The Vanishing Witch

by Karen Maitland

  ‘Where did you spend the night?’ I asked, trying to keep the anger from my voice. ‘I was concerned for you. We all were.’

  ‘Cockpit . . . tavern . . . Lots of taverns, as I recall.’

  ‘I suppose that means you lost heavily.’

  He raised his head, licking his lips with a white-furred tongue. ‘As a matter of fact, sweet Maman, I won . . . then lost . . . at dice.’ He giggled, then winced, clutching his head. He pulled himself upright, came round the table and kissed me. His breath stank.

  ‘At least you know I wasn’t with a woman. You’re the only woman in my life, little Maman.’

  I pushed him upright as old Diot waddled in, a platter of fat bacon clutched against her great belly. ‘Thought I heard you come in, Master Edward.’ She laid the platter on the table, and pushed a greasy lock of grey hair back under her cap. She folded her arms firmly across her massive breasts in the way she always did when she was vexed. ‘Mistress was right upset when you didn’t come back last night. Leaving two helpless women alone all night – anything could happen. Any man could’ve climbed in that casement and had his wicked way with us.’

  ‘Or you’d lean out of the casement and drag him in, kicking and screaming, you naughty old woman. Don’t think I haven’t seen you making cow eyes at the butcher.’

  Edward lumbered over, caught Diot round her bulging waist, kissed her plump cheek and spun her round, while she roared with laughter. Edward could always charm his way round anyone, as I knew too well.

  Flushed and still smiling, Diot pushed Edward into the chair and dragged the bacon in front of him. ‘You get that down you, Master Edward. It’ll sop up all that wine. When I worked at the inn I always used to serve that to my customers, come morning, after they’d had a hard night drinking. Plate of that inside them and they could ride all day.’

  Edward, looking decidedly queasy, stared at the glistening white fat and tried to push the platter away. But Diot pushed it back.

  ‘I think you might regard that as penance, Edward,’ I said.

  He glowered at me, but dutifully picked up a small piece and manfully chewed it. Diot waited until she was satisfied he was eating, then waddled back out of the hall towards her kitchen.

  Even though his face was puffy from lack of sleep, Edward was still a handsome man, with eyes the colour of blue gentians, framed by long, thick lashes, and a streak of pure white in his dark hair – it looked as if he had thrust a jaunty feather into it. Women of all ages turned their heads to look at him whenever we went out together, giggling like tavern maids when he bestowed a smile on them. It made me uneasy. He could so easily fall prey to the wrong woman.

  He took a swig of small ale, gagging as he tried to wash down the mouthful of fat.

  ‘Did you have any visitors last night?’ he asked, as if the answer was a matter of indifference to him. But I knew it was not.

  ‘Master Robert came, didn’t he, Mother?’ Leonia’s large brown eyes were wide and guileless. ‘He stayed for ages.’

  ‘We had much business to discuss,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you did,’ Edward said, with a smirk. ‘How is that business going? I trust the investment is paying off because I’m growing tired of living here. It’s too small and cramped.’ He waved the point of his knife about the narrow hall. ‘And you know how easily I get bored, little Maman.’

  I glanced at Leonia who was watching us intently. Sometimes my daughter unnerved me, always watching, always listening, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts. Like Edward, she could charm the fish from the sea when she chose. I thought of her as a child, but she was already twelve and I wondered how much she really understood.

  ‘Investments of this particular nature take time to mature, as you well know, Edward. I cannot—’

  I broke off as a shriek echoed through the house. Edward leaped to his feet and bounded to the door. He only just avoided colliding with Diot as she came hurrying the other way, panting and sweating.

  I held her arm to steady her – the old woman looked as if she was about to collapse. I dragged a stool close to her and steadied her as she sank onto it, fanning herself with her sacking apron.

  ‘Whatever’s happened, Diot?’

  She was still too breathless to speak, but grunted, gesturing wildly out through the door. ‘Horrible . . . Who would do such a thing?’

  Edward disappeared outside, and Leonia darted after him.

  ‘Stay here, Leonia!’ I shouted. But she ignored me.

  Moments later Edward reappeared, looking as if he was about to vomit and firmly gripping Leonia’s arm.

  ‘Sack left hanging on the kitchen door,’ Edward said grimly. ‘Neighbour’s brats playing a trick, I should think.’

  ‘Thought it was the meat from the butcher,’ Diot wailed. ‘He sometimes sends a tasty portion, if . . . I opened it and nearly climbed out of my own skin.’

  ‘What was in the sack?’ I asked.

  ‘A fox,’ Leonia said matter-of-factly. ‘It was a fox with his head cut off.’

  ‘Disgusting little monster wanted to take it out and look at it,’ Edward said.

  ‘It was interesting!’ Leonia protested.

  ‘It was crawling with maggots,’ Edward retorted, giving her arm a savage pinch.

  She flinched, but did not cry out or draw away. She grew more like me every day. We had both learned never to let others see they have wounded you, or they will know your weakness and attack even more ruthlessly.

  ‘That wasn’t all,’ Diot said, shivering. ‘There was a knot of periwinkle tied about the beast’s muzzle. It’s what felons wear when they’re dragged off to be hanged. Marks ’em for death. Evil, that’s what it is. The fox is the devil’s sign.’

  ‘Guilty conscience, you old witch?’ Edward said. He bent low to murmur into her ear. ‘The devil always comes for his own and you sold your soul long ago. I reckon it won’t be long before he comes to carry you off on his black horse.’

  Diot squealed in fear and pushed him away. ‘I never kissed the devil’s arse, not once—’ She broke off, clapping her hands to her mouth, her frightened gaze darting to me, as I glared her into silence. With another terrified glance in my direction, she heaved herself up, tottering from the room. She knew the rule. Her past was not to be spoken of, not even between ourselves. Diot knew what the consequences would be if she broke it, and it amused Edward to try to trick the old woman into saying something she shouldn’t.

  ‘Stop tormenting her, Edward.’ I took his arm and drew him across to the small window. ‘I told you Robert was being followed. The dead fox is a warning to me to stay away from him. I know it.’

  Edward shook his head, wincing: the movement was still too painful. ‘Why would anyone want to frighten you off? It’s just a typical boy’s trick. A gang of them probably came across a dead fox when they were out roaming the countryside and thought they’d put it to good use to annoy someone.’

  ‘But I saw someone on the day I met Robert, hanging round the warehouse. He and his son saw the man too and Robert was unnerved, I could tell.’

  ‘So he has enemies,’ Edward said. ‘What man in his position doesn’t? I should think half the cut-purses in the city follow him daily, waiting their chance. If I was a thief he’d be the first man I’d mark. He doesn’t disguise his wealth. You can’t wonder at the man being nervous at having his head staved in every time he sets foot outdoors. But thieves don’t waste their time with rotting carcasses, and if someone is threatening Robert, why leave it on our doorstep, not his? Don’t start jumping at shadows, little Maman. You need all your wits about you now.’

  Edward could never see danger. He sauntered through life as if nothing could touch him, expecting all he wanted to fall in his lap when he snapped his fingers. And I gave him everything he demanded. I knew that if he didn’t get it I’d lose him. I smiled and pretended to be reassured, but I knew that whoever had left that curse at my door had not intended it as a joke. It was a warning: a warni
ng of death. I had seen such signs before and they were not to be ignored. But whoever Robert’s enemies were, they would not frighten me away. Like pain, you can use threats to make you stronger. If they hide a serpent in your bed, you must catch it and make it bite the hand of him who left it.

  November

  When November takes up the flail, let the ship no more sail.

  Chapter 6

  On St Catherine’s Day, men and women jump over the two-foot-high Cattern Candle to ensure good fortune, but if, when you jump, the flame is extinguished or you catch fire, this is a bad omen.

  Lincoln

  There is no doubt that there are a few disadvantages to being dead. For one thing we lack the lips to enjoy a roasted piglet basted in honey or the thighs to take pleasure in the welcoming bed of a lover or the throat down which to pour a flagon of sweet wine. Those pleasures I miss dearly. Make the most of those delights while you still can, my darlings. But there are compensations for a lack of corporeality: the favourite pastime of the dead is watching the living squirm and suffer. And there can be few pleasures more entertaining than that.

  Haven’t you ever felt a little quiver of gleeful anticipation watching a man blithely walk towards a hole he doesn’t know is there? While you still live you may feel shame or guilt about letting him walk into danger, but when you depart from life you slough off guilt with your body, never again to experience a twinge of remorse about another man’s suffering.

  And on that particular night Master Robert of Bassingham was about to suffer – at least, he was if his dear wife had her way and, believe me, she’d had more practice in making his life hell than any imp of the underworld.

  The silence in the hall was growing ever more chilling and oppressive as Edith’s needle stabbed viciously into the long, narrow strip of embroidery. On the other side of the table Beata was also stitching: the far more mundane task of mending linen. For the hundredth time that evening Edith glowered at the great door as if it remained shut deliberately to provoke her. Beata knew her mistress was working herself up into a fury: her silver scissors snipped at the threads with the force of an executioner severing a head.

  Beata glanced anxiously across at her. ‘Will you not take your supper now, mistress?’ Her own stomach was protesting so she knew Edith must be famished.

  ‘I’ve already told you, no,’ she snapped. ‘If you can’t control your appetite you may go to the kitchen and eat.’

  Beata lowered her eyes to her mending, trying to stitch while pressing her elbows into her belly to stop it rumbling in the echoing hall. She’d tried to ward off the storm she knew was brewing, suggesting that her mistress might sew in the small solar above, which was much less draughty than the hall. If she had been able to coax Edith upstairs and persuade her to take some wine laced with soothing herbs, she might have fallen asleep and not discovered how late her husband had returned. But Edith had insisted on waiting in the hall and had refused to eat until her husband dined with her.

  Beata had worked for Edith since her mistress had come to the house as a shy, slender bride of fifteen. Robert’s parents had arranged the marriage when he was twenty. Edith’s father had sheep, plenty of them, and Robert’s was in the cloth trade. It was, everyone agreed, a perfect match. Beata had seen no more than fourteen summers then. She had gazed on Edith with envy – a husband, a house and in time, if God granted, children. It was not a future Beata dreamed of for herself. The pox that had taken her parents had spared her life, but not her skin. Her face was as pitted as pumice stone, her eyebrows and lashes gone for ever and her eyelids, thick with scars, drooped so that she seemed always half asleep. No one had ever kissed her or, she supposed, would ever be tempted to. In those childhood days she’d wept for her face but had soon learned that tears were too precious to waste on might-have-beens.

  There was a rapping at the door. Beata sighed with relief. After all these years, she knew her master’s knock. ‘There he is at last, mistress.’

  Dropping her sewing on the table, she hastened to open the door. Robert strode in, pulling off his damp cloak, his face flushed and wet from the rain. He wiped his brow and shook out the skirts of his ankle-length robe, which was thick with mud nearly up to his calves.

  Edith impaled her embroidery savagely with the needle and rose, gesturing impatiently to Beata. ‘Fetch our supper quickly. I’m sure your poor master must be hungry after working so late. I know I certainly am.’

  Robert was not deceived by the sweetly reasonable tone of his wife’s voice. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight, like sharpened flint, and even a stranger would have sensed she was furious, but still he tried to deflect her mood with an air of innocent cheer, which was no mummery for he was indeed remarkably happy. ‘Have you not yet had your supper, my dear? You should have eaten. You didn’t need to wait for me.’

  ‘A good wife should always wait for her husband to return before she dines. A man shouldn’t eat alone, or so my poor mother taught me.’ Edith crossed herself, as she always did whenever she reminded Robert of something her late mother used to say.

  But Robert did not need reminding. The querulous old besom had lived with them for ten years before she relinquished her grasp on life. Suppressing his irritation, Robert attempted a fond smile. ‘Excellent advice for a mother to give a young bride, but after all these years . . .’ He trailed off: it would hardly pacify Edith to remember that the evenings of shy, romantic suppers were long over.

  He wheeled to face Beata, who was already lifting the latch on the little door that led outside to the kitchen on the farside of the stableyard. ‘Why didn’t you serve your mistress hours ago? You know hunger brings on her headaches. Hurry, woman, and fetch meats for her at once. I’ve already eaten, but you may bring me some wine.’

  ‘Don’t trouble to fetch food for me, Beata,’ Edith snapped. ‘If my husband does not wish to eat, then neither do I.’

  ‘Come, my dear. You must have something,’ Robert coaxed. ‘You know you’ll feel better for it. Beata shall bring you a hot posset. That’ll soon have you warm and cheerful.’ He crossed to his wife and tried to kiss her well-plucked forehead, but she turned away and he found himself kissing empty space.

  Beata pounced on this last suggestion. ‘I’ll fetch a posset at once, Master Robert,’ she called back, although she had no intention of fetching Edith any weapon as dangerous as hot liquid when she was in such a mood.

  Robert strode to the fire and stood with his back to it, lifting the skirts of his houppelande to warm his backside. It was a habit Edith thought vulgar, but mostly, as now, he did it without thinking.

  ‘Where’s young Adam? No greeting for his father tonight?’ He frowned. ‘The boy’s not sick, is he?’

  ‘He is well, though he certainly would not remain so if I kept him up half the night to wait for his father. I sent him to his bed hours ago.’

  Robert felt his own temper rising. She cosseted the boy as if he was still an infant. Another few months and he’d be out learning a trade, as many boys of his age already were.

  Edith resumed her seat with dignity and took up her embroidery again. ‘Did business go well today?’

  ‘Fair, fair,’ Robert said, raking his grizzled hair. ‘We got a good price for the Lincoln Green from the Florentines, but I’m told the river-men have started demanding a penny extra per cargo. Some of the merchants have already given in to them, devil take them. We have to stand firm on this. If any one of us gives in to these thieving knaves, it is that much harder for the rest.’

  ‘Is that why you had to work so late? You were meeting with the other merchants?’ Edith’s eyes slid upwards, watching her husband carefully.

  Robert hesitated only for a moment. ‘You know how it is, my dear. You start talking of shearing costs and transport charges, and the way England is facing ruin, and before you know it you’ve strayed into the latest gossip from the King’s court.’

  ‘Do tell me,’ Edith said, with an exaggerated tone of interest, ‘what
is known of the King?’

  ‘They say the lad will go to Parliament at Northampton to call for another tax to fight France, not to mention the Scots. Mark my words, John of Gaunt’s behind this. It’s his lands the Scots are raiding. He’s up there now, negotiating with them to save his own wealth not England’s. But young King Richard swore he’d demand no more money for eighteen months, and it’s been less than a year since he required funds for these wretched wars. The Commons’ll not take kindly to that and neither will the rest of us, if we’ve to pay it. What the King should be doing—’

  ‘And what about gossip from nearer home?’ Edith broke in. ‘Did you discuss that with your guild brothers too?’

  Robert was annoyed to be interrupted when she had asked him for news.

  ‘Gossip concerning a certain Widow Catlin,’ Edith said. ‘Are you sure it was the merchants’ table you dined at tonight and not hers? You were seen twice in her street last week.’

  ‘I’m a merchant in this city, I walk twenty streets a day to do business. I dare say I’ve been seen in some streets a dozen times this week.’

  Edith had abandoned all pretence at her stitching. ‘You were seen entering her house.’

  ‘By your cousin Maud, no doubt, who should be tending her own husband and children instead of squinting through her shutters all day. That nose of hers grows so long from poking into other people’s business, it’s a wonder some bird hasn’t pecked it off. Damn it, Edith, first it was your mother, now it’s your cousin whispering the devil in your ear. Have you recruited every female in your family to spy on me?’

  ‘It’s a good thing Maud does take an interest in our family. But for her I wouldn’t know whose bed my husband was sleeping in, though I dare say half of Lincoln knows and is laughing at me behind their hands.’