Page 5 of The Snow Witch

‘What’s it about? If I can ask, that is.’

‘Oh, it’s not top secret. It’s about witch trials. And hopefully, I can find out a bit about Meg. The one the Burn is named after?’ The legend about the local witch was pretty well known; Cynthia was bound to know about her. Meg had a tiny river named after her, for goodness’ sake.

‘Oh yes! Meggie’s Dene Burn. How interesting.’ Cynthia smiled. ‘All right, I’ll let you get settled; your room is number five, up on the top floor. Do you want some help with your bags?’

‘No, I can manage, thanks.’ Violet smiled at her. ‘Umm – do I just come straight down for dinner? I have to say, it smells really good.’

‘Yes – we’ll be serving up in fifteen minutes or so. Give you a chance to make sure you have everything you need in your room. Just shout if you haven’t.’

‘Thanks.’ Violet slung her laptop bag on her shoulder, picked up her handbag and grabbed her small travel suitcase. She hadn’t brought much, knowing she’d probably be doing most of the lugging around herself. But it would be good to put everything in her room and get down for some food.

* * *

The next morning, Oliver Brent was sitting in the dining room, which doubled as the breakfast room. And he had decided he liked this place – the history was practically humming out of the walls – and it was an ideal base for him to do some research on his family history. He had a couple of weeks off work, no commitments, and it had been the part of his family tree he’d been stuck on for a while. There was a legend within his family that the Brents had roots in this area, something to do with the Milburns who had been the ‘Big I Am’ in the seventeenth century, and it seemed like a good opportunity to chase it. What he was interested in as well was the fact that the story suggested the family had fractured, and one branch of it had come to ruin, and the other had inherited everything.

Ollie came from the side that had been ruined, which wasn’t the greatest news – but hey, it had happened hundreds of years ago, and it was curiosity that drove him to dig further, nothing more – no expectation of inheriting a fortune they’d forgotten about.

At least February on Hadrian’s Wall wasn’t the high tourist season. He doubted families would be coming here with kids at half-term, because he assumed that the weather would be rubbish.

And he’d been proved correct. The only other people at this farmhouse were walkers and hikers – and most of them were fleeting visitors. One couple had been here a few days and set off on a different walk each morning, seemingly not bothered about the cold temperatures and overcast skies. But a lot of guests were there for one evening meal, one breakfast and a departure right afterwards. ‘You going east or west?’ they’d call to other hikers, and then they’d chat about the bad bits, the dodgy bits, the scenic bits and the easy bits of the Hadrian’s Wall Walk.

‘It’s not flat!’ someone had said that morning, quite astonished. Ollie had dipped his head and studied his phone, wondering how someone could be so misled. They were surrounded by bloody hills and valleys! The whole place practically existed on a massive geographical fault – so technically, there were even cliffs to contend with.

He was so pleased he wasn’t doing the walk.

A chair scraped and he bobbed his head up as someone else came into the breakfast room. It was a woman, dressed for the weather, but clearly not for walking. She looked over at him and half-smiled as she pulled her chair back in.

The woman jiggled the table and managed to knock a teaspoon onto the floor, and it skittered across to Ollie’s seat.

He leant down, picked it up and reached across the gap to give it back to her.

‘Thanks,’ said the woman. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘No problem. First morning?’

‘Yes. It was dark when I got here last night, hence I grabbed a window seat today, to see what we could see.’ She nodded across at the view, which was an overarching grey. ‘But at least I was in time for dinner, even if it was dark. First morning for you too?’

‘No.’ Ollie grinned. ‘Third. I went out for dinner last night so I wouldn’t have seen you. I have to say, you don’t look like you’re a hiker. Which is probably a good thing looking at the weather forecast. I’m pretty sure snow’s on the cards.’

‘I am absolutely not a hiker. Way too hilly for me anyway. I’m doing research for a book. Oh, are you the guy doing your family tree?’

‘That’s right. And yes, we’re practically sitting on a geographical fault. Hence the landscape. I was just thinking about it, actually. I’m Oliver Brent. Most people call me Ollie. My family goes back a few generations in Northumberland, and we have links to this area. They had a place near Newbrough, as far as I’m aware. Not much left of it now.’

‘That’s fantastic. Even if it’s just ruins, that’s so exciting – hopefully, you’ll be able to see exactly where it was.’

‘Hope so. Place is full of history,’ said Ollie. ‘Apparently, the church in Newbrough is built on the old Roman fort.’

‘And Newbrough is also supposed to have been where a witch lived. I’m Violet Marsh. My bag, if you like, is the witch. Well – the sacred spaces and things around here, which do somewhat encompass the witch.’

Ollie nodded. ‘Old Meg. I’ve heard of her.’ He’d done some googling when he was planning his trip.

The woman, Violet, looked at him oddly. Her expression changed slightly, and she shook her head. ‘No. She wasn’t old. She wasn’t anything like old.’

‘Fair enough.’ Ollie held his hands up. He wasn’t going to argue with a stranger. ‘As you say, the witch is your bag, not mine.’ But the records he’d seen – well, to be fair, the articles online he’d seen – had all said Meg was old. As did the urban legend around her. But if this Violet knew something he didn’t, then who was he to dispute it. ‘Anyway, enjoy your breakfast.’ He smiled at her and stood up. ‘Hope you don’t get stuck in the snow.’

‘Me too. I’m going to check the forecast before I decide what to do, though. There are a few places I’d like to see – and I really don’t want to be struggling back up here if it does snow heavily. I guess February was a mistake.’

‘Depends what you mean by a mistake.’ Ollie grabbed his phone and tucked it in his pocket. ‘If you like a bit of isolation and not much company, then February on Hadrian’s Wall seems pretty damn perfect to me.’