Cunning Women

by Elizabeth Lee

‘I know.’

  I flick the reins and click my tongue as he taught me. Bonny walks on, and the cart rattles and jolts into movement.

  ‘Sarah,’ he calls. ‘Sarah, wait.’

  I stop the horse, wait for him to catch up.

  ‘Tell them you’re a widow because you are one,’ he says. ‘This body shall work and eat and sleep until God chooses other. But the part of me you brought to life goes with you.’

  I lean down, press my lips against his for the last time.

  He stays on the roadside and watches. Whenever I turn back I see him, until the path itself is obscured by hills and trees.

  I hear Annie’s steady sucking on her thumb behind me, Mam murmuring sweet words of love. What remains of my family. And I, Sarah, daughter and sister, dairymaid and widow, shall lead them past Middon, through Aldmore to Blackop.

  I do not know if Dew-Springer rides with us. My own familiar, the creature born of my anger, is carried in me, unseen, and always shall be, for I choose a different life. Never shall it run separate, never shall it be named. And never in command of me, but I over it, to give strength when needed.

  I look to a path obscured by shadow, so that what lies ahead remains unknowable. But the sun will rise, and when it does our new home shall be waiting. The darkness has dropped away again, and we travel from death, towards life. A life I will make with the chance Daniel has given us and my own honest labours. A life where Annie is fed, and free. No more shall I search her skin, no more shall she be the urchin from the cursed hill, feared and forsaken, but simply the dairymaid’s sister, and will know herself only as this. Soon all memory of the life we leave behind will be washed from her.

  But not me. I shall remember him always.

  At last I am the other Sarah. I have crossed the river.

  Acknowledgements

  Writing this novel has taken a village, not least the one I grew up in, a community far kinder than the one in this book.

  Huge thanks to everyone at Solihull Writers’ Workshop, who nurtured my fledgling words, especially the Pub Club: Carla, Cheryl, Deb, Den, Pete E, Pete H, Ray and Sarah, for constant talent, wisdom and friendship.

  Thank you to Richard Beard, Rena Brannan, Ian Marchant and everyone at the National Academy of Writing, where I learned the art of editing. To Lorraine Blencoe, Sofie Baekdal Brauner and Susan Haniford for years of friendship and inspiration.

  I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the brilliant and generous Marian Keyes, who sponsored my scholarship place on the Curtis Brown Creative course. To Lisa O’Donnell, whose guidance was invaluable, the writers and friends I met on the course, and to everyone at Curtis Brown Creative.

  Thank you to the excellent beta readers who helped me make this a better book, Kate Mascarenhas and Laura Tisdall.

  I will be forever grateful to the dream team, Lucy Morris and Charlotte Cray, for their wisdom, passion and sheer hard work. I am still pinching myself. To Jodi Fabbri, Sarah Harvey, Luke Speed, Anna Weguelin, Isabelle Ralphs, Natalia Cacciatore, Hope Butler and Kate McQuaid for their enthusiastic support for the book, and to Glenn O’Neill for designing a cover more beautiful than I could have dreamed.

  I am so blessed to be part of a big, happy family that find humour in everything and bring so much joy. I’m especially grateful to my late dad for passing his eccentricity on to me, and to my lovely mum who has offered support in every possible way.

  Much love to my crazy, clever, compassionate children, Zoë and Ed, who amaze me every day.

  And to Pete, whose talent never fails to inspire and whose support never wavers.

  THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

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  First published by Windmill Books in 2021

  Copyright © Elizabeth Lee 2021

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Jacket illustration Last Leaves of Winter by Tricia Newell. Silhouette motifs derived from illustrations supplied courtesy of Getty Images.

  ISBN: 978-1-473-58137-1

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