Page 39 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
He coughed loudly and shifted in his seat. The sound snapping me from my thoughts.
“Right. Sorry.” I took another long sip of the pint, letting itwarm me. I licked the yeasty foam from my lips. “What about the other witch? Mrs. Penrose said there was another one before with the previous curse killings.”
“Mmm. The White Witch of Launceton.”
“Yes!” I must have said it a bit loud because the old man I’d frightened earlier turned to me with a curious expression as another rattle of thunder shook the walls. Outside, the sky was streaked in the oddest shade of green. I always hated storms. The sentiment even greater now.
“Why do you ask about this?”
“It’s odd to me is all.”
“Which part?”
All of it.
He laughed at the look on my face. “Your point is taken.”
“I didn’t make a point!”
He raised an eyebrow to argue, giving me the sensation he’d heard loud and clear the words on the tip of my tongue. “How much did she tell you?”
I pulled my left leg up under my rump in the chair and downed the rest of my beer. “Not much, I’m afraid. I know you don’t think the curse is behind it, but could they be related somehow? The killings then and the one now?”
He gave me a flash of a smile. His teeth bright and even. “Come now, do you believe in witches and ghosts after all, my dear Miss Vaughn?”
I grumbled beneath my breath and could have sworn I heard him laugh. The wretch.
“There could be a connection. But the problem is, no one really remembers precisely what happened before.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was thirty years ago, the war… people have moved to town. Died. There aren’t many of the old ones left who remember, and even if they do, memories fade. They get altered.Shaped by the things that came before and after. That’s all memories are, fading fragments of what came to pass.”
“How very fanciful of a thought.” That wasn’t particularly helpful. I gnawed on my lower lip. “Is there anyone whosefading fragmentyouwouldtrust?”
Ruan watched me for a moment, his eyes lingering on the cut on my brow. “There are a few of the old ones. Arthur Quick would be my first thought. Or Minerva Grose, though she’s away for the summer. Both of them are well over eighty, though.”
“And are they—”
“Sharp-witted as ever. If anyone would remember what happened then it’d be one of them. Dr. Quick was the physician here for decades, until his eyes gave out.”
“Do you think he would have seen the bodies of the previous victims?” I nearly tipped over my pint glass with newfound enthusiasm.
“Possibly. No. I’m certain he would have. There were no other physicians in the village at that time. I’m sure he’d speak with us.”
“What about the White Witch? Is she still alive to ask?”
His expression grew clouded. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know?”
“I was a babe in my mother’s arms at the time of the last killings, and the White Witch vanished almost immediately after breaking the curse. For years folks would whisper of seeing her at the crossroads. Dark hair. Dark clothes. But she’d disappear just as soon as she’d come.” His jaw tightened. Something was wrong.
“Dark hair… dark clothes… isn’t that what the constable had mentioned earlier. The stranger in town.”
Ruan pressed his lips together and shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. She hasn’t been sighted in years. Not sincebefore the war.” He waved off that minor thought. “It doesn’t matter, though—if she was still alive, I certainly would have known of her. They’d have sent me to her no doubt by my twelfth year. I assume she must have d—” His words were cut off by a thunderclap that shook the inn.
“Allo, Ruan!”
