They needed me, she’d said.
“Jesus,” he growled.
“Mr. Morgan?”
He looked at Mrs. Byrne who was walking into his office.
“Please have a seat, Mrs. Byrne,” Colin invited, firmly controlling his thoughts, all of which damned him to hell, and he closed the file carefully.
She was watching him but she sat in a chair opposite his desk.
“Before you tell me what’s so urgent you’re here first thing in the morning, could I ask you one question?” he enquired politely.
“Certainly, Mr. Morgan,” she replied agreeably.
“Your story, about Sibyl, you met her the night before she came to my home, is that true?”
She watched him for a moment and then she nodded. “I told you, I know you may not believe me –” she began.
“Oh, I believe you,” Colin said smoothly.
This announcement startled her but she recovered quickly.
“But the reason I’m here is to tell you what my part is in all of this,” Mrs. Byrne explained.
“All of what?”
“You, Sibyl and Royce and Beatrice Morgan,” she announced.
He did not show any reaction to this.
Colin had a great deal to do and did not have the patience to sit through this interview. Considering she was just a meddling National Trust volunteer who had very clumsily, not to mention with the addition of with unneeded mystery, instigated a meeting with him and an American woman who looked like the portrait of Beatrice Godwin, Colin lost interest in her.
“Do you know of Esmeralda Crane?” Mrs. Byrne asked.
That got his attention and his eyes focussed on her.
Of course he knew Esmeralda Crane. Anyone with any knowledge of the legend of Royce and Beatrice knew it was Esmeralda Crane, the local midwife rumoured to be a witch who discovered the bodies of the newlyweds. She was also rumoured to be the one who cast the spell on them, linking their souls for eternity.
He sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows but did not respond.
She inclined her head. “I’m her great, great… let’s just say, many ‘greats’ granddaughter.”
Colin decided the old woman sitting across from him was clearly unbalanced.
“You are?” he asked out of politeness because he was not at all interested in her tale and was trying to figure out a way to get rid of her.
Quickly.
“Yes, Mr. Morgan. And I, like my mother and her mother and so on, back to Granny Esmeralda, am a witch.”
Yes, Colin decided, clearly unbalanced.
He lost his patience but held onto his good manners.
Barely.
“Mrs. Byrne –”