by Sandra Heath
Because it was May Day, she was wearing her best brown gown, and there was a multicolored knitted shawl around her thin shoulders. Her blue eyes were sharp and bright as she smiled at Verity. “Good morning, Miss Verity.”
“Good morning, Martha. I have a bone to pick with you. May Eve dew does not dispose of freckles. I did everything you told me to, and this morning have as many of the wretched things as I did before.”
Martha eyed her. “Miss Verity, did I at any time state that the freckles would disappear in an instant?”
“Well, no, but—”
“All in good time, my dear. You must be patient. If you followed my instructions, your freckles will soon begin to fade. You have my word on it.”
Verity smiled. “You always have an answer, don’t you?” It was a statement of fact, not a question.
“Yes, I do, and in the meantime I suggest you apply horseradish, which is also very efficacious for freckles.”
Verity smiled again. “Ah, but will it work before next month?”
“Next month?”
Verity told her about the forthcoming visit to London. “So you see, I can’t possibly embark upon such an adventure with my nose looking like this,” she finished.
The nurse eyed her. “Your nose is perfectly charming, Miss Verity, as any young gentleman worth his salt will be at pains to tell you.”
“From which I take it I’m doomed to have freckles when I’m away,” Verity observed dryly.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Martha murmured, her mind clearly on other things. “Well, I must be on my way now, for I have much to do.”
“What’s wrong, Martha?” Verity asked, detecting a worried note in the other’s voice.
“I fear I must visit my sister Sadie.”
Sadie Cutler was a widow who lived in a cottage across the green with her orphaned eight-year-old grandson Davey, a carrot-haired imp who could only be described as a handful. “You fear you must visit her? Is she unwell, Martha?” Verity asked solicitously, for she liked Sadie.
“Sadie’s well enough, Miss Verity, it’s Davey who’s ill.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Verity asked in surprise. Davey was the sort of child who was never unwell.
Martha hesitated, her old fingers creeping to a silver chain around her neck, upon which hung a dainty pink-and-azure stone, uneven but highly polished so that its colors were clear and bright. Verity had never seen it before.
The nurse looked at her. “I—I don’t know. No, that’s not strictly true, let’s say, I’m not Sure. He woke up feeling poorly about a week ago, and hasn’t left his little bed since. He just hasn’t got any strength, and is wasting away before our eyes. There doesn’t seem to be anything I can do for him, I’ve administered every salve and potion I can think of, but nothing does the trick.”
“Oh, Martha, I’m so very sorry,” Verity said with concern, trying to think of something that would cheer the nurse up, and help Davey too. “I know, I’ll ask Uncle Joshua if I can have some strawberries from the greenhouse. I know how much Davey likes them because I seem to recall him being caught raiding them last year.”
“You’re very kind, Miss Verity. I’m sure some strawberries will tempt his poor little appetite.” Tears filled Martha’s eyes. “Oh, how I wish he were up and about again, even raiding greenhouses, for I’d far rather see him getting in trouble than lying there like a ghost.”
“Would you like me to send Dr. Rogers? At Uncle Joshua’s expense, of course,” Verity ventured cautiously, knowing that as the village wisewoman Martha might be put out by such an offer.
But Martha wasn’t offended. “I know Sadie’d appreciate that, Miss Verity.”
“I’ll see to it directly.”
“If there’s no improvement soon, as a last resort I’ll have the men carry him around to the Lady. I know it’s Meg Ashton’s resting place now, but many believe such standing stones to have healing powers.”
“A last resort? Oh, Martha, surely you don’t think Davey’s that bad?” Verity was quite upset. “Oh, I wish there were something else I could do.”
“It’s very kind of you to do that much, Miss Verity. Many would not bother at all.” The nurse blinked the tears determinedly away, then looked at Verity with a different kind of urgency. “May I say something concerning Mrs. Villiers?”
Verity was startled by the apparent change of subject. “Yes, of course.”
“I advise you to avoid her if you can.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s my belief that Davey’s illness may not be natural. He may have been overlooked by Judith Villiers.”
Verity’s lips parted. “Overlooked? I—I don’t understand.”
“She has the evil eye, Miss Verity.”
“The what? Oh, that’s nonsense!”
“You may think so, but we country folk know about such things. I’ve tried everything I know to make Davey better, but nothing works. Now it’s a fact that the day before he was taken ill, he fell foul of the admiral’s widow. He splashed her gown at the ford, it was an accident, but she took exception. I saw her that night, outside Sadie’s cottage, staring at Davey’s window. A long time she stood there, then she walked away. I believe she overlooked the poor child. So be warned, where the widow is, there also is wickedness.”
Verity shivered. “Please don’t say things like that, Martha.”
“Just think of what day it was when she came among us.”
Verity’s lips parted. “Halloween ...”
“Yes, my dear, Halloween, when witches and all manner of other evils go abroad.” Martha held her gaze. “So just think on what I say, Miss Verity, and don’t cross her. I intend to do all I can to work against her wicked magic, and that is why I’ve begun to wear this snakestone.” She indicated the necklace.
“Snakestone?”
“It is called that because if you look closely into it, the shape of the azure color resembles a writhing snake.”
“But what is its significance?” she asked.
“The Welsh people called them Maen Magi, and believe the original one was fashioned by the great magician Merlin to protect his mother from black sorcery. The stone was broken into six and given to wisewomen who were versed in good magic. This one has been in the Cansford family for hundreds of years, being passed from mother to eldest daughter, and that is how it comes to be in my possession now. It must not be used lightly, and I have never worn it before, which is why you’ve never seen it.”
“If it protects against witchcraft, why haven’t you used it to protect Davey?”
“Because it only protects women.”
Verity gazed at the stone and then into Martha’s eyes. “You really do believe that Judith Villiers is a witch, don’t you?”
“Yes, my dear, that is indeed what I believe.”
The nurse walked on then, leaving Verity to gaze uneasily after her.
Chapter Five
It was evening, and Wychavon’s annual May Day junketing was almost over. The horns had ceased to blow, and the children had woven the maypole ribbons into the traditional plaited pattern for the last time. The morris men lounged on the grass with tankards of ale and cider, and the empty hobbyhorse was propped against a tree.
The sun was beginning to sink as Verity took a final stroll along the riverbank. She carried her yellow silk parasol and wore a cream jaconet gown with a wide blue satin sash around the high waist. Her straw bonnet was adorned with a posy of fresh bluebells and cowslips, for everyone was expected to wear flowers on May Day.
She hadn’t been called upon to heed her uncle’s instructions concerning Judith Villiers—or Martha’s startling warnings, for that matter—because the admiral’s widow hadn’t attended the celebrations after all. But now she was intensely dismayed as she brushed past some low-hanging willow fronds and saw the lady concerned only a few feet in front of her.
Judith was dressed elegantly in the mourning clothes that became her so well, with her
chestnut hair swept up beneath a stylish hat with a net face veil. She seemed to be searching for something in the grass, and before Verity could draw discreetly away again, she suddenly whirled about. “Why, good evening, Miss Windsor.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Villiers. I—I trust I find you well?”
“You do.”
“I wondered if you were indisposed.”
“Indisposed?”
“I—I saw your butler turn the hawthorn men away from the door this morning, and when you didn’t attend the celebrations either, I just presumed you were unwell. A headache, maybe.”
Judith’s eyes flickered. “As you see, I’m in perfect health.”
“Yes.” Verity managed a weak smile. She wanted to hurry away, but for Uncle Joshua’s sake felt she shouldn’t, although right now, looking past the net veil into Judith Villiers’ uncomfortably steady gaze, it was only too possible to believe the woman had put the evil eye on poor little Davey Cutler.
Almost immediately Verity drew herself up sharply. Young ladies about to embark on a London Season simply did not believe in the evil eye! So, to change the subject, she glanced down at the grass where Judith had been searching a moment before. “Have you lost something?”
“I’ve mislaid an earring.”
“Shall I help you search for it?”
“There’s no need.”
“This appears to be the place for losing things,” Verity observed lightly.
“I don’t understand.”
“Last night I found Lord Montacute’s seal in almost this very spot.”
Judith became very still. “Lord Montacute’s seal?” she repeated levelly.
“Yes.”
Cold rage seethed through the witch. So that was what happened. This simpering nonentity had found the seal and interfered with Hecate’s magic!
Verity didn’t notice her reaction. “Well, I, er, must find my uncle,” she murmured, inclining her head and turning to walk away.
Judith spoke quickly. “What have you done with the seal?”
Verity paused in surprise. “Oh, nothing yet, but I’m going to send it back to the castle. Why do you ask?”
“I can take it if you wish, I have to go there tomorrow.”
“You have to go to the castle?” Verity was even more surprised, but before she could say anything else she was distracted as a traveling carriage entered the village from the south and drove around the green toward the ford. It was a splendid vehicle with a phoenix crest emblazoned on the doors, and the dwindling May Day festivities came to a startled halt as everyone realized Lord Montacute had returned.
Judith was shaken by his arrival. Verity Windsor’s meddling had ruined the spell, and yet he’d still left London in the prescribed time. How could that be? If she had the seal she’d be in no doubt of the reason he’d come back, and she would be certain of maintaining power over him from now on.
Instead, because of Verity Windsor, she couldn’t be sure of anything. She needed that seal, it was the first and therefore the most powerful amulet for controlling Nicholas Montacute. Everything else in her repertoire of magic paled into insignificance in comparison.
Verity forgot Judith’s curious offer to take the seal to the castle, and hurried over to her uncle, whose face had assumed a distinctly choleric hue the moment the carriage appeared. She linked his arm firmly. “Come on, let’s go back to the house,” she said as if nothing untoward had occurred.
But to her dismay the carriage drew to a standstill, and Nicholas alighted. He was immaculate in a charcoal coat, white breeches, and a kingfisher waistcoat, and nothing could have been more perfect than the complicated knot of his starched neckcloth. He paused to don his top hat, then glanced around at the sea of faces on the green.
Verity had to concede that everything about him was excellent. He remained the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and she was conscious of a secret shiver of excitement. He hardly knew she existed, but she was drawn to him like a pin to a magnet.
Joshua had been about to let her usher him from the green, but the moment the carriage halted he dug his heels in.
She pulled his arm. “Please come home, Uncle,” she pleaded.
“No, my dear, I’d like to know why his lordship has deigned to return after all this time.”
“Does it really matter?”
“It does to me.”
“Oh, Uncle ...”
“The actions of Lord Montacute are very much the business of the people of Wychavon.”
Her gaze returned to Nicholas and with a start she realized he was wearing the clothes she’d “seen” him in that morning when she had taken the seal from her mantle pocket!
A cool finger ran down her spine, and she stopped trying to persuade her uncle to leave.
* * *
Nicholas toyed self-consciously with his cuff. He still didn’t know why he had left London, and as he looked around at the astonished gathering, he wished he hadn’t. Arriving unannounced at Wychavon after a long absence seemed to be almost as heinous a crime as arriving at Almack’s superior assembly rooms in the wrong togs!
He drew a heavy breath, reflecting that he would spend much more time on his estate if it weren’t that he found the castle so damned lonely. Being the last of one’s line meant there were far too many empty rooms and passages, and as he stood there looking beyond the village at the rolling Shropshire hills, the endless acres of dark woodland, and the brilliance of the dying sunset, he felt more alone than ever, for all the people surrounding him on the green, he might be a thousand miles from anywhere.
The silence seemed to hang, and he was relieved when the vicar, a plump, bespectacled man whose powdered wig concealed a completely hairless head, prudently instructed the morris men to dance again. Within moments the celebrations had resumed, and Nicholas felt less glaringly conspicuous as he commenced a brief but polite circuit of his tenants. He acknowledged everyone he knew and had been thus engaged for nearly fifteen minutes when he came face-to-face with Verity and her uncle.
Joshua accorded him a stiff bow. “Welcome back to Wychavon after all this time, my lord,” he said acidly.
Nicholas’s gray eyes flickered. “Mr. Windsor,” he murmured, inclining his head slightly. Then his glance moved to Verity, and the influence of the seal swept forcefully over him as he found himself gazing into eyes of a most arresting and wonderful shade of green. He was taken aback, for he seemed to recall her eyes were lilac, as indeed they were, of course, but he was bewitched by Hecate’s magic, and to him they were now the green of the candle flames that had burned in the grove.
How could he have forgotten such a striking color, he wondered? And how could he also have failed to realize how very fetching the rest of her was? It was as if he were meeting her for the first time. He drank in the sheen of her hair, the bluebells and cowslips adorning her bonnet, and even the sprinkling of freckles on her nose. She was enchanting, he thought with unknowing accuracy.
Judith’s spell engulfed Verity as well. She’d been at sixes and sevens from the moment she realized she would have to speak to him, but now the attraction she felt toward him increased dramatically. Her pulse quickened, and her heartbeats became so frantic she wondered no one could hear. She stared at him, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as at last he took her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Miss Windsor,” he said softly.
His touch electrified her, and she had to snatch her fingers away. “L-Lord Montacute ...”
He gave a slight laugh that revealed how disconcerted he was too. “I confess I thought your eyes were lilac,” he said, for it was all that came into his head.
“But they are,” she replied in puzzlement.
He looked inquiringly into a gaze that was indisputably emerald and wondered why she denied it.
Joshua coldly interrupted the exchange. “Well, my lord, I trust you’re in good health?” he said in a tone that conveyed he trusted the complete opposite.
Nicholas tore his attention from Verity. “I’m rather afraid you do, sir,” he answered a little drolly.
“I thought it could only be extreme ill health that kept you in London so long,” Joshua remarked acidly.
“I note your disapproval, sir.”
“Your responsibilities lie here in Wychavon, my lord,” Joshua declared.
Verity became uneasy. “Please, Uncle ...”
He ignored her and pressed stubbornly on. “Or have you dispensed with those responsibilities, Lord Montacute?”
Nicholas flushed. “No, sir, I haven’t, as you well know. My agent has attended very properly to everything in my absence.”
“An agent is hardly adequate.”
Verity was appalled that her uncle seemed intent on provoking a public quarrel. “Uncle Joshua, please stop!”
But Joshua had been wanting to confront Nicholas for too long to give up easily. “Is this what we must expect of a Tory landlord?” he demanded.
“What have politics to do with this, sir? Or is it just that your Whig tendencies deprive you of civility?”
“My Whig tendencies will make certain that I watch whether or not you observe your duties now you’ve deigned to return,” Joshua declared airily.
“Oh, I’ll observe my duties, sir, even to attending court to see that justice is properly dispensed.”
Joshua flushed. “Is that a criticism?”
“No, why should you think that?” Nicholas inquired.
There was no mistaking that their dislike went far beyond any disagreement over a highwayman, and Verity stepped anxiously between them. “Please stop this, sirs,” she begged. “Today is May Day, a time of celebration, and certainly no time for rancor.”
Nicholas gazed into her eyes again. “You’re quite right, Miss Windsor. Forgive me, for I would not distress you for the world.”