Page 11 of The Secret of Drulea Cottage
Briony snorted in disbelief. Then a memory washed over her, a memory of something she hadn’t thought about in a very long time. Pain pounded in her temples as she tried to push it away.
“Nay, you tried to do something worse.” Her voice was only a whisper, but out of the corner of her eye, Briony thought she saw Dr. Sherwin stiffen for a moment before continuing to clean his glasses.
“Perhaps yer unwillingness is because I did na offer you money.”
Briony’s temper flared. “What! ’Tis na about money! ’Tis about—Ugh, you would na understand! Fine, I’ll do it, but fer Mr. Mendes’s sake. Na fer Everton, and certainly na feryou.”
She stomped over to the door and opened it. Regardless of manners, she was unwilling to let the man stay a moment longer.
Dr. Sherwin rose from his chair as if he was suddenly too good to sit in it. “Come see me at four o’clock every other day to let me know his status. If anything needs to be changed to help him heal faster, I can decide then.”
Briony just glowered at the doctor as he moved to the exit. He had barely stepped over the threshold when she slammed the door behind him.
The Joys of Old Men and Pregnant Women
After taking a few minutes to compose herself, Briony made her way down to the market. This was always one of her favorite places to go. There were so many sounds and smells permeating the air, and the entire space hummed with a special sort of energy. Apart from Everton Inn, the market square was the heart of the village, the place where news of the outside world spread to listening ears and rare trinkets could be attained for only a few coins. It was a tiny world of its own, one where Briony’s money was just as good as everyone else’s and she could pretend she wasn’t the village outcast.
She wove her way past the first few merchants, who were trying to sell linens and jewelry at their stalls. They called to her charmingly, claiming they offered the latest fashions from England and Wales. She was tempted to stop, but she knew that if she did, she would spend more money than she ought to, so she marched past without a second glance at the alluring wares.
The man who normally sold her seafood was named Vincent McLaren, the second son of old Steven McLaren. Vincent was a smelly fellow with large ears and a portly belly. He had a habit of saying strange things that no one understood. Most people dismissed his words as the ravings of a lunatic, but Briony wasn’t so sure. There was something about him that made her wonder if he knew more than people gave him credit for. He was also one of the only fishermen whose business wasn’t completely controlled by the laird.[11]
“Fish! Come get yer fresh fish here! Hello, Mistress Fairborn, would you like to buy a lovely trout this morneen? Caught one just two hours ago, and he put up quite a fight. I’m only asking fer my usual price. No doubt he’ll taste delightful!” He gestured toward the fish in question while giving her a practically toothless smile.
If Briony were to make a list of her greatest weaknesses, her temper would be at the top, but sea trout was definitely in the top five. She simply couldn’t refuse to purchase it anytime it was available. It was a shame for her that Vincent also knew about that weakness because every time she came to the market, he would make sure she knew about his latest catch.
“You know me too well, Mr. McLaren. I’ll take it,” Briony replied as she stared at the trout. It lay between several cod and a few haddock, just waiting to be cooked. She moved a hand to her pocket[12]to retrieve some money.
“Indeed, ’tis quite dangerous. Really, ’twould be too easy to guess. You should be more careful,” he mumbled.
Faint alarm bells rang in her mind. “Is it such a danger?” Briony asked even though she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Truly ’tis, miss. If the others could only see the signs, they would get such a fright they might run you out o’ the village.” Vincent gave her a look as though she should know what he meant, but Briony was even more puzzled than before.
Signs o’ what? I already give many o’ them a fright, but… Why am I even trying to understand him? Most o’ what he says does na make sense.
“Do you have any shrimp today?” she asked, hoping to change subjects. Mr. McLaren nodded and brought some into view from behind the stall. They looked fresh enough, so she said she would take them also.
She was just about to move on when she heard a throat clearing behind her. “That was my fish there, lass! Hand it over!” demanded a nasal voice.
Briony winced and spun around to none other than Lady Oliver, the laird’s wife.
The midwife twisted her face into a hard smile as she looked the older woman in the eye. Lady Oliver’s wrinkled skin hung bulbously from her face, making her sneer even more grotesque. She claimed she was only forty years of age, but Briony suspected she was at least fifty. Today she wore an elaborate green dress with jewels around her throat, but all that beauty did nothing to hide the woman’s overall ugliness, both inside and out.
She may not have been an Oliver by blood, but she and her husband were well matched in their singular animosity toward the Fairborns. While most of Everton avoided Briony as much as possible, the Olivers seemed to specifically seek her out to harass her.
Just as their son, Alastair, did before he died eleven years ago.
Three of Lady Oliver’s servants stood in front of her, one of them extending his hand toward the trout.
Briony leaned away from the man’s hand. “’Tis the only trout Mr. McLaren has, Lady Oliver, and I have na been able to eat one in more than a fortnight.”
The other woman scoffed. “Neither have I, so you best be giving it to Hamish here before you anger me.”
Briony narrowed her eyes at the deceitful hag, for she had seen Hamish Dunnet buy six trout only a week before. If Lady Oliver were simply less gluttonous, Briony wouldn’t have been in such a pinch. As it was, though, she was lucky if she managed to snag a single trout every couple of weeks.
And what if yer presence is already angering me?Briony opened her mouth, ready to say precisely that, but then she thought back to her conversation earlier with Dr. Sherwin. And his threat.
She sighed.Best na to argue with too many people on the same day. Especially one who is even less reasonable than the doctor.Taking one last look at the delectable fish, she dropped it into the servant’s hand.
