‘Wanted to go back to Wight—Tell Constance I’m sorry. Was wrong—should never have left—too late, too late. Tell her for me—’
Her voice held the traces of an accent, almost forgotten it had lived elsewhere so long, but it was one which Isabel recognized as being from her part of the world. The woman’s eyes fought to hold onto hers. She knew that she would not let go until she answered her and so she found herself nodding. ‘I will; I’ll tell Constance.’
‘Promise.’ The lips formed the words, but the breath behind them was faint.
‘I promise.’
A smile flickered then the light behind those bright blue eyes clouded over, and then she was gone.
PART ONE
Verbena officinalis – Blue vervain/Common Vervain
From Celtic/Druid Culture and Ancient Roman herbalism – a sacred herb associated with magic and sorcery.
Means ‘to drive away a stone’ and was said to remove urinary stones during those times.
Used to purify homes and temples and to ward off the plague.
Contribute to love potions and can be used as an aphrodisiac.
Uses:
To ease nerves, stress, and depression.
To clear airways and expel mucous.
To aid in sleeplessness, nervousness, obstructed menstruation, and weak digestion.
Using the dark green leaf of the plant, wash thoroughly and dry. Place leaves on baking paper and allow to dry naturally in an open space out of direct sunlight for several days. Turn the leaves occasionally ensuring there isn’t any moisture present. Once dried out the leaves can be used for tea or placed in bathwater for a soothing effect while bathing. The vervain seeds can also be roasted and eaten.
Isabel
Chapter 1
Isabel looked around the crowded church hall as she waited behind a gentleman with a thick thatch of white hair many a younger man would be envious of. She was in the line for the tea and coffee although having held back from the initial rush it had thinned out considerably. In the middle of the room were three trestle tables bowed with the weight of the plates of food set out upon them. Seats had been lined up against the wall opposite the entrance from the main building, she noted, and all were taken. It was a good turn-out. People were milling about, cup and saucer in hand talking in low murmurs and they were all strangers to her, every single one of them.
‘What would you like dear?’ asked a woman who made Isabel think of apple pie for no reason other than she had a round face with rosy cheeks and a kind smile.
‘Oh, um, coffee please.’
‘Coffee it is. My goodness that’s an unusual hair colour,’ she said looking properly at Isabel before lifting the coffee pot.
‘Mmm.’ The green colour she’d chosen on her last visit to the hairdressers always garnered second glances, which she didn’t mind. She wouldn’t have opted for such an unusual shade if she did. It was her way of standing out from the crowd. A crowd in which she was never very confident of where she fitted. She was never sure how she should reply though when someone actually commented. To launch into her reasons for wanting to set herself apart a little seemed far too longwinded for such a straightforward comment.
‘And how did you know our Ginny then?’ the woman asked, pouring the hot liquid into one of the cups set out on the table.
Isabel didn’t want to blurt out the truth, so she said the first thing that sprang to mind. ‘I only met her the once but she made an impression on me, and well, I just wanted to come today.’
The woman was only half listening as she weighed up whether or not to signal to her catering side-kick, who was beavering away in the kitchen, that she needed another pot of coffee. ‘That’s nice dear.’ She decided she’d get away with what was left in the pot as she handed Isabel her drink. ‘I have to say Father Joyce did her proud; it was a lovely service. Help yourself to milk and sugar.’ She gestured to her right. ‘And don’t be shy with the food; it’s there to be eaten.’ She eyed Isabel’s petite frame thinking she was a girl who could do with a sausage roll or two before turning her gaze to the next person in line.
‘Thank you.’ Isabel moved over to the tray she’d been directed to, and as she finished stirring the milk and a heaped teaspoon of sugar into her coffee, she wondered where she should stand. She spied a quiet corner near the entrance and opting for that weaved her way through the gathering being careful not to get knocked. If anyone was likely to send her cup of coffee flying it was her!
Isabel wasn’t sure if she should have come today, but she’d been certain it was something she had to do. It might sound clichéd, but she was seeking closure. She hoped that by attending the funeral of Virginia May Havelock, the woman who’d died in her arms not quite a week and a half ago, closure was what she’d get. They didn’t mess around in New Zealand, she thought, taking a sip of her drink and trying not to make eye contact with anyone because she did not want to have to get into a conversation on how she’d met Ginny.
The coffee was weak and flavourless the way coffee always is at weddings and funerals, and she wished she’d asked for tea. In the United Kingdom, it could take weeks before a service was held and more often than not it was mostly only family and close friends who attended. Today, it looked as though the whole town had turned out.
She would have felt less out of place if she’d had Helena with her, but she’d left for Thailand four
