“Only from afar. I used to see her by the stream.” The nonagenarian’s eyes had a faraway look. “I was only eight at the time, but I still remember how beautiful she was with her long, dark hair and green eyes. She was part of a traveling family, and I wasn’t supposed to go near them, but sometimes I would sneak away to the stream, just to hear her sing while she washed her clothes. She had a captivating voice.”
Xenia canted her head. “If Rosalinda was so beautiful, why does the legend say she is a witch?”
“Because villagers can be small-minded,” Wally said darkly. “They’ve never liked travelers, and Rosalinda’s family was no exception. Their prejudice turned into gossip and talk of witchcraft because her family sold herbs—the normal, everyday kind you use in your own salve, my lady. But the villagers twisted the family’s business into something evil…which says more about them than Rosalinda and her kin.”
“Do you think Rosalinda murdered Thomas Mulligan?” Xenia asked.
“No, I do not,” Wally said definitively. “I saw them together by the stream one day. I was a child and didn’t yet know the ways of adults, but even then I knew they were in love. When Mr. Mulligan was found dead, and Rosalinda was accused of murdering him, I tried to tell my parents what I saw, but they had their prejudices too, I’m afraid. They made me keep my mouth shut, and I was too scared to disobey. To this day, I regret not defending her as I ought to have.”
“You were a child,” Xenia murmured. “If the villagers had made up their minds, they certainly would not have listened to you. Do you know what happened to Rosalinda?”
Wally shook his head. “When the accusations of witchcraft started flying, she and her family moved on. Can’t say I blame them.”
“It is interesting that none of this is referenced in the rhyme about the curse,” Ethan said thoughtfully.
“Do you know the rhyme, my lord?” Wally peered at him. “In its entirety?”
“I’ve told it to him.” Dutifully, Xenia recited,
“Beware, beware the rattling chain
The flapping robes stained red and bold
Beware the moans and wails of pain
For ’tis Bloody Thom they do herald.
He brings death to all who cross his path
Be they creatures with feathers, fur, or skin
Green will wither and fortunes dwindle until his wrath
Is quenched by a true reckoning
He plays a mournful ballad of blame
Shaking the manor with his ire
His cry for justice is like a flame
Scorching all with unholy fire.”
“You’ve omitted the last verse,” Wally said.
Xenia widened her eyes. “There’s another verse? No one’s mentioned it.”
“That is because folks these days have forgotten about it. The actual rhyme ends like this:
Alone, alone in his manor of sadness
Bloody Thom does howl, trapped by rage
Alone, he curses the village in his madness
Until love’s seasons free them from their cage.”
“I don’t understand.” Xenia furrowed her brow. “What are ‘love’s seasons’ and who does ‘them’ refer to? Who is being freed and what is their cage?”
