THE APOTHECARY’S DAUGHTER an absolutely gripping crime thriller that will take your breath away

by Jane Adams

  It would take time, Martha told herself, but eventually the Hallam woman’s role would become untenable in the village and she would be forced to move away. On that day Martha would go down on her knees and give thanks to God.

  She paused, her thoughts broken by the sound of splashing water. Curious, Martha stepped from the path.

  * * *

  Kitty turned on her back, her face and breasts towards the light, her hair twining coldly about her arms. Sometimes the scars still burned. There were places on her scalp where the hair had never regrown and the scars became sore and itchy with the heat. She twisted and turned her body in the chill water until the cold grew too much to bear, then reluctantly she pulled herself back onto the bank.

  She felt in no great hurry to dress. Kitty wrung the water from her hair and stroked it from her body. The sun was very hot and the chill on her skin slowly displaced by its warmth gave her pleasure. The pool had grown almost mirror still again and she could see her reflection in its surface. Now in her middle twenties her body was more rounded than when, at seventeen, the young men — and the not so young — had pursued her. It all seemed like a lifetime ago, not just a few years.

  Water from her hair trickled down her body and between her thighs. She watched it, absently, tracked it with her fingers, aware of the pleasure that her own touch gave her. She caught her own reflection again in the pool. The angle at which she sat showed for an instant only that part of her face that had not been scarred. Briefly, she saw the image of the woman that she might have been. It might, had things been different, have been her child born that day. Or her husband’s hand that touched her and not her own and she remembered her dream, the man who had come to her, lay beside her in her bed and made love with a passion and a tenderness that Kitty had never known in her waking life and probably never would.

  Suddenly the years of despair, kept at bay by years of not giving herself time to despair spilled over. Kitty began to cry, softly at first, then with more intensity. She lay down on the grass, pressing her body against it, fingers digging deep into the soft ground at the water’s edge, her body writhing as she wept her pain and loneliness back into the earth.

  * * *

  The bells began to toll, marking the end of the morning worship and above the more distant sound Martha, already horrified by what she had seen, heard Kitty cry out, ‘Why didn’t you take me? Why didn’t you just let me die?’

  It was as if the words had broken the spell that had kept Martha frozen to the spot. The nakedness, the touching, the mad cries as this woman writhed upon the earth. She had been right all along. Kitty Hallam was an unholy woman. She must get away. If Kitty should see her there, bewitch her as she had convinced herself Kitty had tried to bewitch the children . . . Martha began to run, back towards the village, pursued by her own demons.

  Hands of thorn and bracken tore at her feet and pulled at her hair. Catching at her skirts as though they meant to slow her down. Something ripped at her hair, pulling her cap free and dragging out the pins so that she ran like some wild, unkempt thing. Like Kitty Hallam herself, shameless and unrestrained. Martha ran, faster than she had ever run since childhood, back to the village, back to the church and to her husband wishing his flock a good morning outside the door. The crowd parted for her and she stumbled, falling at Randall’s feet.

  Her voice cracked and strained with emotion, Martha cried out to him with what was left of her breath, ‘Husband. I have seen great evil in the Southby wood. I swear to you, the devil is at work there and he has Kitty Hallam for his whore.’

  * * *

  She was still naked when they came for her. She lay on the grass, half sleeping, exhausted by her own anger and the drowsing heat of the noonday sun.

  It was their silence that frightened her most. She struggled into her clothes, pulling her cap over wet hair that she bundled under it with no hope of order.

  ‘What have I done? Why do you all look at me like that?’

  But they said nothing, men she had known for years crowding around her, not wanting to meet her eyes.

  They didn’t touch her. Randall had ordered her bound, but no one moved to carry out his orders and no one laid hands on her. It was their silent momentum that forced her back along the path and into the churchyard. She reached out a hand to Thomas Myan, whose wife she had nursed through fever, whose children had played in her garden. But he just drew away. ‘Thomas, what do they say I have done?’ But he would not answer her.

  Terrified and bewildered, Kitty had no choice but to match their pace. She felt the blood drain from her face. Light-headed already with the sun and lack of sleep, she felt now as though she walked through some horrific dream.

  They emerged from the wood and forced her through the gate that led into the churchyard. Women and children gathered by the church door, Martha with them, her hair still loose and tangled around her face. On seeing Kitty she let out a piercing scream and fell heavily onto the path, her hands clutching at the air and her body twitching as though in a fit.

  ‘She’s bewitched.’ Who first voiced the thought? Kitty did not catch but once said it was carried through the crowd.

  ‘You say I am a witch?’ Kitty couldn’t believe it. Of all the things she had thought she could be accused of this was one that had not occurred to her.

  ‘On what evidence?’ she demanded. ‘Who has spoken out against me?’ Then with sudden concern, ‘Someone should attend to Martha. Take her out of the hot sun, she is clearly ill.’

  No one moved, all eyes were now on Randall who stepped forward to face Kitty. Martha remained, untended and prostrate on the ground. Kitty felt her own rising panic. It took her breath and caught at her words. ‘You can’t just leave her there. For pity’s sake . . .’

  ‘Silence, woman!’ Randall thundered. ‘You.’ He pointed to one of the women. ‘Attend to my wife. You.’ His finger pointed accusingly at Kitty’s escort. ‘I ordered her gagged and bound. Tie her hands. Would you wish her to curse us with some sign, or give the chance to pronounce some devil’s spell?’

  There were vague moves amongst the crowd, but none came forward to obey. Kitty realized for the first time that they were afraid of her. Their silence, her own shame and confusion had muddled her perception and she had not recognized their fear. The absurdity of it. The sheer hopelessness and stupidity of her situation struck her with an almost physical force. She couldn’t help it. Hysteria rising, she began to laugh. Her laughter echoed around the closeness of the churchyard, was carried in the heat of the day until it seemed the only sound. The men retreated. Women gathered their children to them. Only Randall stepped forward. He struck Kitty hard across her open mouth. The laughter stopped, replaced by broken choking as Kitty fought to regain control. Something was found to bind her hands, a kerchief taken from a woman’s dress to cover her mouth. Randall’s fury was a tangible thing.

  ‘You dare to laugh in the face of God,’ he said. ‘You will burn in hell, Kitty Hallam, burn until you cry for mercy and know that none will be offered to you. Not for all eternity. It grieves me that we do not burn witches here in England, that I cannot put you to the torch myself.’

  Kitty stood totally still, the full horror of her situation now dawning on her. Randall touched the scars on her face with fingers that almost caressed. ‘And you of all people should know the heat of hellfire.’

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Ray had breakfasted and was on the road by eight. He drove back without a break, his route taking him to the Middleton hospital. He hoped he remembered the schedule right and that the ward sister he wanted was on duty. She’d just come on and was very surprised to see him.

  ‘You look great,’ she said. ‘Now, if you could just lose some of that weight . . .’

  She made him coffee in her tiny office and he asked her about messages she might have received for him after he had left.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘Someone claimed he was an ex-colleague, thought you were still in hospital. He s
aid he’d moved and wanted you to have his new address but that he’d lost yours in the move.’

  ‘What did he sound like?’ Ray asked her.

  ‘Oh, I’d say about your age,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Local accent, but educated so it wasn’t really strong. He sounded kind of nervous or upset. I thought at one point he might have been drinking, then I wasn’t so sure.’

  ‘So, what did you tell him?’

  She laughed. ‘Am I being interrogated?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s all right then. I was afraid it was some new chat-up line. He said could I give him your address and of course I told him no. We don’t give that kind of information out. I suggested that if he was an ex-colleague then you might have a mutual friend who could help him out, but he didn’t seem too keen. Said you worked in different departments or something. Anyway, finally, to get rid of him really, I said that if he sent a note here, with covering postage, then I’d redirect it, but I warned him that we weren’t a postal service. Did I do right?’

  ‘Yes, of course you did. Was there a covering letter?’

  ‘And did I keep it? No. I don’t think I did, but I’ll have a rummage through my desk later if you like. There was a brief note that said something like “With reference to our phone call of the 20th, could you pass this on to Ray Flowers”, then DI in brackets.’

  ‘You remembered that well,’ Ray commented. ‘It was really as formal as that?’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I remembered. It seemed odd, like a business letter, but it was just a brief note, no address, no name.’

  ‘Right,’ Ray said. Halshaw, definitely Halshaw.

  She smiled at him. ‘So what’s this mystery about? Can you tell me?’

  ‘I’d rather not. But I will tell you something else. I’ve met someone and I feel like a kid again.’

  ‘At your age,’ she said.

  ‘At my age,’ Ray agreed.

  * * *

  Once home he’d phoned Maggie and asked about Beth. She was much better, Maggie told him, the dreams hadn’t come for two nights now, but she had become very curious about the man who hated Kitty.

  ‘Tell her his name was Edward Randall,’ Ray told her, ‘and that he was a nasty piece of work that deserved a good kicking. No, maybe you shouldn’t tell her that.’

  Maggie laughed. ‘What did happen to him?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve Matthew Jordan to thank for what I do know and he doesn’t say.’

  ‘Maybe Kitty told Mathilda,’ Maggie joked.

  Ray fell silent, the obvious suddenly hitting him.

  ‘OK, what have I said?’

  ‘That I’m a stupid fool.’

  ‘Funny, I’m sure I would have remembered saying that. Why, are you?’

  ‘Maggie, it all started with Mathilda’s diaries and I got so wrapped up with Matthew Jordan that I’d almost forgotten that.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t read them all?’

  ‘I’ve skimmed most of them, but not properly, no. Maggie, I hate to speak ill of a woman I really liked but to be honest reading about shopping trips and tea parties puts me to sleep.’

  ‘Need a hand?’ Maggie asked him. ‘I mean, I feel we’re sort of involved anyway now.’

  ‘You wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not. It’ll make a change from endless coffee mornings and parish meetings. Look, I’ll tell you what. Bring Sarah and the books and come to dinner on Monday. We’ll pack the kids off to bed and have a nice adult supper and a bit of a snoop.’

  Ray laughed. ‘A nosy vicar’s wife.’

  ‘The best kind. Is it a date?’

  Ray agreed that it was, reflecting that a couple of weeks before he would have been horrified at sharing Mathilda’s thoughts like that. Now though, it seemed that Kitty had made the journals a legitimate archive, well in the public domain.

  Chapter Forty

  That first night they kept her confined in one of the cellars of Master Eton’s house. He was still absent, business to do with the war keeping him in London for much of the time. Randall had demanded that the servants let him in and give him use of the house.

  The cellar, used for storing wine, was cold and dark. She was imprisoned in a tiny room at the very end of it and given neither light nor food or drink. They had left her bound, but her hands had not been tied behind and she could at least remove the cloth around her mouth. For a time she hammered on the door, cried to be let loose, begged that some message be sent to Master Eton, but no one answered her. No one came near. Later, when her bladder grew too full she was forced to relieve herself in one corner of the room.

  She tried to think what would happen to her now, but, despite having heard of witches being tried, she knew few of the details and those she did know she tried not to think of. Her best hope, she thought, was to call on those few friends who might have influence and who might still believe in her. To pray that they might speak out in her favour before the courts.

  If she could get messages to them.

  Finally, she slept fitfully, curled on sacking in the corner furthest from the door, waking cold and stiff when Randall came at dawn.

  They loaded her onto a cart, binding her more tightly this time. Without her hands to support her, she could not sit up. She lay on the floor of the cart, thrown about by its rocking, her body bruised and sore before they had been travelling more than a few miles. No one spoke to her or told her where she was being taken. It was only later in the journey when the men asked where they should find lodgings for the night that she realized she was being taken to the Leicester assizes. It was the first glimmer of hope so far. The town was in Parliamentary hands, but Matthew was there and Matthew, she was certain, would never let her down.

  * * *

  Hope was utterly distraught. At the church events had occurred too rapidly and too unbelievably for her to really take it in but by the time they had returned home, the full implications of what had happened had begun to sink in.

  Her father had departed to oversee Kitty’s incarceration and her mother had been carried upstairs to bed. Mim was left to deal with the hysterical child alone.

  ‘She isn’t evil. I don’t believe what they said about her. My father should know, Kitty is not the devil’s servant.’

  ‘Hush, my lamb. It is a mistake. It must be. Your mother had been too long in the sun. Trust God, my little love, it will all be well.’

  But Hope could hear the uncertainty in her words and would not be calm. She wept and cried out and shouted her protests until finally exhaustion won and she allowed Mim to hold her while she cried.

  She slept awhile, clinging to Mim, waking only when her father returned. They heard him in the hall, calling for his wife.

  ‘We put her to bed, sir. She was overcome.’

  ‘Have her brought down. I want the household gathered in my study. We must pray together that God will protect and guide us.’

  Hope and Mim went out into the hall. Randall noted the girl’s reddened eyes and came over to her. ‘Don’t weep. Pray.’ He hugged her and then tidied her cap and wiped away the fresh tears that threatened. ‘I know that you were fond of Mistress Hallam,’ he said gently, ‘and the fault is mine for allowing you to be so close. But you must put her from your mind now, and let God’s will be done here.’

  Hope swallowed hard, trying to be brave. There was so much she wanted to ask, but she didn’t have the chance.

  Randall looked up and frowned. ‘Your mother,’ he said. ‘Mim, take Hope into my room and wait there. We will join you presently.’

  The other servants had begun to drift inside. They did not dare speak, but the glances they exchanged told of all the fear and uncertainty, all the gossip that had changed hands in that afternoon. They could hear Randall and his wife out in the hall. Randall’s voice quiet and controlled. Martha, still verging on hysteria, though she was silent as she allowed her husband to escort her into his room.

  ‘Let us all pray,’ Randall sa
id quietly. ‘Let us ask God to see into our hearts and to cleanse them of all misdeeds. Let us ask that He speak to the heart of Mistress Hallam and teach her to confess her faults and her wrongdoing that she may be purified. Let us pray for those who will have the task of judging her, that they may be righteous in the sight of God and that God may see fit to protect us from the evil that is come into our midst.’

  Hope choked back a sob. It hurt so much to know that her father believed in Kitty’s guilt and that she could do nothing. Hurt even more to know that Hope herself had sometimes doubted that Kitty might be right when her teaching had been so different from all Hope knew. Hurt worst of all that she doubted now.

  Her mother had begun to weep again, her cries getting louder until they threatened to drown out Randall’s words. He had opened the book of psalms and begun to read the ninety-first, asking the protection of his God.

  ‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

  ‘I will say . . .’

  Martha had begun to moan, her body swaying back and forth as though she were in great pain. Randall ignored her, raising his voice to be heard over the noise his wife was making.

  ‘. . . I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress . . .’

  Martha had begun to grind her teeth. She shook as though she had fever. She cried out, but the sounds she made had no words in them. Finally she raised her hand and pointed at her daughter.

  ‘She has spirits in her. They torment me. They drive me mad and try to force me to defile the name of God. Oh husband, help me. I cannot bear the spirits. Drive them out of her. Drive them out.’

  Terrified, Hope stared at her mother. Her father had ceased to read. His face was stern. ‘Martha, sit down. Quiet now.’

  ‘No, no, I won’t sit down and I will not be silent. That woman has transferred her evil to the child. I can feel it. I can feel that whore’s evil pouring from her.’ She moaned again, tearing at her hair. ‘Cast it out. You must cast it out.’