I shook with frustration. I picked up the nearest thing to hand—the small milk pitcher we used for tea—and flung it at the door. It shattered, painted ceramic bits showering the floor.
I took a deep breath and let it out hard before going for the broom.
I wrapped a strip of linen around my cut finger and made Jack’s supper anyway. Exhausted, I went to bed with a headache and didn’t hear him come in. Next morning he again ate his cold supper for breakfast and left without a word.
Things were getting bad between us, and they were likely to get worse. Jack and I had once known each other so well we could complete each other’s thoughts. When we were children, Mum had joked about us talking in half sentences. I knew that Jack was as shaken up by the murderas I was; it knocked another hole in a foundation already unsteady after our parents’ deaths. And I knew he saw my questioning and defiance as dangerous and ungrateful.
Yet I couldn’t go against my own nature, simply taking his word for everything while remaining safe and quiet at home. We were twins; why couldn’t he understand that such a life would be the death of me?
Which was why as soon as he left, despite my fear of whatever lurked on the heath, I made pasties and packed my basket. I was about to set out for The Magpie when I remembered Mr. Tregarrick’s request. I climbed back up to the loft and opened a small wooden box that had belonged to my grandmother. Inside were a few precious things I had collected over the years, including Nanna’s wedding ring, hair ribbons Mum had given me on my birthday, and her necklace with the silver cross.
Tears stung my eyes as I lifted the necklace, watching the cross swing on the delicate chain. After Mum died I’d been too sad to wear it, but more time had passed now, and I’d made a promise.Wear it forme.
I recalled Mr. Tregarrick’s expression as he made the request. He’d looked fearful, I thought, and maybe a little sad, too. Like it had cost him something to ask.
I fastened the chain around my neck and went back down.
Though I felt tired today, the lump on my head had gone down, and the cut—quite small for the amount of blood that had seeped into my hair—had scabbed over. My head still ached, which was just one more reason I probably should have stayed at home. But there were many things I wanted to talk over with Mrs. Moyle.
As I walked, I couldn’t help looking out for Mr. Tregarrick. I thought about what Jack had said of the talk in the village. I knew, of course, that people had always whispered about the old place and its master, but folk would whisper aboutanythingstrange. It was the seasonfor such stories, too. Hallowe’en was only a few weeks away, and Mum had believed it was a time of spirits and fairies.
Mum and Jack and I had always carved faces in fat, hollowed-out turnips and lit them with candle stubs, hanging them outside the cottage so any evil spirits would pass us by. Now that I thought of it, Da had insisted we hang one in the apple tree in the garden to frighten off the “Wolf of Roche Rock.” He’d wink and we’d laugh—we liked when Da joined in the fun—but he had always been leery of the old estate.
I glanced through the gap in the hedge as I passed, rubbing Mum’s cross between my fingers. The grove of Cornish oaks, with their gilded autumn leaves, made a papery whispering sound as the breeze rattled through them. But all else on the estate was quiet.
I arrived at work later than usual and found that Mrs. Moyle had finished all the opening tasks and was boiling water for tea.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Moyle!” I said as I stepped into the warm kitchen. “I’m moving slow this morning.”
She laughed. “It’s the first time you’ve been late in two years, Mina. I think we can overlook it.”
She turned as I was removing my bonnet, and her sharp eyes went right to my bump. “Heavens, what has happened to you?”
I winced. “Is itthatnoticeable?”
“Well, perhaps only to me, but are you well, dear?”
Nodding, I took a deep breath. “I have so much to tell you—and ask you—that I don’t know how I’ll ever get through it before we open. I think I’ll have to go in order of importance and leave some for later.”
She folded her hands and said, “All right, I’m listening. Only, be kind to an old woman and start with what happened to your head.”
“I had a fall on the heath,” I said, taking my neatly folded apron from the worktable, “but I’m all right. There’s much more to the story, which I will try to get to in a moment. But first I thought you should know that Jack and I have been arguing about my working here. He says he doesn’t want me leaving the cottage because of Mr. Roscoe’s death, but I don’t think he means for it to be temporary.”
“Oh, Mina,” said Mrs. Moyle, frowning deeply. “As much as it saddens me to hear that, I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve hinted before that Jack doesn’t like you working here. And I’m sure he truly is worried about you.”
“That may be, but I have no intention of giving up The Magpie, and it’s not his business to force me to.” I let out a sigh. “With that said, he’s not himself these days, and I’m not sure he won’t try. If he ever shows up here, I’ll go home with him quietly, before he can make trouble.”
She reached for my basket and began moving the pasties to a platter. “I’m glad you’ve told me. I think we should talk more about this, but go ahead with the rest.”
“Well, I met with Mr. Tregarrick again yesterday.”
Looking more curious than surprised, she said, “Oh, indeed?”
“He happened by when I fell, and he helped me—there’s much more about that, but it will have to wait. He walked me home, and Jack came home at the same time.”
Her brow lifted. “And how did that go?”
Frowning, I replied, “About as well as you might imagine. But something came up that I wanted to ask you about. Jack said you might know some old stories about the Tregarricks? About some kind of evil on the estate? I know people are scared of the place, and my da sometimes mentioned the ‘Wolf of Roche Rock.’”
