Forbidden (6 page)

From a drawer below the table she produced a knife that resembled a small hatchet. It could have been a weapon.

With a speed I had never seen anyone use when handling a knife, she chopped all the leaves on the board and scooped them into the large bowl.

“Eli and I find my ingredients,” she said cheerfully. “They all grow around here. You just have to look and know the properties of each. There are poisonous ones too. But not in my house.”

“Yes. He knew which plant to use to ease my nettle sting,” I said.

Her smile showed me a dimple. “I have used a dock leaf on many of
his
stings. He was always roaming and exploring when he was a boy.”

She took a wooden instrument shaped like an upside-down mushroom, added some drops of a clear liquid to the bowl, and began pounding.

Pound, pound, pound.

“There’s foxglove and woody nightshade to be found by the roadside,” she said. “Poisonous, malignant. The nightshade has bright purple or yellow flowers. Very pretty. Reminds us that something that looks enticing can be deadly.”

“And what is this?” I asked, lifting a small bottle, filled with liquid that was white as milk.

“That is a sleeping potion,” she said. “Made from reishi mushrooms and the oil of hops. I have used a drop or two myself when I have been too worried to sleep.”

I somehow knew her worries would be for Eli.

We were both quiet as she filled another bowl with water that had been warmed and bathed my foot and ankle. The water turned from clear to the palest pink. Gently she dried the wound and went back to her pounding.

The leaves came together in a green paste that she lifted and sniffed.

Her smile at me was one of satisfaction. “It is ready.”

I smiled too, but mine was a false smile. She was going to put this strange mixture on my ankle, on the open sores? I had acquiesced. I’d been fascinated. But would this concoction really help? Or would it cause more harm? Could I, at this last moment, reject her ministrations? Could I—

She had turned from me and taken a long, narrow cloth from where it lay on one of the other chairs. “Now we will spread on the paste and bind it up.”

I could do nothing.

I held up my foot. Using her fingers, she spread the compote over the wounds and wrapped the cloth tight around them, securing it in place. It was easy to see that she had tended to cuts many times before.

It was cool and soothing, and I could not resist a sigh of pleasure.

“There,” she said. “You will need to return tomorrow so I can ascertain if it needs further attention. Now shall we have a cup of tea before you leave?”

She brought a teapot, black and battered, from the hob. “I hope you like it strong,” she said.

“Yes, thank you,” I responded, although in truth I did not.

I slid my stocking over the bandage and winced.

“It will ease,” Mrs. Stuart said in a kindly tone. “I promise you that, my dear. You will be surprised how speedily it will feel better.”

Tears sprang into my eyes. For the first time since I had arrived, I felt true goodness and kindness directed toward me.

“You may want to have your uncle Caleb look at it. You know he was an apothecary?”

I nodded. I would not want any such thing.

“Have you eaten?” she asked me. “I can give you a scone and blaeberry jam. I like to make jam from the berries I find. Do not worry. I do not use woody nightshade or foxglove.” There was mischief in her eyes, and I knew this to be a joke, possibly to stir me from my nervousness, so I laughed.

We sat at the table and drank our tea, which was not only strong but bitter. The scone was good, though, and the blaeberry jam just sweet enough to be an antidote to the tea.

“Eli tells me you are to be two years at your uncle’s house,” Mrs. Stuart said.

“Yes. Till my eighteenth birthday.” I found myself intensely curious about Eli, I was not sure why. Merely that he was the only other person I had talked to since I came, except for my uncle and aunt, of course, and Mrs. Kitteridge with the beringed fingers.

“Eli was kind to bring me,” I said. “Does he live here with you?”

“He has an addition to my house that he built for himself. We have a common wall. I can knock on it if I want him. He concerns himself about me, though there is no need. I am perfectly capable and sufficient unto myself.”

I nodded to say I agreed with her.

“Sometimes he has to go away for several weeks, but he always comes back.” She paused. “More tea?”

“Thank you, but no,” I told her.

“Another scone?”

“That would be delightful.” I fissled my brains to think of a way to ask more questions about Eli. What was this consuming need I had to find out about him?

“Does he work in Brindle?”

“Oh, no!” She fetched a scone and set it in front of me. “He is involved in his own work.”

“And what is that?” I pretended great interest in spreading the blaeberry jam on my scone.

There was a moment’s silence and then she said, “You will need to ask him. He is a very private person.”

Had I been too forthright? Had I been snubbed? No. When I looked at Mrs. Stuart, her expression was as pleasant and friendly as it had been before.

She asked me about my mother and father and sympathized. It was not false sympathy. I could tell. I remembered my uncle with his perfunctory “we offer our condolences.” This was different.

“Eli’s parents passed on also,” she said. “That was why he came back to live with me for a longer time than is usual.”

“Oh,” I said. “He is an orphan too. Like me.”

“Yes.”

A painting of a woman and a man hung on the wall. She saw me looking at it.

“Those were Eli’s parents,” she said.

The man was dressed in dark velvet breeches and a white ruffled shirt with a blue velvet waistcoat cut in the new fashion. The woman wore an Empire-style dress with a low neckline. At her throat was a delicate chain embellished with a shining purple pendant. Her hair was a deep, dark red. The artist had caught the tenderness and charm of her expression.

“They are very handsome,” I said.

She sighed. “Yes. That was the dress Miranda wore the night she drowned.”

She added more honey to her tea and closed her eyes.

When she was through with what I assumed was a moment of private grief, she asked me about my long journey to get there and about Edinburgh, and I had an impression that she wanted to speak no more about Eli or his parents. Maybe she felt she had said too much. But that was ridiculous. She had actually said little.

I told her of the city’s ornamental gardens and about the castle high on the hill.

“It is a beautiful city,” I said. “I hope to return to it in two years’ time.”

We drank our tea.

A short time later, she said, “I will summon Eli now, if you are ready.”

I rose from the chair. “I have troubled him enough,” I said. “I no longer require his help. I know my way back.”

Why had I made such a pronouncement? I knew I
did
want to trouble him again, to have him walk with me. I was asserting my independence and demonstrating that although I might have appeared curious about Eli, I had no interest in him. As I’d promised myself.

Foolish girl! My mother would have said I was spiting myself and I would be sorry for it. I was already sorry.

“I thank you again for your ministrations,” I said. “I do believe that already the pain in my ankle has lessened.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But it would be wise to have Eli walk with you, this one time. Your ankle may be weak. You might need his help.”

She leaned across her narrow bed and knocked on the wall.

“It is not necessary—” I began.

“It may be.”

“Very well.”

I was going to have his company again. I had demurred politely, but I had been overruled. I could not keep the pleasure out of my voice, or, I imagined, out of my face. I was aware that the color was rising in my cheeks, and I took a deep breath. I must stay calm. What was the matter with me? I was acting and thinking like a silly goose.

Mrs. Stuart came across to me and took my hands in hers. “My dear. You have faced too many distressing events. I sympathize.” She paused, and I saw her bite her lip. “But I do want to warn you. Do not give your heart to Eli. If you do, it will be broken.”

I pulled my hands away. Was she deranged?

“Dear girl,” she said softly. “You think me a meddlesome old woman. But I saw how you looked at him. You should know. Eli is forbidden.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
STARED AT MRS. STUART.
What . . . ? How dare she speak to me like this? She saw how I looked at him! That was laughable! As if I would ever fancy her grandson! As if . . . And what did she mean, “forbidden”? Forbidden by whom? To do what? Forbidden by her?

And there he was, standing in the open doorway.

“May I offer my arm again?” he asked. “For your return to Raven’s Roost?”

“
It is kind of you,” I said stiffly. “But it is unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of going alone.” How was I looking at him? I lowered my eyes.

He gave that slight shrug that I was becoming acquainted with. “If you prefer.”

His grandmother glanced from one of us to the other. “Do not forget to come back tomorrow,” she advised me.

“I will see how it feels. Perhaps there will be no need for further treatment.” I tried to keep the indignation I felt out of my voice.
Do not give your heart to Eli,
indeed! As if I would! This ill-dressed, ungentlemanly person! He had aided me, of course. He had saved me from Lamb. But still . . .

“You must do what you think is best,” his grandmother said.

“I will,” I said. “And I thank you again.” I bobbed my head, then hobbled past Eli, through the door and down the shell-lined path.

The sky did not seem as blue, the breeze not so sweet as I walked back. Perhaps there was about to be another change in the weather. Or perhaps I was in a different frame of mind. I told myself that I should be grateful. My ankle had required attention, and she had been more than kind. But I could not seem to lose my vexation. The thought that I might have been walking with Eli and not alone taunted me more than once. I chose to dismiss it.

Raven’s Roost had the look of emptiness. No smoke rose from the chimney. There was no one about. Lamb would be inside, left to watch the house . . . and me.

I was seized with a sudden restlessness. I could go down again and sit on the rock where I had sat earlier. I would try not to think of Eli Stuart. Eli Stuart, who was forbidden. Like Adam and Eve, who had eaten of the forbidden fruit. Had it been worth it for them, or had the price they’d paid been too costly?

I looked across the ocean at the Sisters. My aunt and uncle were out there till the tide changed. When would that be? My knowledge of tides was rudimentary, but I thought that the tide came in, went out, came in again, went out again in a day and night cycle. That meant they would not be back till afternoon.

I gazed around me. If it were not for the weakness in my ankle, I would walk the mile to Brindle and see what was there. I would buy stockings to replace the ones I now wore that were almost tattered. My first glimpse of the town had been unpleasant. But if I was to be there for a long while, I needed to take stock of it again.

Then I remembered the horse. I would ride him! The idea excited me and lifted my spirits.

I limped to the animal enclosure. The horse was small and old. He stood patiently and lifted his head to inspect me.

I spoke to him gently and ventured close to stroke his nose. “Shall we go for a ride?” I whispered.

I saw no saddle or bridle. They would no doubt be in the shed, which was locked. I tried the door, pushing on it, angry now and frustrated. It was immovable. I walked around it. In back I saw two old carriage wheels, a table missing a leg, a rain barrel half full of water. No saddle. No bridle.

So, I would walk despite the pain. I was not, not, going to be trapped there.

Lamb watched me impassively as I went into the house.

“Good dog,” I whispered. “Nice Lamb.”

He moved to the bottom of the stair as I went up to my room. The door to my aunt and uncle’s room was closed. Should I look inside?

Curiosity killed the cat, I knew. But I would take my chances. I reached for the doorknob and immediately, from the bottom of the stairs, came a low, frightening growl.

Lamb was standing now, his paws on the lowest step. I quickly took my hand from the knob, and he lay down again. But the golden hairs along his back were still raised. Had he been told to keep me out of their room? I couldn’t believe it. I knew some animals could be trained to do tricks, but this was different. He chilled my blood.

I retrieved my purse from the drawer. There were three sovereigns in it and ten shillings. The sovereigns I left where they were. I wrapped two of the silver shillings in a handkerchief and put them in the pocket of my dress. In the other pocket was the sharpened quill. I let it be.

I put my weight on my foot and groaned with pain. “Dangnabit!” I fumed. There was no chance that I could walk a mile on it. I was there, and there I must stay.

I got my book of poetry from the dresser, went back to the living room, and settled at the table. But even Lord Byron could not keep my attention.

I studied Lamb. Would he allow me to explore Raven’s Roost if I kept away from their room?

There was not much to the house.

My aunt Minnie kept a clean and tidy home. The grate had been shined, the mantel dusted, the floor scrubbed. The table where we’d eaten gleamed, as did the heavy silver candlestick in its center. The violin was propped against the far wall. There was a door at the back of the kitchen.

Lamb did not move as I opened it and peered in.

There were heavy waterproof boots, waterproof coats, two oars, a rolled-up canvas that might have been a small sail. A saddle—not a sidesaddle, bridle, and reins hung on a peg.

Praise be!

With difficulty, I dragged the saddle outside and went back for the bridle and reins.