Magpie, p.1
Magpie, page 1
MAGPIE
GEORGIA HILL
Copyright © 2025 Georgia Hill
The right of Georgia Hill to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2025 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN: 978-1-917705-30-1
CONTENTS
Newsletter sign-up
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
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Newsletter sign-up
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
For Tracy B and Rachel B – thank you for the encouragement (and sorry for the rant)
PROLOGUE
FLETE, DEVON, OCTOBER 1660
She had no time. She had to think fast and she had to think clever. There was little she needed but one thing she must take. After she had tightly bound it into layers of oiled cloth, she gave a last look around the house she’d called home. A gulp of emotion caught in her throat, but she couldn’t give in to either sentiment or fear. Her fate was decided. Hearing the horse snort and stamp outside, she dragged a stool to the inglenook. Standing on tiptoes and precariously balanced, she shoved the knife handle high onto a ledge above the dead fire. She would not take this with her. It had caused problems from the first and she cursed it. Choking on clouds of displaced soot, she reached into the pocket tied around her waist and added the green glass bottle to the same hiding place. She would take her chance without it.
‘May it protect whoever lives here in the future better than it did us,’ she hissed. Clambering off the stool she fell still for a moment, pressing her hands against the chimney, nails biting into the brick. The horror at what she had done overwhelmed her. ‘What have I become?’ she wailed. ‘Will God ever forgive me for what I did? Will I ever forgive myself?’
A shout came from the street, urging her to make haste. With one last despairing cry, she swung open the heavy oak door and stepped out. Overhead a magpie flapped its wings and cawed. Black and white, its tail trailing iridescent blue green, it soared into the cruel autumn wind.
CHAPTER 1
FLETE, DEVON, MAY 2018
Beth Loveday inserted the enormous old-fashioned key into a lock corroded by time and salty air and pushed at the door.
‘Get on with it,’ Lorna said from behind. ‘Can’t wait to see inside.’
Beth grinned. Lorna was the impatient one. ‘Hold your horses, as Gran would say.’ Gran was also prone to say the sisters were chalk and cheese. Lorna, a bubbly honey blonde in contrast to Beth’s auburn hair, freckles and introvert nature. Forcing the door with her shoulder, it eventually gave, and she led Lorna into what would, eventually and with a lot of hard work, become the main selling space. Beth stood, hands on hips, gazing around. Her uppermost emotion bewilderment.
Lorna elbowed her in the ribs. ‘You could at least look a bit excited. You never show your feelings, do you?’
‘Trust me, my insides are a bundle of nerves.’
Lorna gave her a hug. Although younger by three years she always assumed the mother role. ‘Oh, Bethie, I’m so proud of you. Your own shop. Come on, admit it, you must be over the moon.’
Beth returned the hug. ‘I am. And nervous. Worried to hell. Not to mention knackered.’ She noted her sister’s concerned expression. ‘I’m okay, just inside I’m a bubbling mess.’
Lorna pulled a face. ‘Better not be the curry from last night. I’ve just caught a glimpse of the downstairs loo. Grim isn’t the word. Add bleach to your list of stuff to buy.’ She whirled around, kicking up dust. ‘Along with an industrial strength hoover. So this will be the main shop space?’
‘Yup.’ Beth switched on the lights. ‘That’s better. We can see properly. The sooner I get those window boardings down the better.’
‘I like the half-timbered walls.’ Lorna ran a finger along one ancient oak beam and scrubbed her hand clean on her jeans. ‘It’s in a good location too. Seems to be lots of quirky shops along the lane.’
‘Yeah, shame I couldn’t get anything nearer the seafront, but the house sale money and my redundancy only stretched so far. Plus, I need a cushion of funds when this old place is repaired. Not to mention savings if the whole thing goes tits up.’
‘Which it won’t, Beth.’ Lorna wagged a finger. ‘Be positive.’
Beth swooped to pick up a pile of junk mail to hide her anxiety. Everything was riding on this. The offer of redundancy from her office job in a timber firm had been a sign, the push to follow her long-stifled dream. She’d taken it, retrained and, with heart in mouth and wondering just what she was doing, had sold her little house; the one she’d scrimped and saved to buy. Her entire future now rested on making her handmade soaps and lotions business a success. And if it wasn’t, she’d end up incomeless and homeless. For a person who craved routine and security it had been a leap of faith. Possibly an insane one. Her two closest friends were moving on with their lives, it was time she did the same. Stifling the fear, she straightened and looked around her. What had possessed her to buy a half-timbered shop in a run-down seaside town? Normally the most practical, least fey sort of person, something about the place had called to her, invaded her brain. And, once she’d viewed it, no other would do. It might have been an equally insane decision. ‘It won’t go tits up.’ She sent the words out into the universe, feeling ridiculous. ‘Tenpenny House will do very nicely indeed. Not huge but just big enough for what I want.’
‘So, what are you going to do with it?’
‘Display shelving along there.’ Beth pointed to the wall that ran perpendicular to the shopfront. ‘Freestanding as the walls are so uneven. Rustic and scrubbed oak, or maybe pine,’ she amended hurriedly, ‘as it’ll be cheaper. With stacked woven baskets to put the soaps in.’ She strode to the middle. ‘A central table just here for seasonal stock or special offers.’ Her tone became more animated. She turned to her sister; eyes gleaming. ‘Or maybe curated collections like lavender-themed products, or skin cleansers for problem skin?’
‘That’s more like it,’ Lorna approved.
‘And the counter for the boring stuff like the till and card machines can go over there facing the windows so I can look out.’
‘And what about that bad boy?’ her sister asked, nodding to the fireplace.
Beth edged closer to the enormous inglenook that dominated the back wall. ‘No idea.’ She sniffed. Burned wood and soot prickled her nostrils. A gout of ash fell, making her jump back. ‘Used recently then. Do you think it’ll need sweeping?’
Lorna joined her and slipped an arm through, eyeing the blackened chimney with distrust. ‘Almost certainly.’
‘And do I need rugs to cover these old stone slabs, or will that be a trip hazard? Rush matting would look cool.’ She peered down, ideas beginning to fizz. ‘The flooring could be original, you know. The estate agent reckons the place dates back to at least the seventeenth century, possibly even before. I might research life in seventeenth-century Flete when I get the chance.’
‘You and your research. You love your books.’ Lorna laughed. ‘Think you’ll be too busy getting the shop up and running to do any learning.’
A thrill electrified Beth. Excitement finally winning through, bypassing the stress and angst of the lead up to Tenpenny House’s purchase. This was going to be her dream come true. Her very own shop! On the other side of the chip-boarded windows she heard footsteps tripping along the pavement. In a few short weeks those feet could be wandering in. They could be her first customers. She hugged Lorna’s arm and did a little happy dance, stirring up clouds of dust that made them sneeze.
‘Aw, that’s better, Bethie. It’s good to see you getting enthused about it all.’
‘Well, you know me, I warm up to things slowly–’
‘And are always cautious and overthink things. Now you’ve finally taken the plunge to do this, you’ve got to go all-out.’
‘Stop nagging.’
‘It’s my job,’ Lorna replied crisply. ‘Come on, let’s have a decko at the rest of the place.’ She disappeared into the hallway.
As Beth droppe d the latch on the solid oak door, shutting off the selling space, a noise behind made her freeze. ‘What’s that?’
Lorna turned to her. ‘What?’
‘There’s someone in the shop.’
‘Don’t be daft. We’ve just come out. Only thing in there is dust and cobwebs. And you locked the front door. No one could walk in.’
Beth shushed her sister. ‘Listen!’ She put her ear to the door.
Lorna joined her. ‘I can’t hear anything.’
There was a frozen silence as the women listened, their ears pressed to the ancient oak. From within the shop came an eerie slithering sound. Beth felt her pulse leap in her throat. The room had been empty when she’d left, she was sure of it.
The slithering rose and sank. It stopped, began again and turned into a thumping flapping sound. A violent bang against the door had them rearing back in terror.
‘Shit!’ Beth clutched on to Lorna, her insides liquid with fear. The horrible unearthly sounds continued, becoming frenzied. ‘A ghost?’ Thankfully the words died on her tongue. Her sister would never let her live that one down.
Lorna put her ear against the door again. ‘I think,’ she screwed up her face in concentration, ‘it might be a bird.’
‘A bird? But how?’ Beth asked.
‘Windows boarded up. Door locked. Chimney? Remember that ash that fell down? Must have been a bird trapped.’
Another thump resounded against the door before whatever it was sounded as though it fell to the ground.
Beth’s heart rate hitched. Trapped birds were horrible to deal with. They’d had a starling fly into the office one summer. Panicked, it made a hell of a mess before she’d been able to release it. ‘Suppose it could be a bird. We’ll have to let the poor thing out.’ Feeling calmer now she knew what she was dealing with, she added, ‘We go in, you close this door as quickly as you can. Last thing we want is for it to escape into the rest of the building. I’ll unlock the front door and we shoo it out. Ready?’
Lorna nodded.
They burst into the shop. A chaos of whirling blackness flew at Beth’s head. Protecting her eyes and trying not to scream, she ran to the front door and scrabbled at the lock.
‘It’s gone.’ Lorna’s voice went brittle with relief. She’d obviously been putting on a brave front. ‘Well done, Bethie.’ Joining her at the open front door, she asked, ‘Did you see what it was? Blackbird maybe?’
Beth had seen the bird as it soared up over the rooftops. Beneath its blackened feathers gleamed white, shot through with iridescent blue. Its long tail left a trail of choking soot. ‘It was a magpie.’
‘Oh, Beth.’ Lorna stared at her with huge eyes. ‘You know what Gran always says.’
Beth nodded. ‘One for sorrow.’
Lorna shivered. ‘Look, I’m sure it’ll all be fine. You’ll be fine.’
Beth wasn’t sure who her sister was reassuring.
Shaken, they went towards the hallway.
‘Hold on, Lor. What’s this?’ Beth bent and picked up an object off the floor.
Lorna peered at it. ‘Who knows? Something the bird dropped?’ She shuddered. ‘Throw it away, Beth, it’s filthy.’
‘It’s some kind of handle, I think.’ Beth rubbed away the soot, revealing carved bone. ‘It must have been in the chimney, there was nothing in the room.’
Lorna had already made her way out of the shop. ‘I don’t like it, whatever it is,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Throw it out.’
Ignoring her, Beth wrapped the handle in a tissue and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans.
‘Come on, show me the rest of the place,’ Lorna said, tension making her voice high-pitched. ‘What’s upstairs?’
The hallway was heavily beamed, narrow and had the same uneven stone slabs as the shop. The commercial kitchen, left over from the building’s days as a tea room, however, was all stainless steel and twenty-first century. Levering open a door, Beth switched on another light to reveal a crooked and worn set of bare wooden stairs. Still shaking, she peered up, half afraid of another trapped bird. ‘Follow me, this is the living space.’ Hanging on to the thickly coiled rope that acted as the handrail, she hauled herself up them, hoping in time she’d get used to their steep rise and odd camber.
‘It’s not huge up here, is it?’ Lorna observed once they’d conquered the stairs and were standing on the creaking floorboards of the sitting room.
‘Bedroom, shower, kitchen and this room. It’s all I need. There’s only me. Just as well I don’t have a tribe of kids like you.’ Beth looked around in dismay. ‘It’s in a right state though.’
Lorna shrugged. ‘What can I say? Make the most of me now. You won’t see me once the kids break up for the school holidays. Until then, you’ve got the best scrubber in town.’ Her nose wrinkling, she added, ‘And I think you’ll need me.’
Beth wasn’t listening. Drawn to the diamond-paned window, she stared out at the view. ‘It’s like going back in time,’ she murmured. ‘Hardly anything’s changed since the place was built. Look at the old rooftops and the way they hang over the lower storeys.’
Lorna gave her a surprised look. ‘Under that no-nonsense independent exterior lurks a closet romantic, doesn’t it? Of course it’s changed. I can see at least three Sky dishes from here.’ She went nearer and rubbed a clean patch on the window. ‘Ooh, now you’re talking. I can see the sea. Just… I mean, it’s all a bit run-down, but–’
‘It was what I could afford,’ Beth finished. ‘Sidmouth and Lyme were too expensive. And Clappers Lane is marketed as “The Cultural Centre of Flete”. Don’t scoff, Lor! As well as the scenic cobbles–’
‘The ankle-breaking cobbles!’
After the encounter with the magpie Beth was glad of an excuse to laugh. Lorna had tripped up on the walk here. ‘Your own fault for not looking where you were going.’
‘Couldn’t help it. Steve texted with a crisis.’ At Beth’s questioning look she explained. ‘Couldn’t find the dishwasher tablets.’
‘You haven’t trained him very well.’ Beth giggled, feeling the tension dissipate. She loved her brother-in-law, but he could never be called domestic.
‘What can I say? I’m happy to be the homemaker. He’s better at earning money. I know it’s not for you, Miss Independence, but it works for us. Tell me more about this cultural quarter then.’
Beth decided it was a genuine question. It looked as though Lorna needed a distraction too. ‘Well, there’s a Tudor half-timbered pub on the corner, the Moroccan rug shop, one selling fancy lingerie, and an upmarket cookware shop. The town museum’s just round the corner too. It’s all nicely eclectic. Don’t laugh!’
Lorna managed to ruffle her sister’s hair before she ducked. ‘Soz, Beth. I was only teasing. Looks like the ideal place to attract the sort of customers you’re aiming for. The ones wanting fancy artisan soaps.’
‘I hope so.’ Beth’s gaze returned to the fingernail of sea she could see. It was a vivid blue. Positivity was blossoming. She’d sacrificed everything to follow her dream but this bright shiny day as she held the keys to her future made it all worth it. Lorna was right, Flete was a little down at heel in comparison to nearby Sidmouth but, if it was, then there was only one way and that was up. ‘I just hope my optimism isn’t misplaced.’
‘Oi!’ Lorna hectored. ‘Don’t start doubting yourself. What did I say about overthinking stuff? Look how much fun it’ll be living here. Only a short walk to the beach, that lovely long prom and harbour.’
