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She went back out to the hallway and found the door to the staircase. The stairs were steep and narrow, but there was a window at the top of the stairs that lit the way with the glow of the setting sun. There were two spacious rooms on the upper floor. One held a jumble of furniture and other objects, but the other held a bed dressed with what appeared to be fresh linens. She could smell a hint of lavender. Lace curtains hung at the windows, and still more floral designs had been painted on the walls. No clothes hung on the hooks on the wall and the chest at the foot of the bed held only a few linens. If anyone lived in this house, they had fewer possessions than she had, aside from the house itself and the furniture. The house’s helper must have been in desperate need of company. No wonder it didn’t want to let her go.
When she got back downstairs, she went to the back door and said, “I’m not fleeing. I give you my word. I just want to look at the garden. I might be able to bring in some herbs or greens.” She gestured toward her bag in the kitchen, “I’m leaving everything I own. I won’t go anywhere without my belongings.” After a long pause, the door opened, and she stepped out to find the garden of her dreams. Like the front garden, it had been badly neglected, with parts of it dead and other parts overgrown. If the helper was like the one at Mother Alis’s cottage, its powers were limited to the house itself. The brook ran alongside one side of the garden. There was a well, a large shed, and a privy behind it. A small orchard filled the back of the garden.
She availed herself of the privy, where she was fully convinced that no one had lived in this house in a very long time, as there was no odor at all. The shed turned out to be a workroom. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters, and there were plenty of empty bottles and jars. Without the helper to keep things tidy, the shed was dusty and filled with cobwebs. Elwyn took some dried thyme and rosemary from the hanging bunches to help season the stew, and she found some parsley and a few young leaves of greens on her way back to the cottage that she thought would make a nice salad.
Back in the cottage, she left her bounty on the kitchen table, but before she could move to prepare a salad, a brisk wind rose to nudge her out of the kitchen and across the hall. There she found that the fire in the sitting room had been lit and a tub sat in front of the fire, steam rising from it. A few dried flower petals floated on top of the water. She got the hint that she needed to wash before dinner. She had to agree. She was filthy from the road and probably smelled terrible. She peeled off her clothes, stepped into the tub, and sank under the water, letting it cover her hair. When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, she emerged, leaving only her head above the water.
She scrubbed her hair and body with the soap that had been left by the tub. It was an old, dry bar, but it smelled of lavender. The former resident of this house must have made it. She wondered again what had happened to that person—to this village. It didn’t look like there had been any sort of natural disaster. The buildings were all intact, if somewhat neglected. A plague, perhaps? But the lack of belongings in the house suggested that someone had moved out and taken everything that could be easily moved. If the resident had died and her belongings had been looted, the house would probably look different, unless the helper had tidied up in the aftermath. But she doubted the helper would have abided the looting.
When her skin began to shrivel, she reluctantly emerged from the bath and dried herself on the soft towel that had been left beside the tub. Then she discovered that her clothes had been cleaned and laid out on the chair. Her prized silk shift was white once more, and it was sheer heaven to slide it over her newly cleaned body. Her woolen dress smelled fresh.
She took the wooden comb from her pack and combed the snarls out of her wet hair, leaving it loose to dry. Instead of putting on her stockings and boots, she took the pair of cloth slippers from her pack and put them on.
Feeling like a new woman, she left the sitting room and crossed the hall to the kitchen, where the table had been set as though for an honored guest. A cloth had been laid, and candles on tall stands burned in the middle of the table. Places had been set at either end of the table, with bowls, plates, cutlery, and cups, though only one of the bowls had been filled with stew. A sprig of parsley garnished the stew, and a salad had been arranged on a plate. “This looks wonderful,” she said to the invisible helper as the chair in front of the bowl scooted out for her. She took a seat and wondered if she should wait. The helper had apparently set a place for itself, even if it wasn’t going to actually eat. When the spoon at the other setting rose, she took that as her cue.
It took all her self-control not to wolf down the stew like a starving animal, although that’s what she was. Not only did she not want to appear rude, but she knew that her empty stomach would rebel if she filled it too full or too quickly. She took careful spoonfuls, forcing herself to chew thoroughly. The lentils must have been old because they were chewier than they should have been, but she knew the helper had done as well as it could with what was available in the house. “Mmm, delicious,” she said. The cup across the table rose, as if in a toast. She raised her own in response.
Maybe by providing an evening of companionship, she could persuade the helper to let her leave. Then again, it wouldn’t be so bad to rest awhile before resuming her journey. If she did, she’d need to find more food, but she had no means for buying more food. With a sigh, she realized that she might have a night or two of comfort here, but her problems hadn’t been solved. She wasn’t going to die immediately, but she still didn’t know how she was going to live.
Chapter 2
When Elwyn first woke, she wasn’t entirely sure where she was. She was warm and comfortable and not hungry. It was just the way things had been when she was living in the palace. Was she still in the palace? Had all the wandering, hiding, and starving merely been a terrible nightmare?
She refused to open her eyes for several minutes, clinging to the hope that she would be back in her chambers and all would be right. But then she noticed how sore her feet and legs were and the way her back and shoulders ached from carrying a pack. The sheets she lay on, although crisp and clean, weren’t quite as fine as those she remembered. She couldn’t possibly still be in her old life. Cautiously, she opened her eyes to see sun streaming into an attic room with lace curtains billowing in a breeze and roses and hearts stenciled on the walls.
She couldn’t help but sigh at the proof that it had all been real. On the other hand, she was safe for the moment and had experienced the best night of sleep she’d had in months. There was a very good chance she’d have something to eat for breakfast. She was also possibly being held prisoner by a magical entity that wanted her to serve as a healer, but she’d worry about that later. She dressed and headed downstairs to find the table set once more, though this time without the cloth, and a bowl of porridge waiting for her. There was no milk or cream, but it had honey drizzled over it and it was better than anything she’d had in ages. She’d been lucky to eat anything at all most mornings.
“This is good,” she told the invisible helper. “I appreciate your hospitality, but I shouldn’t impose on you for too long. I’m afraid I can’t stay here. I know you’re looking for a new healer to take residence, but believe me, you don’t want me.”
A cup full of hot liquid slid across the table toward her. She sniffed and realized it was tea—real tea, not an herbal tisane. “Oh, I haven’t had this in so long,” she said after taking a sip. “But I still can’t stay.”
A jar flew off a shelf to land in front of her. It was empty, but it had been labeled as a salve for treating bruises. “I can’t do that anymore,” she insisted. “I’m no healer. And it doesn’t look as though there are enough people in the village to support one.” She took another sip of tea, savoring the flavor before swallowing it. “I can read and write, do sums, and know a great deal about the natural world, so I suppose I could teach school.” She glanced down at her ragged clothes. “But I can’t imagine anyone being willing to hire me. I have no references. I’m sure I’d make an excellent governess, but if I showed up at the sort of home where they’d want to hire a governess, they’d have me turned away as a beggar.” She gave a bitter laugh. “It seems you need a certain amount of money in order to be suited to earn money. There’s only so far mending can go to make a person presentable.”
Another jar flew off the shelf and landed in front of her. It contained dried flowers, and the label said it was elder. Good for treating coughs and congestion, she thought automatically. “I’m feeling just fine,” she said. “No cough at all. And if I start dispensing things like this, word will get out that there’s a healer here, and then the people who are looking for me will find me. I wasn’t a very good healer, anyway. I let a patient die of a simple wound that should have been barely an inconvenience.”
There was no response for a moment, and then a small vial of dark glass landed on the table in front of her. The label said it was essence of crabapple. Elwyn was skeptical about the power of floral essences, though some healers swore by them, and she’d memorized their alleged properties during her training. “So you think I need to heal my sense of unworthiness?” she said wryly. She was in bad shape if an invisible spirit was diagnosing her, though if it was like the spirit in the cottage where she’d trained, it was the spirit of the first healer to occupy the cottage, combined with those of other healers who’d died there and joined the spirit of the cottage, so the healer probably knew more than she did. “Maybe I am unworthy.” A glass of water landed next to the bottle. She unstoppered the bottle and dripped a few drops into the water. “I’m not sure how potent it will be after all this time,” she said before drinking the water. She felt a slight tingle spread through her whole body. Whoever had made that tincture had a real gift. She actually felt slightly better about herself, though she suspected it was more to do with the magic that had been used to brew the tincture than with any floral properties.
“How long has it been?” she asked, not expecting an answer. “I imagine you’re lonely. But you’d do better with a real healer.”
The glass and the vial were whisked away, and she got the impression she’d hurt the helper’s feelings. She sighed in defeat. “Maybe I’ll stay a few days, long enough to get things in order here and recover my strength. I know I can’t get on the road again yet. I wouldn’t make it very far now. But if I’m going to stay any longer, we’ll need provisions. I imagine you’ve used up what was left in the house. But I’ll need money for that, or something to trade, and you’ll need to let me out of the house.”
The jar of elder flowers rose, then returned to the table with a thud. “Herbs? You think anyone would actually trade for them? They could have taken whatever they wanted from the garden.” Then again, if the local healer had been anything like Mother Alis, no one would have dared set foot in her garden, even after she was gone. Healers were respected, but they were also feared, and a garden like this would contain a variety of plants mixed together. Someone would have to know what they were doing to be sure to harvest the right thing rather than something potentially dangerous.
She finished her meal and the tea, then put on her boots and went out to the shed. There was thyme, rosemary, dill, mint, and lavender hanging from the ceiling, with some flowers remaining on the lavender. Those were herbs people could use. It was early for this year’s growth to be ready for harvest, so unless they’d grown and dried herbs for themselves, they might need a supply. She made up a few smaller bundles, tying them off with string she found in the shed, and put them in a basket. In the garden, she snipped some early chives and parsley, then she took her basket and headed toward the market square. Even if there wasn’t a market in progress that morning, she could sit there and sell to passers-by, if there were any. If all else failed, she could try going door-to-door. The castle on the hill probably had its own kitchen garden, but as a very last resort she could try there and hope they’d take pity on her out of charity.
As she approached the village center, she saw that there were more people than she’d expected, though still not many. A few of the windows that had been shuttered the previous evening were open, and she saw people on the lane. In the square, several carts had been set up as stalls around the market pillar. A few people browsed the wares. It wasn’t a lively scene, but she spotted cheese, vegetables, and sacks of what might be flour. As she approached, she eavesdropped on the banter among the vendors. The miller and the vegetable seller were teasing the dairy maid, but they were apparently outclassed in the battle of wits. Elwyn didn’t catch what the dairy maid said, but both men laughed, and the miller said, “I’m surprised your sour tongue doesn’t curdle your milk.”
“Don’t you know, curdling the milk is an important part of the cheesemaking process,” the dairy maid said with a laugh. “My temperament is ideally suited to my trade, and you have to admit I make the finest cheese around.”
“You make the only cheese around,” the miller said.
The dairy maid turned and addressed Elwyn. “You look like a woman of refined taste. You try this and tell these louts that it’s the finest cheese you’ve ever had.” She sliced a bit of cheese off a wheel on her cart and held it out to Elwyn.
Elwyn had thought no one had noticed her, so she was taken aback at the realization she’d been seen. Of course she’d been seen, she chided herself. She hadn’t become an invisible helper, and she’d come to the market to trade. She could hardly trade without being seen. She took the cheese and forced herself to eat it slowly and thoughtfully to assess the quality rather than devouring it eagerly. It had been so long since she’d had cheese at all, let alone good cheese, and this cheese was very good. “I like this,” she said after she’d finished chewing and swallowing. “A good, complex flavor. It’s been aged, hasn’t it?”
The maid beamed. “I knew you had refined taste. You must hail from more civilized parts. I haven’t seen you around here before. I’m Mair.” She was probably close to Elwyn’s age, in her mid-thirties. Her eyes were very blue in her tanned face, and her curly light-brown hair, streaked with sun, hung loose around her shoulders.
“I’m stopping by briefly,” Elwyn said, avoiding giving her name. The less that could be used to track her, the better.
