The Vanishing Witch

by Karen Maitland

  ‘I would sooner drink to my own damnation.’

  Robert lumbered to his feet. ‘Sit down at once, boy. Where are your manners? Have you forgotten we have guests?’

  ‘You expect me to continue eating as though nothing has happened?’ Jan said savagely. ‘How could you betray my mother’s memory like this? No man should even look at another woman so soon after he buried his wife. It’s not decent. Did you care so little for my mother that you couldn’t even grieve a year for her?’

  ‘Mistress Catlin nursed your mother like a sister. She and I have shared the grief of her death, and that grief has drawn us together. After all, Mistress Catlin is herself a widow long before her time. Leonia needs a father to guide her as she comes to womanhood, and you’ve seen yourself how wretched the boy has become without a woman’s care. I’m so often away on business and Adam needs a loving mother to tend him.’

  Jan’s face was flushed with anger. ‘Do you really expect my brother to call another woman mother when he has only just seen his true mother laid in the grave? Or perhaps you were waiting for her to die so that you could move this woman into her bed!’

  There was a howl from Adam. He scrambled over the bench and raced out through the door leading to the yard. Beata ran after him.

  ‘How dare you?’ Robert roared.

  Father Remigius clambered to his feet, holding up his hands. ‘Peace, peace. Have you forgotten what day this is? Your father is thinking of Adam, Jan. He’ll recover from his grief much sooner, with the help of a good woman to—’

  But Jan ignored him and strode towards the door through which his brother had fled. He turned on the threshold. ‘You’re always reminding me that you’re a respected man in this city, a man of position. How much respect will you command from your fellow merchants, if you throw yourself into the arms of another woman before the mourning candles have even burned away? I’ll not allow you to disgrace my mother’s memory in this way. I demand you call off the wedding. I won’t stand by and let you make a laughing-stock of yourself and this family.’

  ‘How dare you presume to tell me what to do? I am your father and your master. Come back and apologise—’

  But it was too late. Jan had already slammed the door behind him. Robert made to follow, but Catlin caught his hand. ‘Let him walk it off. He’ll spend the night in a tavern, and after a jug of wine it will all seem different to him. In a day or two he’ll be begging your forgiveness.’

  ‘It is your forgiveness he should be begging,’ Robert said. ‘I never thought to hear a son of mine speak to me as if I was an errant child to be corrected. I should take a horse whip to him.’

  ‘I have already forgiven him and so should you,’ Catlin said.

  ‘Well spoken.’ Father Remigius nodded approvingly. ‘On today of all days we must follow the example of Our Blessed Lord.’

  Catlin stroked Robert’s arm and looked up at him anxiously. ‘But I would never wish to come between you and Jan. Perhaps we should do as he asks and delay the wedding for a year or so, if he thinks it best.’

  ‘What he thinks best!’ Robert spluttered indignantly. ‘I will not be told by a boy who is scarcely out of clouts when I may or may not marry. We’ll marry as soon as the banns are read, and I will not delay by as much as a single day.’

  Catlin bowed her head. ‘Whatever you wish, my sweeting. My only concern is for your happiness. I will do whatever you ask of me.’

  Robert, though the blood still pounded in his temples, felt his chest ease a little. That was what he adored about Catlin. Her concern was only ever for him, unlike that insolent brat he had raised.

  Deep down, he knew as well as Jan did that the wedding would appear to others in the city to be conducted in indecent haste, which only made his son’s words smart the more, but the truth was he couldn’t wait a year to take Catlin to his bed. God’s blood, it was all he could do not to carry her up there this minute, but Catlin was not the kind of woman who would ever consent to sleep with a man who was not her husband. Besides, if he waited, perhaps another man would offer her his hand. A year was a long time for a widow alone and in need of someone to protect her. She might be tempted to accept. He couldn’t risk losing her.

  Edward, having taken another gulp of wine, rose and stood behind his mother, hugging her and kissing the top of her head. ‘Master Robert is right, Maman. Ignore Jan. You two deserve happiness after all you’ve both suffered. The pup will come round – and if he doesn’t, who cares?’

  But Robert found he did care. He hadn’t realised until that moment how much he wanted the respect of his son. To see the boy he’d always taken such pride in look at him with such contempt felt like a sword slash across his face. But the pain enraged him the more and made him determined to stand his ground. He would marry Catlin now even if the whole world railed against it.

  If anyone had bothered to take notice of the little girl in the room they would have seen excitement flickering across her face as if she had just watched a hugely entertaining play. But it disappeared when Robert turned back to the table. He suddenly realised the child had witnessed the whole scene. He put an arm around her and drew her close, looking down affectionately at her. ‘Leonia, I’m sorry that you have had to listen to such foolishness. Once your mother and I are wed, I will treat you as if you were my own sweet child and give you all that I would have given my own daughter, had I been blessed with one.’

  A happy thought struck him. He crossed to a small chest, opened it and withdrew a tiny package wrapped in green velvet and tied with a yellow ribbon. He turned back to Leonia, beaming. ‘I’d intended to give this to you on our wedding day, but I think you should have it as an Easter gift, to show you how much I’m looking forward to calling you my beloved daughter.’

  Robert took her hand and placed the parcel in her palm. Leonia glanced at her mother with sparkling eyes.

  ‘Open it, child,’ Catlin urged.

  The ribbon was pulled off in a trice and Leonia carefully unrolled the package. A gold necklace lay inside the velvet cloth, a golden rosebud hanging from it, a single pearl set on it, like a dewdrop.

  Robert chuckled in genuine pleasure at the delight that lit the child’s face. She held it up to the candlelight, watching the rosebud glitter as it twisted and turned at the end of the chain.

  ‘So you like it, then,’ Robert said. ‘A rosebud for beauty and the pearl for chastity. Your mother chose it. I’ve no understanding of things that please young girls, but I dare say I will learn. Shall I put it on for you?’

  She turned while he lifted the long chain carefully over her head, then raised her black curls. He caught a glimpse of the little arched neck and smelt the sweet perfume of her skin, before letting the soft curls fall back into place. When she turned and pulled him down to kiss his cheek, Robert felt a pleasurable shiver run through him. Leonia was fair set to be as pretty as her mother, prettier even, with her golden skin and huge, long-lashed eyes. He realised he would have to guard his new daughter’s virtue carefully in the years to come. He’d been a young man once and knew that a glimpse of her would be like placing a jewelled goblet before an open casement: even the most virtuous man would be tempted.

  Chapter 23

  If the heart, eye or brain of a lapwing is hung around a man’s neck, it shall keep him from forgetfulness and sharpen his wits.

  Beata

  I heard the door to the house slam and came out of the kitchen, thinking it might be Master Robert come to comfort his son, but it was Jan. He was striding across the yard towards the gate, his fist clenched around the hilt of his sword as if he was itching to thrust it deep into someone’s innards. ‘Where’s Adam?’ he demanded.

  I nodded towards the gate. ‘He ran out as if the hell-hounds were chasing him. I couldn’t catch him, but Tenney’s gone after him. He’ll find him and bring him back.’

  Jan glanced back at the house, shaking his head, like a dog with sore ears. ‘I swear my father’s entirely lost his wits. He’s alwa
ys insisted that nothing should ever be allowed to destroy the reputation of our respectable family or damage our good name. The times he’s blistered my ears for drunkenness or being seen with a girl from the stew-house, and now he throws all aside and announces he’s going to marry within weeks of my mother’s death. And to spring it on young Adam like that. When was my father intending to tell . . .’

  He grasped my arm so fiercely that I squeaked, though I’m sure he didn’t realise how hard he was gripping me. ‘God’s teeth, you don’t think he’s got her with child? Could she still . . . I mean can women of her age?’

  ‘I reckon that old hag, Diot, wouldn’t be able to keep her fat mouth closed if her mistress had a brat in her belly. Though you may yet have a half-brother or -sister if they wed,’ I said bitterly.

  I’d not thought of that, and somehow it was worse than seeing them wed. Was it because I knew my time for bearing children was gone? I felt cheated. It was strange: I’d watched my hope drip from me month after month, year after year, and felt nothing at the time, not even when I watched poor Mistress Edith’s belly swell with her babies.

  Once, long ago, when I still thought Tenney had a fondness for me, I dreamed one day we two might set up home together and I might dandle a babe on my knee. After all, a child cares nothing for how its mam looks, only for how much it’s loved, and I had love enough in me to flood the Braytheforde. But Tenney never asked me and made no attempt to touch me, save as friend or brother. After a while I forced myself to forget my foolish fancy. Yet, no matter how often you sternly tell yourself it will not happen, there must still be a tiny corner your words can’t reach, a hidden place in which you stubbornly imagine that one day you will hold your own child in your arms. And when Nature finally takes away the hope you didn’t even know you carried, it hurts something fierce.

  Jan was blustering on, striding up and down the yard, just like Master Robert did in the hall when he was in a lather. ‘We must stop my father doing this, Beata. You’ve known him for years and he confides in you. Can’t you reason with him?’

  ‘He’ll not listen to reason on this, Master Jan. Not with Father Remigius giving his blessing to it. And that old priest is so smitten with Widow Catlin he’d marry her himself, if it wasn’t for his vows. She’s leading Master Robert by the nose.’

  The courtyard gate opened and Tenney hurried in. ‘Is the lad returned?’ he asked, as soon as he caught sight of us.

  Jan took a step towards him. ‘He’s not come back here.’

  ‘I suppose I must look again then, as if I had nothing better to do. Happen he’s gone the other way along the river. I’ll skin him alive when I get hold of him. Case you’ve forgotten, it’s the Easter feast,’ Tenney said reproachfully. ‘And I’ve not had a bite to eat yet. What with fasting afore mass and the smell of all those meats roasting, my belly’s growling like a pack of wolves. I’m supposed to be stuffing myself, not chasing through the town after spoilt brats. If you ask me, we should let the lad alone. He’ll soon fetch himself back here when he gets hungry enough.’

  ‘And what if the boy’s too scared to come home?’ I said. ‘You saw him. He wouldn’t take a single bite of that pastry Diot brought him. I dare say he thought it was poisoned.’

  Jan whipped round. ‘What do you mean? Why should he think it was poisoned?’

  ‘Beata means nowt, do you?’ Tenney said, glaring at me. ‘Some nonsense young Adam’s got into his head. Pay no heed to it. Lad’s had no appetite since his mam died, but give him time.’

  ‘What nonsense? What exactly has my brother been saying?’ Jan demanded, raking his hair, just as his father did.

  Behind the young master’s back, Tenney shook a warning finger at me. I hesitated. Suppose Adam really had run away. Jan would have to know all, if he was to find him and persuade him to return. I decided to ignore Tenney.

  ‘It was at the mistress’s funeral, Master Jan, when your brother told me . . . told me he’d seen summit he shouldn’t.’

  ‘And,’ Tenney said firmly, ‘like I told Beata, lads imagine all kinds of tarradiddle at that age. Why, it wasn’t so long ago he was afeared there was a monster living behind that great tapestry in the hall. But you need to have a word with him, Master Jan. Tell him what he’s saying is dangerous talk. He’ll listen to you. He’s always looked up to you more than his own father.’

  ‘Master Jan,’ I said, frowning at Tenney, ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since the funeral and I’ve not been able to get it out of my head. Why did that creature Diot burn Edith’s night linens and mattress afore she was barely cold? I reckon it was cause she was afraid something might have got spilled on it, something she wouldn’t want finding.’

  Tenney let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Like I told you, it was ’cos Master Robert didn’t want to sleep on the mattress the poor woman died on. And no more would I. It was soiled and it stank worse than a pig with flux. You think he’d want to be reminded of her death every time he lay down?’

  But Jan wasn’t listening to Tenney. He was staring at me, stricken. ‘You said Adam saw something he shouldn’t. Are you trying to tell me he saw Diot with poison in her hand?’

  Tenney shook his great head. ‘Beata’s not saying that at all, Master Jan. She’s just repeating the nonsense young Adam told her and he’s nowt but a bairn.’

  Tenney grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Jan. ‘Have you lost your wits?’ he whispered fiercely. ‘Master Robert’ll have you arrested and flogged if you go around shouting murder’s been done in this house.’ He kept his voice low, but it was not soft enough to prevent Jan hearing.

  ‘My father knows about this?’

  ‘No, Master Jan. I’ve not dared tell him what young Adam said,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘But he does know my mother swore she’d been poisoned,’ Jan said. ‘I told him that myself.’

  ‘The mistress said all manner of things afore she died,’ Tenney said. ‘One time she was shrieking about an owl with burning eyes sitting on her bedpost. I searched her room myself, top to bottom, in case some bird had flown in, but there wasn’t so much as a feather.’

  ‘I never heard her say such things,’ I said hotly. Someone had to stand up for my poor mistress, seeing as how she wasn’t there to defend herself.

  Tenney rolled his eyes. ‘Afore you go repeating what young Adam said, you want to remember it was you who was cooking for the mistress when first she sickened. If word of poison gets round, it’s you and me’ll get the blame for it, no one else. You want to make sure that flapping tongue of yours doesn’t put us both on the gallows.’

  A cold hand clutched at my belly. Tenney was right: if poison was suspected, I’d be the first person they’d blame and how could I prove otherwise? I’d heard tell of servants being burned alive for poisoning their master or mistress, for that was nothing short of treason. I swallowed hard, trying to fight down my panic.

  ‘Master Jan . . . I didn’t mean . . . Take no notice. I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t tell Master Robert.’

  But in the spring sunshine Jan’s face had turned the colour of ashes. ‘You did right to tell me, Beata. Rest assured, I’ll not betray you to my father. But I have to find my brother. I have to hear for myself what he saw. Tenney, I’ll help you search. The sooner we find Adam, the sooner you can stuff yourself.’

  Chapter 24

  A turf cut from the grave of ghost and placed under the church altar for four days will draw the unquiet spirit back into the grave and prevent it walking.

  Lincoln

  Jan trudged along the riverbank, but he was halfway to Greetwell before he spotted his brother. He’d sent Tenney to search the top of the city around the cathedral, knowing there were plenty of taverns open, even on Easter Sunday, where he might quench his thirst and appease his hunger. Then if he found Adam, he’d be less inclined to clout him all the way home. But Jan guessed the boy’s instinct would be to run somewhere he could be alone, and there’d be f
ew working the river on such an important feast day.

  He found Adam squatting on the bank, hunched against the cold wind, his knees drawn up with his chin resting on them. Leaden clouds obscured the sun, promising rain before the evening was out. The boy was breaking twigs into pieces and tossing them one by one into the grey water, watching the current sweep them away. He glanced sideways as Jan approached, lowering his head again as his brother sat down beside him, but not before Jan saw the stains of dirty tears on the boy’s cheeks.

  ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding,’ Jan said, with forced cheer.

  Adam gave a slight shrug, but didn’t raise his head.

  ‘I don’t blame you for running off,’ Jan said. ‘I was furious with Father. Still am. I can’t believe he’d contemplate marrying so soon. We quarrelled . . . after you left.’

  Adam groped for another twig and methodically snapped the end off inch by inch, dropping the pieces into the water.

  Jan was eleven years older than his brother. By the time Adam could talk, Jan was already working in his father’s business. Adam had always treated his brother more as an uncle than a sibling. In consequence, Jan realised he had little idea of what went on in the boy’s head. And Adam was certainly offering him no quarter now, staring sullenly into the twisting eddies. Jan’s belly growled, and he cursed himself for not having thought to bring some food. At least it would have eased the tension, though if Adam really did fear Diot was trying to poison him . . .

  ‘I talked to Beata, after you ran off, about what happened to Mother . . .’

  Adam flinched.

  ‘About what you told her at the funeral,’ Jan finished.

  ‘It’s true,’ Adam said fiercely, flinging the whole twig into the river. ‘Nobody believes me, but it’s true!’

  ‘Beata believes you.’

  ‘Did she tell you I killed Mother? Did she tell you that?’