by Jane Adams
They left her then. A single light burning close by her feet illuminating a small circle of floor and they watched her. She could hear them when they moved, catch a whisper of their talk as they waited for some small sign of guilt. And Kitty watched too, staring at the floor until her eyes hurt from gazing at the small circle of light, suddenly afraid of the spiders she would once have swept away with her broom.
Chapter Sixty
Ray had stayed with Sarah until late, arriving home in the early hours long after even the most persistent newshound must have filed their story and gone home.
After the excitement of Halshaw’s tape, the remainder of the day had felt like an anti-climax. He knew that others would be taking a more active role — George amongst them — that arrests were imminent and he felt left out and . . . used, even, though he knew that was totally unreasonable. He had been distracted and depressed all evening and Sarah had noted his preoccupation but she had not pushed for explanations.
‘Withdrawal symptoms,’ she had commented. ‘Very understandable.’ And Ray was profoundly glad of her matter-of-fact acceptance. His feelings about the whole Halshaw-Pierce business, coupled with his confused emotions about Kitty left him feeling vulnerable and disturbed. Much as he felt he could confide in Sarah, to try to explain those unbidden feelings that he had for Kitty, well, that was a challenge he did not feel equal to.
She was disappointed when he decided not to stay the night and, really, so was he. But she said she understood that he needed to keep an eye on his place. Ray felt terrible, worried that she would read the signals wrongly and take it personally, particularly after his weak excuses of the night before. But he could not bear to lie in bed with Sarah when his mind and senses were still so overwhelmed by some other woman.
To his relief, he did not dream on this night either. He awoke to a morning that was already bright and promised to be unseasonably warm. More importantly, he woke without the oppressive melancholy that had pursued him the evening before.
Three of the national papers had been pushed through his front door. One of George’s lot, Ray guessed. He sat in bed reading the account of Halshaw’s death and staring with mild astonishment at the pictures George had somehow gotten released of the suicide note and the sugar bag with Ray’s number carefully blotted out. Links were made, tentative but telling, to the Pierce affair and to the attack on Ray. Hints of expected arrests. He wondered what George’s next move was going to be.
The phone rang before he was properly dressed and he clumped downstairs in just his trousers, glad it wasn’t an Evie cleaning day. The caller was Maggie, wanting to know if he’d seen the national papers.
‘Yes,’ he told her.
‘Your friend George doesn’t pull his punches, does he? Anyway, that’s only part of why I called.’
‘Oh?’
‘Beth’s been dreaming again. No, not nightmares or anything like that, but she’s very excited about it and wanted to call you before she went to school. Anyway, I told her she’d have to wait.’
In Beth’s dream, something had been buried at Ray’s cottage. Something that belonged to Kitty. It was buried close to the door in a little black box.
‘She wants you to dig for it,’ Maggie said. ‘Like it’s some kind of treasure hunt. Humour her, will you?’
‘Of course I will and if I find anything I’ll bring it over. Promise.’ He hesitated and then he said, ‘Give them both a hug for me.’
‘Sure I will. See you soon.’
Ray put the receiver down, amused at the thought that Beth’s dream might prove real. Though it would be a logical place to hide something, he thought. A large slab of weathered stone lay just outside the back door, very different from the modern slabs of the path. He wondered if, just possibly, it could have been there in Kitty’s time.
Chapter Sixty-one
They were back in the courtroom.
Presiding were Judge Hale and his assistant counsel in the shape of Sir Martin Wyatt and Dr Thomas Skeffington accompanied by various serjeants-at-arms.
Of course, she had been given no defence counsel but, she had been told, she might question the witnesses herself should she so wish. Kitty found herself overwhelmed by the formality and the threat and she could not at that moment think what she might possibly ask.
The prosecutor was a Dr William Ames, a man of God, she had been told. It seemed that such beasts were plentiful. He had a stack of books lying on the table in front of him, which he consulted at odd moments, merely, she felt, to impress the others. Beside him sat Prescott, the inquisitor, the witch finder and burner of heretics.
‘You have heard the charges,’ Judge Hale said. ‘How do you plead?’
‘I am innocent, sir. Innocent of every one.’
Judge Hale regarded her with cold grey eyes, then motioned the prosecution to proceed.
‘The first witness,’ Dr Ames announced. ‘Let Mistress Randall be called into the court.’
Kitty watched as the outer door was eased open and Martha Randall, eyes cast down, slipped into the court.
What would the woman say? Surely she couldn’t lie on oath? But Martha didn’t even make it halfway across the room. She raised her eyes once to look at the judge and then swung around as though in terror to face Kitty. Then Martha began to scream, not ceasing until finally she fell breathless to the floor.
Chapter Sixty-two
It had been too dark to dig the evening before, but Ray was up early trying to shift the slab of stone. He dug around it, trying to establish its depth and, for that matter, if it was attached to the house. It wasn’t, it proved to be about four inches deep by about a foot by two feet six in size. Ray didn’t think he could move it on his own, certainly not without a crowbar.
He stepped back and thought about it, wondering again how long it had been there. If he couldn’t shift it then it would be no easier for anyone else to do so either. If something had been buried there, either it was beneath the stone and presently inaccessible or it was somewhere close by. Somewhere that could have remained undisturbed for a long time.
At each side of the door was a small flower bed, well planted. Surely, if there had been anything to find then someone digging in the garden would have found it long ago.
He told himself he was being stupid, that after all, it was just a child’s dream. Then he went next door and asked the neighbour’s son to give him a hand.
* * *
‘And we found this,’ Ray said, laying a plastic bag on the table and folding it back to reveal what was left of a wooden box, lined with what he guessed was lead.
‘Oh wow.’ Beth was astounded. ‘You really found it there?’
‘Just where you said I would.’
Beth’s small fingers prised the top of the box open. Inside was a grubby cloth, part of which fragmented as soon as she touched it. And inside that, a locket, large enough to cover the palm of Beth’s small hand.
Gently, Ray took it from her. He’d cleaned it up a little earlier. The locket was made in silver and clearly very old. He opened it carefully and showed them the curled lock of hair that lay inside.
‘I think the cloth must have been oiled,’ he said. ‘And the box was lined with lead.’
‘Is this our tape recorder?’ Beth asked, remembering their conversation.
‘I think it might well be,’ Ray told her.
‘So what do we do with it now?’
‘Have you any idea where they buried Matthew Jordan?’
John shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But it shouldn’t be too hard to find out.’
* * *
They had been interviewing staff at the Video Wall when another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
The interviewee was a young cleaner who’d been taken on about two or so months before the club reopened. She was never a suspect. It was clear from the word go that the main attraction of the job — after the above-average pay — had been the attention Alex Pierce had paid to her, giving her the eye
, taking her home in his car and generally making her feel that maybe she was going up in the world.
‘You like him?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ she giggled. ‘My friend Jez, she works there as well, she reckons he was only after the one thing. But he’d always been really nice, never pushed for more than a bit of a kiss.’
She sounded rather disappointed, Josephs thought.
‘He must be a busy man, Alex Pierce. Nice of him to find time to run you about. Did he ever ask you to help him out, like, when he was really busy?’
She frowned. ‘Like what d’you mean? Extra shifts and that? Sometimes. But he knew I could do with the money. I still live with my mam and dad and I want a place of my own.’
‘Nothing more personal? Little errands maybe? Seeing as how you two got on so well.’
She giggled. ‘Well, I delivered a birthday card for him once, if that’s the sort of thing. Look, I don’t know what you want me to say, but Alex Pierce is good to his employees. Anyone you ask’ll tell you the same. He’s a nice man.’
Josephs ignored the mild attempt at outrage. ‘This birthday card, who was it for?’
‘It was for Ike’s mam. Ike at the garage Alex always takes his car to. I mean, it shows what kind of man he is, still uses Ike even though he could afford to go anywhere. But Ike sold him his first car and taught him and his brother how to drive. Loyalty. That’s what it is.’
‘And the card, it was only a card, nothing more?’
‘What? . . . I don’t see what you’re so interested in. It was a birthday card with a little present tucked into the envelope all wrapped in purple tissue paper. The envelope was purple too.’
‘And you just delivered it to Ike?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. I said I hoped his mam would have a happy birthday and he said thank you, I’m sure she will and then I left.’
‘And was there anyone else with Ike when you delivered the card?’
She laughed. ‘Haven’t you lot got something better to investigate? OK. There was a man with him, a customer.’
‘You know he was a customer?’
‘They were looking at a bill.’
‘And what was he like, this customer? Can you describe him to me?’
She sighed. ‘He was . . . well, actually he was quite good-looking. Blonde, blue eyes. Looked tall, but it was a bit hard to tell, he was sort of perched on the desk. Nice body.’
‘Age?’
‘Oh, about thirty. Older than Alex. Anyway, he must have been quite well off. He had this soft brown leather jacket, you know, the sort that kind of clings. Not like a biker jacket or anything like that. This was new and soft and really nice. And he wore this flashy watch.’
‘What, like a Rolex or something?’
She was shaking her head. ‘No, it was a chronograph thing. Lots of dials and polish on a stainless-steel strap. I’ve seen them in that expensive jeweller’s in the marketplace. Cost a fortune, but I don’t remember the brand.’ She screwed up her eyes in an effort to remember.
‘It doesn’t matter right now.’ Josephs smiled at her. ‘If it becomes important we can always take a trip down there and you can show me the ones you mean.’
She giggled again. ‘You trying to chat me up?’
‘Not while I’m on duty.’ He went over to the filing cabinet and pulled out a Manila file containing a number of photographs. Others had been added that had no relevance to the case. ‘I’d like you to look at these,’ he said. ‘Take your time. Tell me if anyone looks familiar.’
He spread the photographs on the table and then sat back, watching as she pored carefully over each one. Enwright’s was seventh in the sequence and she pounced on it straight away.
‘That’s the man at Ike’s,’ she said.
‘You’re certain?’
‘Oh yes, but he looked better in the leather.’
Chapter Sixty-three
Randall had demanded that the village gather in the church, though he had sent Martha home, unable to cope with more of her hysteria. She had screamed and wailed and pleaded for God to help her all the way from Leicester and Randall had endured all that he could. Prescott, seeing her state of mind, had pressed the judge to order that she remain at the assizes. It is evidence, he said. And from this woman’s mouth will come the names of others that have conspired with Kitty Hallam.
But Judge Hale had seen enough. ‘I want her gone,’ he had told Prescott. ‘Katherine Hallam has been found guilty and will hang. Let that be an end.’
In vain, Prescott had tried to press the judge to change his mind, to allow him to question Martha Randall. Or, if that should not be allowed, then to interrogate Kitty further as he had planned to do in the belief that she would incriminate more of her fellow devil worshippers.
Hale had stood firm. Many other matters demanded his attention and Randall had added his voice to the appeal that this incident should be closed. Bad enough that his wife be dragged into court but Randall knew that if Martha was questioned then she would implicate Hope and he sought to avoid that almost at any cost. His daughter, he believed, was misguided and sinful and it would take a long time to purify her soul, but he had seen Prescott at work and the thought of allowing him to do to Hope what he had done to Kitty sickened him. Randall, for all his faults, loved his child.
He watched her now as she stood amongst his congregation, her head lowered so that he would not see that she had recently been weeping.
‘Katherine Hallam has been tried according to the law,’ Randall said. ‘And the law finds her guilty. I have prevailed upon Judge Hale that this matter should go no further. There will be no search for others of her kind in this village. I do not believe that friends or neighbours of this woman were implicated in her crimes. But I tell you this, let there be found one shred of evidence to prove me wrong, one incident of such sinful disobedience and I myself will call upon the interrogator to come to this village and seek out those who commit evil in the sight of God.’
He felt the murmur of relief run through the crowd gathered before him. They had been afraid, deeply afraid that he might continue in his hunt. There had been too many incidences where one accusation had led to others. Where whole families found themselves condemned and communities were torn apart by suspicion.
‘Go now,’ Randall said. ‘And do not ever again mention her name.’
Hope turned away, led from the church by Mim. Randall worried about the old woman caring for his child, but was uncertain as to what other solution he could find. Her mother clearly had no fondness for her. Not, Edward Randall thought, that she had ever truly had fondness for anyone. He had thought of sending Hope away for a time and written to his brother with this in mind. Samuel was already there and he knew that his children missed one another. Though it would pain him sorely to see her go.
He finished his business at the church and walked slowly back home past Kitty’s house. The little cottage should be re-tenanted, if any could be found to take over the home of a witch. Had it been separate and not part of this row of four, then he might have seriously thought of pulling it down and burning what was left.
Once home he enquired after his wife and then his daughter.
‘We gave the mistress the draught you ordered for her,’ he was told, ‘and she is sleeping now.’
Hope had fled to her own room.
He would go to her, Randall thought. Speak with her about joining Samuel. The child would probably be relieved to be away from the gossip in the village.
Hope was startled as he opened the door. She sat by the window in her high-backed chair, looking out over the woods and she held some kind of bundle in her lap.
‘Father!’ Reflexively, she clutched the bundle closer.
He crossed the room. ‘And what is that?’
Wordlessly, she handed it to him. He unwrapped the old shawl and stared at the dried remains of a wreath she had concealed inside.
‘And what is that?’ he repeated. ‘Hope, where did you get this t
hing?’
‘Kitty gave it to me,’ his daughter whispered. ‘I would have told you, truly I would, but everything had gone so wrong and I was so afraid. I did not know what to do.’
‘She made this thing?’
Hope nodded.
‘When?’
‘On May Day. I followed her into the woods. I wanted to know what she did there and what the village had once done in celebration. I asked her about the May dancing and . . . and . . . she made this for me. She said that for the May dancing all the children would wear a garland. She said that I looked like a princess and I danced with her in the clearing.’
‘The clearing?’
‘There is a ring of oak trees and of birch and a glade with grass and wild flowers. She made the garland there and I wore it.’
Randall’s silence was worse, far worse, than his outright anger. He rewrapped the bundle, concealing the withered garland inside. Then took the key from Hope’s door and left her, locking it from the outside.
Chapter Sixty-four
Randall came alone into Kitty’s cell carrying the garland still wrapped in the old blue shawl.
He threw it at her feet. ‘Open it.’
Slowly, Kitty bent and picked it up, she unbound the folds of cloth, drawing them back until the crown of flowers inside was revealed. It was so faded and dried and the delicate flowers so crumpled that at first she didn’t realize what it was she held. Then understanding dawned. She remembered that bright spring day. Hope dancing on the sunlit grass with the band of flowers coiled around her soft hair.
‘She kept this? I thought . . .’ She had, in fact, given it little thought. The garland had been such a simple thing. Made to please a child. Nothing more.
‘Don’t punish her,’ Kitty said softly. ‘She did nothing wrong. I will take blame for this as for all other things of which I am accused but do not wrong your child by punishing her.’
Randall stared at this woman. He had gone beyond words. Because of her, his daughter was locked in her room, forbidden speech or intercourse with any in his household. Allowed only bread and water, and that only enough to sustain her until he could feel that she might be purified enough to beg God for mercy. Because of her, his child was at risk of condemnation both in this world and the one beyond.