Carolyn listened for a few minutes, loud music would certainly not be tolerated, but all was still. Exam nerves, she supposed. She debated tapping on the door, trying to find out what might be the matter, but maybe it would be best to let her get it out of her system, whatever it was.

Maybe things weren’t going so well with Kym Swales, it wasn’t as if they had anything in common, after all. Good. The sooner that particular friendship withered and died, the better.

Chapter 22

22

‘You do look like your grandmother.’ Carolyn put the photograph down and took a sip of her coffee.

‘Really?’

The familiar tapping at the door, not long after a late breakfast, had been a welcome distraction. A whole day and night of Maude convalescing and Nell doing her best to take care of her had left them both tired and irritable. Maude had confined herself to the attic, with Nell struggling up and down the ladder to fetch and carry for her, never quite finding the right moment to bring up the shoe, and to discuss what they should do with it. Wary still of Maude’s mood and temper.

They seemed to get along better when someone else was around, even if that someone was Carolyn. She had baked biscuits and a banana loaf, which was enough to tempt Maude down into the kitchen. After inquiring into Maude’s health, the conversation had turned to Nell’s family and the snapshots Gina had found.

‘Definitely.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of Aunt Ida looking so young.’

‘We could scan it,’ said Maude, ‘send you a copy.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Carolyn.

Maude helped herself to another biscuit. ‘Was she really a witch?’ she asked. ‘’Cause there’s no such thing, is there? Not anymore.’

‘Well, not now, maybe,’ said Carolyn slowly, glancing at Nell, ‘but when I was little she seemed very old, very – powerful.’

Maude’s expression was something between horror and awe. ‘How did you know she was a witch?’ she asked ‘Like, for certain?’

And it was nice, Nell thought, to see a glimpse of the real Maude again.

*

Kym and Evie paused by one of the cabinets. Arranged carefully in rows of thick strips of yellowing linen were a selection of pins, one-or two-inches long; some blunted, some bent, all of them blackened with age.

Anglo-Saxon pins found in great numbers and in many locations. They are likely to have been worn in clothes, the hair or headband. Most are copper alloy, except where noted, cast in a mould, then hand finished.

They reminded Kym of the pin in the shoe.

‘Are you sure this is OK?’ asked Evie.

‘Hello, Kym.’ The woman behind the admissions desk was smiling at them.

‘Mrs Agar. Hi. This is my friend, Evie.’