by Graham West
“So what’s next on the agenda?” she asked, opening the bottle and filling the two glasses that had been left for her and Jake.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think we should get the Church involved in this.”
Jenny frowned. “In what way?”
“Not sure. Maybe the minister at St. Jude’s could make some kind of announcement—make it public. Give those women a proper church service.”
“Like a funeral?”
Blakely nodded.
“You’d need twelve coffins. And we won’t be able to identify the remains, even if we find them.” Jenny grimaced. “Who’d pay for all this? I can’t imagine the council will dig into their funds, and even if Reverend Francis was up for it, I doubt the Church would fork out either.”
Blakely shrugged. “Well, unless we find the remains, it’s not going to be an issue. We can’t have twelve empty coffins.”
“Actually, that’s the other thing,” Jenny said. “Who’s going to go looking for them?”
Blakely cradled his already half-empty glass. “I’ve given that some thought. It may be a long shot, but perhaps we could rally the support of the public. Matthews said they dragged Winifred Miles from her cottage. Those men wouldn’t have taken the women very far, and they would have buried them where they died.”
Jenny shook her head. “Yeah, but the bones aren’t going to jump out of the ground, are they? So where do we start digging? It’s just not practical.”
“I can’t imagine the likes of Tunstall would have done much more than covered them with leaves and bracken. I know we’ll need spades, and it might take days, even weeks but—”
“Dennis, we’re going to need more than a handful of people.”
“Yeah, I get that, but…”
“Kids would love it,” Jenny thought aloud. There were a few who would see it as an adventure. “But we couldn’t allow under-eighteens to go looking for skeletons. It wouldn’t be right.”
Blakely nodded, deep in thought. “We may not need that many. You said that kid had drawn twelve crosses. Is there any chance we could see the drawing?”
“I could ask his mother. They don’t live that far away.”
Blakely drained his glass. “If that child saw the crosses, he might be able to tell us were the bones are.”
Blakely was right. If anyone could lead them to the women’s remains, it would be Cody. He had a sixth sense, for sure. Jenny pulled out her phone and brought up Laura Nelson’s number still.
Laura answered a split second before the message service would have kicked in. “Hi, Jenny,” she said warily. “Is everything okay?”
Jenny thought it might be better to start from the beginning. Cody’s mother would know nothing about the Mosswood witches, and it would explain the twelve graves and why they wanted her little boy’s help. While Jenny told her, Laura listened, her fast breaths audible above the background noise of kids’ TV.
“Good God!” she exclaimed when Jenny was done. “Can you believe anyone could be so barbaric?”
“I know. Tabwell seems to have a pretty bleak history.”
“I can bring the drawing to church on Sunday,” Laura said. “I’m sure Cody won’t mind.”
Jenny gave Blakely the thumbs up. “That would be brilliant. I’ll see you there.”
The phone flashed up a message as soon as the call ended. This time, it was Kayla.
Are you ok?
Jenny slipped her phone back into her pocket, wishing it had been from Jake. Blakely saved her from digging any deeper into that thought.
“She’s bringing the kid’s drawing? That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Jenny managed a weak smile. “Yeah, I guess. But you’re right. We should get Francis involved. We’ll get a lot more support if he’s on our side.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
It had been a long time since Sebastian had read The Hammer of Witches, and the ignorance of its author only served to remind him how little had changed about the nature of fanatics. The persecution of women and the belief that they were in league with Satan was something peddled today as fiction for the entertainment of the masses, but for women in the sixteenth century, the threat of execution had been all too real.
Although the Salem Witch Trials had been the most notorious, many courts throughout Europe found women guilty with little evidence of any wrongdoings; as little as a birthmark or a mole was considered to be the mark of Lucifer and enough to prove guilt. Kramer argued vehemently against the more rational views of the Church, and Malleus Maleficarum soon became the witch hunter’s bible.
The words within had been responsible for many deaths, fuelling fear and hatred across the country through the years, but as time went on, the courts began to reject the notion that any human could be a servant of the devil and refused to try many of the women accused of practising witchcraft. But there were those who stood by that book and continued in their quest to rid their communities of an imagined evil.
Jenny’s call had confirmed his suspicion that Mosswood had played host to the execution of innocent women, although Sebastian could not give her the assurance that a memorial stone would bring peace to the forest. The shadows that moved between the trees on the night of the fire had been hostile, and if it hadn’t been for Amelia, Jenny and her family might not have escaped with their lives. But he agreed the Church had a moral obligation to give the women a proper Christian burial, to be recognised as innocent in the eyes of God.
Sebastian closed the book and took a sip of brandy from the glass his wife had presented him with just six months before she died. Was she watching him as he flicked through the pages of his books? Was she guiding his hand?
Sebastian had seen her in his dreams, but he’d never woken to find his wife sitting at the bottom of the bed they’d shared. He often wondered if she might appear at the moment of his death, in those seconds before he passed over. Would he gaze into her eyes as he drifted into unconsciousness? Would he willingly leave this decaying shell of skin and bone? He had a new family now; Rob and Jenny looked up to him, and their love gave him a reason to live.
Sebastian emptied the glass and pushed himself to his feet. Ricky looked up, alerted by his master’s sudden movement.
“Time for your walk, buddy.” Sebastian snatched the lead from the back of his chair. Ricky cocked his head to one side. “But if this old heart packs up, you’ll have a good home with Rob and Josie. They’ll look after you.”
His dog’s future with the Adams household had been discussed only briefly, during a barbecue one Sunday afternoon, but Sebastian trusted them implicitly. Maybe if he was spared, Ricky would go before him, or perhaps they would go together.
“Sorry,” he said, looking down. “I’m being a little morbid, aren’t I? Let’s go and get some fresh air in our lungs.”
Ricky let out a yelp, raising his paw. Sebastian grasped it, taking a biscuit from the table. “Is this what you’re after, buddy?” He chuckled to himself as Ricky snapped it up. That was when it struck him: he’d not eaten anything since the morning. His breakfast consisted of a single round of toast and two cups of coffee. The ramblings of a fourteenth-century witch hunter had destroyed his appetite.
Sometimes it happened like that. A book would transport him to another world—the author’s world. He would imagine himself amongst the slums of Charles Dickens’ London, or the bloody arenas where the gladiators fought for their lives. But the Middle Ages had been particularly bleak for those who lived in fear of the witch hunters and the god who waited to cast them into a lake of fire where they’d perish for eternity. He thought about those twelve women, crying out for mercy, protesting their innocence as they stared death in the face. A tear trickled down Sebastian’s cheek as he opened the front door, wishing he had never set eyes on Heinrich Kramer’s wretched book.
***
Alex stopped in his tracks as Dennis Blakely strode purposefully towards him. Was this the end? Was he about to los
e his job? There was a resolute look in Blakely’s eyes that suggested this wasn’t going to be good.
Alex’s boss greeted him without the faintest of smiles. “That girl you’re seeing—”
“Maddy?” Alex replied nervously. “Yeah…is everything okay?”
Blakely nodded. “Has she ever mentioned anything about the forest?”
Alex frowned, hoping his act of confusion would suffice as an answer.
“It’s a long story,” Blakely continued without pressing for a reply. “I’ve been warned about extending the park any further. Things happened there, and it sounds like your girlfriend knows all about it. Twelve women were murdered, all accused of witchcraft, and one of them was her ancestor.”
Alex squirmed. “Who told you that?”
“Matthews. He saw you two together.”
Alex shrugged. “It doesn’t mean that I know anything.”
Blakely smiled and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “It’s not a problem. But we are going to give those women a proper burial, and I figured that girl of yours deserves to have a say in the proceedings. Don’t you?”
Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So how about we meet up tomorrow night? The forecast is good so we could get something to eat by the lake.”
“And you want Maddy to come?”
Blakely nodded. “Of course. She’s the main player. Tell her the wine is on the house.”
***
Rob threw down his phone and lowered the volume on the TV. “That was Jenny,” he said, looking over at Josie, engrossed in one of her study books. “Apparently, there are twelve women buried in the forest, all accused of witchcraft.”
Josie glanced up, astonished. “Please tell me this wasn’t recent!”
Rob laughed. “What? Like one of those crazy religious sects? No, this was way back, at least a hundred years before Amelia, from the sounds of it.”
Josie lowered her book. “And that’s why they think the place is haunted?”
Rob could still see the dark shadows darting above their heads as they’d fought their way through the flames. “We both saw how quickly that fire spread. It wasn’t normal, Jo, and even now it freaks me out. Plus, I can’t even remember having that bottle of wine in the lodge. I just woke up to find you glaring at me!”
Jo managed a weary smile. “So what are they going to do?”
“Ask Francis for a proper funeral.”
“For all twelve of them?”
Rob nodded. “Twelve coffins! It’s gonna be quite a sight!”
Josie shook her head. “Hardly going to be a low-key affair, then, is it? I mean, who’s paying?”
“Blakely is going to try and shame the Church into putting up the cash, but even if Francis agrees, it’s not his money.”
Jo rolled her eyes. “And what are they going to put in the coffins?”
“Well,” Rob replied steadily, “they’re asking for volunteers to form a kind of search party.”
“Looking for bones?”
“Yeah. I imagine they’ll all be in one place.”
“And Jenny’s getting herself involved, I presume?”
Rob nodded. “She’s designing some kind of memorial stone.”
Josie grimaced. “Well, I hope Blakely’s paying her. She’s not a Tabwell girl. She’s an artist, and artists charge for their time.”
Jenny hadn’t mentioned money, although she’d need a steady income if Jake left her. She’d be moving back home, without Gordon Huxley’s cash behind her, and a commissioned work would look good in her portfolio.
“I’ll have a word with her when the time comes,” he said, turning up the TV and wondering what he’d do if his two daughters ended up together under the same roof.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Alex sat at the picnic table with a can of ice-cold lager on his knee, the condensation trickling over his fingers as he gazed out across the lake. Maddy sat next to him, staring down at a pencil sketch of the memorial Blakely had proposed.
“What do you think?” Jenny asked.
Maddy gave her an approving nod. “It’s awesome. You’re a really good artist.”
“But do you think it’s a good idea?” Blakely cut in. “You don’t think it’s too…well, morbid?”
“Definitely not,” Maddy said. There was a defiance in her tone that suggested she’d fight anyone who thought otherwise. “My nan would love it.”
Jenny beamed. “It’s important that you like it. You’re related to one of those women, after all.”
Alex had lain awake until the early hours, wondering if he’d have anything worthwhile to say at this meeting, but then it struck him. “Look, I’m not a religious person,” he began, “and I think the idea of a memorial in the forest is great, but if I’d been accused of being best buddies with the devil, then I’d want to be buried in the church grounds. It would be like an up yours to those pricks.”
Blakely stared over at Jenny and then at his wife, who had just arrived with a bag of chicken nuggets and fries.
“I’m sorry.” Alex shrank in his seat. “It was just a thought.”
“It’s a bloody brilliant idea,” Maddy said. “Those jerks were supposed to be men of God. They all went to church.”
“It would be a fantastic gesture,” Penny agreed. “A perfect way to make amends.”
“But would St. Jude’s agree to it?” Jenny looked from one to the other.
Blakely shrugged. “Well, Francis seems like a good man to me, so all we can do is ask.”
Alex took a mouthful from his can. Maddy was looking at him in a way Danni never had, and he felt the warmth like a fire that set his heart alight. Maybe it was the drink, but he didn’t care. Tonight was going to be the night he’d tell her she was the only girl for him. The girl he wanted to marry.
***
The minister sounded breathless when he finally picked up. “Hello, Reverend Francis speaking.”
Blakely had rehearsed his lines; the approach had to be right. It would be foolish to start at the beginning, relating the whole story. Besides, Penny had suggested the minister of St. Jude’s might already know about the Tabwell witches.
Blakely introduced himself as the manager of Mosswood Adventure Park. Francis remembered him from Amelia’s burial.
“Ah, yes. How are you? Is there any news on how that fire started?”
Blakely couldn’t believe his luck. “Kind of.” He paused, thrown off his script by the gift of an opening. “Have you ever heard of the twelve Tabwell women who were accused of witchcraft? They were executed in the forest.” His question was met with silence. “It happened way back, but—”
“Yes,” Francis interrupted. “I have heard something. Unfortunately, I don’t know the details. It’s just gossip. You know what these places are like.”
“Well, I was advised by an ex-councillor to fence off three-quarters of the forest and forget all about it, but he was reluctant to tell me why or what had happened.”
“And what has this got to do with the fire?”
Blakely reverted to the lines he’d gone over and over in his head. Francis listened intently to the story of how Jenny had seen the dark shadows drifting between the trees, igniting them as they went.
When Blakely had finished, the minister let out a long sigh. “I know there have been rumours and whispers for many years, but I don’t think the people of Tabwell want the name of the town to be synonymous with witchcraft, regardless of whether this happened centuries ago.”
“I understand that,” Blakely said, “but that forest has a dark kind of energy, and we believe those women deserve a proper burial—just the way Amelia did.”
“You want a funeral?” Francis repeated. “For twelve women?”
“Yes, and I think they should be buried in the church grounds.”
“I’m not sure that would go down very well with the locals.” Francis sounded irritated. “They may not have been witches but that doesn’t mean th
ey were saints, either.”
“Does that matter? They were murdered by a group of religious fanatics in the name of Christianity. The Church owes them a posthumous apology.”
There was another silence. “And what exactly are we going to bury? Fresh air?”
“Actually, Reverend, that was the other thing I wanted to ask you. We’re looking for volunteers to help us find the remains. They must be there, somewhere in Mosswood.”
Francis laughed. “Seriously? You think any of our parishioners would go walking through a forest looking for human remains? Those bones could be anywhere. Unless you put up some cash, I really think you’ll be wasting your time.”
“They won’t be far from the cottage,” Blakely snapped. “And if no one will help then we—”
“I suppose I can ask,” Francis cut in. “I’ll announce it on Sunday, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted.”
Francis put the phone down before Blakely had time to say goodbye. He turned to see Jenny studying him.
“I take it he wasn’t one hundred per cent behind the idea,” she said.
Blakely shook his head. “I don’t think we’re going to get our funeral. It looks like your memorial stone is going to be their grave.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Alex looked around him, wondering how they had ended up in church on a Sunday morning.
“Do we really need to be here?” he whispered to Maddy, who was busy flicking through her hymn book. “Because I can’t see any of this lot volunteering to go trekking through that forest. Apart from the young couple with the little blonde kid, most of the congregation are probably claiming their pensions.”
Maddy smiled patiently. “You’ll be out in an hour. We’re just here to say a quick hello to God and then we’ll be done for a few years.”
Alex hadn’t got around to popping the question the other night. There was no money for a ring for starters, and the future of Mosswood Adventure Park looked uncertain. Maybe it wasn’t the right time, but Maddy had fed him a line, and the words came tumbling out so effortlessly. “Yeah, we probably won’t see this place again until our wedding day.”