The Curse of Becton Manor

by Patricia Ayling

  He recalled his own uncle looking almost the same before the end. Lord Becton is going to die.

  He stepped closer still to examine the earl’s face and check if he was breathing. His lips were gently quivering and then he suddenly opened his eyes, stretching out his dithering angular fingers towards Henry, until they managed to cling onto his arm. The presence of Father Peters reassured Henry, who felt suddenly afraid of this unknown figure on the bed: a once strong man, now a frail enigma.

  ‘Come here, lad…’ the earl pulled him closer.

  Henry glanced at Father Peters, who nodded. The earl continued. ‘You’ve been good to me.’ The voice was raspy and the words stunted. ‘You should be proud of yourself. You are a brave young man. Stay brave, Henry, and you will do well. I wish I knew what had befallen me. I don’t get sick.’ He gave a short laugh before drawing in air, his chest only able to rise with a great effort.

  Henry smiled at him apprehensively but remained speechless.

  The earl turned his attention to Father Peters, who now bent to embrace him.

  ‘My dear lord, we are as brothers in the same family. Do not fear, William. Our faith is strong. We will pray and drive out these demons.’

  ‘The demons are too strong this time, my good friend. Please forgive me, Robert. That man is a scoundrel. I should never have let you go. Can the good Lord ever forgive me? I have sinned, Robert, against you and against the faith. Charlotte was right: this is divine retribution.’

  ‘Nay, William. The good Lord is not punishing you; you have kept your faith, your commitments to your family and lived according to God’s will. Our Holy Mary smiles upon you. The devil we will beat. We must fight this.’ Father Peters looked up for an instant and slowly closed his eyes as if averting tears.

  He suspected the devil was amongst them, and he knew who that devil was.

  ‘My Lord, I must ask you. Did you partake of any food that was different for you or drink anything unusual?’

  ‘No…no, nothing different…except…there were some odd dregs at the bottom of my glass of brandy.’

  ‘When did you drink this?’

  ‘The night Master Griffin came to discuss the accounts with me.’

  ‘Master Griffin…’

  Henry crept silently out of the room, so the earl did not hear him.

  The schoolroom door was still ajar, but Henry detected a slight movement. He furtively crept towards the schoolroom door and peered through a small hole in the middle of a crack in the wood. His eyes widened as he watched Griffin removing a large loose stone from the wall, before placing it on the table. He then turned again towards the secret cavity and lifted out a small black chest. It was then that Frances shouted him from the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘What are you doing, Henry?’

  Henry saw Griffin hesitate as he heard Frances shouting, so he quickly jumped back from the door, feeling panicked. He recalled the words of the earl: ‘Stay brave’.

  As the schoolroom door opened a little wider, Henry angrily pushed it hard against Griffin.

  ‘Thy poisoned the earl!’ He shouted at the schoolmaster. ‘Thou art an evil murderer.’

  Margaret and Frances stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Oh, Good Lord. What is happening?’ Margaret bellowed, astonished at Henry’s outburst.

  ‘He poisoned the earl,’ Henry yelled back. ‘I saw him pick poisonous plants from the hedgerow. I saw him from the stables…the night he was coming to meet with the earl. He put it in his brandy. The earl knows of this, he saw the dregs of the plant. I heard him say. He should be hanged…hanged for this!’

  Edwin Griffin laughed. ‘The boy is deluded and the earl is so sick he doth not know of what he sees or speaks.’

  Was it possible that Griffin might have put something in the earl’s brandy? Frances thought. She tried to recall the eve that Griffin had visited and, where the brandy was. Surely the schoolmaster would have been noticed placing poison in the brandy, right in front of the earl?

  Father Peters, also disturbed by the commotion, came out of the earl’s chamber, closed the door behind him and stood listening on the galleried landing.

  He and Griffin narrowed their eyes as they came face-to-face. In a low voice, Father Peters asked him to leave.

  ‘You cannot command me, sir. You, a Papist, a thief and a witch protector.’

  Margaret gasped.

  Frances, fearful of a confrontation, came slowly up the stairs. She spoke to Griffin.

  ‘We are an honest household Master Griffin. Did you at least pick the plants to which Henry refers?’

  Griffin gave a sardonic laugh.

  ‘How dare you ask me such a foolish question, madam?’

  ‘I ask you again to leave.’ Father Peters stepped towards him.

  ‘You owe me money…papist,’ Griffin growled. ‘Money which you and your papist associate stole from me.’

  ‘I owe you nothing. Leave this house!’ His tone was robust and powerful.

  Griffin was undeterred. ‘I know you reside with the witch. You have no evidence against me, but I have ample against you, sir: you and your witch harlot. I will see you both hanged. It is she who has bewitched the earl with her medicine. She who killed Mary with the white powders. She will be tried and so will you, not only for unlawful union but stealing from the Crown and failing to swear the Oath of Supremacy.’

  Empowered, he strode nearer to the priest. Frances wrung her hands together. She was afraid that Griffin may strike.

  Father Peters’ eyes narrowed. Griffin’s fingers twitched as he matched the priest’s cold penetrating stare. The onlookers were tense, but Griffin resisted the urge to hit the priest. His words had given him the upper hand and would continue to do so.

  ‘The earl is dying. Your witch will have killed him with the same tainted medicine as she surely used on his young daughter. You both shall suffer! If not at my command, the Lady Charlotte will see to it.’

  The pair stood facing each other like hostile bears until the earl’s door swung open and both were distracted by the gaunt figure peering across the landing. With enormous effort, Lord Becton took a few strides towards the angry men and pointed his finger to the schoolmaster.

  ‘You are my murderer!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘You heard Father Peters, get out now! Your body will hang on the gibbet.’ He coughed.

  Henry felt a strong urge to protect the earl, as he recalled his words: ‘Stay brave, Henry’. They gave Henry the impetus to lunge at Griffin.

  He heaved against him, pushing him to the stairs. Griffin lost his footing. Frances who was still standing a few steps down, quickly got out of his way. The man fell down half the stairs before scrambling to his feet by grabbing the banister, but by then Margaret had released the dogs and rushed to hand Frances a stick. Frances beat Griffin down the remainder of the stairs.

  Griffin punched the barking dogs in an effort to defend himself, but was overwhelmed when his coat sleeve was ripped by the most vicious of the snarling dogs. He cried out in pain, taking another swing at the animals, but this action triggered more aggression. He was forced to run from the house, snarling dogs in pursuit.

  Frances followed into the courtyard, where Ged was calling back the dogs.

  ‘They will rip him to shreds, Mistress Frances. ’Tis your good self who will suffer.’

  Frances was angry.

  ‘Be on your way,’ she yelled at the schoolmaster. ‘’Tis thee who will suffer: the good Lord will see to it that justice shall indeed prevail.’

  She slammed the front door and slumped onto the settle in the hall, whereby she fought the urge to cry.

  The earl had fallen against the door frame, exhausted, and now lay propped up against the wall. He turned to Henry.

  ‘Again…you helped me, lad. You will not be forgotten.’

  Father Peters and Henry gently lifted him to his feet and gently ushered him back to his bed.

  ‘You must rest,’ Father Peters urged the earl. ‘Th
e man will not return.’

  He did rest. He slept and slept until his breathing became weak and spasmodic. He asked for his wife and son. Frances had sent word to London. It would still be another two days before they arrived home.

  Lord Becton could not hold on. The day before Lady Charlotte and Oliver were expected to return, in the early morning, William breathed his last.

  The servants came solemnly to stand by the bedside. Henry fingered the silk shroud, recalling his own deceased uncle, wrapped only in coarse cloth. He recalled Christmas, when he was allowed to attend the family dinner, so proud in that white linen shirt, smart doublet and breeches. It felt so different. It made him feel proud and important. Although death smelled the same, some people were born to privileges, while others would never have anything, all their hard working lives; but all lives seemed futile in death. We all must die, he thought, but first we must live, and he was determined in that moment to achieve something in life. He desired wealth and power.

  The others quietly left the room. When Henry reached the schoolroom, he opened the door and looked inside. He saw Griffin’s box still on the desk. Everyone had been too distracted to notice it. He stared at it for a while, before looking round to make sure no one saw him. He tucked it under his arm before tiptoeing down the stairs and back to the stables.

  The house was once again solemn and silent, as it had been following the death of Mary. The dogs sensed their master’s passing and pined. Margaret felt sorry for them; they had enjoyed many walks with the earl. She allowed them into the kitchen but, when she threw scraps, they didn’t eat.

  *

  On the Friday morning, the sound of horses’ hooves on the gravel broke the eerie silence. Lady Charlotte and Oliver climbed out of the coach, weary from their journey. Once their feet reached the ground, they hurried inside.

  Father Peters met Lady Charlotte in the hall.

  ‘I’m sorry, my lady. It was yesterday. He wanted to wait for you both, but he was too weak.’

  The priest saw her face crumple and her legs buckle. He steadied her and she took his arm, before they slowly climbed the stairs, heads bent. Oliver walked behind them, fear etched on his face. He was fighting back his pooling tears of emotion.

  Father Peters knew he was trying to be brave. It had been ingrained in him that noble men do not cry or show emotions as women do. Poor boy, it was only a short time ago that his sister died. Now he would need to take care of his mother alone.

  Father Peters allowed them time at William’s bedside. As Lady Charlotte sobbed, Oliver asked him, ‘When do the spirits take father away?’

  Charlotte heard the question, swallowed a lump in her throat, and took her son’s hand in hers. She began to answer and Father Peters smiled as he listened to her, speaking gently but with deliberation.

  ‘They have gone already, with his soul. You see his body, but he is not there anymore. He has gone to Jesus now. He was a good man, generous and kind, so good that the demons could not pull him away. I know he has left with the angels. Sometimes there is a struggle between the evilness of demons and the angels, but if sins are confessed, you are free from eternal damnation.’

  She looked at her son, suddenly fearing for his future, then whispered, ‘Your father has gone to Heaven with the angels.’

  ‘Will we see Father again as a Holy Ghost?’

  ‘Perhaps. He will always be close by, watching over you, even though you perhaps won’t see him. Mary is with us at times. I can smell her, Oliver. I search for her. I don’t see her, yet she is here. We must all pass to God’s secure haven, a place that will be our eternal sanctuary…but I miss her so much…and now your father has left me…’

  She stopped abruptly, her speaking stifled with extreme emotion. She dropped her son’s hand, took a deep breath as she threw her head backwards and then brought it forward again to rest in her cupped hands and began to sob.

  Father Peters laid a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘The Lord God have mercy.’ He then walked to Oliver to embrace him, but Oliver was infuriated.

  ‘Forgive my blasphemy Father, but I find it hard to believe in the holiness of Him. He has torn my family apart.’

  ‘You must be strong, my boy. You are the man of the house now. You have much to learn about the ways of the Lord.’

  *

  All the servants except Anne solemnly entered the room for prayers.

  Anne could not be found. Frances was not surprised. Griffin had tried every day since the earl’s death to get back into the house. He’d said he needed to take away some accounts. She had threatened him with the dogs.

  Anne had been acting strangely. She had been seen snooping in the schoolroom. Frances wondered what it was she was looking for, but whatever it was, she didn’t appear to have found it.

  Father Peters sprinkled the room with holy water and used his sacred oils to anoint the body of the earl. The intense silence was broken by his words, softly spoken:

  ‘Pax huic domui: et omnium habitantium.’

  ‘Peace to this house and all who dwell therein.’

  ‘Glora Patri, et Filii, et Spiritui Sancti.’

  ‘Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost.’

  After the last blessing, the gathering chanted The Lord’s Prayer before Father Peters said, ‘May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life.’ Then he made the sign of the cross, followed by the others.

  As they all quietly left the room, Henry tugged at Father Peter’s vestments, then quickly looked around to ensure no one was listening.

  ‘I wish to confess something, Father,’ he whispered.

  ‘Now? What troubles you, Henry?’

  ‘I stole the money chest, Father, belonging to Master Griffin.’

  ‘Did you count the money?’

  ‘Aye, there are fifteen gold shillings and some silver ones. I am sorry. I’ll bring it to you.’

  Henry turned to go downstairs but Father Peters rested a firm hand on his shoulder, giving a cursory glance towards the door to ensure no listening ears.

  ‘That money was no doubt stolen in the first place. Master Griffin was fraudulent, my son. It will largely belong to the earl. He thanked you many times for coming to his aid… Keep it, my boy. Keep it for your future and say nothing. Had the earl lived longer, I know he would have said the same. In this world, you will one day need it. Keep it safe and when the time comes to invest, seek my counsel.’

  Father Peters grinned, before adding, in a serious tone, ‘Go without guilt, my son.’ They both crossed themselves.

  ‘Thank you, Father. You have my word.’

  Henry’s wish of a better life was coming true. Go without guilt.

  As he descended the stairs, he was surprised to hear Lady Charlotte’s raised voice from the hall below. She was facing Frances with a thunderous tone and a harsh face.

  ‘Tell me the truth. Was my husband treated by Kathleen? Tell me now: how did my husband become sick?’

  Frances hesitated. She knew that Kathleen had not been allowed in the house since Mary died.

  ‘I…I…’ she stammered.

  ‘She was here, wasn’t she? You allowed her to treat my husband. How could you?’

  The venom of blame was directed at Kathleen. An angry Lady Charlotte walked away from Frances but then she swiftly turned back. ‘That woman will suffer. She is a witch; I have no doubt of it.’

  Frances watched Lady Charlotte walk briskly towards the parlour. Troubles came one after another, she reflected. Times were bad. She worried for Kathleen, and for all of them.

  As Henry hurried down the stairs, she called him over and sent him off to the village. It was market day; they still needed to eat, whatever happened. She saw Father Peters emerging from the earl’s bedchamber. Had he heard the wrath of the mistress?

  *

  Henry welcomed the opportunity to leave the house. He didn’t run, he dawdled, daydreaming of what he should do with all his money. It’s m
ine and I’m not to feel guilty.

  As he approached the market, he heard a rumpus from the inn. Men were shouting. He climbed up onto a step to look through a window at the side of the building.

  He gasped. There was Griffin, sitting with Anne.

  So that’s why she hadn’t been with them all for prayers. It was disrespectful, he thought, for her to be here, in an ale house of all places.

  Wide-eyed, he watched Edward Griffin stand and address the crowd.

  ‘I urge you all, if you truly care for your children, to heed my words. We have no time to waste. That witch has killed Lord Becton with her hocus pocus medicine, just as she bewitched and murdered his young daughter, the Lady Mary. How can we tolerate a witch and a Catholic priest in league with the devil? Co-habiting as joint sorcerers against the religion of our sovereign? Their medicine, it has been proved, is black and evil. They not only abuse our sovereign’s law, they abuse the law of the Holy Father Himself. I say we cannot wait for the Assizes. We have a duty to our loved ones, to our children, to hang them now, without further ado.’

  Henry watched people nodding and shouting in drunken agreement. There were calls of ‘Aye’ from bawdy men and one shouted for the witch to be pressed. He suddenly slipped on the stone on which he was standing and crept round the front of the inn. As a few men left, he slunk just inside to listen.

  The landlord spotted him.

  ‘’Ere, young lad…what are you up to? Stealing your game, eh?’

  Edward Griffin looked in the direction of Henry and lunged at him. Henry ran as fast as he could through the streets, dodging the crowd. Then he dashed down an alleyway and hid behind a stack of barrels to get his breath. He peeped out and Griffin was immediately upon him, hands wrapping around his throat. Henry could not speak for the strangling hold and felt his legs buckling beneath him.

  ‘Let go of that lad. Let him go!’

  Two huge women wearing grubby aprons waddled towards Griffin, the smell of grease and sweat on their bodies putrid as they got nearer. One struck him with a stick and the other wielded a heavy pan.

  Griffin let go of Henry and struck one of the women with the back of his hand. As he did so, the other one spotted a dead rat by the side of a barrel and, picking it up by its tail, flung it wide to slap directly across Griffin’s face. Then she rushed forward and brought up her knee harshly to his groin. The first woman was back on her feet and now she punched him in the chest, while the other picked up a stone and struck the back of his neck.