The Poison Diaries: Nightshade by Maryrose Wood

Author:Maryrose Wood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

Maryam’s father finds a robe for me. He stays with me as I gather up my possessions – all my money has disappeared, but at least the packets of herbs remain – and helps carry them back to my room.

After he leaves, I wrap myself in every blanket I can find. If I could only get warm, I know I would sleep the sleep of the dead, but I cannot. My body is battered, but my mind whirls, and rest eludes me. Time is wasting, but I am too weak to do what I know I must.

Within the hour Maryam’s mother arrives with a mug of hot broth. She wants to feed me as if I were the sick child, but I tell her to leave it on the nightstand. “Your daughter needs you,” I say. “Go back to Maryam.”

She nods, wringing her hands. “My husband is with her now. But I had to come myself to say this: I am so sorry to hear what they did, Miss Rowan. I want you to know I said nothing, to anyone. I kept my promise. When my husband returned from town, he told me that he heard many people talking about a witch, a young woman, being drowned in the river by a mob. I remembered what you said to me, and I became afraid. I told him to go look for you – I am glad he found you. And now see how you shiver! I am afraid you will be the next one to get sick.”

All at once my eyes are so heavy I can scarcely sit up. “It is not your fault,” I mumble. “I am grateful for your kindness. If you will forgive me, I must rest.”

She nods and moves to the door but lingers there. “I do not understand these people,” she says. “We will travel with them no more. And you will not, to be sure. Miss Rowan, promise me you will ride with us? We have room in the cart. My husband does not mind walking. And this way you will be with us – in case Maryam’s fever returns, or in case you need someone to care for you.”

“We can talk about it tomorrow.” I offer a weak smile. “And I promise to drink the broth.”

She goes, and I take a few spoonfuls. The heat of it warms me just enough to crawl into bed and bury myself beneath the quilt.

My last thought as I finally drift into sleep is to marvel that there are still good hearts in the world. Not many. But some.

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