soft and warm, the glow from the dying campfires and the sweet fragrance of woodsmoke drifting on the air as the small, black-clothed figure stared out over the sea of tents and caravans.
It was a bad day when Byron brought that girl into the camp, she thought, her mouth tightening over her full set of teeth, most of which were still strong and whole. She patted her knuckles against her closed lips and looked up into the night sky. And Corinda, allowing a gorgie to sleep and eat and live with them! How could any good come out of that? That child, with her blue eyes and fair skin, would bring down a curse upon them.
Halimena muttered an incantation to ward off the evil spirits that constantly observed human beings in their foolishness, her gnarled fingers making the signs that had been passed down from her mother and her mother before her to those possessed with the Sight. It was a great disappointment to her that none of her children had inherited the gift, but she lived in hope that one of her grandchildren would show signs of it in the years to come. Of course, most of the women in the camp practised fortune-telling at the fairs and country markets at some time or other, but that wasn’t the true Sight. She sniffed her scorn.
Her thoughts returning to the object of her agitation, she turned her head as though she could see through the caravan door to where Pearl slept between her grand-daughters. In her grandmother’s day, even in her mother’s day, this would never have happened. They would have given succour to the child, maybe even taken her to the gates of the nearest church or habitation, but to allow her to remain with them and learn their ways? Never. Never. There were one or two gypsy families she knew who had allowed their sons or daughters to marry gorgies and dilute the blood, but she would rather die than see such a thing within her own. Not that they were talking about that here, not yet, but the girl was too pretty for her own good even now, her skin as smooth as satin and the colour of fresh cream touched with rose.
Halimena ground her teeth irritably. Corinda was a fool and Mackensie more so for being led by her. No good came from the woman wearing the trousers and the man the petticoat.
She continued to sit brooding for another full hour, thinking up ways and means of forcing Pearl to leave the camp. The blood of two newts, mixed with early-morning dew and a fresh spiderweb, enclosed in an acorn cup and placed under her pillow, would do it, but sleeping with Madora and Freda as she did, that was out of the question. The magic wasn’t discriminating – and what if her grand-daughters up and left too? A longer-term remedy would have to do. The wings and antennae of an Emperor Moth crushed to dust and placed in a person’s boots was known to give them the wanderlust, the same as the seeds of rose-bay willowherb spread over the tailfeather of a swallow and hidden in a person’s belongings ensured that they’d be on the move before the month was out. Mind, the chit had no belongings to speak of, so perhaps the Emperor Moth solution was the one? She could easily sprinkle the powder into Pearl’s boots once she was asleep. And if that didn’t work there were other – stronger – methods she could employ.
There was a potion she could slip in the child’s food to make her restless and agitated, another to induce sleeplessness and irritation of the skin, or maybe even one that would cause a severe loss of appetite and bring about a steady decline . . . Yes, there was plenty she could do.
Heartened at having come to a decision on the matter which had been troubling her since she’d first seen Pearl, Halimena stretched her legs and stood up. As she did so, the ghostly white flash of a barn owl flew across the clearing, its great wings lit by the moonlight before it disappeared into the trees. Clutching her scrawny throat, Halimena stared after it.
The guardian. She sat down again, her legs suddenly
It was a bad day when Byron brought that girl into the camp, she thought, her mouth tightening over her full set of teeth, most of which were still strong and whole. She patted her knuckles against her closed lips and looked up into the night sky. And Corinda, allowing a gorgie to sleep and eat and live with them! How could any good come out of that? That child, with her blue eyes and fair skin, would bring down a curse upon them.
Halimena muttered an incantation to ward off the evil spirits that constantly observed human beings in their foolishness, her gnarled fingers making the signs that had been passed down from her mother and her mother before her to those possessed with the Sight. It was a great disappointment to her that none of her children had inherited the gift, but she lived in hope that one of her grandchildren would show signs of it in the years to come. Of course, most of the women in the camp practised fortune-telling at the fairs and country markets at some time or other, but that wasn’t the true Sight. She sniffed her scorn.
Her thoughts returning to the object of her agitation, she turned her head as though she could see through the caravan door to where Pearl slept between her grand-daughters. In her grandmother’s day, even in her mother’s day, this would never have happened. They would have given succour to the child, maybe even taken her to the gates of the nearest church or habitation, but to allow her to remain with them and learn their ways? Never. Never. There were one or two gypsy families she knew who had allowed their sons or daughters to marry gorgies and dilute the blood, but she would rather die than see such a thing within her own. Not that they were talking about that here, not yet, but the girl was too pretty for her own good even now, her skin as smooth as satin and the colour of fresh cream touched with rose.
Halimena ground her teeth irritably. Corinda was a fool and Mackensie more so for being led by her. No good came from the woman wearing the trousers and the man the petticoat.
She continued to sit brooding for another full hour, thinking up ways and means of forcing Pearl to leave the camp. The blood of two newts, mixed with early-morning dew and a fresh spiderweb, enclosed in an acorn cup and placed under her pillow, would do it, but sleeping with Madora and Freda as she did, that was out of the question. The magic wasn’t discriminating – and what if her grand-daughters up and left too? A longer-term remedy would have to do. The wings and antennae of an Emperor Moth crushed to dust and placed in a person’s boots was known to give them the wanderlust, the same as the seeds of rose-bay willowherb spread over the tailfeather of a swallow and hidden in a person’s belongings ensured that they’d be on the move before the month was out. Mind, the chit had no belongings to speak of, so perhaps the Emperor Moth solution was the one? She could easily sprinkle the powder into Pearl’s boots once she was asleep. And if that didn’t work there were other – stronger – methods she could employ.
There was a potion she could slip in the child’s food to make her restless and agitated, another to induce sleeplessness and irritation of the skin, or maybe even one that would cause a severe loss of appetite and bring about a steady decline . . . Yes, there was plenty she could do.
Heartened at having come to a decision on the matter which had been troubling her since she’d first seen Pearl, Halimena stretched her legs and stood up. As she did so, the ghostly white flash of a barn owl flew across the clearing, its great wings lit by the moonlight before it disappeared into the trees. Clutching her scrawny throat, Halimena stared after it.
The guardian. She sat down again, her legs suddenly
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