Page 22 of The Snow Witch

Meggie had delivered the middle and the last child, her grandmother the first. Meggie had saved the oldest boy from a fever just a few weeks after his father had died, Ellen throwing herself at Meggie’s feet, crying, telling her she would never forget her kindness. ‘And after he threw stones at your door,’ Ellen had sobbed, her friend Mary patting her back as she cried. ‘You are an angel – many would have scolded him, told him he would be sorry, but you helped him.’

‘Many of them would be sorry,’ Mary had added, ‘no more than they deserved, playing tricks like that. He’s a lucky bairn, for sure.’

‘Ellen, you have to believe me…’ It was Meggie’s turn to sob and plead today, her defences crumbling.

‘Do not dare to come back,’ Ellen hissed. ‘Do not dare turn up at the funeral. You have caused enough harm.’ She looked terrified. And with good reason. Meggie’s eyes widened in disbelief. Ellen had received the same service from Meggie only three months ago.

‘You!’ whispered Meggie. ‘You. How can you do this, Ellen? How can you believe all this? You know that I⁠—’

‘Just leave,’ said Ellen. ‘Just go.’

Ellen slammed the wooden door in Meggie’s face. Meggie was left standing in the street, alone.

* * *

Hidden away in the alley across the street, Charles Milburn watched the proceedings with no particular emotion. It was not his fault. The girl, Alice, had obviously been weak and sickly anyway. He turned his back on the cottage and mounted his horse. Flicking his crop against its flanks, he trotted away from the village towards the old pack horse route across the moors.

These tragic incidents happened every now and again. He didn’t need to worry about it all. Nobody would ever hold him to account.

Once clear of the village, he whipped the horse harder and he felt its muscles contract beneath him. He clung on tight as it cantered away, and the fresh Northumbrian air blew all thoughts of Alice from his mind.

14

NOW

Jake had a guidebook open on the little table inside his van. He’d been to Chesters Roman Fort and was enjoying reading about Chesters Museum over a toasted sandwich and a Cup-a-Soup, before he headed off somewhere else.

He wasn’t sure where he fancied heading.

But beside his book was his phone.

And if Violet contacted him and said where she fancied going, he could be persuaded to go there, he supposed…

He glanced at the phone, his attention transferred momentarily from a photograph of part of a skull in the guidebook. They’d found it in Coventina’s Well. Jake was weirdly fascinated by it. He’d seen it in the display case along with a load of things they’d found in the Well: jewellery, coins, altars – all the things he’d read about before coming here. He’d stood in the quiet museum for ages, reading every display case, every notice board.

It had been a bloody good morning, actually.

It would only be a better day if⁠—

To his surprise, his phone started ringing.

‘Violet?’ he said to himself, surprised when her name flashed up.

Jake grabbed the phone and swiped to answer the call. ‘Violet! Hey, how’s things?’ He spoke confidently, so she knew what a bloody good time he was having not stalking her and sticking to his own itinerary.

‘Jake. Hey! Good, good. Things are good…’ Her voice tailed off. ‘So, just wondering where you are? How’s the itinerary looking?’

‘I’m at Chesters. The itinerary is – good. It’s looking good. Very flexible.’

‘Marvellous. I went to Newbrough this morning. It’s a nice little village.’

‘Isn’t that where your witch was from? Old Meg?’

‘She wasn’t old. Seriously, I wish people would stop saying she was.’

Jake stared at the phone, taken aback by the vehemence of Violet’s response. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll just call her Meg, shall I?’

‘That would be better.’