Free The Penwyth Bride (The Witch's Daughter Book 1) by Ani Bolton

say you saw Old Tom?”
    “By the walled garden.”
    Nanny pursed her plump lips. “That be strange.”
    “Why?”
    The girl shifted her shoulders. “That old garden isn’t used anymore, that’s all. It’s too far from the house, and Mistress insisted that her new Frenchie garden be laid close by. I heard Sir Grover say next year he was going to pull down the wall and put the field to the plough.”
    “Oh no, he can’t do that!”
    Nanny stared at me.
    I colored. “From the little I saw, there were some rare plants growing there, and beautiful ones, too. They would only need a little care to bring them to life.”
    Nanny’s eyes dropped back to the petticoat she had picked up. “Time’s change, miss. Is that all you need me for, miss?”
    “Yes. I think I’ll rest now.”
    “Eh?”
    “You may go.”
    “Yes, mistress. I’ll do my best with your frock, miss, but t’peaty waters be most hard to move from cloth.”
    “I know you shall.” I closed my eyes in dismissal, and eventually I heard the door close, leaving me with nothing but Pretty Peter’s sympathetic chirping, and my own unquiet thoughts.
    ###
    I took supper in my room, cockleshell soup with a creamy cheese spread over a surprisingly coarse brown bread, and went to bed early. The morning came swiftly, with sharp light cleared of sea mists.
    It woke me out of a dream, and as I blinked owlishly into the daylight I found that my mind still tangled by the dream’s shreds: I was flying, with that open, delirious sensation of filling my lungs with stars, and I wheeled and circled Tol-Pedn-Penwith like one of the rooks.
    My insides twisted unpleasantly. If any of the godly had seen me up there--
    I bit my lip as I lay in bed, trying to ignore the murmurs of the land shifting from night to day. The buzz was always there, a muted undertone to my life, but since yesterday the voices now seemed a bit . . . stronger.
    It was late morn before I made my way downstairs. My foot ached abominably and I dawdled over my dressing, the erstwhile Jenny absent again from her duty. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever see the maid, though I was well used to dressing myself save a hand from a passing servant to tie my laces.
    Pondering whether I should mention Jenny’s neglect to Lady Penwyth or leave well enough alone, I stumbled straight into Susannah.
    “Good morning, Miss Eames,” she said, and held the door open to the parlour, where I could see her mother moving within. “I heard of your sad adventure yesterday. You should not have wandered away from me. I was quite distracted with worry.”
    I gaped at her.
    “The moors are a dangerous place to strangers. Pray do not do so again, for I would never forgive myself if you had come to harm.”
    Susannah’s face showed nothing but sympathetic concern.
    Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lady Penwyth approach, her lips compressed in a thin line. “You should have been more careful, Susannah. You know how easy it is to get lost on the moors; the mists come down too swiftly sometime. I should discourage wandering, Miss Eames, if that is indeed what happened.”
    Lady Penwyth’s eyes, as hard as sable marbles, measured us both.
    I flicked my own to Susannah, and saw something flare in the back of hers.
    “I promise I have learned my lesson,” I said carefully. “I will not wander out on the moor again alone.”
    Susannah’s shoulders relaxed. I knew, with the instinct of the weak under the thrall of a bully, better than to blurt the truth to Lady Penwyth.
    “Indeed.” Lady Penwyth’s penciled eyebrow rose, but she said nothing more on the subject. “What the two of you need today is an afternoon indoors. Sewing, I think, will be just the thing to settle jangled nerves.”
    “Sewing!” Susannah’s composed face dissolved into dismay. “But I wanted to take the new colt out on a lunge-line.”
    “Leave the colt to Damon; it’s his animal anyway,” her mother answered.
    “It is of no account to