Chapter 1

ONE

Highgate-on-Trent, Lincolnshire, October, 1820

The tea leaves never lied. Belladonna Goodwynne looked at them in the bottom of the cup, her gaze tracing the telling pattern while her mind took her elsewhere. In her head, the images played out, one overlapping the other as she tried to make sense of them all. Normally things were much clearer, but beyond flashes, she could only see chaos and confusion.

"You look very pensive, Bella! Whatever is wrong?"

Glancing up at the pretty, delicate, and vivacious blonde woman across from her, Belladonna shook her head. "It isn't about you."

The woman let out a sharp and slightly offended guffaw. "Those are my leaves. Whoever else could it be about?"

"It's about all of us. Our surroundings. Things are coming that will alter the lives of everyone and not simply you specifically. There will be change," Belladonna said softly. "Violence. Some bloodshed, I think. But no death, at least not from this incident. A man is coming into our midst— tall and dark—he's the catalyst. But I can't see more."

"You must! You cannot simply leave me hanging!"

Belladonna sighed and leaned back in her chair. Eugenia Frye was her oldest, dearest, and perhaps only friend. While Bella was not precisely a pariah, there were few enough who would claim more than a simple acquaintance with her. After all, she was the local witch, born of generations of witches before her. In truth, it was not nearly so remarkable as others made it seem. Most of what they called spells and potions were in fact simply herbal remedies, the recipes passed down through their family. The tea leaves, cards, and a few other things—well, they were of a much less mundane nature. "You know it does not work that way, Genie. Whenever a vision is so murky, it is normally because I am centrally involved in whatever is to come. I can never see my own future—not clearly, at any rate."

Eugenia sighed. "That must be horribly frustrating… to see the future unfolding in advance for every other person save yourself!"

It wasn't. It was a relief, actually. Amarantha's gift had been such that she had seen her own death, years before it occurred. The vision of it had haunted her, making those last years of her life fraught with fear and anxiety. "No. I like having that uncertainty. I like not feeling as though my future is set in stone regardless of what I choose to do every day."

Eugenia's lips curved into a soft, slightly sympathetic smile. "I can certainly understand why you would feel that way, Bella. I wish I could be so… not careless, but flexible, I suppose. You are very willing to adapt to circumstances as they come. It's a remarkable skill and one that I fear I do not possess."

It was a survival skill. Had she not been able to adapt and change as needed, she'd not have survived all that she'd been forced to endure. The world was not a kind place to women who were different. There was a reason that she was the last living Goodwynne. Most of them had been eradicated when King James' witch hunters spread terror throughout England. Now, rumors swirling about her—some based in fact and others purely fiction. The stain of her illegitimate birth was also hanging over her head. Those things combined, in a village where memories were long and generous hearts were in short supply, meant her life had not been easy. But that was not a conversation for this lighthearted visit. "Well, you can play the pianoforte quite beautifully and sing like an angel."

"You have a lovely voice!" Genie protested.

"Fair. At best, it is fair. But if I attempt to play any instrument, I will strike such sour notes that every hound within a mile's radius will bay in protest."

Genie could only laugh because she knew that it was true. Her attempts to teach Bella how to play the pianoforte had been horrifyingly unsuccessful.

Bella smiled and continued, "We all have our skills, Genie. And mine have naught to do with music. Now, I must go. I have to make a delivery."

"A love potion?"

It was, in fact, a concoction of herbs that was intended to aid in fertility. The young lady in question had been trying unsuccessfully to conceive a child with her husband for the past four years, all to no avail. She'd come to Belladonna's cottage under the cover of night, seeking her aid. And despite the fact that this young woman's family had been a source of torment for her, Bella had agreed to help her, because while her family had been wretched, the young woman had always been kind. Not only had Bella concocted the herbal tincture, she had consulted both the leaves and her cards on the woman's behalf. Her wishes would soon come to fruition.

Answering her friend's speculation with a secretive smile, "Of a sort. And you need not ask whom it is for because I shall not tell you. People are entitled to a bit of privacy when it comes to such matters."

Eugenie drew back in mock outrage, drawing her hand to her chest as if she were deeply offended. Then she spoiled it all with a laugh. Outrage of any sort was a difficult thing for her to feign given that she was possessed of a preternaturally good disposition."Fine, fine! I won't badger you for gossip, but I will walk out with you."

Bella had come through the garden gate and the kitchen entrance for a very specific reason. "I fear what your willingness to openly associate with me will do to you in this town. Highgate was never exactly a bastion for us, but it is changing—it's becoming a most inhospitable place. I would not have you ostracized because of me."

"Balderdash," Eugenie replied, waving her hand dismissively. "We are friends. I will not have you skulking through the kitchen door as if it is shameful for you to be seen coming and going freely from my home. Others may bow and scrape to that toad of a man, but I shall not. I confess, I have never enjoyed church less. It used to be quite a restful place. The best naps were to be had while Reverend James droned his sermons with a kind of monotony that surely had to be intentional."

Linking her arm with Genie's, Bella walked with her friend to the front door. "You are a very good friend to me, Eugenia Frye. And I shall be forever grateful for that."

"And I shall be ever grateful for you. After William died—had it not been for your support, Belladonna, I would have lost my mind. I know that. Perhaps that is why I find our current climate so frustrating! I have never known you to take more than you give. I only wish others weren't so blinded by superstition and the willful fear-mongering of the local clergy and a few vicious old biddies."

That was a sore subject for her. Mrs. Halliman's vitriol was nothing new. And most would have simply tuned her out, if she didn't have the support of their new clergyman. Since discovering that there was a grain of truth in Mrs. Halliman's gossip, the local vicar had made it his mission to see her shunned at the least and run out of the town entirely at best. Honestly, there were times when Bella wasn't entirely certain that he wouldn't see her burned at the stake if such a thing were still common.

Exiting the Frye home, Bella made her way along High Street. Only a handful of people she passed would even deign to acknowledge her. The others cast their eyes elsewhere or hurried past her as if she were some sort of contagion. Some did so out of fear—not of her but of reprisal. Others still did it out of shame, because while they came to her for help, they had not helped her in return when the tide shifted against her.

On her arm, she carried the small basket with her remedies, her ‘potions' as others would say. For the most part, they were nothing more than natural remedies—folk cures for ailments ranging from consumption to impotence. Others were a bit less straightforward in method, but no less effective for it. Regardless there was no wickedness in what she did. Nothing she crafted was ever intended for harm. And yet she was treated as if she were evil incarnate.

The good people of Highgate were happy enough to purchase her potions and spells but they did so in clandestine transactions. Heaven forbid she was ever seen at their door or they at hers. Money was left under a stone or in a much tied to a tree branch. The potions would be left in that same location to be gathered by the purchaser after she had departed. Of course, she understood their hesitance. The local vicar had made his disdain of her quite apparent and with great repetition. It seemed every Sunday sermon was on the wickedness of women, Eve's sin (why it should be only hers when Adam happily partook as well was a point of disagreement all the way around). He also liked to pontificate at length on the dangers of witchcraft and divination. In short, every word out of his mouth was a condemnation of her.

And after each of these sermons, she'd find some indication of disruption at her home. Windows had been broken. One corner of her thatched roof had been set ablaze. But as ‘luck' would have it, a massive rain storm had descended upon them and doused the blaze quite effectively.

It was a sad and lonely existence, save for Eugenie, but it was the one she had chosen. The inheritance of her aunt's cottage in Highgate, the same one where she'd taken refuge after her mother had succumbed to madness, had been a blessing. Especially as she could never return to Chilton—not after the scandal that her mother's illness had caused.

As she walked along, she suddenly felt a frisson of awareness. Of danger.

Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of the local vicar, Reverend Lynden Stalker. Even to those whom he did not hold in contempt, he was not a hospitable sort of man. This was no kindly country parson at all. He was cold natured, quick to judge, quicker to condemn. And he ruled Highgate-on-Trentwith an iron fist. Never precisely a welcomed member of the community, he'd incited a contempt for her that was beyond reason.

As she looked at him, Bella noted his lips moving. Even from a distance, it was no great mystery what he was saying. He said it any time she was near him. Sometimes simply mouthed or whispered if others might overhear, and if she happened to be somewhere he could speak with impunity, the words were audible and uttered with a vehemence that was startling in its intensity.

Suffer not a witch to live.

Bella shivered, but not from the cool wind that was blowing off the river which wound through the town. No. She shivered from a cold that came from within. A cold that was borne out of fear.

Without conscious thought, her steps quickened and she moved with one single purpose. Escape.