A Dark and Twisted Tide (11 page)

‘I’m Thessa,’ the old woman announced once Lacey was on shore. ‘Short for something very long and Greek. And you’re . . .?’ She waggled long, curving fingernails that were painted pink to match her blouse.

‘I’m Lacey. It’s very nice to meet you, Thessa.’

‘Come on.’ Thessa spun round and pushed herself up the ramp at speed, and with a strength that suggested she wasn’t nearly as frail as she appeared. Lacey followed and stepped into a buzzing mass of colour.

The garden was large by London standards and laid out as parkland, grassed and interspersed with trees.

Both sides of the path were lined with the slender silver-green leaves and purple buds of lavender bushes. In front of the lavender were tiny white flowers, gleaming like stars against a background of deep green. Beyond it were taller plants that bloomed deep pink, with leaves so huge they wouldn’t have looked out of place in a rain-forest. Bees and butterflies were everywhere.

‘Leave the gate,’ called Thessa.

Lacey picked up her pace so that she and the old lady were almost side by side. ‘Is this your house, Thessa?’

‘Yes,’ Thessa replied. ‘Been in the family for generations. That’s what you’re supposed to say, isn’t it? Not true, of course. We were dirty immigrants who got lucky and made a pile.’

The house they were approaching looked Georgian, with two main storeys and a series of gabled attic windows. Stretching along most of the back wall was a conservatory.

‘This is where I work,’ said Thessa, charging in through the open door. ‘Come in.’

If I’m offered gingerbread, I’m out of here, Lacey told herself, as she stepped inside the building and the wall of heat hit her like a furnace blast.

Lined along the glass house’s central table, set low to accommodate Thessa’s wheelchair, were trays of young plants. Others grew from baskets suspended from the ceiling. Around the walls were low counters, similarly filled with plants, except where they’d been cleared as work-stations. Lacey saw knives, scissors, string, pestles and mortars, weighing scales. Beneath the counters were wooden chests with small drawers, each labelled in a handwriting she’d struggle to decipher.

‘I’m a herbalist,’ announced Thessa. ‘What will you have to drink? Elderflower cordial? Damson? Hemlock? . . . Just kidding. The damson wasn’t very good last year . . . Still kidding.’

Lacey made a mental note to keep the open door between herself and this strange woman.

‘It’s too hot for you in here. Come on through.’

Not sure whether it was a good idea, but strangely compelled, Lacey followed Thessa into a room that wasn’t quite a kitchen, but not quite anything else either. There were crude wooden worktops, two huge Belfast sinks and several large fridges, all but one of which appeared to be locked.

To one side of the sinks was a row of tall glass bottles, each containing liquid of a different colour. ‘We’ll try that one, I think, Lacey,’ said Thessa. ‘Third from the left. You’ll find a jug in the cupboard under the sink and ice in the fridge. The tap water’s fine, there’s a filter built into it.’

‘Elderberry,’ said Lacey, reading the label.

‘Picked them myself last September. That’s the last bottle till the autumn. Now, about an inch in the bottom of the jug, then fill with water. Come on, or you’ll miss the tide. I love that, don’t you? Miss the tide! Sounds like we’re seafaring folk of old, off on adventures to the far side of the world. That’s it, not too weak.’

Thinking that, sometimes, eccentrics just had to be humoured, Lacey opened the unlocked fridge and found it full of more bottles,
tubs and jars, all labelled in Thessa’s sprawling, difficult handwriting. As she added ice to the jug, she saw Thessa rummaging around in several of the drawers. The elderberry cordial, thick and purple in the bottle, turned the palest shade of mauve when she added water.

‘To be honest, the wild cherry is a little sweeter,’ said Thessa. ‘Tray on top of the fridge, glasses in the cupboard nearest the door. And everyone likes the bilberry. But there is something rather special about the elderberry. Seems right for your first visit. OK, if we’re done, we’ll go outside again. Wagons roll.’

There was a short ramp between the kitchen and greenhouse and Thessa sped down it with glee, spinning her wheels at the last second to avoid hurtling into the glass walls. She went out through a side door.

When Lacey followed, she found herself in a sun-trap. Walled on two sides by the stone of the house and the glass of the conservatory, the paved area faced south-east and Lacey could see across the garden, through the iron gates, down to the creek. The area was filled with the scent of flowers.

‘What can I smell?’ she asked, as Thessa positioned herself at a small cast-iron table.

‘Thyme. The wheels of my chair crush it and release the scent. Come and sit down.’

Lacey looked down to see that plants grew along every crack between the paving stones. Some looked like wild daisies, with long, rangy stems and yellow-tipped white flowers. Mostly, though, they were a shrub-like plant, with tiny green leaves and pink or purple flowers. Then different smells took over. Lacey recognized one as lavender; she wasn’t sure about the other, but it was making her think of roast lamb.

‘Those are chives.’ Thessa was pointing towards long thin leaves and a mass of purple flowers. ‘I don’t crush those. They smell of onions.’

‘So what’s so special about elderberry?’ Lacey sat, wondering if she were really going to drink a homemade brew offered by this strange woman.

Thessa leaned forward in her chair. Her dark eyes weren’t brown,
as Lacey had thought at first, but the deepest possible shade of blue. ‘The elder is one of the most important plants in herbalism. It’s like a whole medicine chest in one plant. On the other hand – and this is what intrigues me the most – it’s almost universally feared.’ She sat upright again and looked round the garden warily.

You old ham, thought Lacey.

The old ham was on a roll. ‘Few plants feature more in legend and folklore than the elder. They used to say that if you were standing near a tree at midnight on Midsummer night, you would see the Faery King ride by. That’s tonight, by the way. And almost bound to happen, the moment of the solstice being exactly a minute before midnight.’

‘I’ll look out for him.’ Lacey smiled as she thought of Joesbury in the guise of the Faery King.

‘You should.’ Thessa had a perfectly straight face. ‘I swear that man gets more beautiful with every passing decade.’

‘So what are its medicinal properties?’

‘Guards against infection. Very good for flu and colds, and helps relieve coughs.’

‘I have neither cough nor cold,’ said Lacey, ‘but I appreciate the thought.’

‘You’re coming down with both,’ announced Thessa. ‘Your voice is hoarser than it naturally is, your breathing is shallow, meaning the bottom of your chest isn’t working properly because it’s fighting off an infection, and you’ve sniffed four times since you’ve been here. I bet you’re also more tired than usual and your chest feels a bit heavy.’

Complete rubbish. Except, ‘I’ve not been sleeping well lately,’ admitted Lacey.

‘You haven’t been sleeping well for years, not since the great sorrow, whatever that was. Don’t tell me, dear, we don’t know each other nearly well enough for that yet. But I can give you something.’

She reached into her pocket and pulled out three small bottles.

‘Hawthorn tincture.’ Thessa twisted the lid from the first and tipped three drops into the jug. ‘Made in two stages: from the flowers and the leaves in spring, and then by adding the berries in the autumn. Excellent for the heart and circulation, which you don’t
need, but also for calming and reducing anxiety, which you certainly do. It also helps with bad dreams and insomnia.’

Elderberry and hawthorn? Didn’t sound too bad. If that’s what they really were.

‘This is linden.’ Thessa opened the second bottle and added it to the jug, like the first. ‘You might know it as lime. Not the citrus fruit – the English tree. This is made from the flowers. It soothes irritation, boosts the immune system and helps you relax and sleep.’

‘I’ll be falling asleep by midday,’ said Lacey. Not that she had any plans to drink the stuff.

‘This last one is mugwort. Not a pretty name, but a very good herb for us women. It’s been used for centuries in healing and magic. It’s known as a protector of women and travellers.’

The tops back on the three bottles, Thessa lifted the jug and poured the drink into Lacey’s glass and then her own. ‘Mugwort’s good for female problems. Not that I can see any sign of those, but it’s a good all-round tonic. Let’s see how you get on with these three. You can take them home with you.’ She slid the bottles across the table to Lacey.

‘That’s very kind, but—’

‘Drink up.’

Thessa nodded at Lacey’s glass, where the cordial that might or might not be elderberry had gained the addition of nine drops of heaven only knew what. Was this how dreadful things happened, then? Out of politeness?

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’

Quick as a flash, Thessa picked up her own glass and downed half of it. Then she set it down on the table and looked expectantly at Lacey.

‘I’m sorry to be rude,’ said Lacey. ‘But you are a little unusual and I’ve never come across a— Oh my God, what’s wrong?’

She was up out of her seat, bending over Thessa, who had convulsed in her chair before her head had fallen on to her chest. The old woman was shaking, her arms jerking at her sides, odd croaking noises coming from her throat.

‘Thessa, don’t be ridiculous,’ said a male voice from the doorway of the house.

Lacey spun round to see a tall, dark-haired man in his early sixties watching them with an expression on his face that said he’d seen it all before and it never got any funnier. She looked back at Thessa, who was upright again, grinning.

‘Gotcha!’ she said to Lacey.

‘What is she giving you?’ The man had stepped outside and taken a seat beside Lacey. He’d brought his own glass.

‘Umm . . . elderberry, hawthorn, lime and mugwort, I think,’ said Lacey.

The man shrugged, pulled a face, then poured himself a glass.

He drank and smiled at Lacey. ‘I’m Alex. Thessa’s brother. Delighted to meet you.’

‘Lacey Flint,’ she said, to the man with heavy eyebrows and a dark complexion who, at first glance, looked nothing like Mrs Nutty in the wheelchair. He was wearing neatly pressed trousers and an open-necked button-down shirt.

‘How novel to have a visitor arriving by boat,’ he said. ‘Although I rather like it. Puts me in mind of the old days, when the rivers around London were the main means of transport.’

‘I live on one of the boats in Deptford Creek.’ Lacey picked up her glass and risked a sip. ‘We all have canoes or small motor boats. But somebody here has a boat as well.’

‘That’s Thessa’s,’ said Alex. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade her that going out on to the Thames is ridiculously irresponsible, but she hasn’t listened to me in sixty years and I doubt she’ll start now.’

The cordial was rich and sweet, not dissimilar to blackcurrant, but not so sharp. Lacey drank most of the glassful in one.

‘A lot of the plants I need grow along the river’s edge,’ said Thessa. ‘Quite a lot of them in Deptford Creek. And I have very strong arms. When your legs are useless, your other parts have to compensate. And there’s always the engine if things get hairy. Do you know those skanky old lesbians on that naval ship at Skillions?’

Lacey glanced at Alex. He gave a small shrug as if to say,
don’t look at me
.

‘Well, I’ve not heard them referred to in precisely those terms, but I’m aware of two women in their middle years at Skillions Wharf,’ she said eventually. ‘My neighbour says they used to be actresses.’

‘The overweight blonde was a stripper,’ said Thessa. ‘The butch one was her pimp.’

‘Did they empty their septic tank when you were paddling past?’ asked Lacey, making Alex snort into his drink. When he stopped spluttering, he glanced at his watch. ‘You have twenty minutes to get out of our creek, Lacey, or you’ll be spending the day with us.’

Lacey stood up. ‘Well, that sounds lovely, but I do have to get to work this afternoon. Thank you very much for the drink.’

‘And the tinctures.’ Thessa was pressing the three small bottles into Lacey’s hands. ‘Three drops of each, twice a day.’

‘Is that an English accent, Lacey?’ asked Alex, as the three of them set off down the flower-lined path towards the creek. A bee settled on Thessa’s pink blouse and she let it sit just below her shoulder like a decorative pin. ‘You have a lilt in your voice that I can’t quite place.’

‘I’m from Shropshire,’ said Lacey. ‘Very close to the Welsh border. People occasionally tell me I sound Welsh.’

‘And what do you do?’

‘I’m a police officer,’ said Lacey. ‘I recently joined the Marine Unit.’

‘Then I must ask you a great favour. When you see my sister out in that ridiculous boat of hers, arrest her.’

Thessa giggled in a way that was almost flirtatious. Then she actually started whispering to the bee on her breast.

‘Well, I’m hardly setting the best example,’ said Lacey. ‘But if you avoid the fast tides and stay close to the bank, it’s not too dangerous.’

‘Not for a healthy young person, maybe,’ said Alex. ‘But for a mad old woman in her sixties? I suppose I shouldn’t complain. If she goes under, I inherit all her money.’

‘Changed my will last week,’ said Thessa. ‘I’m leaving everything to the dogs’ home.’

‘The canines themselves will handle it more responsibly than you do. Goodbye, Lacey. It was a pleasure meeting you.’

‘Come back next Thursday,’ said Thessa. ‘The herbs need a week to have an impact. But if you just want to chat, come any time.’

Lacey climbed into her canoe and untied the rope. Gallantly,
Alex bent low and gave her a gentle push into the centre of the creek.

‘Goodbye,’ she called, as the returning tide pulled her back towards the Thames. She looked back just before turning the corner. Thessa and her brother were still on the creek side. Alex had crouched down to the same level as his sister and they were deep in conversation. Lacey wondered how she could ever have thought them unalike. From this distance, talking intently as they were, they looked like mirror images of each other.