“But I am not dressed for a long ride.”
“We will stop before long, and you may change. I must insist that we get moving. Mrs. Ogilvy will be expecting us shortly.”
She cringed at the sound of her name. This Tabitha Ogilvy had filled her husband’s head with nonsense. She mounted Noch and followed her husband’s lead, ignoring the stable master’s greeting as they continued down the lane. Her mind was set on proving this woman a fool so she could return to her normal life as quickly as possible.
Stuart turned Archos off the lane down a small trail, its edges barley visible beneath the blanket of snow. After miles of gradual decline, the snow receded and the trail became steep and rocky as it wound into the forest then down toward the sea. As they entered the forest, the biting cold of winter lifted and Margaret began removing the blankets she had layered over her shoulders shortly after their departure. The trail flattened and widened as it rounded a bend, revealing a small cottage overlooking the sea. Smoke drizzled from the chimney. The heavy mist from the ocean kept the air wet and cool. They dismounted, and Stuart led the horses to a small stall at the far end of the path while Margaret looked around. The small shanty, as she would have called it, was positively quaint, although she would have never admitted it. Each window contained beautifully arranged flower boxes. The small lawn was perfectly manicured even though goats or sheep were nowhere to be seen. A large pile of firewood lay in the breezeway that connected the stable to the house. Perfectly flat stones spaced a step apart drew Margaret to the front door. A beautiful wreath of fresh flowers hung on the door. There was no doubt that the flowers had been picked today.
Margaret stared at the wreath and allowed her preconceived notions of the woman inside to run away with her. The door swung open. Startled, she jumped back. In the threshold, stood a woman who could have been her sister. She was tall and lean, although not without muscle. Her hair was nearly identical to Margaret’s in color and length. The most obvious difference between them was their eyes. Margaret had jade-green eyes like the necklace given to her by her husband on their first anniversary; Tabitha’s eyes were black, like two bottomless wells. Margaret stared into them, mesmerized. Expecting to see her reflection, she was startled to see nothing, as if the darkness absorbed all light surrounding it. She was drawn from her gaze when Tabitha spoke.
“My goodness,” she said, clutching her chest. “I thought you were those kids up the hill again.”
Margaret blushed, embarrassed at having stared for so long. She smiled, attempting to hide her embarrassment.
“You must be Margaret. Mr. Stuart has told me so much about you. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”
Margaret stood in shock. An honor? What had James told this woman? Still unsure how to respond, she nodded gently in response to Tabitha’s curtsy.
“Please come in,” she said, opening the door completely and extending an arm into the cottage.
Margaret looked over her shoulder for any sign of her husband, but she couldn’t see the stable from where she stood. Not wanting to be rude, she stepped inside. To her dismay, the inside was just as quaint as the outside. A large inviting fireplace stood on the opposite wall. An untended fire expelled smoke in intermittent breaths as it ate away at the last log it had been fed. A white, bearskin rug lie in front of the fire. How did a woman such as this acquire a skin from the bears of the north? Margaret wondered. Two rocking chairs sat on either side of the rug. Dried flowers hung from the exposed rafters that arched above their heads.
The floor was a stone with which Margaret was completely unfamiliar. It was smooth and polished. She could feel warmth emanating from it through her riding boots. Try as she may, she couldn’t locate a seam anywhere in the room. Not even in her grand manor had they been able to find a single stone as large as this.
The windows to her left overlooked the stable. Margaret could see Stuart spreading hay for the horses to eat. Just inside the windows were more flower boxes with what looked like spices growing inside. Imagine, window boxes inside the house. Margaret was both perplexed and enthralled. The light in the room seemed brighter than the light outside, but Margaret knew this to be impossible as the only sources of light in the room were the windows.
“May I take your cloak?” Tabitha asked.
Margaret unbuttoned her traveling cloak and slid it from her shoulders. Tabitha hung it on the wall behind the door. Margaret was sure she hadn’t noticed hooks on that wall, but she discounted the thought when she heard a knock at the door. Tabitha quickly opened the door and Stuart entered without waiting for an invitation.
Margaret noticed that rain had begun to fall. Despite the darkened clouds, the inside of the house remained bright and cheerful to Martha’s continued consternation.
“Mrs. Ogilvy, good to see you, good to see you,” Stuart said, removing his cloak and hanging it on a hook next to Margaret’s cloak. “I trust you’ve already met my lovely wife.” Stuart smiled, kissing Margaret on the cheek as if they’ve been apart for several days. Margaret was startled and flinched at his unusual show of affection.
“Indeed I have. I was just going to ask her if she’d like a cup of tea.”
“Tea!” Stuart said a little too enthusiastically. “A great idea, wouldn’t you say, sweetie?”
Sweetie? Something strange indeed is going on here, Margaret thought. She hadn’t heard that pet name since their first anniversary, the year he was appointed to the House of Lords. Tabitha swung the lug pole from which the kettle was suspended over the fire and lifted it with her bare hand. She filled three cups and turned to her guests.
“Sugar, cream?”
“Both,” Stuart said.
“Neither,” Margaret said, looking curiously again at her husband who never took anything in his tea.
As she prepared the tea, Margaret noticed Tabitha took hers exactly as her husband had requested. She ushered them into the rocking chairs while remaining standing, smiling over her guests. They were seated for just a moment before Stuart jumped to his feet.
“Well then, now that the introductions are complete and everyone is comfortable, I think it time to address the task at hand.”
Margaret looked up at her husband, cradled her tea in her hands, and thought she’d never seen him this nervous. It was obvious he was smitten with this woman and why shouldn’t she be? She appeared so outwardly kind it was hard for even Margaret not to like her despite knowing what she thought she knew. Part of her believed she could actually grow to like this woman, she knew she could also grow to hate her. Tabitha is what Margaret could be. What, deep down, Margaret wanted to be. Tabitha and Stuart exchanged glances and Stuart let out an exhalation of resignation.
“Margaret, my dear,” Stuart began. “There is no easy way to tell you this-”
I knew it, Margaret thought.
“You, of course, remember what I showed you last night,” he said, more as a statement than a question.
“I do not,” Margaret said stoically.
“You do not?” Stuart asked, obviously not expecting this response. “You must remember the conversation we had.”
Margaret was intent on not playing his game. If he wanted someone to repeat that nonsense from last night he’d have to do it himself.
“Conversation? We spoke about your time away, nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary?” Stuart said, clearly upset. “Then you don’t remember anything I told you last night?”
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
Abruptly Tabitha walked behind Margaret’s chair and gently laid her fingers on Margaret’s head. Before she could object, Tabitha removed her hands and stepped back to the center of the room. She extended her arm, palm up. A small blue light floated just above her palm. It grew until it spanned the width of her hand. Tabitha gently tossed the orb into the air and it continued its expansion. The instant it reached its apex, the blue light filled the room.