Although everything was very clean, the overall impression was one of an astonishing amount of clutter. As in the shop downstairs, the walls were lined with shelving holding what seemed like hundreds of glass and earthenware jars, as well as ancient-looking books and scrolls, which seemed to spill out of the shelves and into stacked piles on the floor. Everywhere one looked, there was something to arrest the gaze. On the shelves were tiny figures carved from stone in the shapes of pregnant women or various fantastic birds or animals. Clay pots of every size—some no larger than a baby's fist, others as big as beer kegs—contained all sorts of mysterious powders and blends. There were pretty beaded necklaces and amulets of gold, silver, and pewter, as well as tiny leather pouches suspended from thongs and meant to be worn around the neck as charms. Displayed prominently upon one shelf were two daggers, one with a curved, single-edged blade and one a straight, double-edged stiletto, as well as a little brass bell, a censer, a plain-looking silver chalice, a silver bowl, a silken cord, two thick candles, and a short length of willow branch.
The fire was lit, for it was a cool and breezy morning, but most of the illumination in the room came from a shaft of sunlight that shone in through the partially obscured window. Yet even though there were no shadows from the flames dancing on the walls, the space still seemed pregnant with an eldritch atmosphere of tension and anticipation. It always felt as if lightning were somehow about to strike within the room.
Elizabeth walked over toward the shelves, staring at the same objects that had captured her interest more than any others each time she had come here: the daggers, tile candles, the chalice, and the other items all carefully arranged upon one shelf, along with the willow branch… the wand, she thought, as she started to reach toward it.
"Good morning, Elizabeth," Granny Meg said from behind her.
She jumped, gasped, and quickly turned around. "Granny Meg! You startled me!" And to herself she wondered, however does she do that? One moment she wasn't there, and the very next she was. It was unnerving.
"Forgive me, my dear," said Granny Meg. She smiled. "How very nice to see you. May I offer you some tea?"
"Please," said Elizabeth. As Granny Meg poured her a cup from the teapot, Elizabeth marvelled once again at how ageless she appeared. She had to be quite old, for her. waist-length hair was pure white, yet it was not limp, as old people's hair often was, but thick and lustrous. Her skin was so pale that it was nearly translucent, yet although it was faintly lined in places it was unwrinkled, with no liver spots or blemishes, and seemed to glow with youthful health. Her features were sharp and elfin, bringing to mind a dryad or a fairy. Her chin came nearly to a point, and her cheekbones were high and pronounced. Her nose, also, had a delicate, birdlike sharpness. She was slim and willowy; even at her age, she possessed a figure most women would have envied, but her eyes were her most striking feature. They were a very pale shade of bluish gray, with a startling, penetrating luminescence, like fire opals. Or the eyes of a changeling, Elizabeth thought.
Freddy had melted away without a sound. They both move like ghosts, Elizabeth thought. What if they were? It was an unsettling idea. She had never seen a ghost, but it was said that spirits could sometimes walk among the living. If they could do that, why could they not work in an apothecary shop? And what if the shop were not really a shop, but instead a gateway to the spirit world?
"What troubles you, Elizabeth?" Granny Meg asked. "Sit down. You look as if you have just seen a ghost."
"Oh, 'tis nothing quite so frightening, Granny Meg," she replied, a bit taken aback. It was as if Granny Meg had known what she was thinking. "I am merely concerned about a friend."
Granny Meg fixed her with a level and unsettlingly direct gaze. "The last time you came to me with such concerns, Elizabeth, I fear that things did not turn out very well."
Elizabeth looked down at the table. "I know," she replied softly. "But I meant well, Granny Meg, I truly did. I never meant for Catherine to come to any harm!"
"I know that you meant well, Elizabeth," Granny Meg replied. "But then, you would not be the first who, with the best meaning, had incurred the worst."
"But this time is different, Granny Meg."
"Is it?" Granny Meg replied, watching her attentively. "This time you are not meddling in someone else's fate?"
Elizabeth looked sheepish. "Well… perhaps it may have started out that way," she said. "I mean, in a manner of speaking, I suppose I did meddle but 'twas truly her welfare that I was concerned about. And I still am."
"When people seek to interfere with the destiny of others, they usually do so out of a professed concern for them," Granny Meg replied with a smile. "So, what is it that concerns you about your friend, Elizabeth?"
"Granny Meg, do you think 'tis possible that one could go mad with grief?"
"Aye, 'tis possible," Granny Meg replied, nodding. "If the grief is felt over a loved one, it may be powerful, indeed. There are some who may grieve for weeks or months or even years, and there are those who may grieve for as long as they may live. Betimes, tile grief may be so powerful that it may even overwhelm the will to live. Do you think. your friend may feel such grief?"
Elizabeth nodded. "I fear so, Granny Meg. The young man she loved was killed, foully murdered by an unknown assassin, and ever since, she has been so struck with grief for him that she does not speak, does not go out, merely sits up in her room all day and all night, stating off into the distance. I have tried to speak with her, but she will not respond. And I am afraid for her. I do not know how to help her."
"And so you came to me," said Granny Meg. "Well then, what is it you wish of me, Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "In truth, I… I do not know. I came to seek your wise counsel, Granny Meg. I thought, perhaps, that you could tell me what I should do. Mayhap there is some potion or some remedy or charm that would restore my friend to her senses. I would do anything to help her."
"Perhaps the best thing that you can do is to do nothing."
Granny Meg replied.
Elizabeth stared at her with dismay. "Nothing? But… but surely there is something that can be done!"
"Oh, there are many things that can be done," said Granny Meg. "That is not the question. The question is,
should they be done?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "I… I do not understand. If there was something that could be done to help my friend, then why should I refrain from doing it?"
"Because often the best thing is to let people find their own way to help themselves," said Granny Meg. 'The grief that your friend feels now is of her own making. She has engendered it within herself, and now she nurtures it, and cherishes it, and will not let it go. And the reason that she will not let it go is that it serves some purpose for her."
"What purpose could that be?" Elizabeth asked.