by Jane Adams
Chapter Forty-eight
Kitty’s brother had been allowed to see her thanks to Master Eton’s intervention. Judge Henry Hastings had allowed him a few moments with her, but warned that they could not be left alone.
The jailer stood by the door, doing his best to listen to the conversation between prisoner and visitor while Eton kept him involved in conversation as it would have been disrespectful to ignore him.
‘I am so sorry,’ Jonathan whispered. ‘Oh my poor sister. What will become of this?’
‘Only the Lord knows that. I am innocent, Jonathan, you do believe that, don’t you? I could not bear it if you thought me guilty.’
He shook his head, vehemently. ‘Never, Kitty. Never will I believe that. And you still have friends. Good and powerful friends who will stand with you no matter what.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘I will not risk a single one,’ she said. ‘Neither will I risk you, Jon. When you leave here, you must go home. And you must promise me that you will not return.’
‘Kitty . . . I—’
‘No, no excuses. And I know this must have been in your mind too, for all that you would not say it to me. I know the risk to family of those accused. How my reputation will tarnish yours and I will not have that, Jonathan. I will not countenance it.’
‘And if I am seen to turn my back on you. That will give ammunition to your accusers. How can I do that?’
‘You know full well how you can do that. And I know full well that these thoughts have been in your mind. No. No, I hold no malice towards you. It is sound common sense. My father needs you and your wife and child. They most of all. None of this can or should be laid at your door, so go now. I am grateful to have been able to say goodbye. Tell our father that I love him and, please, Jonathan, assure him of my innocence.’
‘He needs no such assurance, Kitty, you know that.’
‘Now go and, Jonathan, please promise me that you will keep away. One of our family brought before the courts is enough.’
* * *
On his arrival in Leicester, Randall went directly to Judge Henry Hastings.
‘I have allowed her brother to speak with her,’ Randall was told. ‘It seemed compassionate.’
‘Compassion! That woman is beyond all such deserving.’
‘The case against her is not yet proved, Master Randall. I must deal with her as my conscience sees fit.’
Randall sighed and took the wine that Henry Hastings offered. The judge’s chambers overlooked the castle green. Through the mullioned windows Randall could see Saint Mary’s church and, close by, the executioner’s block. ‘The woman is guilty,’ he said. ‘Guilty and deserving of death. She has bewitched my wife and corrupted my daughter’s innocent mind. That, neither I nor God can forgive.’
‘You presume to know God’s will in this?’
‘I presume to know what is right and what is wrong and what she did to my child is wrong beyond all doubting.’
Henry Hastings listened as Randall told him of Hope’s words. Of what Kitty had taught her to do and of the night of fear that had followed the revelation.
‘She is afraid that she will go to hell,’ Randall said. ‘Oh, it’s true enough, I preach judgement and hellfire from the pulpit, yes, and I believe my words. But Hope is just a child. A child whose only real guilt is that she trusted too readily and listened too well.’
Henry Hastings sighed and poured more wine, offering to refill Randall’s glass. ‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that the times are bound to the corruption of innocence, and, truly, I feel for your pain. But this business reminds me heavily of past mistakes. Nine women died, following accusations made by a child.’
‘I know that, sir, but matters are different here. Hope made no accusation. In fact, she sought to defend Mistress Hallam. Something to my mind even more disturbing than if she had accused, if she had tried to proclaim her own innocence in this by accusing that woman of coercion.’
‘It distresses you that she did not? In truth, man, I would be glad that your child understands loyalty and honesty. There’s little of either present in these times.’
Randall shook his head. ‘I know that you mean to comfort me,’ he said. ‘But I can take none. No, I would see no one unjustly accused, but truly I believe that any investigation into this would bring only further proof.’
Henry Hastings nodded. ‘This thing must be properly dealt with,’ he said. ‘I will not follow the mistakes of the past and I have given much thought to this. There is a man called Prescott, you may have heard word of him. A man of God trained in the law and an expert on the way of heretics and witches. I think we should send for this man. Have him test the woman.’
Randall got to his feet and placed the wine glass back on the sideboard. Tired already, the wine had begun to tell on him.
‘It sounds like good reasoning,’ he said. ‘I will go with your decision. Let the man be sent for.’
Chapter Forty-nine
The Monday morning after George’s visit, Ray went to see Walters.
‘I’ve come up with something that might interest you,’ he said.
‘What about? You’re not still chasing Frank Jones? I thought you could make better use of your time.’
Ray smiled, noticing that Walters winced at the clown mask the expression made on Ray’s face. ‘There was a witness,’ he said. ‘Someone saw him die.’
Walters’ expression was impossible to read but Ray could feel that he’d hit home.
‘I’ve heard nothing about this,’ Walters stated irritably. ‘Someone’s stringing you a line.’
‘Maybe,’ Ray pressed on. ‘But you’ll just love what else’s coming out of the rumour mill. Word is, you did for Frank Jones. That he’d got too expensive and you decided it was time to cut costs.’
Walters’ face had flushed red. He rounded angrily on Ray. ‘More rubbish from that little bitch, I suppose.’
‘If you mean Helen Jones, then no. It’s not from her.’
‘If I thought for one minute you gave credence to this nonsense, Ray . . .’
Ray smiled at him again, knowing just how much it upset his one-time superior. ‘Just passing on the word,’ he said. ‘I like to keep folk amused.’
* * *
DS Enright was coming in as Ray left.
‘What did he want this time?’
‘Reckons the word puts me in the frame for Frank’s murder.’
Enright glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Got a meeting,’ he said. ‘You think Halshaw’s been stirring? Or is it Helen Jones?’
Walters shook his head. ‘He says it’s not the Jones woman.’
‘Well, I suppose we ought to find out. If it’s Halshaw, he could do with another reminder. If it’s the woman, I don’t believe she knows anything. Pure speculation.’
‘Well, you’d better make sure,’ Walters told him.
Ray met Sarah for lunch and told her what he had said to Walters.
‘What do you think he’ll do?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, we’ll have to wait and see. If we’re wrong about the connection then he won’t do anything. If I’m right, then hopefully he’ll be provoked.’
‘And then what?’
Ray shrugged. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead.’
They gave their order to the waitress. There was a basket on the table with sugar in one side and packets of sauce and salt in the other. Ray played absently with them, extracting a couple of each and slipping them into his pocket, rearranging the rest as though to hide the gaps.
Sarah shook her head at him.
‘My guess is that it happened like this,’ Ray said. ‘Frank Jones attacked me thinking I was Halshaw. I still don’t know what pushed him over the edge, but I’m pretty certain it was him. Halshaw put two and two together and realized it should have been him in hospital. Maybe he even saw Frank running away. Maybe Frank had threatened him, I don’t know that part. He went to Walters, who was looking for a way in. Told him that Frank
could get him what he needed but that he wanted Frank keeping off his back. Maybe Halshaw didn’t know what Walters intended to do with Frank’s information. I don’t know that either. Anyway, Walters pulled Frank in, told him Halshaw had recognized him and made a deal.’
‘You think you’ll prove it?’
‘Not with what I’ve got now. You heard what George said on Friday night. The investigation was dropped and it will stay dropped unless I can pull something spectacular out of the bag.’
‘Supposing you’re right,’ Sarah said, ‘what must Frank have felt like when he realized he’d got the wrong man? Are you going to tell his wife?’
Ray nodded. ‘If this gets to court it’ll come out anyway. I’d rather tell her myself. She deserves that.’
‘Do you think Halshaw was transferred because Walters knew he should have been the victim?’
‘I think that’s why Halshaw wanted to go. He didn’t trust Frank not to try again and didn’t trust Walters to control him. At heart Frank wanted to go straight, I’m sure of that.’
‘Do you hate him for what he did to you?’
Slowly, Ray shook his head. ‘I thought I would, but I don’t. Couple of months ago what had happened to me was my entire life. It was everything I thought about. Now it’s not. And Frank’s dead. I’m still here.’
‘From what you told me Helen said Frank was harassed even after Halshaw went away.’
‘Walters keeping his man above suspicion, I’d guess. Then, from what George tells us the unit in charge of the Pierce inquiry got to him and wanted him to replace the informant they’d lost. Maybe Frank let this slip to Walters and he panicked. Maybe he threatened to give evidence that would prove Walters’ involvement. To my mind that seems more likely. Maybe he was trying a little blackmail. Any way you look at it, he wound up dead.’
Chapter Fifty
Prescott, the expert in the ways of witches, arrived in mid-July to a town preparing itself for war. The ancient ramparts along the Rawdykes were being renovated and reinforced and of the houses outside of the town’s defences many had been demolished to prevent them providing cover for the enemy. As Prescott rode through the Magazine Gateway and into the castle yard, he was confronted by a crowd of former residents come to argue their case for compensation. He rode through them, a black-clothed figure on a bay horse, thrusting them aside as though he barely noticed their presence in the yard.
He was brought before Judge Hale to present his credentials. Randall had arrived before him and stood waiting in the outer chamber. The two men, alike in dress, their hair cropped short and both believing themselves to be servants of God, entered Judge Hale’s chambers together.
‘I had thought to see Sir Henry Hastings,’ Prescott said as introductions were made.
‘Colonel Hastings, he is now. He has joined the King’s men. You will deal with me in his absence.’
‘So be it.’ Prescott nodded. ‘I am asked to present my credentials to the court.’
‘I am sure they are impeccable.’ Judge Hale had little patience with this business. A war was already under way that could tear the country apart. He felt obliged to respect his predecessor’s wishes, even though their loyalties forced them into separate camps, but he thought this whole business much waste of time and public money when both could be better spent.
A little put out by his reception, Prescott tried again. ‘I have studied widely in Europe, sir. There is not an element of witch law or a classification of heresy that I have not scrutinized. The writings of Sprenger and Kramer are—’
‘I am sure that you are more than qualified for the task in hand,’ Hale interrupted. ‘Master Prescott, I will tell you now that I have no liking for such trials as these. The assizes in this town are no strangers to witches, or at least, to those accused.’
‘I have heard this, sir.’
‘Then you will have heard, also, that those women were innocent. Nine women hanged, Prescott, on the flimsiest of evidence—’
‘The boy showed every sign of bewitchment, sir, the court judged rightly.’
‘And the boy then recanted his statement. Admitted that he lied. Nine souls accused and nine lives taken. I want no repetition of that.’
‘That the boy recanted does not mean that he was any less bewitched,’ Prescott said steadily. ‘The power of those women died with them, the boy could no longer remember what had been done to him.’
Hale regarded the man with open distaste. ‘Do what you want, sir,’ he said, ‘but be certain, I will have no repetition of those earlier crimes.’
‘The bewitchment has already taken place. That need not be proved.’
‘I refer to the hangings, sir. Those women died needlessly.’
‘Your pardon, sir, but their innocence was far from certain.’ Prescott paused. ‘And you should consider, sir, that the line is narrow between witchcraft and heresy. If you would give me leave to establish such a charge—’
‘The woman is accused of witchcraft. Let it stand.’
Prescott bowed slightly. ‘As you will,’ he said.
* * *
Kitty was grateful to be outside even though the task to which she had been assigned was a distasteful one. She had been taken with a dozen others, all under close guard, to a building close to the town walls and there set to the business of making grenades ready to be stockpiled in the magazine. Kitty knew nothing about such work, but they had been instructed briefly as to the composition of the explosive powder and they were closely watched to ensure that such instructions were followed. Cannon powder, pitch, brimstone and linseed oil. Each proportioned and mixed and packed into ceramic fire pots.
The prisoners were not allowed to speak. They worked in silence around a central table on which the makings of the explosive pots were laid. Twice, Kitty risked lifting her head from the task and looking around. Twice she was cuffed around the ear and told to attend to her work. There were eight men, as far as she could count, and three other women, their hair and faces caked with dirt, clothes hanging in rags with the filth and stench of prison clinging to them.
The overseer held a silver pomander to his nose whenever he came close to check the quality of their work. She caught the scent of it, an orange vinaigrette mixed with cloves and nutmeg. We must all stink, she thought. No water, no change of clothing, locked up with the same foul bedding to sleep on and an overflowing pot in the corner of the cell that was emptied so rarely that Kitty marked the times as ones of celebration.
She dared not raise her head to see the sky but she could feel the sun on her back and at least breathe fresher air. For a brief moment, Kitty allowed herself to hope.
Chapter Fifty-one
Frank had read to Ian almost every night and, now that Frank was gone, it had become important to Helen and to Ian that the little ritual be continued.
Helen had left school with nothing in the way of exams and little real ambition, but her hopes for Ian were so much higher and the boy loved his books. Frank had always liked to read. His choice of books ran to the lurid. Horror, mostly, but with the odd thriller to balance things out. His mother had taken him to the library since he was a little kid and he had taken Ian, every Saturday, chosen four books for himself and let Ian choose his four. Nowadays, there was Ian’s school reading book as well. It came home every night in its red plastic wallet and Helen took terrific pride in how often the book was changed and how well her son could read.
It was seven thirty when the doorbell rang. Helen frowned. Visitors at that time of night were rare and she resented this special time with her son being interrupted. She opened the door on the chain and peered anxiously at the man outside. Behind him were four more in uniform, three men and the token woman.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Helen demanded.
The CID man glanced at his watch. ‘Open up please, Mrs Jones. I’ve a warrant here to search your flat. I’m sure you’d like me to do it quietly before the entire block comes to watch.’
Helen st
ared. Behind the police officers, landing doors were opening, curtains twitching. She looked at the warrant the man held in his hand and then reluctantly slipped the chain and opened the door.
‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before,’ she said as the man cautioned her before leading her into the living room, ‘what’s the frigging charge?’
‘Suspicion of supplying controlled substances, Mrs Jones. Not the first time, is it?’
Helen turned furiously to confront this intruder. ‘Not the first time you lot’ve got it bloody wrong either. Well, fucking well get on with it, then get out of my home.’
Ian was scared. ‘Mum?’
‘It’s all right, love. It’ll all be fine.’
She crossed the room and picked up the phone but the CID officer was there before her, clamping his hand down on the receiver. He nodded to his colleagues. ‘Get on with it.’ Then to Helen, ‘I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.’
‘I’ve not been charged, I’m allowed to use my own frigging phone.’
‘Language,’ he said. ‘And in front of the child, too.’
Helen glared at him. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Detective Sergeant Enwright to you, love. Now sit down.’
Fuming, Helen did as she was told. She didn’t understand what was going on or why this was happening unless it was just part of the persecution that had so upset Frank. Though she sensed something different in this, something more personal and Helen’s first thought was that this was to do with Ray Flowers and what he’d been poking around in.
Ian came and perched on the arm of her chair, eyeing this stranger warily. Helen was determined she would face him down. She picked Ian’s book from the floor and shifted over on the sofa to leave room for her son, then opened the book at the page they had been reading.
‘You don’t mind if we carry on?’ she said. ‘I’m sure you don’t need my help to act like a fascist.’
‘Oh, big words,’ Enwright mocked.
Determinedly, Helen ignored him and began to read.
* * *
Prescott had insisted on being taken straight to see Kitty and Randall had accompanied him. Kitty had been sleeping. Their entry startled her awake, the lights they carried momentarily blinding her as she struggled to sit up and see who had come into her cell.