“Well,” Annis said. She sat up, her back straight, her hands in her lap. “I will confess to you, Aunt Harriet, I don’t actually know much about men and women. But I know all about horses, and I can guess. Extrapolate,” she added, with a little shrug.
“Excellent. The more you know—about everything—the better practitioner you will be.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Annis said. “When we’re back in New York, I want to learn everything you can teach me. I want to be what you are. To do what you do.”
“To be an herbalist?”
“To be a witch,” Annis declared.
“Just be certain you want that for the right reasons.”
“I want it because it will set me free,” Annis said.
Harriet answered, “That is the best possible reason.”
The beautiful weather broke in the afternoon, swiftly and dramatically. A roll of thunder rattled the old-fashioned windowpanes in the Four Fishes. Harriet startled awake just in time to see the rain begin, great sheets of it that splattered her window and began to drip on the windowsill. She jumped up, taking care not to bump her head on the low ceiling, and found a towel to tuck beneath the leaking sash. Beyond the rooftops of the village she could see the rain-pocked bay, the water turned gray as lead.
She found her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, then curled herself into the window nook to watch the storm drench Seabeck Village. In moments the dry street ran with muddy rivulets, and the shopkeepers hurried out to take down their awnings. The avalanche of rain slackened to a steady drizzle that showed no sign of easing any time soon. Harriet supposed she would have to borrow an umbrella from the innkeeper. She hoped he wouldn’t ask too many questions.
First she needed food. The scone of this morning was all she had eaten. She had walked a good distance and was going to have to do it again. Her empty stomach made her long for one of Grace’s big breakfasts, meals always accompanied by a stream of innocuous chatter. She suffered a momentary bout of homesickness at the thought.
“Stop it, Harriet Bishop,” she told herself. “This is no time for self-pity.” She made herself wriggle out of the nook and go to the wardrobe to find her warmest clothes.
In the dining room downstairs, which was little more than an extension of the kitchen, with its big wood oven and open hearth, she was the only customer. The innkeeper, no doubt persuaded by her ready cash, seemed to have adjusted to the idea of a woman traveling alone, although he spoke to her as little as possible. He brought her a bowl of hot lamb stew and a loaf of fresh bread. He set a dish of butter on the table and stood back, his hands under his apron.
“Need anything else, miss?”
“No, thank you. This smells marvelous.”
“The wife is known for her lamb stew.”
“Do thank her for me.” Harriet hadn’t laid eyes on “the wife.” She supposed the woman labored in obscurity, as so many wives did, while her husband dealt with the public.
It was, in fact, a quite respectable stew, although Grace would have found fault with the faint tang of meat kept too long. Harriet didn’t mind it, hungry as she was. She ate all the stew and half the bread, liberally spread with butter. Grace would not have approved of the butter, either, with its strong sour taste, but Harriet found it delicious. The rain continued to sluice from the thatched roof. The windows in the dining room leaked even more than the one in her room. Without apology, the innkeeper placed rags and buckets where they were needed.
As Harriet rose, she asked, “Will this rain continue all night, do you think?” His answer was a shrug. “Well, then,” she said briskly. “I must borrow an umbrella. I hope you have one.”
He gave her an odd look but didn’t comment. As she started for the stairs, he went behind the front desk and brought out an enormous, rather ragged umbrella. He handed it to her without speaking. She thanked him and carried the thing upstairs with her. When she came back down, swathed in her coat, he was nowhere to be seen.
It was a dark, wet hike back to Rosefield Hall. The drizzle continued, and a wind came up from the sea to blow droplets of rain past the shelter of the umbrella. By the time Harriet reached the folly,