embraced her cousin impulsively and kissed her cheek. ‘Do not weep, dearest. One day a man will come and you will fall in love and then you may escape.’
‘I do not wish to marry a man of my father’s choosing. I want to come and live with you.’
Her cousin was in tears and, in comforting her, Babette lost the desire to weep. At least her cousin did not believe ill of her—and her aunt was unhappy at the situation. She might not believe that Babette was a witch, but she had to obey her husband.
Sir Matthew considered himself to be a just and fair man; he led a clean life, worked hard and worshipped God and expected his household to do the same—and for some reason he believed that Babette was a witch and in league with the Devil. Such a man could not harbour a servant of Satan in his house, though he had tried not to let his feelings show...perhaps because he feared her anger.
‘You’d better wash your face before your father sees you,’ Babette said. ‘Say nothing to Sir Matthew. Perhaps one day we may think of a way to bring you to me, but until then you must be meek and attend to what he tells you.’
‘Yes, for otherwise he would lock me up and give me only bread and water to drive out the evil,’ Angelina said. ‘I shall smile and be as meek as always—but I’m angry at what he has done and as soon as I can I shall escape and come to you.’
Babette made no answer. Her cousin was talking wildly. She was too young to wed yet and her parents would not dream of letting her leave them until the right husband was found for her. Had Sir Matthew not taken his niece in dislike he might have allowed his daughter to visit her, but in the circumstances it was unlikely—nay, it was impossible.
As Angelina gave her a small secret smile and turned away, Babette went into her own room and began to pack. As she folded her clothes and put them into her trunk, she saw that some of her things had been disturbed. Someone had moved the book of recipes that her mother had given her—she suspected that it had been read in the hope of discovering that she was using some form of the black arts, perhaps. They would find nothing incriminating in her notes. Her mother had been a good woman, a woman who gave selflessly of her time and knowledge to help others and she’d taught Babette to be the same—but she was not and had never been a witch.
Why her uncle should think it she had no idea, but it seemed fixed in his head and there was nothing she could do to change it.
* * *
Captain Colby ventured down to the parlour that evening. He looked pale and Babette guessed that he was in some pain, but he bore himself well and gave no sign of it. Babette’s aunt had told her that her uncle wished her to take her place at table and be waited on. She was not to serve any of them with food or to help in the preparation of their supper. It was as if her touch might contaminate others. While it hurt her, she sat proudly and let her aunt wait on her.
‘May I pass you some bread, Mistress Babette?’ Captain Colby asked and passed the plate so that she could take a piece. She thanked him and selected a chunk, taking care not to touch the rest of the bread. ‘Would you like cheese? Perhaps I may cut it for you?’
Babette thanked him for the attention. Her uncle had taken his bread first and she noticed that he turned the plate so that his wife selected from the opposite side to the one Babette had taken hers from. Aunt Minnie was pale and silent throughout the meal. Angelina defiantly took bread from the side her cousin had touched, her eyes flashing with pride as she looked across the table.
‘Will you have more ale, Cousin?’ she asked and got up to serve Babette. Her father gave her a reproving look, but she tossed her head and filled her own cup before taking her seat. ‘I think the apple pie will not taste as sweet this night, Babs. Mother’s pastry is not as light as yours—and it is so stupid—’
‘Be quiet,
‘I do not wish to marry a man of my father’s choosing. I want to come and live with you.’
Her cousin was in tears and, in comforting her, Babette lost the desire to weep. At least her cousin did not believe ill of her—and her aunt was unhappy at the situation. She might not believe that Babette was a witch, but she had to obey her husband.
Sir Matthew considered himself to be a just and fair man; he led a clean life, worked hard and worshipped God and expected his household to do the same—and for some reason he believed that Babette was a witch and in league with the Devil. Such a man could not harbour a servant of Satan in his house, though he had tried not to let his feelings show...perhaps because he feared her anger.
‘You’d better wash your face before your father sees you,’ Babette said. ‘Say nothing to Sir Matthew. Perhaps one day we may think of a way to bring you to me, but until then you must be meek and attend to what he tells you.’
‘Yes, for otherwise he would lock me up and give me only bread and water to drive out the evil,’ Angelina said. ‘I shall smile and be as meek as always—but I’m angry at what he has done and as soon as I can I shall escape and come to you.’
Babette made no answer. Her cousin was talking wildly. She was too young to wed yet and her parents would not dream of letting her leave them until the right husband was found for her. Had Sir Matthew not taken his niece in dislike he might have allowed his daughter to visit her, but in the circumstances it was unlikely—nay, it was impossible.
As Angelina gave her a small secret smile and turned away, Babette went into her own room and began to pack. As she folded her clothes and put them into her trunk, she saw that some of her things had been disturbed. Someone had moved the book of recipes that her mother had given her—she suspected that it had been read in the hope of discovering that she was using some form of the black arts, perhaps. They would find nothing incriminating in her notes. Her mother had been a good woman, a woman who gave selflessly of her time and knowledge to help others and she’d taught Babette to be the same—but she was not and had never been a witch.
Why her uncle should think it she had no idea, but it seemed fixed in his head and there was nothing she could do to change it.
* * *
Captain Colby ventured down to the parlour that evening. He looked pale and Babette guessed that he was in some pain, but he bore himself well and gave no sign of it. Babette’s aunt had told her that her uncle wished her to take her place at table and be waited on. She was not to serve any of them with food or to help in the preparation of their supper. It was as if her touch might contaminate others. While it hurt her, she sat proudly and let her aunt wait on her.
‘May I pass you some bread, Mistress Babette?’ Captain Colby asked and passed the plate so that she could take a piece. She thanked him and selected a chunk, taking care not to touch the rest of the bread. ‘Would you like cheese? Perhaps I may cut it for you?’
Babette thanked him for the attention. Her uncle had taken his bread first and she noticed that he turned the plate so that his wife selected from the opposite side to the one Babette had taken hers from. Aunt Minnie was pale and silent throughout the meal. Angelina defiantly took bread from the side her cousin had touched, her eyes flashing with pride as she looked across the table.
‘Will you have more ale, Cousin?’ she asked and got up to serve Babette. Her father gave her a reproving look, but she tossed her head and filled her own cup before taking her seat. ‘I think the apple pie will not taste as sweet this night, Babs. Mother’s pastry is not as light as yours—and it is so stupid—’
‘Be quiet,
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