The Witch in the Lake by Fienberg Anna

Author:Fienberg, Anna
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2013-07-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Merilee only found Workshop 4 by accident. Beatrice had hurried off—’Heavens, is that the time!’—without giving Merilee the slightest clue where she was to go, and the room emptied as suddenly as if it were tipped up like a jar of rice and turned on its head.

Merilee found herself alone at the table. At the far end of the room was Consuela, stacking plates for washing. She was helped by two other servants who seemed to be arguing with her. Merilee felt silly sitting all alone like a stranded sheep, and stumbled outside.

She walked along a corridor until she came to another spacious room. The door was ajar, just inches open, but through it wafted a perfume of rose and jasmine so overpowering that tears started in her eyes. It seemed that just behind the door, so close, her mother must be waiting.

Shyly, she pushed the door open. She put her head in. There was no one.

She sat down on a low wooden bench. Shelves above her were crammed with jars of herbs and little pottery vessels filled with fragrance. Merilee let the aroma drift over her. She could have almost fallen asleep. But her mind kept flicking over to that strange, tiered structure in the corner of the room.

She’d never seen anything like it. Glass sheets were stacked one on top of the other in wooden frames. When she looked closely she saw that the glass was covered with some kind of greasy substance, and sprinkled over it were fresh petals. Merilee bent to take a great sniff.

Suddenly, behind her, she heard a footstep. She swung around and found herself face to face with the friendly young girl of the night before.

Merilee laughed with relief.

The girl was wearing a red silk headdress that sat, heart-shaped, above her forehead. Deep navy blue eyes smiled at Merilee.

‘The aroma of love, wouldn’t you say?’ The girl nodded at the wooden structure next to Merilee. ‘What does that perfume make you think of?’

‘My mother,’ said Merilee quickly.

‘My Alessandro,’ said the girl. She stood next to Merilee and breathed in deeply. ‘I met him on the day I made my first pomade—from this very same contraption, you know.’

Merilee was about to say no, she didn’t know, and how did this greasy business they were bending over end up as a perfume? And where were the usual introductions, and was this girl a student too, and what was her name? But she didn’t get a chance.

‘I wore the pomade in my hair, and he said I smelled like a rose from the garden of paradise.’

‘Excuse me,’ Merilee began cautiously, ‘but are you here for Essential Oils?’

‘Yes, I’m your teacher—Isabella Innamorata at your service. At least that’s what I call myself.’

‘So it’s just us two?’

Isabella smiled at her, nodding. ‘Tell me, niece of the great Beatrice, who will come bursting in here like gunshot any minute to see what I haven’t taught you—‘They both looked up then as a clatter of feet passed the door and stopped, a long shadow snaking through the gap, along the floor.

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