“He’s back,” she says as she fights for her breath and braces herself against the table. “He’s back, Althea. I just saw him in town.”
Marigold stiffens, adrenaline already surging. The panic in this woman’s voice reminds her of Caoimhe, and she readies herself to save her life.
“I know exactly what you need,” Althea says sagely as she walks back to the counter. The woman nods and collapses into Althea’s chair at the table. Her grandmother seems calm, so Marigold relaxes slightly. She watches the woman’s gaze move around the room until their eyes meet, and the woman seems to nearly jump out of her skin.
“Goodness! Who are you? When did you get here?” the woman asks.
She sits up straight. “I’ve been here this entire time.”
The woman looks her up and down. Without breaking eye contact, she says, “Althea, I didn’t realize you had another customer. I do pray you are not here for the same reason as I am. God knows that’s the last thing I need. A pretty thing like you as competition. I’d simply die right here,” she whines.
Althea laughs from where she stands at the counter. “Forgive my manners, I’m quite tired. June, this is my granddaughter, Marigold. She’ll be taking over my work soon. I can assure you that she has no interest in pursuing your heart’s desires.”
“Thank God for that,” June says. She extends a limp hand to Marigold and says, “June Fairmon, pleased to meet you.”
June reminds her a great deal of many ladies back in Bardshire. A demanding presence, a grating voice, and a dramatic flair that accompanies every movement. It’s been so long since she has interacted with someone like this that she almost forgets a proper response.
“The pleasure is mine,” she manages to say.
“Marigold, come help me over here so I can teach you how to make this. It’s extremely important. June, make yourself comfortable as usual.”
She stands at her grandmother’s side while June moves to their living room and sits on the soft green couch.
“Who is she talking about? Is she in danger?”
“Not at all. She’s simply in love with a nice boy named Lachlan Ayles. A sweet ginger lad.”
“So what is it that we are making exactly?”
“You’ll see soon enough.”
Althea begins to gather the beeswax that used to hold the honey that they already harvested. She places it in a small pot and hangs it on the rack above the fireplace. Once it begins to melt, she stirs gently. “Take the mortar and pestle and grind up some of those rose and bellflower petals into the finest powder you can make,” she instructs.
She does as she is told and brings the mortar over. Her grandmother drops the powder into the melted wax. “Now bring me some rosemary essence, lavender honey, and some small tins like the ones you saw in the enfleurage room.”
She gathers the rest of the necessary tools and ingredients and reports back to her grandmother’s side. Althea adds the essence and honey and then removes the pot from the fire with a toweled hand. She brings it over to the counter, though it is not easy for her. The pot is small, but pure cast iron, and Althea is weaker than ever before. This must be incredibly important.
Althea pours the mixture into the enfleurage tins and waits. It takes a few minutes of silence for the substance to harden again into a buttery red balm. Althea picks one up and smiles in approval as she tests the consistency with her fingers.
“It’s perfect,” she says, and June hurries to her side to admire the product.
“Althea, dare I say you’ve outdone yourself with this one,” she says with a smile.
“It’s the bellflower petals. Normally, I only have rose.”
Marigold watches them both, still confused as to what she has helped create. It’s the same color as Lottie Burke’s hair. She shakes her head, resenting how she cannot encounter rich red colors without thinking of Lottie. “What is it?”
“My greatest invention,” Althea says. She scoops some of it out into a small dollop on her finger. “My homemade beeswax lipstick.”
She slaps her hand on her forehead. “Grandmother! I thought this was some sort of all-powerful love spell!”
Althea nearly chokes with laughter. She applies the balm to her lips and plants a vibrant kiss on Marigold’s cheek.
“We don’t do love spells. We don’t make anything that would interfere with someone’s free will. This is merely an enhancement to catch someone’s eye.”
“I pray that it works,” June says as she grabs the tin.
“It will, June. Lachlan won’t be able to take his eyes off of you,” Althea says. Marigold must use all her willpower not to roll her eyes over June’s desperation. It reminds her too much of Bardshire, of the expectation to be perfect, to be impressive, to prioritize attention over everything else. June represents everything she feared for her own life, and she is exceptionally grateful to have found a different outcome. Once June says her polite goodbyes, Marigold can finally let out the laugh that she has been holding throughout the entire visit.
