“Culpeper’s Herbal,” she said. “I have my mama’s copy.”
Mrs. Pickleworth looked over from the hearth, where she’d set a kettle over the fire. “Mine belonged to my grandmama.”
“Do you come from a family of herbalists?”
“Well, we never called ourselves as such.” Mrs. Pickleworth opened a cabinet, revealing narrow shelves lined with jars and tincture bottles. “But the womenfolk in my family have a talent for kitchen physic. There hasn’t been a resident physician in Chuddums for as long as I’ve been alive, and when the villagers aren’t able to make the trip to Chudleigh Crest, they come to me.”
With expert flair, she sprinkled herbs into a teapot. To that, she added drops of an amber tincture and other mysterious ingredients. Finally, she poured in steaming water, swirling before straining the contents into a cup. She brought the drink over, setting it in front of Evie.
“Try the tea, my lady,” she said.
Evie lifted the chipped cup, prettily painted with cornflowers, and sniffed at the murky brew.
“May I ask what herbs you used?”
“It’s an old family recipe.” Mrs. Pickleworth plopped into the adjacent chair. “The mix includes feverfew and chamomile to relax the nerves, mint to revive, and honey to hide the bitterness. Drink up, dove—before that megrim worsens.”
Since her head was pounding, Evie took a cautious sip. The tea had an earthy but not unpleasant taste. She took another sip, then another. By the time she drained the cup, a pleasant warmth had settled inside her. The tightness at her temples began to ease.
“Thank you,” she said in wonder. “Your remedy is quite effective.”
The good lady beamed. “In a few minutes, you’ll feel right as rain.”
“You’ve been most kind, Mrs. Pickleworth. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“You can start by calling me Loretta, as most folks do. And there’s to be no talk of debt after all you’ve done for the village.”
Evie furrowed her brow. “But I haven’t done anything.”
“Of course you have. Chuddums was on a downward spiral until the Harringtons came along. Your family has restored our hope and faith in ourselves…but don’t just take my word for it. Look around you, and you will see the pride proprietors take in their shops, the way everyday folk whistle a merry tune as they make their way through the green. For the first time in decades, they believe that they have a chance of prevailing over the curse.”
“Lord Ethan and his wife were the ones who ousted that gang from the village and began unraveling the secrets of Thomas Mulligan. The Godwins helped to revive the spa and other businesses. As for me”—Evie shrugged—“I haven’t done a thing.”
“You were abducted right here in the village.”
The reminder chilled Evie’s nape, her hands curling on the table.
She tried to make light of it. “Not precisely helpful behavior on my part.”
“On the contrary, Lady Manderly.”
Mrs. Pickleworth placed a hand over Evie’s. The lady’s warm, firm squeeze was a stark contrast to Evie's cold and trembling fist.
“The villagers rallied to search for you and Mrs. Godwin because we admire your courage. And we know that both of you belong here.”
Evie felt a wistful pang. I’ve never belonged anywhere. The only place I’ve felt safe is with James…and he no longer wants me.
Swallowing, she said, “Gigi deserves your friendship, but you hardly know me.”
“Do you know how Chuddums came to be?”
Evie shook her head.
“Its founders were men and women who marched to the beat of their own drum. In life, they’d always been outsiders with their heads full of dreams and hearts full of passion. Take my own great-great- grandparents. They were both in service in London, but they wanted to grow cherries. People thought they were stark, raving mad, but they invested their life savings to buy the only patch of land they could afford and started a farm here in Chuddums.”
“Did their plans come to fruition?” Evie couldn’t help but ask.
“They had years of success and years of failure too. Such is life,” Mrs. Pickleworth said philosophically. “The important thing is that they lived their dreams. That is what people come to Chuddums to do.”
