Puritan Bride Read Free Page A

still-room. With stiff fingers Elizabeth applied the key and found to her relief that the lock had received some recent care and opened smoothly. The door allowed her entrance to a small room, lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, with a work bench along one wall and an old cabinet fixed to the wall in one corner. The only window was small, mullioned, letting in a poor, grey light. How long since anyone had ventured in here? she wondered. Dust and cobwebs covered and draped from every surface, as did the spiders, and she tried not to notice the mouse droppings along the surface of the bench.
    For the most part the shelves were empty, but there were a few jars at one side, some with faded labels, most without. Elizabeth remembered enjoying this little spacein happier days to store the products of the kitchen garden and the orchard for the onset of winter. Presumably it had not been made use of any time in the past decade. Above her head hung bunches of herbs, perhaps collected and put there by herself. They were dry and brittle now, too dusty for use, but the scent of sage filled the air as she crumbled a sprig in her hand and allowed the leaves to drift to the floor. She had seen that the herb garden was totally overgrown, but it would be pleasurable to resurrect it on warm afternoons in spring—if she could find it physically possible.
    The bottles had dark, sinister contents. Possibly plums … or damsons—she remembered a particularly fine specimen by the wall in the kitchen garden. She would not care to risk sampling them after all these years. Perhaps she could get Felicity to help her take stock and clear out. It would give her something to do other than complain and read pious passages from her limited collection of books. Her eyes closed, the aromas of herbs around her, Lady Elizabeth wished with all her heart that she had her health back.
    Finally Elizabeth opened the cabinet. On one shelf was a pestle and mortar. Beside it a sheaf of yellowed pages, perhaps a collection of old recipes, but nothing she remembered. Otherwise there was a general clutter of spoons, dishes and a cracked glass container.
    She was about to turn away, somewhat disappointed at the cabinet’s meagre treasure, when it caught her eye,tucked into the bottom corner of the cabinet. It was a handsome pottery jug, quite old, undecorated and cloaked with dust, but with an elegant neck and handle. She had no recollection of this. There was no label that she could see, so she bent carefully to lift it out and place it on the bench. It was well sealed with wax and there were traces of an official seal stamped into it, but it was brittle enough to begin to disintegrate at her touch. She carried it to the window to squint at the imprint. Impossible to tell. She moved to replace it in the cupboard. Perhaps Mistress Neale would know more about it.
    Felicity’s voice calling her name from close at hand caught her attention. It was enough to herald disaster. She fumbled, the pottery too smooth in her grasp and her swollen knuckles unable to keep a firm pressure.
    She dropped the pot. It shattered on the tiled floor at her feet, sending shards of painted clay in every direction.
    Elizabeth groaned in frustration and self-disgust. Now she would have to clear it up, whatever mess it contained—apart from having wilfully destroyed a handsome jug. Relief and some surprise swept through her, however, when she realised that, in spite of the stopper and the seal, the jug was, in fact, empty. All she could see around her feet were broken pieces of pottery.
    It took no time for Elizabeth to accept that her hips and knees would not allow her to stoop to the floor to sweep up the pieces, however much she might like to hide theevidence. Never mind, Mistress Neale would see to it. Or even Felicity. After all, it was her fault, calling out in such a fractious voice that Elizabeth had dropped it in the first place. At least the vessel would not have been worth very