2.2 Mrs Sinclair and the Feather Haa

In which Mrs Sinclair discovers that her daughters had a secret.

Jul 12, 2024

To her horror the creature seemed to grow in size until it was almost her own height, stretched and elongated like a wisp of cloud. It bowed again: she was beginning to feel a peculiar distaste of these bows. And then it shrank back to solidity.

Miss Warner and the children did not seem surprised at the creature changing shape, but Mrs Sinclair felt stunned. One of those, here? She had had no idea. But then - she had been so preoccupied.

‘My condolences, madam. I regret to intrude on this sad occasion, but my business with Mr Sinclair was periodic. This is the appointed moment in the calendrical season when we occlude our intent to our mutual understanding and accord.’

She stared at him. ‘Who are you, sir?’ she asked.

It grinned at her, toothily. ‘A trow of these isles, madam. Your humble servant.’ It bowed again, quite elegantly, given the shortness of its legs. ‘Your percipient eye has given me hope that my visit may not be unexpected. May I beg the favour of an interview?’

Mrs Sinclair was seized by an insidious feeling of curiosity.

‘On which subject, sir?’ she asked stiffly.

It leaned towards her and whispered softly in her ear, so that the girls and Miss Warner could not hear.

‘Witchcraft.’

She had sent the girls back to the house, and had given Miss Warner terse instructions to contain them in the schoolroom until she had concluded the creature’s visit.

Maria had not protested as much as Ishabel, but she tried to bargain. ‘But we may watch you, Mama, may we not? I can practice my dance steps while looking out of the window.’

Since she had no intention of leaving anyone’s sight while in conversation with the creature, Mrs Sinclair had had to agree.

She led the way to the only seat the unkempt lawn possessed, a rustic stone bench with a view through the thin bushes down to the voe. It was at least sheltered. The stone was no damper than usual, and she sat, bolt upright, to hear what the creature might say. Wild grasses bowed at her feet.

The trow sat negligently at the other end of the bench, swinging an unshod flat foot crossed over its stumpy leg. Mrs Sinclair’s feet rested neatly in her house shoes on the damp grass. The yellow heads of the remaining summer weeds nodded at her in the longer grass to each side of the bench, and she could hear cries from the seabirds on the unseen cliffs below. She wrapped her brown woollen shawl more closely around her shoulders.

The trow turned to address her, its polite demeanour contrasting painfully with its grotesque appearance.

‘I will begin, Madam, by repeating my condolences. I have known Mr Sinclair any time these past thirteen years and had much enjoyed our discourses. I regret his death extremely. May I, if it is not painful to your sensibility, ask how it occurred?’

She did not look at it, but she sensed the probing from its intelligent eyes.

‘He died in his sleep,’ she said briefly. ‘It was unexpected.’

‘Unaided?’

She kept her composure and said nothing.

‘Of course. He had an unpleasant character.’ The creature looked around, ignoring her stupefaction. ‘You do not have any dogs, still?’

‘We have no dogs, sir. My husband disliked animals.’

‘Did he never discover Miss Maria’s mouse?’

She turned her head to stare at him.

‘I see he did not. Your daughter, Mrs Sinclair, is a cunning and devious person. I congratulate you heartily on her perspicacity. She could easily overcome her father’s duller wits.’

Her head was whirling. ‘Sir, you say you enjoyed your conversations with my husband, yet you condemn his character. I cannot make those parts of the equation agree.’

It cocked an eye at her. ‘You betray your mathematical training, madam. An elegant rhetorical device. No, I enjoyed the battle of wills, with my secret knowledge reinforcing his own dark fears. He paid me a year at a time to keep away from this house in the intervening months, and from you, for fear of what I might impart. And now he cannot pay me! What am I to do?’

It cackled quietly, with a smug expression, and picked idly at the yellow lichen growing on the stone with its claw.

Despite herself, Mrs Sinclair’s interest was keenly engaged. The creature’s mien was not malignant, and there was a devil-may-care daring in its conduct. There was also its perfect understanding of her husband’s nature, expressed plainly in a way that gave her much relief.

‘For a person who only encountered my husband once a year, your comprehension is acute, sir.’

It grinned. She could not help but smile back, though its teeth still made her cautious.

‘When did my daughter keep a mouse?’

The creature counted on its fingers. She noticed with detached interest that now its hand seemed to have changed appearance. Its palms and claw-like fingers were scarred and one hand appeared to have only three fingers. An accident? Or a wound? Its control over the glamour seemed also to be imperfect. Was this design? Or negligence?

‘It was, what? Three years ago? She brought the animal out in her shawl to show me. It was a house mouse, quite healthy. I told it to stay quiet and not be discovered by anyone except the children. I hope it gave her pleasure?’

‘Sir, that was kindly done.’

Maria had never mentioned a pet mouse to her mother. Mrs Sinclair acknowledged that her husband would have made her drown it.

‘But when did you meet my daughters?’

The creature waved a hand towards the open moorland. ‘On their walks, on my visit every year. They knew when to expect me. I promised their guardian preceptress that no harm would ever come to them under my notice, and Miss Warner was good enough to accept my word. She has met my people before. She knows the agreements.’

‘Ah,’ she said softly.

It turned to look at her. ‘As do you, madam.’

She bowed her head. ‘I have been submerged under my marriage and my duties. I am free now and will endeavour to honour the agreements.’

It waved its hand again, airily. ‘It is the usual way for humans. Nothing out of the common.’

The Shetland Witch

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