Page 23 of The Snow Witch

‘Great. So, let’s start again. You’ve been at Newbrough, where Meg the witch lived.’

‘Yes. Yes, I have. I think I found her cottage.’

‘Wow! That’s great. Can anyone visit?’

‘No. It’s on private land. I may have done a little breaking and entering.’

Jake grinned. ‘Worth doing it?’

‘Yeah.’ Violet didn’t seem entirely sure, but Jake knew better than to push her. ‘Anyway.’ She cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she was, in Jake’s opinion, falsely bright. ‘I’m not too far from Chesters. Why don’t we do some stuff together today? I mean if you’re not busy, of course. It would be good to see you.’

‘And you.’ Jake smiled into the phone. ‘What were you thinking of?’

‘I was thinking of going into Hexham. Just wondered if your itinerary would allow that?’

‘I think I can move a few things around.’

‘Great. So, shall I come and meet you? I know where Chesters is.’

‘Yeah – that’s great. I’m in the car park. I’m hard to miss.’

‘I bet. Okay. Can you leave the van there and I’ll drive us?’

‘Sure.’

‘Great. See you soon.’

‘See you soon.’

They disconnected the call and Jake raised his eyebrows. There was something going on. She was definitely rattled.

But he wasn’t going to pry. Prying was a guaranteed way of ensuring Violet shut down. She’d tell him when she was ready, he was sure.

15

THEN

In the days that followed Alice’s death, Meggie was terrified to leave her cottage. When she was careless enough to let herself be seen, even briefly, people pointed at her and whispered about her. Conversations stopped as she approached and continued as she hurried away. Whispered curses about the Snow Witch followed her, making her cheeks flame red in shame and embarrassment.

Coventina’s Well was her escape, her sanctuary. She prayed to the goddess, and asked for forgiveness over and over again. She didn’t even have Emory to help her or to talk to or to hold her whilst she cried. He was away on some sort of business up at Carlisle – something that his brother had decreed a ‘necessity’; Meggie was sure that it was more to remove him from the area whilst the problem of Alice was dealt with. He’d been sent away as soon as Charles had made the request to Meggie. Clearly, the problem was a little too close to home this time. Alice had been a close friend of Emory’s as well.

Meg had tried to speak to Alice’s mother on countless occasions, to explain what had happened, but the door was always slammed in her face.

The last chance Meg felt she had to both pay her respects to Alice and to try to prove to Cecily that she, Meg, was not the murderer she thought she was, was at Alice’s funeral – despite Ellen’s warnings to stay away.

She hid behind the trees and watched, waiting until everyone was assembled in the church. She rammed her knuckles in her mouth to stifle her sobs as she saw Alice’s coffin be carried in: just a simple, wooden box, far too small it seemed to be carrying her dearest friend.

After the church doors shut behind the straggling cortege of villagers, Meggie stood there, trying to summon up the courage to creep inside. Finally, sending a prayer to Coventina to help her have the strength to do so, she took hold of the polished door handle and turned it, slipping in during the service.

She sat down on the end of the back pew, her hands gripping the seat even as she thought her heart would pound out of her chest. She must have knocked the seat in front as she eased herself in, as a man sitting there turned around: one of the burly labourers who had worked with Ellen’s husband, Tam. His face darkened as he realised who she was, and she shrank back, hoping beyond hope that he would not choose this moment to shout at her and accuse her of anything.

But worse than that, he turned and nudged the man next to him, who turned to face her as well. ‘Witches are not welcome in the Lord’s house,’ the second man hissed.

‘I am not⁠—’

‘We all know what you did to Alice. She’s in yon coffin because of you.’

‘She is not⁠—’