Abby held out. “All’s fair in warnin’ thou. Yer young, miss.
Don’t be taking up with the likes o’ that man.”
Not only did the woman’s words make the hairs on her forearms prickle, but Abby also felt insulted and rose to defend herself, as any Hallaway woman would. “I’m the governess for the boy. I shall never allow myself to be ‘taking up’ with a gentleman.”
“Smart lass. A brain in thy head. Be thee warned, nothing good comes out o’ that castle.” The woman pointed a knobby cane in the direction of her new home. “Bad things be happening to those who stay. Be warned.” Her cane pounded against the wooden floorboard of the cart as though it added to her decree.
“Bethesda,” Thomas scolded with a firmness that seemed contradictory to the man she’d been charmed by since midmorning. Abby turned her chin up to look at him. It was as though everything in time and space had slowed as she eyed the man she’d chatted kindly with over the past few hours. He was not that man anymore. In his place stood a man who was as much a brute as his master.
The look in his eyes seemed vicious. Pitiless and angry toward the old woman.
“Be off, witch,” Lord Brendall growled in his deep, rumbling voice. This was a man who had many shades of black. She saw that now as she hadn’t before. There was something indefinable in his expression. Something she couldn’t quite comprehend passing between the old woman and the men. What that secret was she not privy to.
Abby sat frozen in her seat, shocked and outraged at the abuse they showed toward a woman who clearly did not have her wits about her. But she was wary to interrupt, for fear of missing something important. Something that defined her employer’s character, which she was all too interested in uncovering.
The old witch pointed her cane in Lord Brendall’s direction. Even coming from a feeble old woman, the move seemed threatening. “Yer no better than your father.”
As repulsed as Abby was by the whole situation, she felt the old lady unjustly attacked by the two men.
“She means me no harm.”
To show her goodwill, and her support toward the woman, she pressed her hand upon the woman’s bony shoulder and gave it the lightest of squeezes.
The woman looked back to her with a wicked smile full of holes where her teeth should have been. Abby swallowed back her disgust and attempted a smile. She feared she failed miserably. There was an unease snaking through her veins, skittering up her body in a nervous, uncomfortable shiver.
“Miss,” the woman crowed. This time when she spoke, she grasped Abby’s hand and pulled her down with unexpected strength so she could say something of import next to her ear with her fetid, humid breath.
She felt a prick at her wrist. A buzzing in her head seemed to drown out all the others— except the hypnotizing voice that spoke to her.
How odd that Abby then noted her surroundings. A crowd had formed since the woman had approached the cart. Half a dozen citizens of the town stalled their daily activities in the street to see what transpired; a lady and a gentleman who came out of the rail station stared at the scene with barely concealed disgust. Thomas attempted to pry the old woman’s bony hands away from Abby’s hand and wrist.
Lord Brendall trotted over on his great horse. The bay, feeling the agitation in the air and in his handler’s hold, stomped his foot in annoyance and neighed. The sound was like the screaming of a soul in the hands of the devil.
It was no benign sound, and it crept through Abby’s mind like a serpent over her bare flesh.
Through all this, the woman maintained her hold.
The long nail of Bethesda’s thumb pressed into the soft tissue of Abby’s wrist. The pressure, even through her gloves, seemed to relax Abby and make her light- headed.
She swore she swayed in the witch’s hold. For how could she be anything else but a witch, when the old woman had bewitched everyone
Don’t be taking up with the likes o’ that man.”
Not only did the woman’s words make the hairs on her forearms prickle, but Abby also felt insulted and rose to defend herself, as any Hallaway woman would. “I’m the governess for the boy. I shall never allow myself to be ‘taking up’ with a gentleman.”
“Smart lass. A brain in thy head. Be thee warned, nothing good comes out o’ that castle.” The woman pointed a knobby cane in the direction of her new home. “Bad things be happening to those who stay. Be warned.” Her cane pounded against the wooden floorboard of the cart as though it added to her decree.
“Bethesda,” Thomas scolded with a firmness that seemed contradictory to the man she’d been charmed by since midmorning. Abby turned her chin up to look at him. It was as though everything in time and space had slowed as she eyed the man she’d chatted kindly with over the past few hours. He was not that man anymore. In his place stood a man who was as much a brute as his master.
The look in his eyes seemed vicious. Pitiless and angry toward the old woman.
“Be off, witch,” Lord Brendall growled in his deep, rumbling voice. This was a man who had many shades of black. She saw that now as she hadn’t before. There was something indefinable in his expression. Something she couldn’t quite comprehend passing between the old woman and the men. What that secret was she not privy to.
Abby sat frozen in her seat, shocked and outraged at the abuse they showed toward a woman who clearly did not have her wits about her. But she was wary to interrupt, for fear of missing something important. Something that defined her employer’s character, which she was all too interested in uncovering.
The old witch pointed her cane in Lord Brendall’s direction. Even coming from a feeble old woman, the move seemed threatening. “Yer no better than your father.”
As repulsed as Abby was by the whole situation, she felt the old lady unjustly attacked by the two men.
“She means me no harm.”
To show her goodwill, and her support toward the woman, she pressed her hand upon the woman’s bony shoulder and gave it the lightest of squeezes.
The woman looked back to her with a wicked smile full of holes where her teeth should have been. Abby swallowed back her disgust and attempted a smile. She feared she failed miserably. There was an unease snaking through her veins, skittering up her body in a nervous, uncomfortable shiver.
“Miss,” the woman crowed. This time when she spoke, she grasped Abby’s hand and pulled her down with unexpected strength so she could say something of import next to her ear with her fetid, humid breath.
She felt a prick at her wrist. A buzzing in her head seemed to drown out all the others— except the hypnotizing voice that spoke to her.
How odd that Abby then noted her surroundings. A crowd had formed since the woman had approached the cart. Half a dozen citizens of the town stalled their daily activities in the street to see what transpired; a lady and a gentleman who came out of the rail station stared at the scene with barely concealed disgust. Thomas attempted to pry the old woman’s bony hands away from Abby’s hand and wrist.
Lord Brendall trotted over on his great horse. The bay, feeling the agitation in the air and in his handler’s hold, stomped his foot in annoyance and neighed. The sound was like the screaming of a soul in the hands of the devil.
It was no benign sound, and it crept through Abby’s mind like a serpent over her bare flesh.
Through all this, the woman maintained her hold.
The long nail of Bethesda’s thumb pressed into the soft tissue of Abby’s wrist. The pressure, even through her gloves, seemed to relax Abby and make her light- headed.
She swore she swayed in the witch’s hold. For how could she be anything else but a witch, when the old woman had bewitched everyone
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