Poison Heart by S.B. Hayes

position in a worn armchair which had been patched with squares of different-coloured fabric. She looked as though she enjoyed having an audience and moistened her lips to speak. ‘They kept themselves to themselves, that’s for sure. I think they moved here to do just that … shun the world. They were deeply religious people but … a bit too fire and brimstone for me. Notmuch joy, I’m afraid. They were more concerned with finding sin everywhere.’
    I tried not to appear too eager. ‘How long before the fire did they move here?’
    ‘I think … no, I’m certain … it was four years. We don’t have many new families and it sticks in the mind.’
    I cleared my throat nervously. ‘Were you … I mean … did you see the fire that night?’
    She nodded gravely. ‘It was stormy, and the flames were twenty feet high … the wind fanned them wildly … bits of debris, soot and ash were flying around as the whole village tried to stop it from spreading … It was then we saw her …’
    ‘Who?’ I demanded, but the old lady seemed far away, as if she’d forgotten we were there. It was another minute before she spoke again.
    ‘Walking out of the house through the flames … strolling almost, as if she didn’t need to hurry.’
    ‘Who walked out of the house?’ I repeated.
    ‘Grace did,’ she breathed. ‘Grace Morton gazed around with those unnerving green eyes of hers. It sent a shiver down my spine.’
    ‘Was Grace their daughter?’ Luke asked.
    ‘Yes. She was only seven, but she had a way about her that made you think she was years older.’
    The handle of the white china cup was so small that I had to pinch my thumb and forefinger together to pick it up. I wondered how Luke was coping and realized that hehad his big hands wrapped around the cup itself, ignoring the handle entirely.
    ‘So Grace survived that night?’ I commented. ‘It’s just that the lady in the farm shop said no one did.’
    The old lady sniffed. ‘People don’t like to talk. That night is something we’ve tried to forget around here, and you should do the same.’
    I was unsure what she meant. ‘We should forget about Grace? Why?’
    There was a noncommittal grunt and she raised her bony shoulders. ‘Maybe it’s not my place to say, but I think you should leave the past where it is. Grace always made us all a little … uncomfortable. Her stare could turn a person to stone.’
    Luke gave a sceptical cough. ‘She was just a child.’
    The old lady folded her arms and her tone became more defensive. ‘She didn’t speak like a child, and certainly the other children in the village were wary of her. I think that suited her parents – they didn’t believe in school anyway and taught her at home.’
    We all lapsed into silence except for a contented purring from the cat, but I was worried that we were wasting time. ‘And you don’t know how Grace escaped the fire?’
    The old lady’s face darkened. ‘No. It was unearthly the way she glided into the cold night air.’
    Luke clenched his fists. ‘So … this small girl managed to walk through twenty-foot flames like it was some kind of … miracle.’
    ‘I wouldn’t call it that,’ was the sharp reply. ‘I’ve lived long enough to know there’re things in this world that can’t be explained and things I wouldn’t want to confront. Grace is one of them, and I don’t need a smarmy young man telling me otherwise.’
    Luke leaned back in his chair, surprised by this attack. The heat from the stove was so great that I was having trouble breathing. ‘And where is she now?’
    ‘She has an aunt and an uncle who live just outside York. He’s a vicar at St John’s church. They took her in, and that’s the last we heard.’
    Luke was growing impatient. His foot tapped on the rug and he seemed to want to twitch all over. I drank the last of my tea and got up to leave, thanking the old lady. As we reached the door she became more animated. ‘Our village might be tiny, but