furrowed. “But his lordship isn’t in town. Are you staying with
friends?”
“No. Is
that a problem?”
“Of course
not. Just a bit old and run-down is the manor, that’s all. Thought you’d be
more comfortable in one of the lodgings in town.”
Wouldn’t
she though? Don’t get her started. She cleared her throat and took another sip
of beer. “It’s not so bad, and besides, the caretaker has been most
hospitable.”
The barman
stopped wiping the bar and gave her a quizzical look. “I don’t recall any caretaker
at the manor.”
“Well,
Michael, his lordship I mean, was supposed to meet me there himself. Instead
he’d arranged some supplies and told me to let Mr. Grady know if there was
anything else I need. He must have arranged Rowan to meet me there.”
“Rowan, you
say? The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Yes, Rowan
O’Connell.”
“Why, I
haven’t known there to be an O’Connell in this village since…I couldn’t even
tell you when. He must be from out of town.”
She shifted
on her seat. Surely the barman couldn’t know everybody in these parts. Before leaving,
she’d looked for Rowan everywhere, hoping he might accompany her to town, but
couldn’t find him. She sopped up the last bit of gravy from the plate with a
piece of bread, ate it, and licked her fingers. “Speaking of Banth Manor, do
you happen to know any of its history? I’m actually here researching my family
tree and was hoping some of the people in town could help me.”
“Afraid
not.”
His lack of
hesitation made her uneasy. But, surely he wouldn’t be hiding anything. Not
like the place was notorious for being haunted or anything. “So, you know
nothing of a terrible battle that happened in this valley a couple of hundred
years ago?”
“There have
been many battles in this area over time, but none in particular come to mind.”
He nodded
to her and went to serve another customer who’d entered the bar. She would get no
further help from him.
* *
* *
After
buying some old books at a stall, she’d endured enough of the fair. At every
stand, she’d tried to pick up a conversation in the hope she’d discover a bit
more about the manor. The same lack of response as the barman had given met her
inquiries. It seemed little was known about Banth. Almost like it had never
existed.
Rummaging
with little interest through a stand selling second-hand jewelry on the
outskirts of the carnival, she noticed a smaller tent set a little back from
the others. She edged toward the small flap which made up the entrance.
Peering
inside the tent, she smiled.
Oh, now
this was more like it, really authentic. The area inside was confined, dimly
lit by a few huge tallow candles along the sides. Their pungent smell made her
rub her nose.
A small table sat in the
center with a chair either side, and in the middle a clear crystal ball
shone on a dark, carved
wooden stand. She stepped forward and leaned over the ball to get a closer look.
“I’d say
I’ve bin expectin’ you, but don’t it sound so clichéd?” came from a darkened
corner of the tent in a crackling voice.
“What?” She
jumped back, as a small elderly woman came into view. Thick rimmed glasses framed
her sunken eyes, dark, but with a spark that caught her attention. Her salt and
pepper gray hair was tied back into a bun, and the odd woman sipped a mug of
steaming…something.
Whatever it
was, it smelled awful.
The old
woman gestured for her to sit down, and she couldn’t help but think she
belonged in a library somewhere instead of a gypsy tent.
Looking
back toward the entrance, she considered declining the woman’s offer, but
curiosity got the better of her and she sat. Only a bit of fun after all. What
could it hurt?
Placing the
mug down beside her, the gypsy smiled broadly, displaying an ill-fitting set of
yellowed dentures.
Oh God. She
daren’t laugh.
“So.” The
woman adjusted her glasses and leaned forward, her intense gaze
friends?”
“No. Is
that a problem?”
“Of course
not. Just a bit old and run-down is the manor, that’s all. Thought you’d be
more comfortable in one of the lodgings in town.”
Wouldn’t
she though? Don’t get her started. She cleared her throat and took another sip
of beer. “It’s not so bad, and besides, the caretaker has been most
hospitable.”
The barman
stopped wiping the bar and gave her a quizzical look. “I don’t recall any caretaker
at the manor.”
“Well,
Michael, his lordship I mean, was supposed to meet me there himself. Instead
he’d arranged some supplies and told me to let Mr. Grady know if there was
anything else I need. He must have arranged Rowan to meet me there.”
“Rowan, you
say? The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
“Yes, Rowan
O’Connell.”
“Why, I
haven’t known there to be an O’Connell in this village since…I couldn’t even
tell you when. He must be from out of town.”
She shifted
on her seat. Surely the barman couldn’t know everybody in these parts. Before leaving,
she’d looked for Rowan everywhere, hoping he might accompany her to town, but
couldn’t find him. She sopped up the last bit of gravy from the plate with a
piece of bread, ate it, and licked her fingers. “Speaking of Banth Manor, do
you happen to know any of its history? I’m actually here researching my family
tree and was hoping some of the people in town could help me.”
“Afraid
not.”
His lack of
hesitation made her uneasy. But, surely he wouldn’t be hiding anything. Not
like the place was notorious for being haunted or anything. “So, you know
nothing of a terrible battle that happened in this valley a couple of hundred
years ago?”
“There have
been many battles in this area over time, but none in particular come to mind.”
He nodded
to her and went to serve another customer who’d entered the bar. She would get no
further help from him.
* *
* *
After
buying some old books at a stall, she’d endured enough of the fair. At every
stand, she’d tried to pick up a conversation in the hope she’d discover a bit
more about the manor. The same lack of response as the barman had given met her
inquiries. It seemed little was known about Banth. Almost like it had never
existed.
Rummaging
with little interest through a stand selling second-hand jewelry on the
outskirts of the carnival, she noticed a smaller tent set a little back from
the others. She edged toward the small flap which made up the entrance.
Peering
inside the tent, she smiled.
Oh, now
this was more like it, really authentic. The area inside was confined, dimly
lit by a few huge tallow candles along the sides. Their pungent smell made her
rub her nose.
A small table sat in the
center with a chair either side, and in the middle a clear crystal ball
shone on a dark, carved
wooden stand. She stepped forward and leaned over the ball to get a closer look.
“I’d say
I’ve bin expectin’ you, but don’t it sound so clichéd?” came from a darkened
corner of the tent in a crackling voice.
“What?” She
jumped back, as a small elderly woman came into view. Thick rimmed glasses framed
her sunken eyes, dark, but with a spark that caught her attention. Her salt and
pepper gray hair was tied back into a bun, and the odd woman sipped a mug of
steaming…something.
Whatever it
was, it smelled awful.
The old
woman gestured for her to sit down, and she couldn’t help but think she
belonged in a library somewhere instead of a gypsy tent.
Looking
back toward the entrance, she considered declining the woman’s offer, but
curiosity got the better of her and she sat. Only a bit of fun after all. What
could it hurt?
Placing the
mug down beside her, the gypsy smiled broadly, displaying an ill-fitting set of
yellowed dentures.
Oh God. She
daren’t laugh.
“So.” The
woman adjusted her glasses and leaned forward, her intense gaze
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