Sister of Wales: The Lanthorne Ordinary Witches, #2

By Cynthia Raleigh

The same day a village man is attacked, Yarrow Pickering, herbal woman and proprietor of the Lanthorne Ordinary, finds a peculiar object washed ashore and takes it home. The arrival of such a curious item heralds a string of events that seem unrelated at first.

 

A powerful Guild of skilled women, family secrets, and a foolhardy theft combine in this suspenseful tale of deception, greed, and the awakening of ancient legends to formally introduce Yarrow to the world of her ancestors. It's a world beyond her expectations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Raleigh
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201033989

Book preview

Chapter 1

August 1659 Cardiganshire,Wales

She had been running so long her feet were numb. Breath came in ragged gasps. Einyn couldn’t stop, as much as she wanted to fall to the earth, into the soft clover, surrender to sleep, to hide. Maybe when she woke this would all be gone. Voices growing nearer, both from behind and from the east, told her it wasn’t going to work out like that.

Einyn knew she wouldn’t escape them in the end, but that wasn’t necessary. Just a little farther. The night was fully upon the land but moonlight shone to light her way. It also aided her pursuers. They had torches and dogs, so it probably didn’t matter.

A risky look back at the pursuing band of men confirmed they were getting closer. She fought the urge to cry. She wasn’t frightened, not afraid of losing her life, far from it. Her fear was that she wouldn’t make it on time, before they reached her and the dogs brought her down too soon.

The reflection of August’s sultry Wyrt Moon on the surface of the sea glittered bright as a hundred candle flames. She laughed out loud at the welcome sight but her voice sounded mad to her ears. There would be a steep hill before she got there but she knew she could skirt the edge along a path pressed into the earth by the feet of many centuries. She hoped the narrow trail wouldn’t be visible to the strangers in the dark, even with their torches. Perhaps scaling the hill would slow them down. As soon as the ground began its incline she veered to the left, flying sure-footed along the gorse until her feet recognized the smooth depression of the path.

Waves crashed against the near vertical cliff side at her left, the bulk of the crag rose to her right. Her spirit renewed, she sped past the hill. Another hundred yards and she was through a gap in the ancient stone wall spanning the narrow bridge of land, its job of guarding the finger that jutted out into the sea long since abandoned. The slender piece of ground pointed northwest. She imagined it beckoning to her, ‘Here is your path.’

Running until she spotted the edge of the cliff, Einyn knelt on the scrubby vegetation and, with trembling fingers, unlaced her bodice. She reached inside her shift and removed the object. Ripping her shawl from her shoulders, she wrapped it as tightly as she could around the precious relic and tied one knot, then another on the opposite side, trying to secure the bundle as much as possible in the meager seconds that remained. This would have to do.

As she stood, she turned back to face a dozen stern-faced men come to a skidding stop at the command of the man in the center front who was clearly in charge. The torches held by the company illuminated their rough, unshaven features. To her weary eyes, the shadows cast by the wildly flickering torchlight were demonic, their bent and bony arms reached toward her. She swallowed and tried her best not to show fear.

The man in authority, richly dressed and shorter in stature than his guard of soldiers, advanced from the group. He spoke to her, his hand stretched out, slowly, but he held his position. Give it to us now and we’ll let you go.

Einyn wasn’t a fool. Torchlight blazed in her stinging eyes and she laughed at him. He struggled to maintain his composure in the face of this young girl scoffing at him in front of his men. Do not make the mistake of defying me. I’m your only prayer for survival.

Prayer? What prayer would save me from you? Einyn’s expression crumpled into disgust. Keep your useless prayers, Osgar, and do with them as you will.

Lord Osgar is the proper form of address. He sniffed once in disdain. You are in no position to speak to me with disrespect. His voice was low and purring, smooth and dangerous. I can make your life much easier, the type of life a peasant girl like you has never known. The men nearest Osgar nodded to support his attempt to coerce her. You could be wrapped in furs in winter in front of a warm fire rather than shivering in the biting cold of a poor man’s hovel. He took several quick steps toward her.

Einyn retreated as many. He was wagering she was from a poor family, dangling the lure of a life strewn with luxuries, in hopes she’d find it impossible to decline. He had that wrong but he didn’t need to know it. "What? Are you offering to elevate me from a wretched peasant girl working for those I admire to that of a slave at your hands? Thank you for your kind concern, but I reject your gracious offer Lord Osgar."

Osgar licked his lips, considering. He took several moments to collect his patience. You prefer we take it by force?

I prefer you not take it at all. Even if you do, you have no idea what you are doing. Your ignorance is your downfall, as your own miserable past can attest. Osgar’s face bloomed red as a poppy. Einyn gave a defiant shake of her head to goad the man. I’m sorry you and your ragged band have come all the way from Bryn Tywyll only to be disappointed.

It was the line he was waiting for her to cross. He sighed, Very well. You cannot claim I made no attempt at fairness. It is your choice. With a two-fingered gesture, Osgar signaled a pair of his burliest men to come forward. Capture her and take the relic. Give it to me. What you do with her is...up to you. I care not. He turned and sauntered back through his mercenaries who closed the gap behind him, yelling and rattling their weapons.

Two men came for her, their leering smiles revealed rotting teeth and greasy hair hung limply about their grubby necks. Einyn knew it would come to this and she was prepared. Her jaw tight, teeth clenched, with remarkable swiftness she turned and bolted out of the illumination of the torches, running with renewed energy. Shouts of alarm burst behind her. These men were accustomed to the effortless capture of such easy prey as a lone girl. Startled grunts were accompanied by the sound of booted feet made clumsy by surprise. Caught off guard as they were, they were a bit too slow to take up the pursuit and they were too late.

The edge of the cliff loomed. Reflected moonlight glowed silver, lighting the underbelly of the clouds and transforming the surface of the water into a twinkling meadow of gems. The gorse thinned out, the soil beneath Einyn’s feet turned stony and rough, then fell away as she twisted to catch one last glimpse of the men chasing her. She looked them boldly in the face, relishing their startled expressions. Facing the sky as she fell, the moonlight wrapped her in lustrous beams and the relentless waves crashing against the sheer rock wall roared and reached up to cradle her. Einyn clutched the relic to her belly, curling around it the best she could to protect it.

Einyn’s awareness of the shocking cold embrace of the sea lasted a fleeting moment before there was peace. Her woolen dress greedily soaked up sea water and dragged her downward, taking her away from the men, depriving them of their prize. Einyn sank deeper. The current pulled her body further into the safe arms of the sea, away from the coast. Well away from shore and safe from recovery by Lord Osgar and his men, her protective grasp on the relic loosened and it slipped from her hands as her life slipped away. The relic rose through the dark waves, seeking the moon.

Its new journey had begun.

Chapter 2

Late September 1660: Milthorpe, Connecticut

Yarrow clambered over boulders slick with seaweed, both arms waving about to keep her balance. Weak early morning sunshine cast a pale glint off the long-handled spade she carried. The bale of the bucket hanging at her elbow creaked as it swung back and forth with the motion. She’d taken the shorter route to the sandy portion of beach rather than spend time walking to the dock and back around.

Her clam and potato stew would be a welcome dish at the Lanthorne Ordinary today. She didn’t serve it often but when she did it drew the villagers in by the dozens. Yarrow preferred to gather the clams herself, although at the moment, the raw wind coming off the cove made her reconsider the wisdom of that decision. Autumn was early this year. September was not yet done but leaves at the crown of the trees were already tinged with scarlet and gold. Colder nights had burnished the crimson of the maple leaves on the edge of the forest to a deep red-violet.

Yarrow glanced back at the Ordinary. A column of white-grey smoke curling from the kitchen’s chimney promised a blazing fire and a cup of hot cider. Pressing on, she plunged her hands once more into the cold sand, seawater rushing around her wrists as she dug out the shellfish. She pulled her reddened hands under her shawl until the bitter pain eased. Judging she had enough for the day, she picked up the already full second bucket she’d left further down the shoreline and carefully picked her way over the sand through seaweed and shells deposited by the tides.

The return climb up the rocks was not so easy as the trip down. Yarrow had to stop more than once to keep from plunging backward. She was near the top where the rocks gave way to marshy ground when she lost her purchase on a slimy stone. She came down hard as her foot slid off the rock and lodged between two boulders. A less than puritanical expletive flew from her mouth.

Although she was sat upright, a few of the clams had bounced out of the pails. Kneeling on the offending boulder, Yarrow collected the spilled shellfish but knocked one down between the stones. Not willing to give up any she’d frozen her hands for, she reached down into the space. Her hand brushed the ridged shell but she felt something else. Yarrow removed her hand and tried to peer down into the irregular opening. She could see a soft, amber glow falling on the sand next to the clam. She absently tossed the clam back into the bucket with the others then shifted on the rock to investigate the unusual light.

Unable to identify a source for the glow in the crevice, Yarrow stood up and climbed over the rocky shelf between her and where she thought whatever it was might be located. More seaweed, a decaying fish, the remnant of fishing net, and razor-sharp barnacle shells were all she found at first. Gritting her teeth, she overcame her hesitancy to reach down between the rocks where she couldn’t see and gingerly felt around. Her fingertips touched what felt like wet cloth. Thinking it probably was discarded sacking or piece of ruined clothing, she pulled on it to free it from its resting place.

It took several firm tugs to get it out. As the cloth came free, a clinking noise followed the ripping sound of the fabric. It didn’t sound like a stone or piece of wood. As she’d suspected, the cloth looked like the decaying remains of a woman’s scarf or shawl. Yarrow reached in once more. Her fingers ran across a cool, mostly smooth surface, curved, and with the feel of glass. Reflexively glancing out to the horizon searching for a possible shipwreck, she saw nothing to indicate even a fishing boat had foundered.

Whatever it was, the object was lodged tightly between two rocks. A grating sound of stone against the object’s surface made her grimace as she worked it back and forth until the hiding place released its grip. The cool glass slid into her hand.

Yarrow settled down cross-legged on the boulder and looked the thing over. It was round and the glass was thick. The warm amber hue she’d noticed had come from sunlight filtering through the golden glass. It was about the size of a small melon, filling her cupped hand almost exactly. The object was not entirely smooth and not perfectly round. The glass contained some flaws; a few tiny bubbles here and there that gave the surface a faintly knurled feel. The color was rich yet not opaque. It was still clear enough to see her hand through both sides.

Yarrow frowned at the curious object. Where did you come from? She settled the ball in her lap and gathered her apron around it, securing both sides to the chain around her waist that held her chatelaine. She clambered up the remaining rocks but paused and went back for the scrap of fabric, for some reason she was unwilling to leave it lying on the shore. She retrieved the two buckets and cleared the rocks to the meadow. The two crows, Smidgen and Thatch, had followed Yarrow to the beach and now complained from a nearby tree, impatient for their morning treat. She called to them and headed toward the Ordinary.

Chapter 3

Before going inside the Lanthorne, Yarrow stopped in at Corbie Cottage, her home situated directly next to the inn, long enough to wrap the glass ball in the worn kitchen towel she used for drying her physicking tools. She settled it inside one of the lower cabinets of her herb cupboard. The remnant of fabric she hung over the hearth to dry.

The steamy interior of the Lanthorne’s kitchen made Yarrow’s wind-blown face sting and flush. Her sister, Tansy, deftly wielded a knife over a mound of potatoes, dropping the peels into the pail used for the compost heap at the back of the kitchen garden.

Hany, Widow Bishop’s former servant, transferred cut potatoes to kettles hanging from hooks over the fire. After the death of her mistress, the young Caribbean girl had come to the Lanthorne at Yarrow’s invitation. Ambrose Bishop, eldest son of Kate and Willard Bishop, had sent word to assure Hany a place in the house once again when he arrived in the colonies. The heir to the family shipping business was expected to arrive anytime in the next few weeks from his home in Mistley, England.

The Bishop’s caretaker, Obadiah, known to the villagers as Obie, had stayed on at the vacant property to continue his duties and watch over the house, stable, livestock, and horses. Obie made no secret he preferred the company of animals to humans and said he was happy as a lizard in the sun tending to the livestock and horses.

Not even Hany knew Obie's history before he was brought to the colonies but she did know he wasn't from the same part of the world from where she’d been forcibly taken. She also knew his given name was not Obadiah; that name was put on him by the one who purchased him as a young man. Hany hadn't pressed him for details since asking made him grumble.

With Judicious now lodging in one of the Lanthorne’s two upstairs sleeping chambers, Yarrow and Tansy made room for Hany in their cottage. After a couple of days spent rearranging furniture and employing the carpentry skills of Owain Simcoates, they’d fashioned a sleeping corner for Hany on the main floor since there was no room for an additional bed in the loft. Some privacy was afforded by hanging a large tapestry panel that had belonged to Yarrow and Tansy’s mother around the narrow bed. The precious textile had been part of Elizabeth Morgan’s dowry. Elizabeth had told her young daughter the history of the panel, how it had been given to her mother’s mother by a grateful nobleman after a successful delivery of twin boys, heirs to the manor near to their home at the time. When she married Nathaniel Pickering, she’d brought it with her from Bala in Wales.

The sight of the tapestry recalled memories of it hanging around her parents’ bed in their tiny stone cottage in England. It was good to see it being used again, although at times she found herself hoping to find her mother there if she pulled the heavy rug aside. Tansy had been an infant when the family emigrated to the Colonies and had no memory of their home in Thorpe Green.

Hany dumped the last of the potatoes into the hot water with a plop. She wiped her hands on her apron and joined Tansy at the table to help with shelling clams. What after the clams, Mistress?

Hany, call me Yarrow. Formality makes me feel ... old. Hany bobbed her head in acknowledgment but Yarrow knew it would take her a while to be comfortable.

After the clams, I'll clean this table. Dirt from potatoes all over it. She shot Tansy a look of mock admonishment. The weight Tansy might have leveraged, if she’d wanted to, by being Yarrow's sister was balanced by Hany's three-year age advantage over her.

Yarrow heard the steady thump of footsteps in the upstairs hallway. Judicious Fisher had taken up residence in the Lanthorne several weeks ago. His estrangement from his parents hadn't improved. Jude and his father, Josiah, were still on speaking terms; they had to be since they worked together in the Village Hall. Judicious was a new attorney and his father was the village Magistrate. His mother, Pharobe, had not budged from her determination to shun Judicious. She'd still not forgiven him for publicly associating with Yarrow, now a known witch. After Yarrow’s help against Mahala Chambers, most villagers were content to get on with the business of staying alive in the new settlement, especially with indications of an early winter. Those who weren't happy about it were keeping their mouths shut.

Rather than ease the family discord, Judicious’s decision to leave his parents’ home further alienated his mother. For the sake of avoiding endless arguments, Josiah was keeping a wide berth of the Lanthorne lately and took his midday meals at his own table. He missed the meals he’d shared with his son, either at home or in the Lanthorne.

Yarrow wondered how long the rift would go on. If the tales Judicious told her of his father's bellowing over the daily arguments at home were any indication, he’d soon be eating at the bench. Yarrow thought maybe she could take food to the Hall for both the Fishers. Not only would it soothe Josiah Fisher, but would infuriate Pharobe. Sporting a mischievous smile, she decided it was an excellent idea.

Yarrow entered the dining area from the kitchen as Judicious also entered from the stairway hall adjusting his linen shirt cuffs under his great coat, hat tucked beneath his arm. Good morning, he greeted her.

His smile was genuine and it filled Yarrow with pleasure. She wished she could see that smile every morning from now on. Good morning to you, she answered. Judicious was wearing his traveling attire. You look dressed for business somewhere other than the Village Hall.

Yes, I'll be leaving shortly. He brushed at his sleeves. Waves of his rich brown hair curled against the stark white of his collar.

Will you want breakfast here or take something with you for the journey? I have fresh bread and can send some of this summer’s wildflower honey along with it.

Satisfied all stray lint was removed, Judicious finished buttoning the heavier coat he’d not worn since last winter. Ah, that would be delicious but I'm fairly certain I'll have honey down my front if I try to eat it on horseback. A favorable first appearance would not be made, I think. I can manage the bread well enough, though. Thank you.

Yarrow resisted the urge to ask for details of where he was going and why. She headed back to the kitchen instead. Judicious followed her. Before the events of last spring, like the other village acquaintances, he'd never ventured out of the dining area except to make use of the large, first floor public room Yarrow let out for gatherings or private business meetings not suitable for the Hall. She enjoyed the increased familiarity they now shared since Judicious had taken up residence upstairs but her natural tendency to view good fortune as fleeting held her in check.

Tansy and Hany acknowledged Judicious with friendly smiles. He leaned back against the sideboard, arms crossed, ready to chat while waiting. Yarrow pulled a fresh linen from the shelf and smoothed it out. She couldn't hold back her curiosity, so compromised on a question. Are you going far? She threw a casual glance over her shoulder and added, Shall we expect you back this evening for supper?

No, I won't be back tonight, he replied. I'm leaving directly for Boston, so I'll be gone a few days.

Yarrow wrapped a large chunk of bread in the cloth and tied a length of twine around it. She added a small pot of honey in case he changed his mind. Considering the distance to Boston, she also fetched a joint of roasted venison sealed in a coffin, a sturdy container of bland dough that helped keep food edible for a length of time to a few weeks. She packed the items into a supple leather bag with a strap. I hope it's because you have new business coming in. Like his father, Judicious Fisher had taken his education in Philadelphia and was starting his profession as an attorney. There was little in the way of legal custom in the small village of Milthorpe, not enough to make an independent living, so accepting work from larger settlements and established cities was necessary and that meant traveling.

Judicious explained, I've taken a commission to draw up a legal contract and oversee the purchase of a parcel of land in Boston.

Yarrow turned around, That's wonderful. I hope the connection leads to more business for you. She held out the bags of food and added a skin of small beer. You probably should have something to wash it down with.

He took the items and thanked her. Settling them on the sideboard, he said. I do, too, wish it leads to references, that is. If both parties in this transaction are satisfied, it could lead to other work. I have Hugh to thank for the business.

Hugh Chambers? Is he planning on moving back to Boston? Yarrow asked, surprised. Milthorpe's minister seemed to have recovered fully from the shambles caused by his first wife, Mahala. He couldn’t have conceived of the events he'd experienced in the last year, but now, with Mahala gone, he was gratefully, and rather swiftly, remarried. His new wife, Charlotte Ravelin, had been widowed just under two years ago. Hugh’s daughter, Hope, age twelve, now had an older brother in Charlotte's son, Brennis, who was fifteen.

Judicious reassured Yarrow, No, no, Hugh and Charlotte aren't moving away. As you know, Hugh had a church in Boston before moving here and maintains correspondence with some of his previous parishioners. Charlotte’s parents are deceased so she is selling the family home in Boston, the Snowforth place. An attorney in Boston is drawing up the primary documents but Hugh is determined to make sure Charlotte receives every penny due her for the house and land. The purchase agreement requires additional representation for Charlotte from Milthorpe. Hugh wrote to a member of his former congregation, Justice Giddings, to ask him to ... em, mentor Judicious if required. Make sure nothing gets put past the boy. He’s still green.

That’s wonderful, Yarrow paused then asked, Does Hugh have a particular reason to worry someone will try to underpay for the property?

I think it’s because the buyer is well-known and both the attorney and judge are personally acquainted with him. The sale is being done through attorneys, both buyer and seller in absence. The buyer has been living in England for the past several years and is still there.

I see. How did this buyer learn of the property from such a distance?

It was a piece of luck, really. Charlotte inherited the property which has been sitting vacant. The buyer is cousin to a near neighbor, Richard Mather, and will be returning to Boston to live. He’d like to have a house ready to move into. Increase Mather is a minister as well, young, Harvard-educated. From what I've heard, he's already considered a firebrand. Might have had a bit of confrontation because of it. He's held some distinguished positions but says he’s returning due to rapidly changing politics in England.

The fact that the Snowforth house is nearby Richard and within walking distance of Old North caught his interest knowing his cousin was in search of a home. Richard wrote to Increase, describing the house and location. Reverend Mather was very keen on obtaining the property and Charlotte was equally as enthusiastic to sell.

I'm so pleased for you, Yarrow replied, and for Charlotte. I’m sure it will be a comfort to have that off her mind. Did you know of this Reverend Mather before now?

Not a lot of information, but I have heard about him. I’m sure I will soon learn more. Judicious swept the bread and ale from the sideboard and drew a deep breath, I need to get started or I'll lose the light before I reach Providence. I'm staying there tonight and plan to arrive in Boston tomorrow afternoon. Yarrow followed him to the main door of the Lanthorne where he donned his hat, pushing several wavy brown strands of hair from his eyes. I’m staying with Griffin Dyer while I’m in Boston. If I’m delayed, I’ll send word.

Give him my greetings. I hope he’s doing well. Of the three Boston judges sent to Milthorpe last spring, Griffin was the most congenial. Please be careful. One hand gripped her apron.

Always. I'll be back soon. At the sound of morning customers nearing the Ordinary, he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

He was out the door before she could say another word. Jude’s confident stride held Yarrow’s gaze, his greatcoat billowing in the sea breeze, one hand on his hat to keep it in place. She didn’t turn back to the kitchen until he disappeared around the hedge just as a knot of villagers stepped off Ship Lane onto the stone path.

Chapter 4

Before Yarrow could close the door of the Lanthorne, it was shoved inward. Her wrist bent back and the door banged against her forehead. A sharp exclamation of pain escaped her lips. She managed not to fall backward and retreated several paces. What on earth...

Mistress Pickering, a breathless woman clutched at Yarrow’s shoulders, you must come immediately.

What? Yarrow pulled the young woman’s arms away and tried to make eye contact with her. Emlyn, what has happened?

Emlyn’s grasping hands clutched the fabric of Yarrow’s apron, trying to drag her out the open doorway. You must come, now, and bring your physicks!

"Stop, please! Yarrow gripped Emlyn’s wrists and firmly pulled them together in front of her. You must tell me what has happened or I can’t be of help to you. Whatever has happened, I don’t know what preparations to bring unless you calm down and tell me. The woman continued to struggle and talk so fast her words were unintelligible. This is wasting time, Yarrow shouted. Her words finally got through. Now, calm yourself. I can’t help you if I am ignorant of what has happened." Yarrow looked over her shoulder and tipped her head at Tansy.

A stream of incoherent babbling poured from Emlyn’s mouth. Tansy returned with a cup of ale. Yarrow took it from her and held it toward Emlyn. Drink. Then explain, slowly. Yarrow pulled the nearest chair over next to the woman but she refused to sit. She hopped up and down splattering her bodice with the ale.

No, no I cannot sit. Emlyn gulped down a mouthful of the ale to satisfy Yarrow. Taking a deep breath, she tried to slow down. You must come. A wolf has attacked Harald and he’s in a bad way.

Tansy stepped up next to Yarrow who glanced at her younger sister. Tansy frowned and gave a slight shake of her head. When did this happen? Where?

Emlyn took another drink, inhaling a small amount in her haste. She coughed and stamped her foot in frustration then shoved the cup back into Tansy’s hand, sloshing it onto the floor. At the back of our land. A tree had fallen in the storm a few days ago. Harald was out chopping it up for firewood but didn’t come back in for his porridge. I waited, thinking he would be along any time but he didn’t come. She was working herself back