Despite it being the last week of May, the sunshine had stayed away and the cold rain poured, filling the fields with puddles of mud. Grace dug up the last of the weeds and straightened slowly. Her lower back had started to ache, and the hem of her dress was caked in filth, her fingers wet and stiff. She glanced over towards the strawed-down barn. Harriet Harper had told her to go and help with the milking; she had said that she was ‘doing no good standing like a mawkin1 in the fields getting soaking wet’.
Grace trudged sadly towards the barn, thinking about her father; he would be out in the next field, his shirt and breeches sodden. She imagined him at home later, his clothes steaming in front of the fire while she warmed ale for him to drink. He would be weary and she would need to find him clean dry clothes and a hot meal.
Grace found a stool and a pail, sitting down close to a lumbering cow, rubbing her raw hands to warm them before starting the milking. Alice and Nancy Bryant were close by, chattering as they tugged the cow’s teats, their noses reddened with cold, their eyes glazed with boredom. Nancy greeted her with a nod and Alice with a smile. Grace smiled back and set to work, resting her cheek against the cow’s side, closing her eyes and breathing softly as the cow gave a low sound of contentment.
Nancy stopped working. ‘Jennet is starting here as a milkmaid next week. I’m hoping that soon after she arrives, I’ll be able to finish.’
Alice leaned towards Grace. ‘Nancy has a suitor, a young man who works here on the farm. She danced with him when we brought in the May. He is courting her now.’
‘Oh, but he had eyes for me long before that, back since the wassailing of Twelfth Night. He is a good man, strong and hearty. It would be my wish to marry and to leave milking. Being a wife would be the life for me.’
Grace continued with her work. ‘I am glad for you, Nancy. What is his name?’
‘He is called George. He and his brother, Ned, work in the fields with your father. George wants us to get a room in Ashcombe – we could move in there, but a nice cottage like yours would suit us much better.’
Alice laughed. ‘A single room won’t do for me. I have set my sights on something much more comfortable.’
Nancy said, ‘Like the farmhouse here on Hill Top? Alice fancies that she could be a lady.’
‘Not a proper lady – but the wife of an important man, a farmer’s son…’ Alice’s eyes shone.
Grace inhaled the warmth of the cow’s scent and pressed her head against its flank as milk squirted into the pail.
‘And you, Grace – do you not have dreams of marriage and a family? You are the same age as we…’
Grace did not look up. ‘It is an honour I seldom dream of…’
Nancy snickered. ‘Being a wife and having a husband, lying with him at night, practising the goat’s jig – that is something I dream of all the time…’
‘Shhh,’ Alice hissed, lifting a finger in warning. The sound of footfall urged her to put her head down and jerk harder at the cow’s teats. Nancy copied her sister’s actions. Then a man was in the barn, his hands on his hips, watching them. Alice raised her head coquettishly and met his eyes. ‘Good afternoon, Master Nathaniel.’ She smiled, all dimples, her cheeks pink.
Nathaniel gazed around the barn; his eyes sweeping over Grace, then back to Alice. ‘How is the milking today, Alice? Do the cows yield well?’
‘Oh, very well indeed,’ Alice said. ‘They always respond to my warm touch.’
‘We’ve been milking all day, Master Nathaniel.’ Nancy winked at her sister. ‘But my sister and I are never too tired by night-time, if you catch my meaning, sir.’
Nathaniel spoke only to Alice. ‘It is always pleasant to see a buxom milkmaid at her work. I must come in the barn more often and take away your pails for you. It pleases me a great deal, the sweet smell of milk and hay, and a rosy-cheeked maid.’
Nancy muttered under her breath, ‘Some of us keep ourselves looking our best. Alice and I take a pride in ourselves. We are not draggles who work in the fields weeding turnips, our dresses clogged with muck.’ She threw a glance at Grace and smiled slyly.
‘I bid you good day, Alice.’ Nathaniel gave a mock bow. ‘Perhaps we will encounter each other later this evening, if the rain stops.’
Nancy watched him stride away, then she whispered, ‘If the rain stops or if it doesn’t, a man’s maypole is still the same.’ She placed a hand over her mouth and cackled. Alice pressed her lips together and made a soft sound of amusement. Nancy leaned towards Grace. ‘It seems Master Nathaniel is most taken with my sister.’
‘It does, indeed,’ Grace said. Her pail was almost full, and her heart was heavy with sadness. Nathaniel had known she was seated nearby, but he had behaved as if she had not been there. He had spoken sweetly to Alice, knowing that Grace was watching, knowing that his words would pierce deep as arrows. She had not seen him since the night he had followed her home from Ashcomb. Grace had stood for a long time in her garden most evenings since then, waiting for him, hoping he would appear at her gate; she had whispered soft words of love into the chattering well for four weeks, but he had not come back.
She wondered if she should go after him and call him. She would ask him why he had spurned her, what she had done to make him treat her this way, but in her heart she knew the answer already. He had tossed her aside like a forkful of hay, and now he had set his sights on Alice. Grace recalled sadly that her Grandmother Bett had once told her that some men were ‘nothing but danglers’: they courted one woman and then, having won her, they began to follow another.
Grace sighed, her heart heavy, and whispered her thanks to the cow for letting down her milk. Then her mind drifted to her journey home. Grace knew a place on an exposed sunny bank where rue grew all year. She would pick some for herself when no one was looking. She had much need of it.
Selena stood in the warm kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand, and stirred the paella as Claire continued to rush around enthusiastically. ‘And the kitchen is so modern, but the living room has all that period charm, and the oak conservatory, oh, I think I’m going to have to move to the countryside, Selena. You chose so well. The Aga, it’s just incredible – I mean, the cooking smells are to die for. And the wood-burning stove in the living room is just so cosy. I love it here.’
‘It’s taken me a while to learn how to use it. I burned scrambled eggs the first time I tried to cook anything.’ Selena took her first sip of wine. ‘I’m glad you approve, though.’
‘Do you like staying here? Is the place working its magic on you?’
‘It is – I’m healing. I have space to paint—’
‘Oh, and those paintings. They are some of the best ones you’ve done.’ Claire refilled her glass. ‘And they’ll sell like mad. But the one you have done of the branch and the blossom – the detail is so incredible.’
‘The engineer told me it was eerie…’ Selena smiled at the recollection.
‘Really? He must be mad. I think it’s stunning.’ Claire rushed over to the Aga, adding another grind of black pepper to the paella. ‘This is making me feel a vibe of domestic bliss… What time are your new friends coming?’
‘Half seven – so, in twenty minutes or so.’
‘I can’t wait to meet them. Ah, Selena…’ Claire took a deep breath. Selena knew she was about to disclose something important. ‘I have to tell you – last week, Veronica came round to the gallery again.’
‘Oh?’
‘I told her that she should look closer to home for someone to blame for David’s misdemeanours. In fact, what I actually told her was that he was a serial womaniser.’
‘Oh dear, what did she say?’ Selena was anxious.
‘I was a bit surprised by her reaction – she burst into tears.’
‘Poor thing.’
‘I think she knew; I’d touched a nerve…’ Claire raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think it was the first time he’d, you know, played away.’
Selena exhaled. ‘So, what did you do?’
‘I gave her a tissue and told her to go home and talk to him,’ Claire said. ‘I just thought you should know. You can draw a line under that part of your life now and move on.’
‘Thank you. You’re just the best friend.’ Selena hugged Claire and then paused. ‘Was that someone knocking at the door?’
‘You go,’ Claire suggested. ‘I’ll check the table in the living room and give the rice another stir. I’m practising for the future when I buy my country retreat…’
The paella was a great success, and so was the fruit salad Selena served up for dessert. Laura enthused about the food all the way through the meal, helping herself to seconds, while her father, Rob, a charming man in a dark jacket and chinos, murmured that he hadn’t had paella since he’d been on a family holiday to Andalucía twenty years ago when Laura had been a teenager. He smiled, his eyes misty, and Laura placed a hand over his reassuringly.
They were seated around the light wooden dining table in the corner of the living room, little tealight candles flickering in jars. Claire opened a second bottle of wine, pouring herself a full glass.
Laura reached forward, asking for a refill. ‘I was telling my dad all about your wonderful paintings, Selena…’
Rob glanced from Selena to Claire. ‘You own a gallery in Manchester?’
Claire smiled. ‘It’s more of a big shop, but yes, we sell our paintings there.’
‘You paint too, Claire?’ Laura raised her eyebrows. ‘What do you do? Landscapes and scenery?’
‘No, I do political things, gaunt faces, hungry families – Selena and I have styles that complement each other. Our work is totally different and that brings in a good mix of clients. But the paintings Selena has done while she’s down here have been incredible.’ Claire waved a hand towards the window where the branch tapped against the glass in the wind. ‘For example, she’s painted the blossom from that tree.’
‘I can’t wait to see it,’ Laura said.
‘It’s a little eerie, the blackthorn,’ Rob commented.
Selena met his eyes. ‘That’s exactly what the engineer said.’
‘Why eerie?’ Claire asked.
‘Oh,’ Laura waved a dismissive hand, ‘Blackthorn has an old association with witchcraft.’
Rob gave a small cough. ‘Witches apparently made staffs and wands from the wood of the blackthorn, and the thorns were used to prick wax images of those that they cursed. The crown of thorns that Jesus wore on the cross is reputed to have been made from the blackthorn.’
Selena shivered. ‘That’s certainly eerie.’
Laura looked around the room. ‘The whole house is eerie. In fact, Chitterwell and Ashcombe are steeped in history of folklore and suchlike…’ She noticed Selena’s troubled expression. ‘Oh, of course it’s all hearsay and superstitious rubbish.’
Rob shook his head. ‘I’ve read about the history of witchcraft in Somerset. They held witch trials in Taunton at one point, centuries ago.’
Claire drained her glass. ‘Horrible. Those stories give me bad dreams. Shall I make us all some coffee?’
‘I’ll do it.’ Selena was about to rise from her seat, but Claire was already on her feet.
‘No, I’ll get coffees and the chocolates – the minty ones I brought down, we could make a start on those.’
‘I couldn’t manage another thing,’ Laura protested dramatically, then a laugh broke from her lips. ‘Well, maybe just one.’
Claire rushed off into the kitchen and Selena moved to the window, Rob’s words still buzzing in her mind, observing the blackthorn branch with an artist’s eye. It was thin, jagged; it straddled half of the window. She gazed beyond, into the shadows. The moon hung low, a silver crescent shedding a narrow shaft of light.
Laura sipped her wine. ‘Can we have Selena over to dinner soon, Dad? We could make curry. My dad makes a wonderful jalfrezi, don’t you?’
‘I love cooking with spices,’ Rob said. ‘Yes, you must come over, Selena. Do you like pakoras? I do enjoy making those…’
‘His veggie pakoras are to die for,’ Laura agreed.
‘Mmm, that sounds lovely.’ Selena was gazing into the garden: an owl crossed the sky, its wings beating silently behind the glass; she thought she heard the hollow echo of its cry. She looked towards the well and something moved; it was too big to be an animal. Selena stared harder, trying to discern a shape shifting in the shadows. It disappeared, and for a moment she thought she had imagined it. She glimpsed it again: at first a brief silhouette that slipped into shade, then she saw the outline of a slight figure, a woman almost shrouded in darkness, her back to the window. Selena held her breath as the woman in a thin shift stepped into the light and raised her arms to the moon.
Then she heard the scream as Claire’s voice came sharp and high from the kitchen.