Page 50 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
RUAN ANDImade it scarcely twenty yards from the Martins’ farm when I grabbed him by the elbow. “Tell me about George Martin.”
He sniffed, glancing back to the house. “What about him?”
Everything.“Who was he, what did he like? How did he die?” The words tripped off my tongue. All the thousands of things I refused to ask Mrs. Martin, and yet I had this unbearable need to know them all.
“Suicide.”
The word hung heavily between us. “Did anyone know why? Did he leave a letter?”
Ruan shook his head. “No. Didn’t leave anything at all. That was the peculiar part. But it wasn’t long after we returned home from the war. He was having a time of it. Lots of us did back then.”
“You were friends with him?”
Ruan shifted and folded his arms, his eyes focused past me on the distant treeline. “We served together. He, Enys, and me. George was a good man. Strong and clever. Half the girls in the village were in love with him before he signed up. The sort of bloke with more charm than the gods should allow.”
“But he killed himself. And you’re certain of it?”
“As certain as one can be. It was about a year and a half ago.”
A year and a half.
Eighteen months. About the same time Tamsyn wrote me that letter.I’ve made a mistake, she’d written. But Tamsyn had nothing to do with George Martin. At least not that I knew of.
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek as we made our way through the west field on the way back to town. “Did you go to his body?Listenor whatever it is they had you do to Edward?”
Ruan’s brows were knit up in confusion. “No, they didn’t need me for that. Dr. Quick saw to him. Generally, I’m not brought in unless there is something suspicious.”
“Ruan, if you are able to hear me…” I ran my tongue over the split in my lower lip. “Do you hear other people? For example, if we brought the killer before you—would you know what they were hiding?”
He placed his hands on his hips, thumbs resting just at the waistband of his trousers, and shook his head. “I wish it were that simple. I can’t…” He looked up to the sky, where thick white clouds grew in the distance casting shadows across the field below, like in a Gainsborough landscape. “It’s strange. I’ve never really spoken of this to anyone—but with everyone else—just for a moment imagine that you’re in a crowded train station right as the train arrives. There’s all this sound and commotion about you. A general feeling and buzz. An urgency even. You might pick up the errant word here or there, but there’s asenseof something coming. Something important. Most of the time it’s that way. It’s not useful for much beyond giving me a great aching head.”
I furrowed my brow and hesitated. “But with me you said it’s different.”
He nodded and blew out a breath. “With you, it’s likeyou’re with me. In here.” He tapped his brow with two fingers. “Not always—thank the gods—”
I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or offended by his deep relief.
“But when it happens it’s as if you’re speaking directly to me.”
“Has it ever happened before, like that, I mean?”
“Once or twice. During the mine collapse when I was a boy. The first time I ever…” He raked his hand through his hair and glanced up at me sheepishly. “I assume Alice told you about that one.”
I nodded with a frown. “So if I understand what you’re telling me, it’s that you have this ability, but you have absolutely no idea what to do with it or how to control it or even how to use it.”
He let out a bitter laugh, shoulders trembling, and nodded. “Bloody useless, isn’t it?”
Bloody useless indeed.
Ruan paused, turning his attention to the village. “Come along then, mmm? And we’ll see if we can puzzle this out the ordinary way.”
I followed after him knowing full well that there was absolutely nothing ordinary about the two of us, let alone the task at hand.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREEOld Doctor, New Clues
WITHOUTbothering to stop by the inn for a change of clothes, we hurried back into town. If I’d thought the whispers ofwitchand looks of suspicion would decrease after my attack, I was sorely mistaken. Only now the wary glances were more curious, less hostile. And the moniker had shifted to one of a cautious respect:Ruan’s witch, the words lingering on the lips of every third person as we hurried through the bustling morning crowds picking up the day’s meat from the butcher or carrying letters to post.
I blew out a breath, struggling to blot the voices from my head. Was this what it was like for Ruan? A constant drumbeat of chatter and information invading upon one’s every waking moment? If so, it was a wonder he hadn’t gone quite mad long before now.
