A Rose for Beauty

Chapter 15

They took their leave as quickly as possible and stepped out into the waning day. Mr. Hawke insisted that she return at the next possibility, but he needn't have worried – there was no chance that Lydia would forget to come back. She clutched her little sachet in one hand (Mrs. Warren had linked elbows through her other arm) and the two of them started walking back to town. They found almost at once that they must go rather slower than Lydia would have liked on account of her ankle, which gave her altogether too much time to fret about Anna's reaction to her absence.

 “Now, we'll get you some more lavender before you go,” said Mrs. Warren.

 Lydia was too engrossed in her worry to make sense of that. “I beg your pardon?”

 Mrs. Warren repeated herself patiently. “The lavender. For your father. We'll get some more for you.”

 “Oh.” Lydia felt a flare of shame. To have forgotten Father's condition, even for a moment... “Thank you.”

 “I'll be needing you to promise me something, though, Miss Lydia.”

 “What is that?” she asked warily.

 “Don't make it more than once in a day.” Mrs. Warren pursed her lips. “Unless you have a mind to actually trade your life for his. It takes too much out of you.”

 All the uneasiness and disquiet she had felt before when pouring – something – into that tea rushed back, and before she could stop herself she asked, “What is it? What does it take from me?”

Mrs. Warren's mouth opened in surprise, but she checked herself and answered evenly, as though it were a perfectly normal question. “Nothing but energy, dear, and strength, although any mother will tell you that the best remedies are made with love as well. That's why it feels as though you'd just run a footrace with the devil when you've finished.”

“Made with love?” Lydia couldn't help herself. Her lips twitched into a crooked smile and she barely caught back a laugh before it escaped her.

“Laugh if you like,” said Mrs. Warren, who looked as though she appreciated the joke, “but there's not a posset or tea but that it works better with some love poured in. There are some as won't work at all without it. But in all seriousness, Miss Lydia,” she continued, her voice low, “it is possible to give more than you have to spare, and I very much doubt your father would want to regain his health that way. Make it once a day, at bedtime, and by morning you should be right as rain.”

Lydia promised she would remember. By this time they were once more walking through the rows of houses behind the tavern, and her stomach roiled as she imagined the veiled fury with which Anna would greet her.

Mrs. Warren seemed to sense something of her anxiety and patted her arm. “Not to worry, my dear. We'll say it was my fault, you being gone so long, and I'm sure that will be the end of it.”

Lydia thanked her and tried to smile, but she doubted very much that things would go so smoothly. The two of them took the path around the side of the Cat and Fiddle so that they might enter by the front, and as they opened the door they heard the sound of a chair being pushed hurriedly back and a door swinging shut somewhere inside. Lydia looked about the room curiously once they entered, but there was only Anna, sitting on a wooden bench with her back leaned against a table, drinking a cup of tea and looking bored.

“I was beginning to wonder if you planned to return today,” she said, tucking an errant strand of hair back into place.

“Oh, you can blame me for that, I'm afraid,” Mrs. Warren replied cheerily. “And I do beg your pardon. Miss Lydia and I ran into an old friend of mine and we just couldn't get away.”