her to Newgate,” the magistrate told the soldiers. “I’ll tend to her on the morrow.”
4
“I don’t know how you got me to do this,” Lucy muttered to Bessie, drawing her cloak closer around her body. It was nearly midnight, and they were on their way to Linley Park to see the gypsies. Ever since yesterday at church, when she had heard that the gypsies had encamped nearby, Bessie had insisted she needed to speak with them.
Now they were making their way through gaping shadows and dark fields, against Lucy’s better judgment. Visiting gypsies during Lent seemed a bad idea, let alone in the deep of night.
“I am deathly afraid to go alone,” Bessie had pleaded with her, “but I will, I swear it, if you won’t come with me.”
Try as she might, Lucy could not get Bessie to tell her what question she was seeking to answer. Lucy had frowned, but she knew she could not let her friend go alone.
Thankfully, the moon was bright and full. Moving quickly, they began to warm up. Sporadic shouts and boisterous laughter from late-night revelers reached their ears, but as the girls moved away from the public thoroughfares, the world grew steadily darker and quieter. The sound of an occasional branch breaking behind them would make them whirl around, fearing a wolf or a wild dog at every turn.
Bessie stopped abruptly, gripping Lucy’s arm. “There!” she said, pointing to a hill that loomed before them. Tiny flickers of campfires could be seen in the distance. For a moment, the two girls huddled together, uncertain whether to venture forward or to run home.
A moment later, the decision was out of their hands when a hoarse voice called to them out of the darkness. “Come you to hear your fortune, did you now?”
Lucy could not tell if the voice was of a man or a woman, so rasping and harsh it was. She waited for Bessie to speak, but she seemed struck dumb. A heavily shrouded figure stepped out of the shadows and appeared to be waiting.
Lucy found her tongue. “Yes, we wish to have our fortunes read.” She hesitated. “If you please, ma’am.”
The old woman barked, a rough mirthless sound. She jerked her thumb toward a campfire. “Over there. Maraid, she’s waiting for you.”
Gripping each other’s arms, the girls sat down, warily watching the woman called Maraid. The fire made Maraid’s hair and skin shine, as if the flames dwelled within her deepest being. Frankly, it unnerved Lucy.
Bessie passed her a bit of silver. The woman took Bessie’s hand and held it to the light of the fire. She looked up at Bessie and then at Lucy. She sighed, a long weary breath. “I remember you, child.”
Lucy looked at Bessie in surprise. She wondered when Maraid had read her fortune before.
The gypsy continued. “I remember your hand. ’Tis no new fortune I can tell you, I’m afraid. There is a darkness upon you, but as I told you before, it does not have to be that way.”
Seeing Bessie’s face blanch, she added more gently, “But you have not come all this way to hear the same fortune. You have paid your silver. You may ask me one question.”
Bessie whispered something in the gypsy’s ear. The woman frowned, shadows dancing across her ageless face. She shook her head. “This I cannot see. There is a veil down across that time. From what you have told me, I do not believe it shall pass as you like.”
Seeing Bessie’s crestfallen face, Maraid added, “You have many who love you and will tend to you, including this loyal friend here.”
The gypsy turned to Lucy. Something about Maraid drew Lucy in, almost against her will. The crackling fire added odd sparks, so it looked almost as if there were fire within her eyes.
Lucy looked at her tattered clothes, a hodgepodge of colors, including a brightly embroidered red sash wrapped around her waist. It caught her attention. She pointed at it. “That’s lovely.”
Maraid’s eyes flickered to the beautiful young woman tending the fire. “Yes, it is,”
4
“I don’t know how you got me to do this,” Lucy muttered to Bessie, drawing her cloak closer around her body. It was nearly midnight, and they were on their way to Linley Park to see the gypsies. Ever since yesterday at church, when she had heard that the gypsies had encamped nearby, Bessie had insisted she needed to speak with them.
Now they were making their way through gaping shadows and dark fields, against Lucy’s better judgment. Visiting gypsies during Lent seemed a bad idea, let alone in the deep of night.
“I am deathly afraid to go alone,” Bessie had pleaded with her, “but I will, I swear it, if you won’t come with me.”
Try as she might, Lucy could not get Bessie to tell her what question she was seeking to answer. Lucy had frowned, but she knew she could not let her friend go alone.
Thankfully, the moon was bright and full. Moving quickly, they began to warm up. Sporadic shouts and boisterous laughter from late-night revelers reached their ears, but as the girls moved away from the public thoroughfares, the world grew steadily darker and quieter. The sound of an occasional branch breaking behind them would make them whirl around, fearing a wolf or a wild dog at every turn.
Bessie stopped abruptly, gripping Lucy’s arm. “There!” she said, pointing to a hill that loomed before them. Tiny flickers of campfires could be seen in the distance. For a moment, the two girls huddled together, uncertain whether to venture forward or to run home.
A moment later, the decision was out of their hands when a hoarse voice called to them out of the darkness. “Come you to hear your fortune, did you now?”
Lucy could not tell if the voice was of a man or a woman, so rasping and harsh it was. She waited for Bessie to speak, but she seemed struck dumb. A heavily shrouded figure stepped out of the shadows and appeared to be waiting.
Lucy found her tongue. “Yes, we wish to have our fortunes read.” She hesitated. “If you please, ma’am.”
The old woman barked, a rough mirthless sound. She jerked her thumb toward a campfire. “Over there. Maraid, she’s waiting for you.”
Gripping each other’s arms, the girls sat down, warily watching the woman called Maraid. The fire made Maraid’s hair and skin shine, as if the flames dwelled within her deepest being. Frankly, it unnerved Lucy.
Bessie passed her a bit of silver. The woman took Bessie’s hand and held it to the light of the fire. She looked up at Bessie and then at Lucy. She sighed, a long weary breath. “I remember you, child.”
Lucy looked at Bessie in surprise. She wondered when Maraid had read her fortune before.
The gypsy continued. “I remember your hand. ’Tis no new fortune I can tell you, I’m afraid. There is a darkness upon you, but as I told you before, it does not have to be that way.”
Seeing Bessie’s face blanch, she added more gently, “But you have not come all this way to hear the same fortune. You have paid your silver. You may ask me one question.”
Bessie whispered something in the gypsy’s ear. The woman frowned, shadows dancing across her ageless face. She shook her head. “This I cannot see. There is a veil down across that time. From what you have told me, I do not believe it shall pass as you like.”
Seeing Bessie’s crestfallen face, Maraid added, “You have many who love you and will tend to you, including this loyal friend here.”
The gypsy turned to Lucy. Something about Maraid drew Lucy in, almost against her will. The crackling fire added odd sparks, so it looked almost as if there were fire within her eyes.
Lucy looked at her tattered clothes, a hodgepodge of colors, including a brightly embroidered red sash wrapped around her waist. It caught her attention. She pointed at it. “That’s lovely.”
Maraid’s eyes flickered to the beautiful young woman tending the fire. “Yes, it is,”
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