The Lady's Slipper by Deborah Swift

over the verge, pointing out a small, insignificant-looking plant with rows of minuscule lilac flowers.
    Margaret narrowed her eyes. ‘Not that orchid, you crafty woman, not the common spotted orchid. Did you think to pull the wool over my eyes? You might fool Wheeler, but I have more wit than Wheeler any day.’ She grabbed Alice’s wrist.
    Alice tried to pull away but finding the woman surprisingly strong she said, ‘Let me go! I don’t know who you are or what you want. I have shown you the only orchid I know of in these parts.’
    Margaret hung on with claw-like hands and brought her wrinkled face close up to Alice’s. ‘Come now, Mistress Ibbetson, you know that is not true. We could be friends.’ She smiled lopsidedly. ‘We both have a mind to see the flower grow wild for all to enjoy. Show it to an old lady, now.’
    Alice twisted her wrist trying to free it.
    ‘Leave me be. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘Oh, but you do.’ Margaret sniffed. ‘I just want to see it, is all. I have waited fifty years for a glimpse of it. I’m sorry if I startled you. My mother and grandmother before her both spoke of it, its scarlet ribbons and pretty little petal like a shoe.’
    Alice finally managed to wriggle free. As she did so she caught sight of a movement at the upstairs window of the house. She was just in time to see Ella move back behind the curtain. That was all she needed, to look a fool in front of Ella. The girl was already getting above herself. But this was really too much, to be manhandled by this old woman
    She turned on Margaret. ‘Get off my property.’ Then in a lower, more controlled voice, said, ‘You have offended me. Please leave, and do not return.’
    Like the weather, Margaret’s demeanour had changed again. She regarded Alice steadily. She planted her hands on her hips. ‘I’ll be leaving when I’m good and ready. My cloak and bag are in your garden, so if you’ve finished your bit of play-acting, we’ll go and get them. Then you can show me the flower.’
    Alice realized she was not going to get rid of the woman so easily. Feigning a haughtiness she did not feel, she marched back to the summerhouse. Margaret hobbled rapidly alongside, seemingly ignoring Alice’s ill-humour, talking all the while under her breath. ‘That’s henbane, and there’s cuckoo pint, over there with the white hood, that’s good for coughs, and here’s knotgrass, for shining up your pewter, and the hawthorn–look at those berries, must be going to be a hard winter.’
    Alice shut her ears to the old woman’s mutterings. Witch or no witch, she thought, she would not let the old woman make her look a fool before her servants. Back at the summerhouse, she picked up Margaret’s cloak, bundled it together and thrust it out towards her. Heat rose to Alice’s face, and almost in tears with embarrassment, she said, ‘If you do not leave right this minute, I will send Ella for the constable.’
    Margaret reached for her cloak. ‘Hold off, hold off. I’m going. Don’t upset yourself, you’ve had your share of sadness, I can see that.’ Her eyes were soft.
    Alice wavered, feeling a lump come to her throat. But then she saw Margaret’s eyes take on a steely glint. ‘I’ll be back, though, before the flower fades, when you change your mind. And I know you will. My mother told me your orchid has healing properties. Nerveroot, she used to call it. Said it was a visionary plant. Makes you see things–people from the other side. I’d like to take a look at it, just once. When you’re ready, I’ll be back.’
    Alice didn’t reply. She just lifted up the bag and heaved it clumsily onto the path. She was surprised at how angry she felt, and at how heavy the bag was. It seemed to be full of glass bottles, which chinked as it landed.
    ‘In the meantime,’ Margaret said, ‘you must mind the orchid well. And be careful. I saw three ravens on my path this morning. Three ravens is an ill