Page 86 of The Clifftop Cottage

She tutted as if Erica had arrived ten minutes late for tea. “Come in out of the weather.”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know where else to go,” Erica said as the warmth hit her first, making her cheeks warm.

“Well,” Margery replied, stepping aside, “you’ve come to the right place then.”

Behind her, another woman appeared at the end of the hallway.

She was striking in a completely unforced way. Barefoot and olive-skinned, her silver-streaked dark hair caught in a loose braid, she looked right at home with her cardigan sleeves pushed up and a wooden spoon in hand.

Immediately Erica regretted coming. “I’m sorry … I should have—” She stuttered.

The woman’s eyes assessed Erica in a single, kind sweep.

“Don’t worry, Erica, this is Rosa,” Margery said. “Rosa, this is Erica.”

Rosa’s smile came slowly, as if she’d already decided something about her. “Ah,” she said gently. “La brujita.” Her accent softened the word. “You are very welcome here.”

Erica nodded, suddenly unable to trust her voice.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Margery announced, wrapping her shawl around her with a brisk tug. “In the meantime, take a seat before you fall down.”

They sat in the same sitting room as before but it felt different tonight. It felt smaller somehow. Books lined the wall on one side, a woven blanket lay across a deep green armchair by the window. The fire was roaring and well-fed, the flames shifting quickly drawing Erica close.

Lucky slipped from Erica’s arms and claimed a cushion near the firelight.

Margery returned with two thick mugs that strangely looked like medieval goblets. She set one in Erica’s hands. The heat stung her palms, but she welcomed the feeling.

They sat.

The clock ticked.

After a while, Erica said, very quietly, “I think I want to leave.”

There, saying it out loud made it real.

Margery blew across her tea. “Mm.”

“You’re not going to ask where.”

“I imagine you don’t know yet.”

Erica let out a thin breath that might have been a laugh. “Or why?”

Margery took a slow sip, letting the silence settle before she shifted in her chair. “There’s been talk,” she said, her voice mild. “About a stone for the women. Something more official.” She arched a brow, her gaze narrowing just a fraction. “Is that why you’re so keen on clearing out?”

“A stone?” Erica scoffed before she could stop herself. “They deserve more than that.”

“Perhaps,” Margery said. “But people start where they can.”

Erica stared into her tea. “Apparently I’ve forced myself into local matters.”

Margery’s steady gaze watched her. “And have you?”

“I only asked questions.”

“Well, that wasn’t what I asked.”

The fire shifted, wood settling with a soft crack.