Aw thanks guys. I really appreciate your comments.
One Clothilda coming up.
A witch. Why would Lucy ever imagine this town with all its strangeness would not have its very own witch? And historian. She added to herself.
Maxwell Lilybanks had slid that one in too maybe to improve the credibility of said witch.
And now, here was she, Lucy Angel, modern cell-phone using Lucy who didn't believe in witches or ghosts or anything that couldn't be explained in text books, standing at the back door of said witch's house and trembling in her boots.
Lucy had thought she had explored this town from top to bottom but she had never noticed this house before.
While it crouched behind its cover of trees and plants, it was a substantial house all the same and right slap bang in the middle of town.
Tinkerbell nuzzled her neck.
'Bring your horse,' Maxwell had said. 'She will know the way.'
'I'm here,' she whispered to Jett on her phone. She needed the sound of his voice for reassurance. If she was killed and eaten or turned into a newt, at least he would be able to point a finger at the culprit.
'Go for it,' his voice was tinny in her ear.
'Alright for you safe and sound away from here,' she muttered to herself but she took a deep breath anyway and knocked at the door.
If Lucy had been expecting a story-book witch with tall black hat, pointy chin and a wart, then she was disappointed for Clothilda looked like nothing more than someone's kindly granny.
She was round like a dumpling, her eyes twinkled when she smiled, and she smelled of lemon verbena.
'Come in, come in,' she invited. 'Maxwell has told me all about you. Those nasty ghosts...'
'Sit and I will put the kettle on. Ghosts have no sense. They forget that the living need their sleep...One lump or two?'
Lucy looked around the house half listening to Clothilda's prattle. It was a welcoming house, warm and clean. She expected to see a cat by the fire and a bag of knitting.
'Most of those ghosts were not too smart when they were still living. I daresay they are not likely to improve on that in the afterlife, eh?' Clothilda chuckled as she bustled about in the kitchen.
'It's the curse though. Brings them out of the woodwork. Keeps Maxwell and Pilar busy. If it wasn't for them this town would float off on its own.'
'There,' she plonked down a plate of rather burnt looking cake. They both looked at it dubiously.
'I never was much of a cook,' Clothilda sighed, pushing the plate away from them. Then she turned her keen glance on Lucy. 'So, tell me about yourself.'
Clothilda nodded as Lucy talked of her family.
'Ah yes, the young doctor. Thinks he knows everything but there's the young for you and he will learn once he realises that there is more to people and their ills than is described in medical textbooks.'
'And you, Lucy. Where do you fit into this I wonder?' For a moment she was silent as she scrutinised Lucy's face so closely that Lucy began to feel uncomfortable.
'I do believe...yes, Maxwell is onto something...and so are those pesky ghosts...hmm.'
Lucy fidgeted and wondered if she should just walk out of this mad woman's house now before it got any crazier.
'The skin, the hair...yes...Hortense.' Clothilda clapped her hands in glee.
'I had an great aunt Hortense.' Lucy offered. Her mother had once told her she resembled her aunt.
'Yes, yes. Hortense's branch left the town long ago. Decided to put it all behind them. One or two drifted back.' Clothilda's forehead was creased in an effort of remembering.
'Beatrice, who owns your house but then the blood is dormant in her. It's dormant in your brothers too but you, now...I wonder.'
'Tell me Lucy, is there someone you love.'
The change of tack took Lucy off guard. She almost blurted out 'Andy' but those grey eyes were sharp and the name died on her lips.
She wasn't that sure if she loved Andy any more. Sometimes she had trouble picturing his face. His features blurred.
There was only one true answer really and she gave it.
'My family,' she said at last.
Clothilda nodded. 'Yes, family love. It was family love that caused the curse and got us into all the bother in the first place.' Her words might have been harsh but her face was kind.
'Let me tell you a love story, Lucy. One about passion and envy, anger and treachery but most of all, about family love.'
