And then, eventually there was a vile stink and a plume of leprous green tinged cloud swooped from Arthur’s mouth.
“More,” commanded Jasper, and blew again.
The rest of the slime coated cloud, a stagnant mist and another stench carrying a stream of decay and sour wickedness, spilled from Arthur’s throat and puddled across the floor. Yet it rose, taking cloud shape, and then spread, tapering into fog-dark fingers.
Turning quickly, Jasper muttered under his breath. I had no idea what he said, nor could I understand the words. But the filth swirled downwards, and the fingers began to shrink.
One, slug-like, wriggled forwards and pointed at me. I hid my face.
Now, floating within the fog but sinking as if its weight pulled it down, a fading voice of fury swore and cursed. “Human frog-worm,” it said, struggling to find its voice, “Shit-mouth and piss-eyes, you dare blow angel-dust into my purity? I shall suck you empty of all humanity and claw your pretty skin from your face.”
But the words faded as though coming from a great distance, and once again Jasper, still gripping that ugly head, spoke the charm he had used before. The sound of it seemed beautiful to me, like music or a hymn from the old church. I listened closely although understood nothing.
But hearing those words, the ghostly fingers had gone and only one remained. Jasper blew and the finger became cloud, the cloud became grit and the grit fell to the floorboards.
Jasper ground the tiny grains beneath his heel. A faint whimpering faded. Jasper continued to press the heel of his boots until the whining had quite gone. Then he looked down. One tiny red seed, smaller than a grape pip, sat unmoving on his hand. Pressing it between his finger and thumb nail, Jasper again murmured words I could not recognise. The red seed completely disappeared.
Arthur continued to sleep but his eyes were his own again and they were tight closed. Over the chair and my husband’s inert body, Jasper looked at me.
My heart leapt.
Then softly he said, “You are not yet free, my dear. The demon is gone and no other wickedness can enter for some time to come. But your husband has consumed demonic lust for many years, and will not awake suddenly kind. He does not understand love and never will. So shall I leave you here with him, or stay to protect you?”
In my bed, perhaps? “No,” I said, though without conviction. “Please go back to your wife. Apologise to her for my theft of her clothes, but give her thanks from my heart, and tell her I am so very grateful both to her – and to her remarkable husband. I will sleep now, and barricade my door until the morning.”
Jasper leaned against the inside of the door, ready to leave me. Shutting Arthur’s door behind us, Jasper walked with me along the corridor towards the stairs.
“I should return your wife’s clothes,” I said.
“She will neither miss them, nor care,” he murmured. “And Arthur will not search for you. He cannot wake for many hours. But when he does, he’ll be riddled with the remainder of the venom within the brandy I gave him. At first, he will fall, still doped, and remember nothing. Then he’ll become a mixture of fury, fear and memory. And once gone, I will not be able to return to help you. Yet,” and his smile widened in the fading firelight, “I am quite sure that you will manage very well indeed without me.”
“I’m – tired,” I muttered and turned away, hugging myself as though bitterly cold.
But he came behind me and caught my wrists between his hands, stopping me. And looking down at me, shook his head, speaking so very, very softly into my ear. “The woman who is so like you, who is almost within you is my wife. And because I adore her, I feel drawn to you. Yet to say I love you would be untrue, and I do not welcome falsity into my life. I do not know you well, little one, and you know me not at all. My wife knows you better, although that may seem absurd. However, I wish you happiness, and trust that you discover true love one day, which will stretch far beyond the lust you feel for me.”
He had gone. I understood and darted back up the stairs to my bedchamber. I lit no candles. My bed chamber was dark, the shutters up and no fire alight. I lay on my bed and cried.
Yet then, between my tears and the cold creases of my bed beneath me, I became aware of something that was as magical as Jasper always seemed, and yet was not frightening at all. The whisper I heard was in my head, and it was a woman who spoke to me.
“He loves you, in a way,” soothed the voice. “We are together, you and I. Jasper is a part of me and I am a part of you. This means that Jasper is also a part of you.”
I quivered with excitement, as if I was hearing an angel’s prophesies. I whispered back, though silently and in my thoughts where the other voice lay. “Will I ever know love again? With him or another?”
The voice continued. “Not with him for he does not belong in your time and must leave to return into his own future. But you will meet a man you love, and he will love you in return.”
I lay there afterwards, breathing deeply, unable to speak.
Chapter Twenty
Bliss to be myself and not that other self. I was Molly again, I wondered what Sarah would think of me if only we could meet, but that was a very bad and unlikely idea.
But there wasn’t much time to laugh, even with myself. I was stomping, wet and muddy, across the open plains beyond the school and its clumping trees.
The well had been cleaned, emptied down to its deepest level of incoming water, was pronounced safe to drink, and no longer stank out the nearby village. I was not so sure, and if I really had to drink from it, I made sure to boil the water first.
William’s decaying corpse was examined by the sheriff’s interesting assistant, and then buried. I knew it was William and of course Agnes knew it was William, but it could not be proved and the mangled flesh and bones were buried without identity. Agnes told me she had no regrets, yet refused to speak any more about it. I confess I didn’t care about William’s death for his own sake, only for the strengthening demon that Agnes housed.
Tom understood none of it and had no idea that his aunt had committed the fascinating slaughter which had got the whole school talking, before half of the boys were promptly removed to safer places by their shocked parents. Some stayed. After all, over past years there had been so much fighting and death over the country, one more made little difference.
Getting hold of Agnes and pulling out the demon as Vespasian had was not going to be on my list of talents. Getting her asleep without waking was beyond me, let alone anything more. But I was determined to try, had planned it over and over, and the one thing I might do first was to find William’s bodyless head, and see if it might prove its killer.
I had searched the whole school of course, including ovens, the loft, under beds, and in the back of cupboards. Then I had searched the grounds. There were plenty of bushes and trees to rummage through, but no drips of blood nor chopped heads appeared.
I walked further. The open fields about a half mile south from the school were turning boggy for the weather was worsening. Constantly wet, cold and icy, one morning I had awoken believing it had snowed heavily in the night. I stood enchanted at the window gazing at the pure white stretching out into an invisible horizon. But when I hurried downstairs and peered from the doorway at what lay outside, I realised it was only frost. But a frost so white and solid, it seemed as thick as snow. Indeed, when I walked across it to the well, it crunched and cracked underfoot as though I was breaking pieces of china.
Then, at the far end of one of the fields where a stubby hedge separated each plot from another, I discovered a mass of black sticky substance, which had collected in just one area. I looked up, and there the head sat, spiked on the bare winter branches of a lilac bush. The eyes were open, glazed and staring and since the mouth gaped open too, it seemed as though William Prestwich was chortling at the world around.
The neck was a stump of reeking flesh, festooned with blistering veins and arteries, sinews and whatever else the rotting flesh contai
ned still, hanging like slimy ribbons from the neck. I looked away quickly. It was monstrous and I was nearly sick. It was also clear that some form of torture had been attempted, since large symmetrical holes opened each cheek, and the teeth inside the open mouth seemed to have been broken or removed by force.
Stumbling back to the school, I was both disgusted and disappointed for nothing seemed to relate back to Agnes. Yet in spite of her demon, it was a greater monster she had murdered, and so I tried to ignore the vile circumstances, and simply reported my discovery to Henry.
Back came the sheriff and back came his assistant, and off I strode once again to stand beneath that knotted bush, avoiding the hard-black puddles below, and pointed up to the horror above. The head was identified and taken away first for examination and secondly to be buried with the body. We all attended the funeral, and although a Puritan funeral was quiet enough, I couldn’t help feeling that William didn’t deserve such pure sympathy. Agnes was there too. I talked to her afterwards. As usual, she was unhelpful.
“I ain’ talking no more,” she told me, poking grey strands of hair up under her white starched cap. “You bloody knows it were me. So hop it, and stop poking your nose in where it ain’t wanted.”
But this time I lay back against the one tiny flat pillow on my bed, crossed my arms and regarded her with a hypocritical smile. “The head was a gruesome surprise,” I lied cheerfully. “Why did you knock out his teeth?”
She turned away in silence as usual, but then I heard her muttering, saying, “The bugger tried to bite me. Bloody big bite too. Didn’t deserve teeth, did he!”
When I said, “Good. Didn’t deserve his life, either,” she turned back to me and her face lost the secretive glower.
“You really wanna know wot happened? And you swear you won’t tell no one?”
Could I lie to that extent? Probably yes, so I answered, “Yes, I really want to know. And would I be so daft as to spread the story around? Besides,” I added, “there’s no proof it was you.”
Perhaps she’d been dying to tell someone, so Agnes sat on her bed facing me and talked for ages, telling me far more than I wanted.
“Out there in the fields one night, it were. Stars. But black, and bloody cold. Well, the little lad I used to fondle often when I was lonely, he weren’t to be found. Not nowhere. So I took another lad by the hand. I’d had him before, and he weren’t easy but I threatened the usual stuff and off we went.”
I gulped. Staring, open mouthed, I began to think I should kill her as she had killed William. Not just the demon, but Agnes too. I mumbled, “You do that often?”
“Not as often as that other bugger,” Agnes exclaimed. “So anyway, little Percy and me, we walked over the field where no bugger could be seen from the school, ‘til I heard a whole load of squeaks and whining, like kicking a stray dog. And there were bloody creepy William with my own lad.”
“Tom?” I gasped.
“No, no.” She sounded contemptuous. “The lad with the yellow curls what I always did when I could. He liked a bit o’ cuddling, and if he didn’t like all the suck and blow, he just did as he were told and shut up. But William were hurting him far more n’ I ever did. So I shouted at the bastard, and he let the brat go. He pulled up his braces and ran off quick with Percy, cos I let him go too. Then I marched up to William and gave him a good kick. He swore at me and kicked back. Well, that started it, and we fought. Right viscous, he were, but I had a bloody good carving knife and a hammer too, seeing as I never brought a lad out for night play without a way o’ fighting off spies, other kids or wild animals. Well, this time it were a wild animal, for that’s what William were. I did him after a long scramble, and stuck me knife in his belly, right up to the handle. But he didn’t piss off dead right away. Slow loss of blood, it were. So I did a few things first like making holes in his face with the point of the knife, and banging out the bugger’s teeth with me hammer. Then I slammed the hammer into the top of his head, and that were it. Dead forever. I’d lost a chunk of me leg where he bit me bloody hard, and he nearly bit me finger off too. I weren’t well fer a long time. Anyway, the bastard had gone. So couldn’t tell on me, couldn’t swive no more little boys, and couldn’t take the ones I like meself.”
“But if you - ” I stammered.
She knew what I meant. “But I kisses and cuddles the lads,’ she said. sighing. “Then, when I tells ‘em what to do to me, I’s gentle and I gives ‘em pennies and apples. William – he hurt the brats real mean. So ‘tis mighty different.”
I wasn’t at all sure about that, but I sighed and lay still before saying, “Have you ever killed anyone else?”
“Only my first intended,” she said without any sign of shame. “He were a good deal older n’ me when I was just a lass. I think I were around fourteen. He took me cherry o’course and then swived me over and over. We done promised one to the other, saying them words wot meant we was to wed proper soon. But after a couple o’ months he told me he didn’t want me as wife, and he’d be off in the morning. So I killed the bugger. Right there and then, wiv me fist to the bastard’s prick and me kitchen knife to his ear. I got a good grip, and it went in right slippery. After all, I’d bin using it to clean a chicken’s innards so it were already drippin’ wiv guts. No harm there.”
“Um,” I said.
“Mind you,” she added, “his prick where I punched the bugger, were a right tiddly little thing. But I didn’t knows that ‘till later.”
“I – see,” I mumbled, although I didn’t.
“And now you knows it all,” grinned Agnes. “Reckon I can show you som’thing else. Real pretty it is.” I was prepared for something disgusting, but actually this particular souvenir didn’t occur to me before she pulled out the wrapped package from beneath her pillow. She chucked it at me, and I managed to catch the little brown paper parcel. It wasn’t heavy. I started to pull open the paper.
And then there in my lap lay a slightly elongated scrap of flesh. At first, I thought it was a finger. But then I realised there were no knuckles and indeed, no bones inside at all. And beneath the inch of dried muck, there was a larger lump which also seemed to be flesh. The smaller and longer piece lay on the round, but larger. And that was when I realised what this was. I had touched it before understanding so then pulling back, I found my own fingers trembling.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“I cut it off him afore I smashed his head in, so the bastard felt it go. I kept it fer fun. Reckon I’ll chuck it soon, it don’t do me no good. But I reckon it brings me great dreams.”
“I just think it sounds disgusting.” It smelled disgusting too.
“True, fer that bugger were disgusting,” she said. “So I used the saw the gardener uses to coppice the trees, and I pulled his ugly head off. But he didn’t feel naught fer he were already total dead.”
I had a sudden glimpse of my garden’s trees blowing without wind, and heaved. After gathering my wits, I said, “Do you have a headache, Agnes? I could – soothe it. I mean, stroking your head. I’ve done it before and so I know it works.”
Of course I was remembering Vespasian’s magic calling of the demon, but she stared at me with the usual contempt. “You thinks you’re some healer or sommint? Careful lass, the idiots’ll call you a witch and hang you from the gibbet.”
“No, not like that,” I gulped. “But it’s soothing, and it helps. Anyway, shall we give it a try?”
“I ain’t got no bloody headache,” Agnes replied, lying flat and stretching out her legs.
“You’re going to sleep?” I asked hopefully.
But she grunted again. “No, lass, not yet. ‘Tis a mite early. But reckon I could day-dream a twitch or so, remembering that bastard down the well.”
Reluctantly I sat on her bed, pushing up on the pillow behind her head. I honestly didn’t like touching her, especially since she stank of dirt and sweat, even though I probably did too. I was nervous in case she decided that any gentle touch to her
head might mean I wanted a good deal more. But with determination, I said, “Look, I can relax you. Yes, dream away. Then tell me if you feel better afterwards.”
I placed my hands carefully around her head the way Vespasian had always started his magical call to the demons inside, but quickly found that my much smaller hands did not stretch to the whole circumference. Yet I persisted. I began to press my hands, thumbs to her temples. Her hair was slick with grease and her forehead was grubby, but I tried to ignore such unimportant details, and pressed again.
Agnes sat up abruptly, slapping my hands away, and glared at me. “Silly bitch,” she shouted. “Wot yer doing? I says no before. You wanna climb into bed with me or something? Well, no, bitch. I ain’t interested in other females, and not you in particular. Just a skinny interfering idiot, you is. So bugger off or you’ll end up down the well and all.”
My courage, my determination and my good intentions all flew away like the robins in spring. And quickly I smiled, for it was just as well. I’d have made a mess of it and possibly given the demon a laugh. Vespasian, on the other hand, would have laughed for a different reason.
Chapter Twenty-One
I called Vespasian but he was hard to contact and I knew why. If he was beside Sarah, or deep in political conversation with Cromwell – or anyone else if it came to that – he was too deeply into the time zone and was hidden to me. I didn’t belong in the 1650s and was simply a time traveller, here because of Vespasian’s power. I slipped into Sarah’s mind and found her deeply content, and deeply asleep. No way I could creep into Cromwell’s mind and nor did I wish to. His sort of blind rigidity had fostered cruelty before the demon had even fostered his fanaticism and willingness to hurt in order to overcome.
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