The Hemlock Cure by Joanne Burn

Author:Joanne Burn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2022-06-07T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Leah

From the doorway of the parlour I caught a glimpse of dark hair at the pale flesh of Isabel’s briefly exposed breast. Her shawl must have slipped just as I opened the door, and she snatched at it, pulling it back across the infant’s head, smoothing it there. We held one another’s gaze and I saw it in her eyes – she knew she had not been quick enough; despite requiring a breath or two to make sense of what I had seen, the oddity would not be disguised now.

I looked accusingly at Mother. She stood by the hearth, the fire burning behind her layers of petticoats. A swaddled infant – not her own – lay with its face in the dips and curves of her collarbone and neck, and she patted at the still, rounded lump of sleeping child. I entered the parlour and closed the door behind me.

I knew what this was. But now it was hidden from view I wanted to see it again. Careful in the placing of my stockinged feet (avoiding the gaps between the floorboards) I stepped towards Isabel. When I was stood right there in front of her I could smell the lavender water on her hair. Reaching my fingers to the edge of the thick shawl, I peeled it back and revealed the deception up close. Mae’s mouth worked a steady rhythm, milk dribbling into the scraggy wrinkles of her neck. Her eyes were shut, and every swallow was met with a brief sigh of pleasure.

‘But Father said no,’ I said, turning to Mother, who continued patting at Frances.

‘Leah?’ Isabel said, grasping my forearm.

Her bright blue eyes looked deep into mine.

‘Your sister will die if I do not feed her. Your mother has not the milk she needs.’

‘Father says it is a sin.’

‘And I say it is not. I say it is a sin to let a child die when she can just as easily live.’

‘She does not feed because she is a changeling.’

I did not intend for my words to sound as sulky as they did.

Isabel’s hand slipped down the long sleeve of my nursery gown and her fingers took hold of mine. I tried to pull away, but only half-heartedly, and she held on to me, bringing my hand to her lips so she could kiss it.

‘Your sister is not a changeling, Leah. If she was we’d have taken her to the forest to sort out the muddle before now, would we not? She is restless because she is hungry. Here together now’ – she gestured around the room with my hand still in hers – ‘this is women’s business. And you may be small yet, but you will grow to be a woman one day. Your father does not need to know about this. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

I was not sure that I did, not entirely, but I found myself nodding.

‘You care for your sister, do you not?’ she asked.

I stared into the keen clarity

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