“Um sure, nice to meet you, too.” Great, Rowena thought, now she had to remember to get used to two names that were not hers.
“Would you kindly show Ro…” Jonathon stopped himself before he gave away Rowena’s secret, “Gwyneth to a guest room.”
“Surely. Come this way, Gwyn! Hope you don’t mind if I call you Gwyn.” Polly took Rowena’s hand and lead her up the huge winding staircase with huge gold-framed portraits lining the walls. The stairs were hard on Rowena’s weak legs, causing them to ache with every step.
When they reached the top Polly walked to the second room on the left of the long narrow hallway and stopped. She took a large ring full of keys from her belt and shuffled through them. Polly finally held up the correct key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open with a creak. Rowena followed her into the spacious room and looked around; her mouth dropped open. Dusky rose-pink walls with carved wood panels set off large leadlight windows. A huge four-poster bed with heavy burgundy velvet drapes and a rose coverlet called to Rowena. She was so tired she wanted to dive in and sleep for days. Huge pieces of wooden furniture were scattered about the room.
Polly opened a wardrobe, revealing a row of pretty outfits. “You can help yourself to any of these clothes. Chamber pot underneath the bed. I’ll fetch you some freshwater, feel free to freshen up and change, breakfast will be served in an hour.”
“Thank you, Polly.”
“You’re most welcome. Any friend of Jonathon’s is a friend of mine.” Polly scurried out of the room, leaving Rowena alone with her thoughts. Luckily, she wasn’t alone for long, because her thoughts were troubled. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Isabel’s harried face as she was dragged away. Polly’s face, when she returned, was the picture of everything Rowena thought made up a decent person. Her smile reached her eyes and creased the skin there, and her eyes were warm and kind. She placed a pitcher of water on the nightstand. “See you downstairs soon.”
Rowena removed her heavy cloak and boots, dropped them onto the wooden floor. She opened the heavy doors of the wardrobe. Gowns and outfits hung neatly on coat hangers, some were worn looking and others seemed brand new. Rowena ran a hand across the selection of clothes and stopped.
A green velvet gown caught her eye. Rowena pulled it out and examined the dress; it was very similar to the dress Isabel was wearing when she was dragged into the black wagon. Rowena examined the bottom of the dress. There were faint dirt stains on the green material. Rowena’s eyes widened. This was Isabel’s dress.
“Isabel…” Rowena clutched the dress. “Where are you?”
Rowena imagined Isabel’s delicate body lying Goddess knew where and began to cry. She took the dress off of the hanger and spread it on the bed.
She cleared her mind of the horrible things she imagined could have happened to Isabel and heard Hawthorn’s voice, “You must be strong, Rowena. You can only help Isabel and the others if you go along with our plan. Remember the moonstone.” Hawthorn’s whispered voice echoed in the otherwise silent room.
She stood in front of a full-length mirror and stared at her pale face. The stress and lack of sleep from recent events made her look older than her years. Dark hair hung to her waist in tangles. There must be a brush in this lavish room somewhere. Nestled among a set of gilded combs was a long bristled brush. She found a burgundy cotton gown that gathered around her petite bust and fell softly to the ground. She braided her freshly brushed hair and let it fall to one side in a loose plait.
Before leaving the room, she hid Isabel’s dress with her dirty clothes under the bed. Leaving behind the room seemed to leave behind some of the creepy feelings that had penetrated her mind, and she wondered if it had anything to do with all those clothes in the wardrobe. One of her lessons with Hawthorn had taught her that items can contain energy from the previous owners. If that wardrobe full of clothing once belonged to women who were or were about to be murdered, it was bound to be full of negative energy.
Jonathon was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs with his arm resting on the railing. It seemed to take an age to reach the bottom. The hem of her dress kept getting in the way of her feet, and she feared tumbling headfirst to the bottom. Jonathon waited for Rowena to reach the bottom and took her arm.
“Do you feel better, Gwyn?” Jonathon smiled.
“A little. These people we are staying with, they are responsible, aren’t they?”
Rowena ignored Jonathon’s smile and stared at him with cold eyes.
“Responsible for…”
“You know what for, Jonathon. Invading homes, kidnapping innocent women and men and putting them on trial!” Rowena’s heartbeat rose with her voice.
“Rowena lower your voice.” Jonathon placed both hands on her shoulders. “Don’t give them any reason to think you’re a witch.”
“Or what, they’ll serve me for dinner?” Rowena snapped.
“No. They will do much worse.” Jonathon looked around furtively. “Rowena, I know you so-called witches are not the evil ones and do not deserve to be tormented. But these people are crazy. Because they believe in evil and want to convert others, they choose to use killing witches as a means to an end. All we can do, Rowena, is keep a low profile for now if you want to help your friends. You can trust me.”
“It’s not fair,” Rowena’s voice trembled. She began to cry, “we never hurt anybody! Why do they want to hurt us?”
Jonathon rubbed Rowena’s back. “I know this is hard, but it really isn’t the time to discuss this.”
“I found Isabel’s dress upstairs.”
“Who is Isabel?”
“My closest friend. We shared a cottage in Wood Grove. I saw her being dragged and thrown in one of those horrible black carriages. I swear the dress in that room is Isabel’s.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea they took their clothing.”
“Well, they do,” Rowena drew away from his arms, “my dress would be up there too, you know.”
“Thank the Goddess it’s not.”
Rowena’s eyes widened. “You’re a witch too.”
They were interrupted by Polly entering through a door behind them. Jonathon winked at Rowena.
“Gwyn, it looks like you have been crying,” Polly’s voice was high with concern.
“No, it’s nothing I just had something in my eye. From the ride.”
“I’ll fetch you a damp cloth. I’ll meet you in the dining room, breakfast is served.” Polly shoved her hands into her grubby apron and scurried away. Jonathon motioned for Rowena to follow him as he walked toward the double doors.
Sun spilled onto a large oval table from ornate French doors that looked over a giant garden. Five bowls of porridge had been set and in the middle of the table a plethora of bread, fruit, and pastries. Jonathon pulled out a chair for Rowena. She tasted the porridge as Jonathon took a seat across from her. The porridge was hot and sticky and stuck to the top of Rowena’s mouth in a big clump.
A tall woman with squinty eyes on a pinched-up face entered the room. Her silver hair was pulled back so tightly it looked like it was painted on. She stared straight at Rowena and walked out again without uttering a word or showing any sign of emotion. Jonathon leaned in close to Rowena.