Page 96 of A Death in Cornwall

“With what?”

The girl said nothing more. Ingrid could not remove her eyes from the child’s face. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Who are you?” she asked again.

“Don’t you recognize me?”

“Yes, of course. But it’s not possible.”

“Speak to the old woman,” said the child. “And then you will know.”

***

By the time Ingrid reached the opposite side of the square, the woman was standing in the doorway of the house, a shawl across her frail shoulders, a heavy cross around her neck. Her skin was pale as baker’s flour. Her eyes were pools of black.

She placed a hand to Ingrid’s cheek. “You have a fever.”

“I’ve been running.”

“From what?” The old woman opened the door wider and beckoned for Ingrid to enter. “Don’t be afraid. You have nothing to fear.”

“Tell me about the girl first.”

“Her name is Danielle. She lives here in the village. One day she will take my place.”

“She looks exactly like...”

“Like what?” asked the old woman.

“Me,” replied Ingrid. “She looks the way I did when I was her age.”

“That hardly seems possible. After all, the child is a Corsican. And you, of course, are Danish.”

Before Ingrid could reply, the woman drew her into the house and closed the door. A candle burned at the small wooden table in her parlor. It was the only light in the room.

The woman lowered herself slowly into one of the chairs and pointed toward the chair opposite. “Sit,” she said.

“Why?”

“A small ritual to confirm my suspicions.”

“About what?”

“The state of your soul, my child.”

“My soul is just fine, thank you.”

“I have my doubts.”

And then Ingrid understood. The old woman was the signadora, the healer of those afflicted with the evil eye.

Ingrid reluctantly sat down. On the table before her was a plate filled with water and a small bowl of oil. “Refreshments?” she quipped.

The old woman regarded her through the candlelight. “Your name is Ingrid Johansen. You are from a small town near the German border. Your father was a schoolteacher. Your poor mother did nothing but look after you. You left her no other choice.”

“Who told you those things?”

“It is a gift from God.”

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