“How very kind of you,” I began, but she waved me off.
“I am not kind,” she said firmly. “My family is known for its gifts, but I do not have the sight. I do not see the future, although I do feel when danger is about. I feel it now, and it hovers over you, like a creature with great black wings.”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes in annoyance. I had heard such things before, always from a Gypsy fortune-teller who wanted her palm crossed with silver.
“I do not wish to have my fortune told, Mrs. Smith, and I am afraid I have no coin on me at present.”
To my astonishment, she grabbed my hand and held it firmly in both of hers. Her hands were warm and smooth and I could catch the scent of herbs on her skin. “Lady, I do not want your money. I speak honestly of friendship. You must call me Rosalie, and you must come to me whenever you have need of me. Promise me this.”
I promised, albeit reluctantly. She rose then and rummaged in the black-painted cupboard. She returned with a tiny pouch of brightly-patterned red cotton. She pressed it upon me.
“Carry this with you always. It is a charm of protection.”
I must have looked startled, for she smiled then, a beautiful, beneficent smile. “I am a shuvani, lady. A witch of my people. And I want you to know I will do everything I can to protect you.”
I took the little pouch. It had been knotted tightly with a silken thread and it held several small items, nothing I could recognise from the shape. “I do not know what to say, Mrs. Smith—”
“Rosalie,” she corrected. “Now keep that with you and show it to no one.”
Obediently, I slipped it into my pocket, and only then did she resume her lazy, good-natured smile.
“I think Miss Ailith is ready to leave,” she commented, nodding toward the window. “Have you finished your tisane?”
“Yes, thank you.” I collected my wraps and bent to pet the lurcher. He gave a little growl of contentment and thumped his tail happily on the floor.
“Tell me, Rosalie,” I said, twisting the unbecoming shawl over my hair, “if all herbs have a purpose, what was the point of giving me borage?”
Rosalie smiled her mysterious smile. “Have you never heard the old saying, lady? Borage for courage.”
I collected Miss Allenby from the front garden and we bade Rosalie farewell. She pressed the jar of quince jelly and a tin of ointment upon Miss Allenby who thanked her graciously. As we passed through the wicket gate, I fell deeply into thought, pondering what Rosalie had told me. Perhaps she belonged to a more subtle variety of Gypsy than those I had yet encountered. Perhaps, rather than overt offers to tell fortunes or lift curses, Rosalie’s methods were more insidious. I had not paid her for the little charm, but who was to say that on my next visit she might not insist the danger was growing nearer and that only a costly amulet might hold it at bay? It was a cynical thought, but one that bore consideration, I decided as I tripped over a stone.
Miss Allenby put out a hand to steady me, aghast. “My apologies, Lady Julia. I would have warned you about that stone, but I did not imagine you could have missed it.”
She was right about that. It was nearly a yard across, a marker of sorts at the little crossroads in front of the cottage, and though it stood only a few inches proud of the earth, it was enough to catch an unwary foot.
“I was woolgathering,” I said apologetically.
She nodded. “I can well understand, although I have never found the moor a good place to think—the wind seems to drown out my very thoughts. But my brother used to walk the moor quite often when he was puzzling out a problem, and my sister still does. Perhaps you will find it a restful place as well, should you stay for some time.”
As a conversational gambit, it was blunt and inelegant. I rose to it anyway and replied with perfect truth. “I do not know how long I shall be at Grimsgrave. Some weeks at least, I should expect.” Heaven only knew precisely when Brisbane would return, and it could take some time after that to settle matters between us.
She nodded, as if I had confirmed some private conviction of hers. “It is a great distance to travel for a shorter visit,” she observed.
“That it is,” I agreed.
We moved down the path toward the turning for Grimsgrave Hall. The wind had died a little, and I seized the opportunity to take a better measure of Miss Allenby’s situation.
“Your brother was Sir Redwall Allenby?”
She nodded, her face averted.
“I understand he was an Egyptologist, a scholar,” I ventured.
She paused, but still did not turn to me. “He was. He made quite a name for himself in certain circles.”
The lovely mouth was thin now, the lips pressed together as though to hold back some strong emotion. Impulsively, I put out a hand.
“I believe his death was fairly recent, and I can see that it grieves you still. Please accept my condolences on your loss.”
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, sudden tears shimmering in her eyes. After a moment she composed herself and turned to me.
“You are very kind, Lady Julia. It was sudden and you are quite correct. It does grieve me still.”
She started slowly down the path and I hurried to keep up with her longer stride. “Everything changed when Redwall died. I had no idea the house had been mortgaged. His death left us paupers, Lady Julia, beggars in our own home. My mother and sister and I are dependent upon Mr. Brisbane for every crust of bread.” She stopped to take a breath, her hands fisted at her sides. “We are to remain at Grimsgrave until a home can be fitted out for us.”
I felt a rush of pity for her then. I could only imagine how difficult the past months had been for her. To lose a beloved sibling, a home, and a fortune was too much to be borne. I could only hope Brisbane was not making the situation more difficult in his present bad humour.
“I do hope Mr. Brisbane is proving a hospitable landlord,” I offered.
She shot me a questioning look over her shoulder, and I quickened my pace. “I simply mean that he can be terribly short-tempered. But his bark is much worse than his bite. If there is anything you need, you have only to ask him. He really is quite generous. To a fault at times.”
She turned abruptly, fixing me with an appraising look. “How well do you know Nicholas Brisbane?” she asked without preamble. I nearly stumbled again, this time into a rabbit hole.
“As well as anyone could,” I told her. “He is a singular sort of person. I would imagine it would take a lifetime to know him completely.”
She paused again, raising delicate gold eyebrows. “Really? I have not found him much changed.”
I stared at her, and for some unaccountable reason, I felt the chill of the moor wind as I had not felt it before. “You knew him? Before he came to Grimsgrave?”
Miss Allenby nodded slowly. “We were children together. Didn’t he tell you? He was a boy in this place.”
She turned and led the way back to Grimsgrave Hall. The wind had risen again, and conversation was impossible. It was just as well. Ailith Allenby had given me much to think about.
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
Crabbèd age and youth cannot live together.
—William Shakespeare
“The Passionate Pilgrim XII”
When we reached Grimsgrave, Miss Allenby and I went our separate ways. She left her basket in the hall, inclining her head graciously toward Valerius who