Page 1 of Of Potions and Honey
One
Afteramuchtoocrowded train ride that spit her out into a cloudy, muggy afternoon in Heartfield, a carriage ride that rattled her teeth, and a short walk up a somewhat desolate street at her final destination, Mira finally arrived, huffing and puffing and carrying a bag that felt like it was filled with bricks, at the address the solicitor had unnecessarily given her. She knew the house, even though she hadn’t been here in over fifteen years and the place had clearly seen better days. The green paint had faded, the front garden was overgrown. On her way here she’d seen far too many houses with the same kind of overgrowth, windows nailed shut, and sun-bleached ‘for sale’ signs hung on the fence.
She tried not to take it as an omen when she knocked on the front door.
Said door flew open almost immediately, and she was greeted by a spindly man with a bushy moustache and a very professional smile.
“Miss Gardener? Yes, you must be. I’m Albert Bowen, solicitor. We corresponded. Please, come inside.” He steppedaside so she could enter. “You look positively exhausted. Let’s find you a place to put down that dreadfully heavy bag.”
When Mira followed Mr. Bowen inside the house, into the kitchen and dining room, she narrowly avoided getting hit in the face by a large spider. When she yelped and dodged the irate critter, the solicitor smiled apologetically.
“Sorry about that. It’s been a few months since anybody was here, I’m afraid.”
“Mhm.” Mira kept a wary eye on the spider as it crawled back up into the safety of the corner under the ceiling, where it had made a most impressive web. “Uncle Lochlin’s barely been dead for three. Didn’t he have a partner living with him, too?”
“I was given to understand that Mr. Archer’s partner moved out fairly quickly,” Mr. Bowen said smoothly. “Don’t worry, the dust is superficial, the house has been assessed to be in very good condition.”
Mira thought of the peeling facade, the missing planks in the porch fence, and the shutter that had fallen off the kitchen window, and coughed discreetly as she put down her bag. “Of course. Thank you.”
“Very good condition,” the man repeated, which was the opposite of reassuring. “I trust you have reviewed all the paperwork?”
Right, that. Mira had… looked at it. For a bit. “I have.”
“Fantastic.” Mr. Bowen made a grand gesture encompassing the room. “Now, why don’t we get on with it, then! In here, you’ll find that the appliances are fully intact and all but ready to use…”
Mira trailed after the man from room to depressing room. No, that wasn’t quite fair. The kitchen and the bathroom were still usable enough, the couch in the living room where she’d spent so many nights as a child was only a little bit moth-eaten, and there was even a dresser left in the bedroom. Nothingexceptthatdresser, mind, but at least she’d have a place to put her clothes. Hopefully she’d be out again quickly enough that she wouldn’t need to unpack anything else – and with enough money for an apartment back home in Willow Harbour.
The shop that took up half of the ground floor was in somewhat better shape, though it was clear it had sat unused even longer, with grime on the windows and enough dust on the floor to leave visible footprints. It couldn’t quite cover the smell though, and Mira felt an echo of memory as Mr. Bowen hurried her through the shop floor, the kitchen in the back, and the storage room with the large apothecary cabinets that had once held a vast array of ingredients. Now it was all empty, but the faint scent of herbs remained, hanging in the air like petrichor long after a heavy rainfall.
They ended the – rather brief – tour in the kitchen again, where Mr. Bowen studied the single chair left at the table and decided that it was less awkward if they both stood.
“So, Miss Gardener.” He fanned out a small stack of papers on the scratched dark wood of the tabletop. “I’ll just need you to read and sign these, and then your inheritance will be fully yours.”
Your inheritance. A house she didn’t want to live in, a potion shop she couldn’t run, in a town she hadn’t visited since she’d been a child. Mira scanned the first page, barely parsing what it said. A copy of the will? She’d already seen that at the reading.
She peered up from the papers. “Were you the one who put Uncle Lochlin’s affairs in order?”
Mr. Bowen nodded. “I had the honour of helping him with that.”
“Did he ever mention why me? He has a sister left, and a few nieces and nephews scattered about the country. Why would he skip that whole generation?”
“If he had a reason for it, he never said. All I did was note what he wanted to be done with his estate.”
Mira held in a frustrated sound. Of course. The notary who had read the will hadn’t known, her grandmother, aunts and uncles hadn’t known, and her cousins had been anywhere between annoyed and furious, depending on how much they could have used the money from selling a house like this. Mira had stayed just long enough to be considered polite, then made a speedy exit trying to wrap her head around the news that she was now the proud owner of a house in the quaint little town of Emberglen.
Well. Almost.
She parsed what she could of the papers, but the day had been long, the journey here exhausting, and all she wanted to do was find some place to eat and then try and get some sleep. She took the offered pen, signed several dotted lines, made sure she’d crossed all her Ts, and handed the stack back to Mr. Bowen, her own signed copies shoved off to the side.
“Thank you very much, and congratulations on the house, Miss Gardener!” He tucked the papers carefully into his suitcase and retrieved a large envelope from it. “Now that’s done, here’s the last bit.”
Bewildered, Mira took the envelope. “Do I have more stuff to sign?”
“No! No, this was entrusted to me by Mr. Archer. His instructions were not to give it to you unless and until you signed the papers. Which you have, so now it is yours.” He snapped his suitcase shut and picked up his hat. “Now, if you don’t have any further questions, I must be going, or else I’ll miss the last carriage back to Heartfield.”
“But… what’s in this?”
Another wide, professional smile, like the one she herself used so much at work back at the emporium. “I wouldn’t know, Ididn’t open it.” He marched to the door. “Good evening, Miss Gardener!”
