“There's
hardly much of a link there,” I said.
“A
devoutly religious man has just turned his back on his faith,” Oak
replied. “He has performed activities for which he has had no
training, and copied an aspect of the legend. It is enough. Two
more!” He slapped Edward on the back. “Continue.”
“Right
here,” Edward tapped the map again, several times, “Was the
cottage of Auntie Norrel, a soothsayer of sorts, the local version of
Mother Shipton really. Her real name was Ethel Northfell, judged a
witch by the local Abbot. A few prophecies, most of which did
happen, from what I understand, but no apocalypse, so she didn't
catch on like Shipton did.”
As
he finished speaking, my husband looked at Oak expectantly.
“A
woman in the dwelling there is zealously scribbling prophecies in a
notebook.”
