'Don't look, Lillian. Never look into the eyes of a Sin-Eater, you will be as cursed as he is and will forever languish in darkness.'
Lillian Elmes remembers the warning her mother gave her about the town's Sin-Eater only too well.
How could she n...
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Stella Turner is but twelve years old, but I think she is perhaps fiercer than any child I have ever met.
She wears a dark linen smock dress with a white collar, and the skirts gather thickly about her shins. Her lace-up boots are worn and scuffed on the toe. Her hair is a mass of mahogany curls, that look quite untameable. The little girl might not be able to see fully, but I feel under intense scrutiny in the wake of her accusation.
Recovering quickly, I speak, not wishing to alarm her as I move carefully closer.
'Hello, Stella.'
'Miss Elmes,' she replies, and I am surprised when I realise it is a statement, not a question.
'Yes,' I say, reaching her side. 'How did you know it was me?'
'Yer perfume, miss,' she sniffs, tilting her head upwards. 'It's unusual.'
She says it in such a way that I am suddenly not certain whether she means it as a slight and I take a moment to inhale deeply, frowning as I do, sure I only added a few drops to my handkerchief this morning before I set out.
'You smell o' roses. The other ladies smell o' orange blossom,' she adds, with a smile that tells me she knows full well that I just inhaled to detect the scent she speaks of.
'Oh, I see. The scent is Otto of Roses. My father bought it for me on his last trip to London. Well detected.'
Stella is still staring up at me, expectantly. Waiting. Of course, she is not interested in tales of my gifts from Papa. Why would she be? I clear my throat. I have never known a child as still as Stella Turner and I feel utterly exposed in front of her, as if she already knows my intention before I even dare speak it.
'Were yer taking a walk, Miss Elmes?'
I place the basket of apples at my feet, rubbing my palms from the chafe of the wicker handle. 'Actually, I'm on something of a mission, Stella, and I was wondering if you could help me, and perhaps in return, I can be of help to you.'
Stella wrinkles her nose. 'You? Help me? How?' she demands, instant suspicion darkening her brow.
'Is it correct that you are taking provisions to Mr. Carver?'
'What if I am?' she retorts, scowling now, gripping her own basket tighter. For a small girl, she looks then like a tiny wolf, all dark hair and fury, ready to snarl and claw at anyone who might threaten to take it from her.
'Oh, I mean nothing by it, rest assured. In fact, I am on my way to visit Mr. Carver myself.'
'Mr. Carver dunna have no visitors,' she says, her suspicion deepening. 'None but me.'
'Well yes, I am aware, and that is exactly why I wanted to visit him. I have brought a basket from our harvest. I'd like to extend Mr. Carver the same courtesy as everyone else who benefits from our apple crop.' I glance into the woods. 'I was wondering, if you don't mind me asking, how do you navigate the pathway without...'
