The English Witch Read Online Free PDF

well.
    "You poor, benighted girl. What can you do?"
    "I can, as Papa will tell you, talk a blue streak."
    "Then talk, by all means, Miss Ashmore. It is, after all, the only safe thing one—or two, rather—can do upon a horse."
    Deciding it was best to ignore his innuendoes, she invited him to choose a subject.
    "Tell me of Albania. Tell me what you've discovered about Byron's 'rugged nurse of savage men.'"
    She complied with his request, and he was a little surprised at what she said. She'd read neither Hobhouse's Travels in Albania nor Byron's Childe Harold, for those books had been published while she was travelling with her father. Thus, her perspective was all her own, with the focus on politics though she drew analogies from both literature and history. It wasn't a typical bluestocking speech—or at least, certainly not like that of any bluestocking he'd ever known. Her turn of mind was interesting, and her voice very pleasant to hear. Her letter, Basil supposed, had promised something, but this was more than he'd hoped for. He thought better of his aunt as a result, and the time passed more quickly than he'd expected, considering that it was not whiled away with dalliance.
    They did not, as Basil had predicted, have to ride all night, though he guessed it was well past midnight when they reached the edge of the village to be met by Sir Charles, Mr. Burnham, and the Albanian servants. Alexandra, half-dead from exhaustion, gave herself over to Lefka's care and was lead away to a tiny cottage.
    Meanwhile, Basil was set upon by the two Englishmen, who immediately began questioning him. Yes, he told them, Miss Ashmore was quite unharmed. No, he assured them, there would be no more trouble.
    "But I must beg your pardon, gentlemen. It has been such an interesting day altogether that I am like to drop from fatigue. I assure you I cannot put another answer together tonight. We will talk more tomorrow. If you would be so kind as to point me in the direction of a comfortable mound of earth—or a stump or a rock—and topple me onto it, I should be very much obliged."

Chapter Three
    The following morning, after being ungently wakened by the faithful Gregor, Basil betook himself to a mountain stream for a rather chilly bath. Then, clean in body—though his travel-stained garments distressed his fastidious soul—he found Sir Charles and took him aside for private conversation.
    Having upon awakening become painfully sensible of a fragrance of goat about her person, Alexandra was making her own morning ablutions about the time the two gentlemen were having their chat. Lefka, who stood guard nearby, persisted in making the most indecorous remarks regarding the beautiful young man who'd rescued her charge. As a result, Miss Ashmore was not only ravenously hungry but unrefreshingly hot and flustered by the time she joined the others for breakfast. One look at her father's face told her there was more aggravation to come.
    "I'd like to have a word with you, Alexandra," he announced.
    "Can't it wait until after breakfast, Papa? I haven't eaten a thing since yesterday morning—"
    "Breakfast can wait."
    She looked longingly at the table set under the grape arbour: thick slabs of bread, fruit, two kinds of highly aromatic cheese, and thick black coffee. But her father led her inexorably back into the little cottage.
    "I’ve just had a startling conversation with Mr. Trevelyan, Alexandra."
    Abruptly, one of Lefka's most lurid suggestions came back to her. She blushed furiously.
    "Oh, my dear, your face tells me that it is true. But why did you never confide this thing to your Papa?" His words sounded sorrowful, but the creases were settling into his forehead.
    She collected herself, speaking carefully. "Because I couldn't think you'd like it, Papa. He had nothing when I met him, and though I believed in him, I couldn't expect that you would."
    "No, and I don't like it now." He then proceeded to remind her at