The Elsingham Portrait - By Elizabeth Chater Page 0,51
spells the witch had cast, what evil she had already done.
The villagers at Crofton and Elsinghurst, a gaggle of feckless fools, were forever praising the creature. What a fine piece of work she’d made of getting the Vicar’s books in order; how learned she was for a woman! For nearly two weeks Elspeth had had to listen to it. The fools were even talking of asking the creature to set up a dame’s school for their children!
“ ‘A false prophet shall show great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray even the elect!’ ” Elspeth quoted grimly to herself. She loved the chapter in Matthew which foretold famines and earthquakes and the abomination of desolation. Well, she decided, the besom won’t lead me astray!
Elspeth got her shawl, put it over her head, harnessed the cob to the trap, and set out for Crofton. First she’d talk to that Debbie at the inn, the girl who’d brought the lock of red hair. Likely she’d be able to tell how Mistress Radcliffe had arrived at the inn—who was with her—what had been said and done . . . Elspeth drove along the lane, oblivious of its fresh beauty, planning ways to discredit the witch.
Luck was with her.
She was talking to Debbie, asking her for every possible detail about ‘Mistress Radcliffe’s’ arrival, when the London coach clattered past the inn, with its usual attendant racket.
Debbie twisted her hands together. “It’s like I told you, Mistress Cameron, I found the one curl of pretty hair under the bureau, where I reckon Mistress Radcliffe dropped it. I truly got to go now! There goes coach, and Master be very strict about getting ready for custom!” She ran off, thankful to be away from her sour-faced inquisitor.
Elspeth, left standing in the inn parlor, debated the wisdom of staying longer in hopes of extracting further information. So far she hadn’t got much. The woman had come alone on the stage coach from London. She’d been heavily veiled. She’d paid promptly and well. Would Lady Nadine Elsingham have ridden on a common coach? Not too likely. Elspeth glanced out the window. A tall, veiled woman clothed all in black was coming to the front door of the inn. Another of them! Was there a coven of witches gathering? With a thrill of pure horror, Elspeth went grimly out to challenge the forces of evil.
The woman was speaking to Debbie in a foreign accent.
“Can you be after tellin’ me, my dearie, if a pretty red-haired lady has come hereabouts in the last little while?”
“Oh, you must mean Mistress Radcliffe, ma’am,” said Debbie.
“Must I, then?” smiled the stranger encouragingly.
“If you mean the young widow—she’s the prettiest red-haired lady I ever seen! She came here three weeks back and is living at Bennet Farm, between here and Elsinghurst,” explained Debbie in a burst of words. “The one that’s from America?”
The strange lady, putting back her veil, smiled broadly. “My own dear daughter! I have found her at last!” She raised her flat black beady eyes to the sky piously. “Heaven has heard a mother’s prayers! Bless you, my child! You said she was in Elsinghurst, at the Bennet Farm?”
Elspeth could no longer resist the urge to meddle. She came out onto the wide inn porch and confronted the black-clad stranger. “You are claiming that Mistress Radcliffe is your daughter?”
The gaunt female, who certainly bore no resemblance to the red-headed temptress, fixed Elspeth with a glance at once fawning and vaguely threatening. “Sure an’ we heard her young husband was killed in the Colonies, and it fair drove her mad with grief! The poor girleen ran away from her loving mother and all her good friends. ‘Tis frantic we’ve been, trying to find her, for we feared she would do herself a mischief in her grief-stricken state. But I have that which will calm her mind and restore her happiness! Her own dear husband, not killed after all, but returned safely to her.”
She pointed down the road, where a handsome youth trudged toward them from the direction of the other inn. “Asking for her all along the London road, we’ve been! I’ll just run to tell Adrian that his poor wife is found!”
The black-clad woman hurried toward the man and they had a conference by the road. Then they both came toward the inn. Elspeth scrutinized them carefully. She was reluctant to abandon her conviction that Kathryn Radcliffe was a witch, whether or not she was Lady Nadine. Still, if she