Hester Fox - The Widow Of Pale Harbour

She hadn’t been resorting to hyperbole when she’d told the minister that she and Sophronia had saved each other. When Sophronia had whisked her away from that wretched poorhouse, Helen had felt forever in Sophronia’s debt. But Helen had since returned the favor.

Sophronia would never know how much Helen had done for her, would never know the lengths to which she had gone to keep her safe, and Helen would not burden her with that. But a childhood spent learning herb-craft and spells from the woman on the farm next to her family’s in Vermont meant that Helen had the tools to protect Sophronia in a powerful, binding way.

Moving away from the window, she let the raven down onto its wood perch. She paced about the empty carriage house. Sophronia hadn’t stepped foot in here since that night four years ago, and Helen was glad for it. It gave her a private place where she could come to practice her craft. Sweeping up and down the dusty room, she recited the words that she had muttered so many times that they might as well have been engraved on her heart.

“Love me well and bind the spell,

I cast the charm against those who mean thee harm,

But should another love thee, untethered ye shall be.”

It was a strong charm; once undone it could not be done again. She could give her mistress protective herbs, sprinkle salt at the threshold, but it was the spell that bound her. No, she would not let that minister tempt Sophronia away from her. For if he did, it was more than just Sophronia’s heart that would be in jeopardy—it would be her very life.

Gabriel ought to have gone to the church and continued in his work of clearing away the debris and rubbish. He’d long since undertaken the unpleasant task of disposing of the animal remains, but there was still dust caking the windows and splintered pews that needed repairing. If he was going to have the church up and running anytime soon, he needed to stop procrastinating and embrace this new life that he had forged for himself and Anna’s memory.

But instead of going to the church, after he left Castle Carver, he found himself meandering down the wide, tree-lined road to the water. He was caught between being disappointed that Mrs. Carver hadn’t been an old crone or a witch—because that certainly would have been very interesting—and uneasy that she was so charming and gracious. Even more disturbing was that he was able to find a woman charming at all. After Anna, how could he even think such things?

When the trees gave way to the broad vista of gray water, Gabriel stopped, hands in pockets, and breathed in the sharp, salty air. A little boat loaded with fishnets slid by, the boy in back raising a hand in greeting to Gabriel as he sailed past. Though his mind was far away, Gabriel absently returned the gesture and watched him go.

It was unfathomable that the woman with clear silver eyes and frank, intelligent gaze could be responsible for such depravity as murder. But then, he knew better than anyone that looks could be deceiving, that people were not always what appearances suggested.

When he finally turned toward home, it was with heavy feet and a dull sense of apprehension. After the cozy and well-decorated parlor at Castle Carver, his walls looked sad and barren in comparison. He’d thought that he would do his penance of living alone with grace and forbearance, but perhaps his heart wasn’t as dead as he had once thought if he was capable of such pressing loneliness.

Prying open one of the two trunks into which he’d piled all his possessions, Gabriel began lifting out the artwork in their chipped gilded frames and wiping the dust off them with his sleeve. The art that had hung in their little cottage in Concord looked lost and out of place on the walls here. Like Mrs. Carver, Anna had loved art and the collecting of it. She had been drawn to amateur sketches, small pieces found in dusty old shops or given to her by friends. It was her imagination and eye that had imbued the artwork with meaning. But without their benefactress, they were simply trifles, not particularly attractive, and without substance. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stripped them from the only home they had ever known and taken them to this lonely place.

With a grunt, Gabriel lowered the trunk lid and stood. He didn’t want to think about Anna and the mementos she had left behind. He didn’t really want to think about anything. He was just about to see if either of the crates contained a bottle of whiskey he thought he remembered packing, when there was a knock at the door.

For some reason, as he put his hand to the latch, he fancied that it was Mrs. Carver on the opposite side, come to continue their conversation. So when his gaze landed not on Mrs. Carver, but on a girl of a few years younger and with bright red hair, he couldn’t help his disappointed exhalation. Then he remembered that someone had told him Mrs. Carver did not leave her house. Quickly regaining himself, he coughed and tried to look polite and nonthreatening. “May I help you?”

“Begging your pardon, sir; my name is Fanny Gibbs. My brother sent me, said you were looking for some house help?”

Gabriel stared at the girl blankly until he remembered his conversation with the young man named Jasper that very morning, and the promise that he would send his sister around. How long ago that already seemed since meeting Mrs. Carver. “Of course,” he said, holding the door open for her.

With a little sigh of relief, the girl stepped inside. Except for a rounder face and a brighter, gentler demeanor, she was the spitting image of her brother, right down to her sharp green eyes and generous smattering of freckles. She must have caught his look, because she smiled and said, “We’re twins, Jasper and me.”

She turned her attention to the modest entryway with wide eyes, and Gabriel ushered her into the front room.

He offered her a seat on the only piece of furniture—a threadbare sofa that the previous owners had left—while he stood, leaning against the door frame. “Jasper tells me you work for Mrs. Carver. What makes you want to leave?” He was more than a little curious about what she thought of her notorious employer. “Are you unhappy with your position there?”

Fanny Gibbs was small and plump, and Gabriel couldn’t picture her elbow-deep in laundry, or lugging buckets of water up and down stairs. He couldn’t even imagine her in Castle Carver; the house would swallow her up.

At his questions, the girl’s brow puckered in confusion and she stopped scanning the room to meet Gabriel’s gaze. “Leave? Oh, no. I’ve no intention of leaving Mrs. Carver.”

“But Jasper said you were looking for a new position.”

Something like anger flickered briefly in the girl’s green eyes. “I’m sure he did, but I’m more than capable of taking on more work while keeping my place at Castle Carver.”

Gabriel didn’t have experience with interviews, or anything to do with domestic help, for that matter. He wasn’t sure what he ought to ask, or what was a normal amount of work for a girl like Fanny. “What is it exactly you do for Mrs. Carver?”

“Well, I help around the house with light chores, and I do the laundry once a week. She needs me,” Fanny added with a stubborn jut of her chin.

“There aren’t other girls that she could hire?”

Fanny shook her head in exasperation. “I can’t leave Mrs. Carver, not after everything she’s done for me. She’s my friend. She knew that Jasper and I needed the money, and she hired me on to help.”

For a woman who claimed that the whole town was against her—and by his own accounts, Gabriel had found this to be true—here was someone who not only didn’t revile Sophronia Carver, but claimed to be her friend.