Indicator of a Curse

by Lesley A Meldrum

  Much to Lady Bennet’s relief, the girls looked back to normal, but for good measure, she asked them to smile. She was relieved to find their teeth were normal.

  With order restored, Lady Bennet let her son go play with his toys. He was done with the social dealings. She noted he had drifted over into the far corner where he could be left alone. George could play happily by himself for hours on end while the others went about their day.

  Even though Beatty was still in the room, the respite lasted for only a moment. The girls went into a catatonic spell that no one could bring them out of.

  A voice in the corner of the room, clear and fluent, took everyone by surprise. A boy’s voice.

  ‘Antonia and Freya say Beatty has to come and stay with us forever. The spirits want her here,’ said George. His demeanour had changed. He had transformed into someone aware and fluent.

  The sudden fluent speech, after many years of silence, could only be attributed to something malevolent. George was three years old when his mental capacity shut down. There was no way he could promptly return to normality. Mr Bennet was convinced whatever malevolent spirit had an evil grip on his daughters now had a hold on his son.

  ‘Come with me,’ Mr Bennet said, grabbing Beatty by the arm and pulling her along. He was escorting Beatty to her residence for the last time. He planned to demand she bring all her belongings, making it quite clear she couldn’t refuse. If she was to refuse him, she was off to the gallows.

  They came up to the farmhouse door and Mr Bennet pounded on it with a sense of urgency loud enough to wake the dead.

  Cordelia, having fallen asleep by the fireside, was woken by the loud banging. She knew instantly who the racket belonged to. It was the Squire’s proclamation of urgency whenever he came to fetch her daughter—though his banging at this hour was a mystery, for Beatty was already at the abbey.

  She thought about pretending she wasn’t home, but he had probably seen her from the window. He had probably heard her snoring too. She had dry spittle along the sides of her mouth.

  ‘Comin’,’ she yelled. ‘Hold your horses.’

  She climbed out of the chair and proceeded to straighten herself out. She played around with her dress until she felt it was sitting right and propped her shawl properly on her shoulders. After tidying her hair, she made her way to the door.

  Both Mr Bennet and Beatty were standing at the doorway. Mr Bennet was staring at her with more urgency than he had ever before, if possible.

  ‘Pack all your belongings and say goodbye to your mother,’ he said to Beatty. ‘By my order, you are coming with me to live with my family for good.’

  Cordelia looked back and forth at the two in bewilderment. It was unusual for Mr Bennet to be without his manners. She had no idea what had spurred the event.

  As for Beatty, she had never outright defied the master until now. In her opinion, she had been consistently co-operative, though she had resisted some of the servants. Some of them behaved arrogantly, acting superior because they worked for the Squire. Their officious attitudes had provoked her into resisting, yet in the end she always obeyed.

  She decided under no uncertain terms was she going to live under their roof, especially with those little monsters he called his daughters and those shadowy things that were always watching, always lurking along the walls.

  As a sore point, she was agitated Mr Bennet had dragged her all the way over to her mother’s house without telling her his plans.

  ‘Nay, sir,’ Beatty said. ‘I refuse. I am not goin’ to sleep under that roof.’ Her fake courage was probably unmasked due to her shaking. She hated standing up to authority. She had managed to maintain a firm voice though, wanting the Squire to know she meant business.

  Her knees buckled as the Squire looked at her with stern annoyance, but pride kept her from backing down. He had a fierce furrow in the middle of his forehead, which deepened the longer she challenged his wrath with her defiant glower.

  She was playing a silly game. She was no match for the master’s authority. He was every bit the authoritarian superior.

  ‘You will come with me,’ he said. ‘I shall drag you by the hair if I have to. Now gather what you can. Your mother can pack everything else for my men to collect.’

  He stood with his shoulders squared and his feet planted. This was one battle he was not going to lose.

  ‘And if I refuse, sir, even after you have pulled all my hair out?’

  ‘Either you come live at the abbey or I march you straight to the sheriff’s office. Those are your options.’

  His cold remark invoked a reaction from Cordelia. ‘Stop it, Beatty. Do as he says.’

  Cordelia looked at Mr Bennet with panic-rounded eyes, fear-stricken that her daughter may meet her end sooner than anticipated. He couldn’t help but soften a little.

  ‘Sir,’ Cordelia said. ‘May I ask what brought this on? You have previously given Beatty a choice as to whether she would like to live at your estate. Why the change of heart?’

  ‘The circumstances have changed, Cordelia.’

  Cordelia thought it must be serious because the Squire was trying to hold himself together. His voice was shaky and he was twirling his hat in his hands. His eyes were a little wider than usual. He seemed restless.

  ‘George has fallen to the sickness. His spoke fluently while his sisters were entranced. It is not possible. He was three years old when he shut down.’

  Cordelia was shocked. She knew the boy well enough to know that was impossible. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘There’s somethin’ malevolent in that place, sir. You must believe me. That be what’s affectin’ your children. It’s manipulatin’ you all, sendin’ you all mad.’

  ‘I honestly do not know what to think, ma’am,’ he said, not daring to look Cordelia in the eye. ‘Too many things cannot be explained.’

  While he was a little softer around the edges, Cordelia took the opportunity to make her plea. ‘Lord Bennet, I beg you, the disturbances are not comin’ from my girl. She’s innocent. She’s bein’ controlled by this thing too.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘I know you’ve lost faith, but please don’t give up on my daughter. You are our only hope.’

  Mr Bennet dropped his head in shame. After a long wait, he made his vow to the disheartened old lady. ‘I will rally until the end, Cordelia. That is all I can promise.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ That was all she needed. She bowed graciously and stepped aside to allow them both inside.

  Beatty cried as she gathered her things. What she could carry she put aside and then she sat at the fireplace with her mother. It was the last evening supper they were to have together.

  The Squire sat in the kitchen area, allowing them to have their space. They had offered him some tea and cake. He wasn’t hungry, but he had accepted their offer to kill time. He desperately wanted to get home and see how his family were faring, particularly his boy. However, he sought to maintain some fairness. Though he found the wait agonising, he let the Clarke women have their hour.

  When Beatty sipped the last drop of tea, she set her cup aside. ‘Well, I best be goin’.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Give us a hug then.’

  Cordelia scrambled to her feet and fell into Beatty’s open arms. She wrapped herself around her daughter and held on tight. It was some time before she let go. There were tears streaming down her face.

  ‘Aww ma,’ Beatty said. ‘You and I both know me time is up in this life. We will see each other again in another lifetime.’

  Cordelia nodded her head in agreement. ‘Aye. I know, love. I just don’t want to live this life without you.’

  ‘I’ll watch over you, ma. Send you a little message from time to time.’

  Cordelia put her hand to Beatty’s cheek. ‘You do that, love.’

  Mr Bennet pretended to clear his throat. He was still waiting in the kitchen. They had exhausted enough time and their goodbyes were becoming too disturbing for his liking. He wasn’t comfortable with the tearful displays. />
  Beatty gathered her belongings and walked out of the house for the last time. As they marched across the street, the Squire voiced his opinion. ‘Beatty, back in the house, you and your mother were talking like you were marching off to your death. For goodness sake, you are only going to stay under my roof. It is not a death sentence.’

  Beatty spoke frankly. ‘Sir, me ma and I both know I am goin’ to die very soon. I think you know my outcome too. You, sir, have my fate in your hands.’

  He did not know how to answer. They just turned and walked. The silence was golden as Mr Bennet needed a moment to clear his head.

  ‘I am sorry I let you down, Beatty,’ he finally said. ‘Truly, I am.’ He tried to read her face for reconciliation, but there was none. ‘Do you think I will ever find the cure for my girls?’

  ‘No, sir,’ she answered.

  A dark cloud hung over the two for the rest of the short journey to the abbey. There was no agreement between them: Beatty had made it clear she had no desire to live in the abbey and Mr Bennet had made it clear that if her staying benefitted his children, she would.

  Before entering the house, Mr Bennet was inspired to make another attempt at appeasing his difference with the girl. ‘Beatty, if it is any consolation, I will be moving my family into the old hall as I have come to the conclusion that there is something wrong about the abbey. The hall has been done up in preparation.’

  At last a spark could be seen in her eyes.

  ‘I insist you come with us. When my children are better, you are welcome to return home. I promise.’

  Her face softened. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she managed to say. She appreciated his gesture but felt it in her bones her time was near.

  The house was in an uproar. The girls were at each other again.

  When Beatty walked into the room she noticed George was a proper little boy, with his full faculties. Mr Bennet feared the normal boy in front of him. This was not his real son. Beatty was shocked as well. She could understand why Mr Bennet was so rattled.

  Thankfully, with Beatty’s presence, things calmed again. The girls stopped warring and returned to normal. When the girls calmed, George went back to his normal state too.

  Mr Bennet asked the maid to prepare a room for Beatty. When it was done, he asked the maid to show Beatty to her room. He hoped Beatty could settle as soon as possible.

  The maid led her upstairs and through a door. Beatty gasped. She was being offered a bigger and more exquisite room than what she was used to. The bed was large, puffed up with pillows, a feathered quilt, and fresh linen. Everything was new. The room was big enough to hold furniture and still had plenty of space. She had her own duchess and a comfortable sofa for reading, along with a table and two chairs where she could eat. She could possibly invite someone to eat with her, who would only be her mother.

  Everything looked exquisite: the lamps, the heavy curtains, the wardrobes.

  As she looked around, mesmerised, her spell was broken by the maid. ‘Is there anything I can get you, ma’am? Would you like a hot bath run or a meal brought to your room? The master said to make sure you have whatever you want.’

  ‘A hot bath would be nice, thank you,’ Beatty answered as she bent over to pick up a piece of linen that had been dropped on the floor.

  ‘Oh, no, ma’am,’ the maid interfered. She took the pressed pillow case from Beatty. ‘You’re not to lift a finger here other than to tend to the children when they are ill.’

  Clearly there were factors that would benefit Beatty living under the Bennets’ roof. She would have servants at her beck and call. She wouldn’t have to put in the workload she had to at her mother’s place and all her meals would be made for her. The offer was indeed tempting.

  But there was a greater worry.

  That night, alone in her strange new bed, Beatty feared the encounter she may have with the shadowy presence. She was full of grief and wanted to mourn her old life, but her thoughts were obsessed.

  Fortunately, her fears were in vain, for it did not come to her in the night, and there were no disturbances from the children either.

  She should have taken the advantage and slept, because the following days were tortuous. Day and night, the girls gave her a hard time, giving her little reprieve. Whenever the girls had a turn she would have to stand close or touch them. Sometimes, they would turn again the second she left the room, prompting her to go back.

  The time came when Beatty’s presence no longer sedated the girls. They became violent whether Beatty was in their presence or not.

  One blessing remained: George’s ability to speak. His mystifying transformation had not yet worn off. A blessing it surely was, because now it was the girls who became mute with their brother speaking on their behalf.

  Freya became too frail to leave her bed. Her emaciated body looked days away from death. Furthermore, her symptoms would not let up.

  Mr Bennet reached his breaking point. He had no other choice but to consider his last option: there was sorcery in their midst. With all hope lost, he climbed his mighty stallion and with one swift kick to the flanks he embarked on his journey to meet with the sheriff.

  At sundown, a loud commotion stirred outside the abbey. The whole town was gathered outside with torches.

  Cordelia Clarke peeked out her kitchenette window. She had not yet been notified that her daughter had been taken away by the sheriff and had not spied the sheriff while he was in attendance.

  During her daughter’s arrest, Cordelia had been visiting a client who requested a home visit. Although the town was against her, they still used her when it was convenient. After all, she was the best.

  Cordelia’s client was bedridden and did not know of the town’s plots. The client’s nurse, who was her eldest daughter, kept it all from her ill mother, not wanting to put any strain on her.

  The nurse had sent for Cordelia this day at her mother’s request, but little did Cordelia know she was babysitting a sick woman while the nurse was off plotting the demise of her daughter with the rest of the town.

  While Cordelia did a reading for the old lady, an awful feeling came over her. It was Beatty. Something was wrong with Beatty.

  To speed along the reading, Cordelia simply told the old lady the truth; she was not going to get better. She believed the lady had only days left.

  Surprisingly, the lady beamed at the news. She told Cordelia she was ready to meet her maker. Three days earlier, the eldest daughter to Elizabeth Seymour had done a reading for her and had told her she would recover to full strength. Nancy Browne (nee Seymour) insisted the old lady pay her a twelve-month advance so she could give her monthly readings for a whole year.

  The old lady had said she would get back to her soon. Behind Nancy Browne’s back, she insisted on a second opinion from Cordelia. She knew she was being swindled. Regardless, she wanted confirmation.

  Cordelia listened to the old lady’s gripes before admitting she needed to hurry home. She gave the lady a potion to help her sleep comfortably and then she was gone. She left the old lady in the care of her seven-year-old granddaughter.

  Cordelia saw the crowd gathered in front of the abbey on her way home so she snuck through the back door. Before peeking out the window, she locked the doors and snuffed out the lamps. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Not surprisingly, leading the crowd were the two matriarch women being carried on chairs. The matriarchs had made sure the whole town was with them before approaching the Squire. The two women were put to the ground. Both left their chairs and took a few steps forward. With the crowd standing behind them, they faced the entrance and made a proclamation. ‘Release the witch,’ they said. ‘We demand you hand her over.’

  ‘Hear us! We have come for the witch,’ Theodora further added. ‘She is a danger to our community. We will no longer allow you to put our loved ones at risk.’

  Elizabeth felt the urge to explain further. ‘We mean you no harm. We just need you
to hand the girl over.’

  With that being said, the crowd burst into a chant. ‘Give us the witch. Give us the witch.’

  The Squire came out of the house with armed men. The crowd ceased their chanting. ‘What the blazes is going on,’ the Squire shouted.

  ‘We’ve come to take the girl into custody,’ commanded Mrs Blackwell. ‘You have to hear it from all of us. Your daughters are being bewitched by Beatrice Clarke and you need to release the witch to us.’

  ‘You’re too late,’ he said. ‘The sheriff has taken Beatrice away.’

  The Squire’s news took the crowd by surprise. The Squire watched their faces go from shock to bewilderment. He could see their thoughts ticking over, questioning what their ears had just heard. Some looked around to see if others had witnessed the same event and heard the same account. As their senses slowly came back to them, doubt increasingly spread across their faces. Judging by the way they were looking at him, he knew himself to be the object of their suspicious minds. He was not in the mood for their allegations. ‘Do you doubt me,’ he roared. ‘Are you claiming me to be a liar?’

  Theodora spoke what was playing on their minds. ‘You sure you’re not telling us lies, Squire? ’Tis awful sudden of you to be alignin’ yourself with the rest of us. You were so convinced the girl was innocent.’

  Mr Bennet explained. ‘Recent events have finally convinced me there is bewitchment at play. I cannot deny it any further.’

  ‘And what recent events might they be, sir,’ piped up Elizabeth Seymour, always ready to add her piece once her partner had ploughed the way. ‘There was aplenty evidence afore. What is it that has finally helped you see the light?’

  ‘You do not need to know the details,’ he asserted. ‘For obvious reasons, I have learnt not to air my private life to the public. Let us just say my family are most dear to me. Hence, I must save my family before it is too late.’