All Hallows Eve – or Halloween – features in two critical events in the story of River Witch. Both involve Aaron, wise man and mentor to Hester, teaching her the ways of herbal healing – and more.
In this extract, Aaron battles with himself, and the ghost of his first love, Marianne, over how he can best save Hester from the same fate Marianne suffered.
Find River Witch here.
If autumn is never good to Aaron, All Hallows Eve is the worst of all nights. He has determined to stay indoors, to compound a tea to relieve the symptoms of coughs and colds. Something harmless to fill his brain, to keep the devils out.
He searches his shelves and pulls phials and jars which he lines up on the table, first clearing a space among the litter of papers, cups and bottles. He rests the fingers of his hand on first one, then another, of the phials and jars, lingering over some before moving on. He puts four aside: Lady’s Mantle, to reduce an inflamed throat, the dried leaves holding their soft grey-green colour, the flowers a paler yellow than in their living state. Secondly, dried lemon balm to breathe into the lungs to calm a fevered or anxious body. He pauses a moment before lifting down a slim glass phial from a higher shelf. Essence of hawthorn flower. Finally – here he hesitates for a long minute – a jar of poppy seeds. To ease a cough.
Lady’s Mantle, lemon balm, hawthorn. Poppy seeds.
Every flower, leaf and seed has more than one function. Aaron has drilled this fact into Hester from the beginning. Flowers and herbs to cure the body’s afflictions, and flowers and herbs to cure the soul.
Or afflict it.
And once afflicted, there is no cure. This last lesson is one he hasn’t yet instilled in Hester and when will he do so? He hasn’t seen her since the meeting in Shiphaven. There have been no lessons since her father’s death. And now she is to be married, if what he heard from the boisterous fisherman in the King’s Shilling is true.
He pushes down hard on whatever emotion he feels about this. It’s as he said to her, she should marry, have children, take her place in ordinary life. Yes. He reaches over the table, moves a saucer containing the stub of a candle to one side, slides it back.
He will leave, before winter makes it impossible. Hester is gone from him. Saved. Saving Hester is what Aaron has desired, has needed, all along. This is his redemption.
Saved for whom?
It’s a whisper in his ear. He flicks it away. He has tried not to dwell on that, taking up his journal at night, scribbling and annotating, remaining wakeful until near dawn when he takes what rest he can.
‘Does it matter?’ he says, roughly.
Tell me anyway. Marianne has abandoned her teasing tonight. I’m curious.
Aaron sighs his indulgence. ‘For a fisherman and smuggler, by name, Jem Stokes. Not a particularly successful fisherman.’ Other fishermen, Aaron has learned from tactful probing in the Rope and Anchor, mutter how the river fights Stokes, gives up its natural harvest to him after mighty struggles and in miserly quantities. It’s Stokes’ success – and this too is hard won – at reaping a different harvest from the river which allows him to live comfortably, and tolerated by those who benefit from these harvests.
Ah. Sabrina has no fondness for the fisherman.
‘So it seems.’ Aaron casts an eye over the phials and jars set out on the table, places a finger on one. ‘And it’s none of our business.’
The fire leaps, crackles. A rush of wind tickles Aaron’s cheeks and he glances at the door. It’s shut firm. The window too, which is caulked with oakum in readiness for winter.
You choose hawthorn? For you or for her? Who needs to open their heart to love? Who needs courage? Marianne’s questions are taut with repressed fury.
Aaron doggedly pursues his adopted indifference. ‘Hawthorn eases tired limbs and opens the lungs,’ he says. ‘It will make the tea more efficacious. Have you forgotten?’
He waits for mockery. Instead–
She needs you.
‘It’s best this way.’ Indifference is impossible, better to take a moral approach. Not that morals were ever Marianne’s strength. ‘I won’t let it happen a second time.’ Aaron slides a finger through the leaves of Lady’s Mantle, takes a large pinch and drops it into a clay cup.
What you wish to let happen or not happen is neither here nor there. It will or will not happen.
‘She should marry, be ordinary folk.’ He adds the lemon balm to the Lady’s Mantel. ‘She should have children, grow old with grandchildren to comfort her.’ A draught tickles his neck. He shivers.
She is not ordinary folk. You told her so yourself.
‘It was a mistake.’
There are no mistakes. There are different destinies.
Aaron’s finger moves from the Lady’s Mantle to the jar of poppy seeds.
Yes. Poppy seeds for wise folk. As Mother Lovell taught us. You see, I remember well.
‘And I remember how much more magic you wanted from these seeds.’
Perhaps this time the seeds will do what they can do.
‘No! This is not for her.’ His words ring false. ‘I won’t risk it.’
The fire brightens, fierce as a hellcat, spits golden sparks across the room to singe Aaron’s trousers. He brushes at the sparks.
Yet you will risk her with that oaf. Close your eyes, see it, see them.
The image Aaron has been denying since the night at the King’s Shilling insists on rising before him. It shimmers in the firelight, bright and gaudy as a circus dancer, and as mesmerising. Hester willing or unwilling he cannot tell, because the fisherman’s body, white and cold as the underbelly of a fish, splays itself across her slim form. Only her dark curls show, tangled damply across a yellowing pillow. Aaron chokes on the nausea which rises in his throat.
She needs you. Go.
Aaron clamps his eyes shut.
Go.
He lets out a long breath and swivels on his heel, taking three fast steps to the wall where his greatcoat hangs. He struggles into it, leaves the beaver hat on its peg, wraps a muffler around his neck, pulls on his boots and lets himself out of the cottage. Dusk has given way to a full moon, and, being All Hallows Eve, the spirits have wandered down from the forest and St Ceyna’s well and risen in the fields and leafless hedgerows. Aaron has ample company to guide him to the town and down to the river.
The air fills with their susurrations, their whispered, She needs you.
Go here to read more about River Witch and the standalone sequel, The Herbalist’s Daughters – a dual timeline historical mystery with more than a touch of romance .