d been unaware of a mansion. And to marry the son of the house? Rot.
‘Thank you. No.’ Vivian stood and her glove tumbled from her lap to the ground. She swooped, picking up the doeskin. ‘I’ll not marry some man I’ve not met, or even say I would, just to get a parcel of thorns.’
‘You’ve met him.’ Mavis’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
Vivian veered towards her friend. ‘I can’t have. I’ve not been here before and I don’t get out much, even in London.’
‘Lord Everleigh. His housekeeper sent us here,’ Mavis whispered. She touched the spot above her cheekbones.
Vivian didn’t move. Images of him. Memories of his lips returned to her mind. ‘Him?’ She barely let out the word.
Ella Etta cackled. ‘I say he sticks in a woman’s memory. Even an old widow like me notices. Legs like a steed. Shoulders like a draught horse.’ She grinned. ‘I’m sure the rest of him’s as strong as a stallion.’
Vivian dropped to the stump again, jarring her bottom. ‘Well, you might be able to get me to toss in some gold as well.’ She leaned forward. ‘Does he know you talk of him like this?’
‘No. I’ve watched him grow since he learned to escape his governess.’ She sighed. ‘He came here, on the day his mother died, and said his father and grandfather were fighting over what dress she was to wear last. I told him it didn’t matter to her, so it shouldn’t matter to them.’
Ella Etta patted Vivian’s knee. ‘He was... What is it said? All knees and elbows?’ She lowered her voice. ‘And feet. Wagon big. He grew to fit them.’
‘Assuming I agree,’ Vivian lowered her voice, muttering, ‘though it is hard to believe I should... Assuming I agree,’ she continued, ‘just what does he have to say of such a thing?’
Ella Etta groaned. ‘You expect me to do everything?’ She thrust out her arm, waving in the air. ‘I save your life—you take care of getting the marriage promise.’
Vivian laughed. ‘I dare say he has no wish to marry me.’
Ella Etta held her palms out flat, her hands and sneer mocking Vivian’s words. ‘He does not. He has no wish to tie himself to a wife or he would have married long ago. It’s not difficult for a man to find a mate when a lady’s vision cannot ignore him.’ She shrugged. ‘You aren’t able to birth a strong babe now, but with my medicine, you will be. Do not complain that I send you to a man without love.’ She said the word as if it poisoned her lips. ‘Nonsense. His heart was destroyed long ago.’ Her rings shone as she waved them about. ‘But it left behind a good casing.’
The words lodged in Vivian’s mind. She wouldn’t have said Everleigh had no heart. He had treated Mavis with consideration and Vivian had no issue with how he’d treated her. Ella Etta was daft, but still...
‘How would I convince him of his marriage?’ Vivian tried to read the answer in Ella Etta’s expression.
The hag gaped at Vivian. ‘Not my worry. That would be your cost. I give you the healing potion. Tell you the way it must be administered. If you agree. Fine. Or, you don’t agree and we part.’ She leaned forward again and her voice rumbled from inside her ribs. ‘We are about to part, either way.’
Vivian felt the first bubble of laughter inside herself that she’d experienced in a long time.
Sure, she could be betrothed, if that was what the woman wanted to hear. Vivian could convince the hag of a secret imaginary betrothal to please her. No one would even need to tell Everleigh. And if Vivian didn’t get well she could spend her last days smiling, thinking of the im
aginary bond she had with Everleigh and pretending it real.
‘Very well. I agree.’
Mavis’s sputtering cough caused both to turn her direction.
‘Smoke in her eyes,’ the vagabond muttered. ‘Happens to many of my visitors.’
‘I will marry him.’ Vivian held out her hands for the thorns. ‘But it will be a quiet wedding. Few guests. You can read about it in the visitors’ palms.’
‘Not so rushed.’ The woman put her nose almost to Vivian’s. She gasped in a breath while the hag commanded, ‘There are rules and you must not fail. You must stop any other curatives. Take my mixture with theirs—you may die before you’ve time to spit. Not a soft, sweet death. One like clawing demons tearing your entrails from your body.’ She sneered, ‘Saw it once. Purple lips. Drooling. He pulled out his own tongue. Gave it to me for a memento. Ugly tongue, but cooked up well.’
‘We’re leaving.’ Mavis jumped to her feet, forcing out the words, and grabbed Vivian’s arm.
The vagabond put a hand to her chest and whimpered. ‘I merely say truth because I don’t want the young one to suffer.’
‘Wait,’ Vivian said, holding back. ‘It’s my only chance.’
‘What have you got to lose?’ Ella Etta asked. ‘Take a small amount of my potion each day. No more than you might cup in something no bigger than a small fingernail. Just don’t forget that you must also convince the Earl’s son to marry you. He’s at his father’s house now.’
‘I must take my medicinals.’ Letting her hands drop, Vivian backed away. ‘I must.’
‘No.’ A drop flew out of Ella Etta’s mouth. Vivian wasn’t sure if it was spit or venom.
‘My observations tell me when mixtures work—and it’s not those other potions. Pay attention to yourself, Child. What you are taking now is not helping you. You were injured years ago.’
Vivian pulled at the shoulder of her gown. ‘Well, the physician has given me his verdict.’ Vivian held out both hands for the bundle. ‘I accept it and a bundle of thorns would make a good tale to tell to...’ she almost laughed ‘...mine and Everleigh’s children.’
Ella Etta moved to her feet with a tiny huff, still holding the thorns, and her voice flowed around them with the thickness of a wetted cloth. ‘You will be well. But you must not forget the bargain.’
‘What if I get well and Everleigh has no wish to marry me?’
‘You must make him wish.’ She waved her arm. ‘But what do I know? I’m just an old traveller who lives in a hut some days and some days I live nowhere. People travel far for me to help them. And I do.’ She scowled. ‘Now, go away.’
One of the thorns pricked her when Vivian tightened her grasp on the parcel. She put the injured finger to her lips and she remembered Everleigh’s kiss.
Chapter Three
The carriage rolled from the camp and Vivian felt the brambles when the wheels jolted. She held the potion with both hands. ‘Shouldn’t you congratulate me on my forthcoming betrothal, Mavis?’
‘I suppose,’ Mavis grumbled. ‘I cannot believe Mrs Rush sent me here. I cannot believe that bedraggled swindler spoke so. And then to say the Everleigh lad has no heart. Though I don’t know if it matters much. If he’s going to be missing something, might as well be something a man doesn’t use.’ She counted on her fingers. ‘He could be missing a heart and a brain, and I wouldn’t hold it against him.’
‘Mavis,’ Vivian chastised her, sitting the potion at the corner of the seat across from her. ‘I’m sure he is kind. He was caring of you when your head was knocked.’ Vivian peered out of the window, searching for Earl Rothwilde’s estate.
Mavis put her handkerchief away. ‘Ought to have been. He nearly put my nose on the back of my head.’ She prodded the yellowish skin around her cheeks. ‘It’s still tender.’
‘I am going to tell the driver we need respite. I’ll promise him extra payment to take us home in the morning if we are offered a chance to stay the night.’
‘You aren’t serious?’ Mavis frowned.
Vivian took a coin from inside her bag. ‘We will see if the mansion ahead can help poor travellers, particularly one who is ill.’
Mavis shook her head and grabbed for the coin. ‘No. I forbid it. Absolutely forbid.’
Vivian quickly moved aside, keeping the funds from her friend. ‘I must, Mavis. I must.’
‘Fine,’ Mavis said, reaching out a palm for the money. ‘Do what you wish. Best let me speak with the driver. I’ll be able to convince him to stay until tomorrow if needed. But you’re going to be in dire straits if your parents return from their visit a few days early. And so will I. We’ll likely both be looking for employment.’
After Vivian gave her the money, Mavis settled into her seat, pointing to the window. A copse of trees hugged the road, one limb so close it brushed the side of the vehicle. Mavis jerked away as if the limb could grab her. ‘That mansion appeared perfect for a body snatcher to reside in. A snatcher would feel he could just sit around waiting for business to come his way.’
Vivian forced a smile. ‘No matter. I can meet his family. Might as well begin the courtship by cosying up to his relations.’
How foolish, she decided, to entertain any hope of recovery based on the words of a vagrant in the forest who peddled nonsense and notions. Then to stick the vial in a nest of brambles? She had to be daft.
And to accept such a potion? Vivian cringed at what she’d done. She’d sunk to putting her hope in a jumble of balderdash.
She wanted to rip it apart, but she couldn’t without hurting herself.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel she could wait any longer. She reached for the stopper, tugged it out, touched the golden liquid to her fingertip and tasted. ‘Mavis. This is much sweeter than the physician’s remedies. It tastes like honey.’
‘Don’t let yourself get fooled by sweetness. You’re about to open a box you can’t close.’ She put her hand to her head. ‘It is all my fault.’
‘I’ve had my fill of illness. I can hardly remember what it feels like to be well. If I’m going to die, I should live now.’
‘Apparently, you wish to take me with you.’
Vivian thumped the carriage top, opened the small window and gave the driver instructions. When he stopped at the mansion, Mavis gave him the coin as Vivian walked forward, examining the house while Mavis followed behind.
When the butler let them into the house, Vivian took Mavis’s arm for support. The carriage ride, the illness, the dropping temperature—all had taken her strength. She wasn’t certain she could have made it back to London.
Vivian felt Mavis’s nudge. They both inspected the vaulted ceiling and even though the stairway went upwards, the landing above closed in around it, the dark, ornate wood of the walls arching over. An entrance to intimidate rather than impress.
The butler viewed their hesitation, a superior glimmer of humour in his face. ‘Please go forward,’ he said.
He led them to a drawing room decorated with the same dark panelling as the hallway. Even the thick rug in the drawing room—she couldn’t tell if it was Aubusson, although she knew the flower design woven around the edge must have cost dearly—had faded roses on it clustered among brown leaves.
An older man, cane in hand, stepped in later, head held high by a stiff collar. As he got closer, Vivian realised the clothing he wore, while elegant, had faded into hints of the black it had once been. His bearing suggested privilege, but his dress said he would not attend a tailor until he felt like it and his expression said praise from him would cost more than the rug.
‘My butler says you’re seeking refuge as you fear the roads may become impassable if the rain arrives. Clouds are gathering and the sky is ominous.’ The older man lifted the cane from the floor, pointing the tip to the outdoors. ‘You are welcome to stay the night. I have business to see to with the tenants and you ca
n have shelter here.’
Vivian nodded, feeling the thump as her reticule bounced against her. The potion made the bag too portly to close. She didn’t have to act to show her frailty. ‘The journey today has worn me out. I have a wasting disease, contracted after an accident.’ Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘I was told nearby would be an old woman with medicinals to cure me. I’ve just been to see her. But the weather is threatening and I fear travelling as the night is closing in.’
The man waved his hand. ‘My dear lady, that old beggar often makes a nuisance of herself and, I can assure you, she will only take your funds and give you nothing more than false hopes in return. I let her live on my property out of foolish generosity. Besides, she was once the mistress of my gamekeeper and she lived with him at the edge of my property. I’ve never complained when she returns to visit as she is penniless and had nowhere else to go when he died. I built a new home for the next gamekeeper closer to the estate.’
‘It was very kind of you to let her stay on.’
‘Her family has been near here for centuries, if the tales are to be believed. I could not give her a job inside the house. She’d likely end up hanged for theft if I did so. At least now she earns a few coins with her mixtures and her foolish fortune telling. She’s the only person some of the servants trust for their ills, so I don’t have the notion to send her away. Besides, she never stays long. She goes to the Bartholomew Fair, tells fortunes, sells herbs and makes her way. My wife believed in her nonsense and those curatives Ella Etta mixes, but nothing could save the Countess. She took ill so quickly. I assure you, Ella Etta is like a spider spinning webs of lies to catch people. Beware of her. She would likely poison you as not. And charge for it.’
Vivian took in a halted breath. Ella Etta was her last hope.
Her legs gave way and she fell into Mavis. The older woman stumbled to hold her and, for an instant, Vivian thought they’d both land in a heap. Then the fear faded and determination took its place. Vivian’s strength returned, but she didn’t let it show. She didn’t want to go back into that conveyance until she’d rested. The ruts mixed with the lack of good springs, and the seats with the flattened padding, were brutal.