Witchfog Read online

  WitchFog

  ISOBEL ROBERTSON

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Witchfog

  Independently published.

  Copyright © 2018 by Isobel Robertson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission

  ISBN: 978-1-9996072-3-4

  Visit isobelrobertson.com for behind-the-scenes details, free short stories, and early releases.

  Fog and Witches

  A Temporary Respite

  Killston Hall

  Explorations

  Stories and Tales

  Morning on the Moors

  Dark Dreams

  Thwarted

  Monsters in the Dark

  The Science of Blood

  Secrets

  Cheating Death

  Witches in the Garden

  Such A Fog

  Rosa

  A Letter From London

  Shared Secrets

  Beautiful in Death

  Awakening

  The Enemy Within

  A Dark Heaven

  Temptation

  Secrets Revealed

  Escape

  The Hunt

  True Love

  Training

  Blood on the Stones

  Into the Witches' Den

  Darkness and Rubble

  Recovery

  Rejection

  Alchemy

  The Earl

  The Funeral

  Leave-Taking

  Frustration

  An Unexpected Guest

  Reconciliation

  Letting Go

  Fog and Witches

  “The fog is always thicker where there’s witches,” he told me, staring into the grey gloom. “I should have known not to come this way. We need to turn back.”

  I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but I had come too far to give up now.

  “Surely we’re less than a mile away? The fog isn’t that thick. There’s no reason we can’t keep going.”

  “I’ll not go so close to witches, ma’am. Not even for twice the money you’re paying me. We’ll have to turn back and wait until this fog clears.”

  What an odd place I had ended up in. Witches? I began to doubt my own judgement in hiring the man. When he had been recommended to me in the inn, just a few hours earlier, he had seemed like a solid and dependable sort, guaranteed to get me to the Hall safely. The weather was somewhat disconcerting, I could not deny that. But witches?

  “We can surely go a little further along the road,” I coaxed, but his expression did not budge.

  “There’s a spot we can pull over the cart just a way back,” he said. “We’ll stop there and pray to God that this fog lifts before darkness falls. I won’t be out in this wild country at night.”

  I didn’t bother to argue any more. This was obviously some rural superstition of which I knew nothing, and he seemed determined. I stayed silent as he whipped his horse back into action, and huddled into the blankets and sacks that passed as comfortable seating. I was a long way from London now.

  The road did indeed widen, as he had said, and I wondered that I had not noticed the difference before. That last stretch of track to Killston Hall was surprisingly narrow compared to the main thoroughfare that led across the moors. It seemed that the Hall did not enjoy much passing traffic.

  He pulled the horses over onto a grassy siding, and we both sat in sullen silence. I couldn’t believe my trip faced yet another delay, and for a reason as trivial as fog. Five days I had been on the road already, and I could scarcely afford a sixth. The fog was clearer here, its tiny droplets clouding the air rather than obscuring it, but enough moisture remained to cling to my eyelashes and dampen my skirts. I sighed forlornly, knowing I would arrive at the Hall an absolute mess. A little planning might have improved the situation, but how should I know that carriage hire would prove more difficult in North Yorkshire than in London? This entire enterprise had turned out to be far more effort than expected. I only hoped it would be worth the difficulties.

  The shifting of the cart jolted me out of my bad-tempered thoughts as the horse began to shift and murmur, dancing about in its traces and hissing strange horse-noises.

  “We’re still not far enough away,” my escort said sharply, real fear sounding in his voice. “We need to leave. I should never have brought you out in this weather.”

  The horse was in motion already, trotting down the road with increasing urgency, headed for the comfort of its warm stall.

  “Wait!” I said. “What’s happening? Why are we leaving?”

  “Witches!” he shouted over his shoulder, whipping his horse like he was in a race. I clung awkwardly to the edges of the cart as it bounded across the muddy road, each impact sending me jolting into the air. My bag, my precious reticule, flew off the edge of the cart.

  I shouted at the man beside me, “Stop! You have to stop!”

  He didn’t seem to hear me, but I would not lose that bag. I flung myself forward, grabbing my guide’s arm and yanking him sideways. The horse whinnied in protest as the reins dragged at it, and he pulled it to a halt, hissing curses at me.

  “Are you mad, woman? Do you want them to catch us? We’re barely yet far enough, and there will be no true safety until we’re inside good stone walls!”

  “I lost my bag,” I explained, “We have to go back and get it.”

  “We’ll do no such thing,” he told me angrily. “Consider yourself lucky that it’s only your bag missing. We can come and find it tomorrow if the weather’s fair. There’ll be no more travelling east today.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I shouted back. “It’s hardly any distance to where it fell, and besides, you’re making no sense at all. I need that bag!”

  “Well I won’t be returning that way until a bright, clear morning,” he said firmly. “And I couldn’t let you go alone in good conscience. You’ll have to wait.”

  “I have to do no such thing!”

  I swung myself out of the cart, wet earth splattering up around me as I stamped down on to the road. I set off determinedly, my wet skirts swishing around my legs and picking up more mud as I walked. I heard footsteps beside me, and my guide came running up to join me.

  “Please, ma’am,” he said, pleading. “I know you’re not from these parts, and maybe you don’t understand. But this place isn’t safe. We need to leave.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere until I have my bag,” I told him in my haughtiest my-family-is-older-than-yours voice. “Kindly stop obstructing me and make yourself useful. It fell somewhere around here. Check the hedges.”

  He slowed down a little, scanning the hedgerows as I marched on. I almost felt the uneasiness still emanating from him. Another thick swirl of fog stroked past me and I shivered, the heat of anger already being replaced by a dull chill. We were on higher ground than I had realised, scraping the edge of the moors, and the air felt cooler up here.

  “Ma’am, I can’t see it. We should turn back.”

  How odd, I reflected, that everyone here called me Ma’am rather than Miss. Did I seem so much older? Or did they mean it as a mark of respect? Certainly, these tiny towns saw few people of any real status. Perhaps I was the only aristocrat this country man had ever met.

  “Ma’am, STOP,” he shouted, the harsh sound cutting through my vague thoughts. I came to an abrupt stop and realised with a sudden thud of panic that I stood on a cliff edge. When had I left the road? I could not remember how I had got here.

  My guide skidded to a halt beside me, pulling me back from the
edge and wrapping his arm tightly around me.

  “We need to go,” he said, and this time I didn’t argue. Fear kept me silent.

  We rushed back across the field I had no memories of, not quite running, but close to it. His arm, warm and supportive around my waist, held me upright as I stumbled over each and every stone. The howling of the wind had picked up, and thick fog made it almost impossible to see more than a few feet. I had no idea how far away the road lay.

  “Sister.”

  A woman loomed up in front of us, her slim form draped all in black, her hand reaching out towards us. I screamed, and my guide dragged me sideways, away from the woman, and into a true run.

  “Don’t run from us, little sister.”

  Another woman, this time to our right, close enough for me to see her red lips stretched in a smile.

  My guide dragged me in the opposite direction, holding my hand now, and pulling me faster than I had ever known I could run. We sped through a gap in the stone walling into another, smaller field, then through the hedgerow and onto the road. I tried to slow down, breathing hard, but he didn’t let me, still tugging me along. To my incredible relief, I recognised the neighing of the horse up ahead.

  Then I heard the voice again.

  “Sister.”

  It sounded like it came from beside us, just across the hedge. I turned to see, but-

  “Don’t look!” my guide shouted. “Keep running!”

  I trusted his advice now, so I kept doggedly on, eyes fixed on the road, breath rasping in my throat.

  At last, the cart appeared ahead of us, the horse dancing about fretfully. Thankfully, it had waited for its master. My guide me up on the front seat and then leapt up beside me, far closer than appropriate, but I didn’t care. No need for him to whip the horse- it jumped into action the minute he hit the seat. We went speeding along the lane, even faster than before.

  “Don’t look back,” he told me, and I nodded grimly, clinging onto the seat as we jolted along. The horse’s breath came fast and hard, but at last the fog cleared and streaks of sunlight lightened the sky. My guide turned to look at me and his face showed pure relief.

  “We made it.”

  A Temporary Respite

  Back at the inn, I was rushed up to my room without a chance to ask what had happened. I had not expected to use this room again, but obviously it came as no surprise to the innkeeper that I had returned. A fire already burned in the grate, and a maid appeared in minutes. My trunk was brought up from the cart, and a fresh dress pulled out. At my earnest request, the maid began to heat water for a bath, and I wrapped myself in the soft cocoon of my velvet dressing gown as I waited.

  I still didn’t understand what had happened, or what I had seen.

  “Why do people here talk so much of witches?” I asked my maid. She straightened abruptly, splashing hot water all over herself.

  “There are a lot of stories about witches in these parts, ma’am,” she told me, her eyes sliding away from mine.

  “Tell me one while you heat the bath.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not very good at stories, ma’am. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  She turned to the bath and left me facing her back. Very rude, of course, but I didn’t feel like complaining. Instead, I settled down into the comfy armchair, waiting for my bath.

  The maid poured the final jug of water into the tin bathtub and left the room without even meeting my eyes. What an odd character for an otherwise lovely inn to employ. Had she just disliked the mention of witches? After the last day and a half in Yorkshire, I started to wish I’d never heard the word myself.

  I sank into the tub, the water blissfully warm on my chilled skin. Even my mother would have thought it a wasteful extravagance to have a hot bath in the middle of the day. But I felt that I deserved it after my ordeal- whatever had actually happened.

  The heat of the bath soothed me deeply, and I ran over the morning’s events over in my head. We had left the inn nice and early, expecting to reach the Hall in time for lunch, or at least for afternoon tea, which seemed more polite due to my lack of an invitation in the strictest sense. The morning had started a little misty, but the fog had not truly enveloped us until we descended into the valley. We had continued further, my city-bred mind completely oblivious to any problem. Then we had hit the thickest of the fog, and that was where my guide had uttered his mysterious proclamation.

  Could those possibly have been witches I saw? Here, in the warmth of the inn, I laughed at myself for even thinking such a thing. Witches! I had been away from civilised company for too long. They were just peasant women, out shepherding their sheep, or whatever they did with their days. In fact, had I even seen women at all? A trick of the fog, perhaps. My memories certainly seemed very vague.

  Standing on the cliff edge, though- that had been real. My shock and fear proved it. I must have taken ill, possibly from some toxic fume in the air. Marsh gases, or similar. That would explain my brief lack of memory and strange behaviour, and probably the hallucinations afterwards. It was undoubtedly for the best that my guide had insisted on returning me to the inn where I would be able to recuperate.

  I wondered if he still waited on the premises, ready for me to demand another attempt. The staff had whisked me to my room so quickly that there had been no time to thank him, the proprietress fussing over me like a wool-clad mother hen. I would have to find him, thank him properly, and promise him the rest of the week off. And what on earth he had given me as his name?

  Slipping out of the tub, I dried myself off with the towel that the maid had left hanging by the fire. Warm and crisp, it felt almost as good as the bath itself.

  My gown lay draped across my bed, waiting for me to dress myself. In this area, I had planned my journey appropriately. All of my travelling dresses were ones which I could fasten myself, and did not require a full corset. Certainly, I could not have run up that road in one of my smart morning gowns with a full set of stays. I had thought I would miss my pretty dresses on the road, but this looser costume felt refreshingly liberating.

  I braided my hair quickly, pinning it up loosely on top of my head. In any polite society, I would have looked a terrible mess, but I suspected I would still be the best-dressed member of whatever company awaited me in the inn’s common room. I resolved not to worry any more about my appearance and set off downstairs.

  Normally, a room like this would have been off-limits to a lady of my character and breeding. Inn common rooms were notorious for attracting the worst sort of people. People all over the surrounding area had assured me of this inn’s good reputation, however, and the landlady herself had invited me to take tea with her once I finished bathing. My bath must have taken less time than anticipated, however, as she was still nowhere to be seen. With the room unoccupied, I took the opportunity to explore a little, drifting between the dark wooden tables.

  It was a much more handsome room than expected, with wide windows looking out onto the sun-speckled moors. No doubt the opposite side to the courtyard and road; I could not possibly have missed such splendid windows. I directed my wanderings towards them, gazing out at the wilderness beyond.

  “A beautiful view, but dangerous all the same.”

  I whirled around in surprise, realising that I had been wrong. I did not have the room to myself. My guide sat in the far corner, half-hidden in the shadows, watching me.

  “I do apologise for my rudeness,” I told him, composing myself. “I’m afraid I didn’t see you there in the corner.”

  My friendly politeness sounded a little forced, but I hoped he would accept the apology as sincere.

  “I suppose I’m not all that obvious,” he said, smiling for the first time since I’d met him. He had a nice smile, full of warmth, and more than a spark of intelligence.

  I retraced my path towards him, and he scrambled to his feet so that we stood awkwardly in front of each other.

  “I wanted to thank you,” I began. “For the cliff.
I must have taken ill, and if you hadn’t stopped me- well! I might have done myself considerable injury.”

  “You hired me to get you safely to Killston Hall. That’s what I’ll do.”

  “Will it be - easier, once the fog has cleared?” I asked him, not wanting to question him directly about what had happened. He must have sensed that because he just nodded.

  Well, I had said almost everything I wanted to say. Except for one small detail.

  “I’m so sorry, you’ll think I’m terribly rude, but I can’t quite remember your name.”

  He smiled again although this time it seemed more sad than warm.

  “I didn’t tell you my full name. It’s Theodoric. Theodoric Amberson.”

  “My, what a fancy name, Mr Amberson,” I said brightly, and then bit my tongue. How rude and patronising I must sound!

  “It’s an old family name,” he said quietly, “Most people call me Theo.”

  Thankfully, the arrival of my hostess saved me from the consequences of my misstep. Bidding a cheerful farewell to the serious Mr Amberson, she swept me across the room to a neat little table in a patch of sunshine. Here she spent the next hour or so feeding me tea and cakes, and regaling me with tidbits of local gossip, in which I had no interest whatsoever. By the time I was free to slip away, Mr Amberson had gone. No doubt, he would be in touch soon about our arrangements for the next day.

  Killston Hall

  To my surprise, I failed to find Theo Amberson (I could not help but think of him as Theo, since learning of the shorter version) that evening. He did not appear in the common room for supper, despite my lingering far longer than necessary. When I enquired with my landlady as to his whereabouts, she had no information to offer.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here ready to leave in the morning, ma’am,” she assured me. With no other way to confirm my plans for the next day, I admitted defeat and retired to bed.

  I slept fitfully, drifting through a sleepy fog peopled by black-robed women and a strange assortment of supporting characters. They almost all slipped away from my mind as soon as I tried to pin them down, but I dimly remembered mysterious figures and expressions of fear. Needless to say, I did not enjoy my night.