The Witch Of Willow Hall: A spellbinding historical fiction debut perfect for fans of Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. Hester Fox

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      Even though my tone should make it clear that I’m not looking for a conversation, he turns his smile on me. “Is that so?” He couldn’t care less if we had just dropped out of the sky, but his eyes are trained on the pearl earrings on Catherine’s earlobes, the fine weave of her shawl. “And how do you find New Oldbury? Where in town are you living?”

      “Willow Hall,” I say shortly with another tight smile, trying to make it clear that the conversation is over.

      He’s watching Emeline running her finger over a pink velvet ribbon, but at this he looks sharply back at me. “Is that so? Hadn’t thought that anyone was going to live there. I’d heard something about it being a summer house.” He bends over again to Emeline and dramatically raises his brows. “There are stories around here that the place is haunted. All manners of ghosties and goblins.”

      I could slap him for trying to scare her. But Emeline just returns his patronizing gaze with wide, unblinking eyes. “Ghosts? What kinds of ghosts?”

      “It seems that every town has its local ghost stories,” I hurry to interject, but I already know that Emeline will be demanding ghost stories now in addition to the mermaids. “It’s so very quaint.” This time I firmly turn my back on him and confer with Emeline on the different merits of the ribbons while Catherine joins in to agree or disagree with me.

      Rain begins to patter on the roof, first soft and indecisive, then a steady drumming. For a moment everything is normal and right; I’m shopping for hair ribbons with my sisters. It’s cozy, and I can almost forget the two women in the street and their greedy eyes, the overly eager shopkeeper.

      Emeline drops her ribbon and frowns. “We can’t leave Snip out there, he’s going to get drenched.”

      Mother won’t be pleased to have a wet, smelly dog in the house so I pay for Emeline’s ribbon and we plunge out into the sticky July rain, only to find that he’s gone.

      “He probably just went in search of somewhere dry. He can’t be far.” But as I look up and down the deserted street, I’m not quite sure where that would be.

      Catherine frowns, pulling her fine Indian shawl—a gift from Charles before he left—up over her head to keep her hair dry. I think she’s going to say something snide about just letting him go, but instead she points to the town green where a flash of white cuts through the downpour. Without waiting for us, Emeline hitches up her skirt and takes off.

      Snip thinks it’s a game. As soon as Emeline draws near, he freezes, wags his tail and then bounds off again. Catherine and I struggle to keep up with Emeline who has the speed of a gazelle, our dresses longer and heavier in the rain.

      As if on cue, thunder cracks in a long, grumbling roll. A moment later the sky flashes yellow. We’re well out of the center of town now, and Catherine is breathing heavily trying to keep up. “We can’t stay out here, we have to get inside,” she says, panting.

      I have no idea where we are, Snip has taken several sharp turns on his merry romp. We’re on a narrow road—really more of a dirt track—crowded with angry trees that threaten to crack in the heavy rain. Joe may be back with the carriage soon, but he won’t know where we’ve gone.

      “There!” Catherine points to a little footpath that cuts through the trees and brush. I can just make out a shingled roof through the clearing.

      “Emmy!” I call out after Emeline, who has lost some of her stamina and is suddenly looking overwhelmed in the unfamiliar surroundings. “Leave him for now.”

      Reluctantly, she follows as we run toward the building, some kind of old factory or mill. Overgrown with ivy and weeds, the mortar is crumbling around the foundation and the door lintel sags with rotting wood. At the very least it doesn’t look as though we’ll be bothering anyone.

      My feet are cold and slippery inside my shoes and my dress is completely plastered to my body. Catherine and Emeline haven’t fared much better, their hair undone and straggling down their necks. So much for our diverting trip to town.

      We huddle under a little overhang on the side of the building, empty barrels and upturned crates with old straw the only furniture. Outside the rain comes down in sheets.

      “Poor Snip,” Emeline says. “He’s probably so frightened. And how will he find his way home? We’ve only been here a day. He doesn’t know the way back.”

      Seeing the way Snip was enjoying himself, I doubt he is afraid and tell Emeline as much. “He has a keen nose, I’m sure he can sniff his way back.”

      “The rain will have washed all the scents away though,” Catherine unhelpfully volunteers, and I give her a sharp look over the top of Emeline’s head.

      We watch in silence as the trees thrash and bow, and jump when a particularly large branch snaps to the ground. The thunder eventually rolls off into the distance, the lightning following in its wake.

      “Look!”

      Emeline jumps off her seat and points out into the woods, where I can just make out the outline of Snip before he disappears into the trees. “We have to go get him!”

      “I’m done chasing that stupid dog. My feet are wet and blistering, and there’s no telling how much farther he’ll go.” Catherine looks to me for agreement. “Let’s wait for the rain to stop and then try to find Joe.”

      The lightning and thunder might have moved off, but the rain is still drumming down fast and steady. I look between Emeline’s expectant face and Catherine, already steeling myself for what I know I have to do. “You stay here. I’ll go follow him, but if I can’t catch him right away then I’m coming back.”

      Emeline pipes up to say something, but I stop her with a stern look. “Mother won’t be happy if you come back even dirtier and with a cold. Catherine, stay with her, and give me your shawl.”

       4

      WHY COULDN’T MOTHER have gotten her a cat, I think as I set off into the thicket behind the old building, wiping rain from my eyes. Cats don’t go romping about in downpours. Cats stay warm and dry in front of a fire, just like I wish I was right now.

      Plunging farther into the woods, I give a half-hearted yell for Snip, followed by an indelicate word as my shoe catches against a slick root. There’s no time to stop myself as I go sprawling headfirst into the wet leaves and mud. A rock breaks my fall. My hand smarts, and when I struggle to my knees to inspect the damage, there’s an angry cut running down my palm. It’s no use trying to wipe the dirt from it on my soaking dress, so I gingerly heave myself up the rest of the way, only to step on my hem in the process. There’s a loud tearing noise. Just my luck. I curse again as I stumble forward, reaching for tree trunks to steady myself as I go.

      The rain isn’t as heavy here under the thick canopy of trees, but each severe plop still snakes its way down my clothes, vanquishing the last few dry spots on my body.

      More than once I stop in my tracks, frozen by the snap of a branch or a clump of leaves falling to the ground. My neck prickles, just like last night when we arrived to an audience of fireflies and forest creatures. I’m a city girl, an intruder, unused to the thousand little sounds of a close woods.

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