Iris Harper has lived in Pendleford for decades, the local witch is mistrusted by the townsfolk, but that doesn’t stop some coming to her begging for potions, spells and quick-fixes. As time has marched on suddenly Iris is aware that her days are beginning to fade. Her sumptuous garden is turning against her, the sweet scent of rot potent and now a young girl has come begging for a solution at her door.
Yet, the problem she brings causes Iris to remember a man from long ago – the man she loved, the man she could never trust…
Praise for SARAH PAINTER’s Pendleford series
‘Sarah Painter is a talented new writer, and her debut is a charming, romantic and intriguing story, with a little touch of magic. It had me enchanted.’ – Clodagh Murphy on The Language of Spells
‘I would recommend this book as it is a real mix: it’s a love story and a thriller with a dash of magic thrown in for good measure.’ – Laura’s Book Review on The Secrets of Ghosts
‘The plot had great twists and turns and when I thought I had the story figured out, the story would go in a different direction and surprise me. I didn’t want to put it down and the further I got into the book, the harder it was to stop reading … A wonderful debut novel and I’m looking forward to reading the next one.’ – Novel Kicks on The Language of Spells
‘I thoroughly enjoyed The Secrets of Ghosts. It was just as magical and just as enjoyable as The Language of Spells and I am soooooo glad Sarah Painter decided to go back to Pendleford. … I really do love magical fiction and I think Sarah Painter is one of the best at giving you a realistic look at magic and all that comes with it.’ – Chick Lit Reviews on The Secrets of Ghosts
‘I really loved this book – and it is not often I say this, really. An amazing debut, I was sucked in so much I could hardly put it down and finished it in about a day I think. I also couldn’t stop talking about it! That is its charm and the skill of the writer, you can’t quite put your finger on what it is … I hope to read more in the future by this author.’ – Beloved Eleanor on The Language of Spells
‘This really was a fantastic debut novel … The language was also simple but elegant and meant that the story flowed seamlessly. I honestly could not put it down.’ – Laura’s Little Book Blog on The Language of Spells
‘Utterly enchanting.’ – The Madwoman in the Attic on The Secrets of Ghosts
Also by Sarah Painter
The Language of Spells
The Secrets of Ghosts
The Garden of Magic
Sarah Painter
www.CarinaUK.com
Before writing books, SARAH PAINTER worked as a freelance journalist and editor, while juggling amateur child-wrangling (aka motherhood) with her demanding Internet-appreciation schedule (aka procrastination).
Born in Wales to a Scot and an Englishman (very nearly a ‘three men walked into a bar’ joke), she now lives in Scotland with her husband, two children and a grey tabby called Zelda Kitzgerald. She loves the work of Joss Whedon, reading in bed, salt and vinegar crisps, and is the proud owner of a writing shed.
Sarah podcasts at www.worriedwriter.com and writes about craft, books and writing at www.sarah-painter.com.
Thank you to Victoria and Sally at Carina for their editorial wizardry and to Agent Fabulous (AKA Sallyanne Sweeney) for her continued support and advice. This story wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for all the lovely reader messages asking for more from Iris Harper. I really enjoyed revisiting Pendleford and I hope you do, too! Finally, a massive thank you to my friends and family for putting up with my writerly nonsense.
For my readers, with love and gratitude.
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Praise
Book List
Title Page
Author Bio
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Excerpt
Endpages
Copyright
Chapter One
Iris Harper was feeling old. She was eighty-two so this wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it was still irritating. Iris had always thought that ‘where there was a will there was a way’ and her will was formidable. She prided herself on her command of her body and felt personally affronted that it was letting her down after years of excellent service.
There was somebody knocking on her back door and it had taken an inordinate amount of time for Iris to get up from the easy chair in her bedroom and down the stairs. Yet another gift of advanced age; she now moved like an old woman.
Iris was surprised to find the man still waiting by the time she got to the door. Her regulars often just let themselves in after a cursory rap on the wood. It was Martin Angel from Bradford Farm, though, and he’d been raised right by real country folk. The kind who knew that you always paid your witch, no matter how much she politely declined; the kind who knew that you could walk into your neighbour’s house and call out ‘hullo, there’ by way of greeting, but that you’d better stay on the step if you were courting a girl, visiting nobility or wanted a favour from Iris Harper.
‘Mr Angel,’ Iris said, trying to stand a little straighter. ‘Are the lambs all right?’
He ducked his head in a nod. After a moment’s hesitation, he said: ‘It’s me. I’ve got a problem, Mrs Harper.’
Iris was not now and never had been married, but Mr Angel was a traditional sort of man and would no more have been able to call her ‘Ms’ than use her first name. After all, they’d only known each other for fifty years.
Fifty years. And I can feel every single one of them, Iris thought. She switched the kettle on and put tea into the pot. Then she filled a glass of water and popped a couple of capsules from their foil beds and swallowed them gratefully. Another side effect of age was that, although Martin Angel was a
