The Vanishing Witch

by Karen Maitland

  Adam bit his lip again.

  ‘I won’t punish you for telling the truth. Speak out, boy.’

  Adam stared down at his father’s broad hand. ‘Mistress Catlin is . . . good to me. I thought she wasn’t at first, but since Mother died, she’s been kind . . .’

  Adam glanced up anxiously, but Robert was beaming his approval. It wasn’t an expression Adam had often seen on his father’s face – at least, not directed at him. He smiled shyly back.

  ‘Kind, yes, my boy, that’s exactly what Mistress Catlin is. She’s fond of you, Adam. She told me the other day that she loves you as much as her own children. With a mother as handsome and elegant as Mistress Catlin and a beautiful sister, you’ll be the envy of every lad at school.’

  ‘Leonia frightens me sometimes.’

  Robert chuckled. ‘Believe me, my son, pretty young girls frighten every lad. You’d best get used to that. There are a great many of them in this world.’

  The bell above the door pealed urgently. Robert, startled, sprang up, instinctively pushing Adam behind him. Tenney lumbered through the hall. He opened the small wooden shutter on the door and peered through the grille into the street beyond.

  He turned his head. ‘It’s Sheriff Thomas.’

  ‘Don’t keep him standing out there, Tenney.’

  His manservant slid back the stout beam that braced the door as easily as if he was drawing a knife through butter and pulled it open.

  Thomas did not look at Robert or stroll to the table to pour himself a goblet of wine, which was his usual habit. Instead, he hovered awkwardly by the door, fiddling with the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Tenney, fetch Sheriff Thomas some hippocras,’ Robert said. ‘He looks as if he could do with it. Bad day, Thomas?’

  The sheriff waved his hand at Tenney, declining. The manservant ambled out through the door leading to the courtyard.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Robert, at this late hour, but I thought you should know—’

  ‘Know what?’ Robert interrupted. ‘Why are you standing by the door like a servant? You don’t usually need to be asked to draw up a chair.’

  But his guest made no attempt to move. Robert was alarmed. It was plain that Thomas had not come to call as a friend but as Lincoln’s sheriff.

  ‘Does this concern Matthew Johan?’ Robert demanded.

  ‘It wasn’t his,’ Thomas said quietly.

  ‘What wasn’t his?’

  ‘The body they fished out of the Braytheforde this morning.’

  ‘A corpse?’ Robert said. ‘Was it one of my men? Has there been an accident? A murder? Father Remigius told me Johan’s men and some of my lads got into a fight at the Good Friday service. Have they been quarrelling again?’

  ‘It could well have been the Florentines that had a hand in this. In fact I’ve men-at-arms rounding them up as we speak. But it’s not one of your men who’s been killed.’ Thomas took a step forward, his face creased in misery. ‘I am so sorry to bring you this news, but I thought you would rather hear it from a friend . . . The body they pulled out of the Braytheforde was that of your son, Robert. It was Jan’s.’

  Adam, standing forgotten in the corner of the room, began to howl.

  Chapter 31

  Devil’s Eye, known also as Periwinkle or Sorcerer’s Violet, signifies death, and if any should be foolish enough to uproot it from a grave, they shall by so doing drag up the ghost of the one who lies therein. And he shall haunt them until they fall into their own grave.

  Mistress Catlin

  The day they buried Jan was cruelly bright and warm. Against the glaring sunlight, it was hard to see if the candles in the hands of the black-robed men were even alight. Between the graves, and at the foot of the church wall, cowslips, ragged robin and ox-eye daisies were all in bloom, their petals stirring in the soft breeze. Swarms of St Mark’s flies, their long legs dangling, drifted over our heads, and in a garden opposite, pink and white blossom had burst out on the apple tree, as if Nature were conspiring to proclaim its fecund vigour and life.

  In contrast to the frozen child who had walked dry-eyed behind his mother’s coffin, spring seemed to have melted Adam, too, and he sobbed uncontrollably. Beata forgot her position as servant and put her arm round him, holding him close to her as if she were his mother. She was determined to take Edith’s place within the family.

  I’ve known many servants who dream of sliding into their late mistress’s bed, and I’d no doubt Beata longed to be Robert’s new wife – and had harboured that secret desire from the first time she’d entered his house. It was obvious from the way she looked at him and how she deliberately brushed against him when she served him at table. I had no fears that she would turn his affections from me, for she was so disfigured that, even after all the years he’d known her, Robert could hardly bear to look at her. Poor deluded soul, did she know how ravaged her face was?

  But, increasingly, I found myself wondering if Edith’s suspicions that she’d been poisoned were justified and Beata was responsible. Edith was certainly terrified of her maid and had begged not to be left alone with her. Beata must have given Edith some cause to fear her. Who knows how she had tormented her helpless mistress when they were alone? Living constantly with the humiliation of disfigurement, as Beata did, can so easily twist the sufferer’s mind to bitterness and hatred.

  I thanked the Blessed Virgin devoutly that Diot would be sharing the kitchen with Beata after Robert and I were married. At least Diot could watch her and ensure she didn’t poison me: I was sure Beata was becoming as jealous of me as she had been of Edith. I wouldn’t feel safe until Robert had dismissed her.

  I squeezed Robert’s arm as we stood together, then gestured towards Adam and Beata.

  ‘Do you think it seemly that a servant should be standing alongside the heir of the household on such a solemn occasion?’ I whispered. ‘It might appear odd to some.’

  Robert turned his head at once. ‘Beata, stop fussing over the boy,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘And, Adam, if you can’t control yourself, have the goodness to return home and stop disgracing yourself. You’re nearly a man and you’ll soon be taking your brother’s place in the business. The men won’t take orders from you if they see you bawling like an infant.’

  Adam jerked away from Beata and scrubbed his eyes fiercely with his sleeve. His fists were clenched and his jaw worked furiously, as he tried to stem his tears. But in truth there were few men present to see him cry.

  No one had come to view the body in the days before the funeral. The corpse stank, having rotted in the filthy water of the Braytheforde for days, and not even the oil of myrrh with which it had been cleaned or the bunches of rosemary, thyme and bay leaves that had been tucked beneath the shroud could mask the foul odour of decay. Before being placed in the wooden coffin, the corpse had been wrapped in two layers of cloth soaked in beeswax and costly lead sheets had been folded over it, but even so the smell lingered, as though an evil spirit hovered over the coffin.

  But it wasn’t only the stench that kept many at a distance: it was the manner of Jan’s death. Misfortune has a way of spreading. Two deaths in a family, so hard on each other’s heels, might cause some to believe that family was cursed, and few would risk being touched by it.

  Tragic though his death was, it was perhaps inevitable that he should come to grief. I fear he had inherited his mother’s dark imagination and his father’s hot temper, which, when combined, had led to madness and melancholy.

  The coroner had ruled his death was an accident: that Jan, doubtless staggering around from an excess of wine, had tripped and fallen into the water in the dark. He’d probably become trapped beneath a moored boat or tangled in a rope, or was simply too drunk to swim to a ladder and climb up to the quayside. Robert refused to believe it, for no man likes to think that his son had come to such an ignominious end. He wanted to believe that the Florentines had murdered him or, at the very least, had fought with him and pushed him into the wate
r. To his mind, the four puncture marks in his face proved it.

  But, as Sheriff Thomas had tried to persuade him, they proved nothing. The Johan brothers had produced a dozen men who swore they were safe within the city walls on the night Jan had disappeared and nowhere near the Braytheforde. The sheriff admitted the Florentines always stuck together and would readily lie to protect each other, but as it transpired, the brothers had fought that night with some Lincoln men, who had grudgingly admitted the Florentines were within the city.

  I betrayed nothing of what I believed. Instead I comforted Robert, agreeing that Jan must have been murdered by the Johan brothers or their men. You must support the man you love, even if the whole world should gainsay him – especially then: if he is convinced that the world has deserted him and only you fight at his side, he will cling to you the more.

  Father Remigius gabbled the final words over the coffin, flinging at it holy water from the hyssop. As soon as he had finished, the few who had attended shuffled past us, mumbling commiserations, but none looked Robert in the eye and he seemed not to know how to reply. It was left to me to thank them with a gracious smile and I sensed Robert’s gratitude.

  My son Edward came forward and inclined his head to Robert, who received the gesture with his usual coldness towards him, his eyes only softening when Leonia approached. He patted her cheek absently, his eyes straying back to the stone coffin. It was too soon to push the matter just yet, but Robert would need a son to take over the business and it was clear that the shy, studious Adam would never fill his brother’s shoes. My son was determined to step into them, but persuading Robert to give him a chance would not be easy. I must do it or I would lose Edward.

  I withdrew a little as Sheriff Thomas approached, not wanting to appear that I was assuming the role of wife before our marriage. I bent down to pluck some cowslips and late primroses to lay on the coffin, the one flower denoting a bachelor, the other youth and sadness, together fitting memorials.

  My attention was caught by a glimmer of light in the deep shadow of the great yew tree. The twelve paid mourners, all dressed in the long black funeral robes Robert had provided, had taken their candles back into the church where they would continue to burn for many hours in front of the statue of the Virgin, pleading mercy for Jan’s unshriven soul. Now these paupers were making their way out of the church past Tenney, who was distributing the coins they’d been promised.

  But one of the mourners still clasped his candle and the bright flame drew my attention as he stood beneath the dark branches of the ancient tree. He was watching me intently, and as I rose, he raised the candle so that the light shone full on his face.

  I gasped and staggered backwards, sinking to the ground. Instantly Edward was at my side. ‘What is it?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Do you feel faint? It’s because you fasted before the mass.’

  I couldn’t bring myself to speak, but gestured instead towards the yew. Edward shielded his eyes from the sun, and peered at it. ‘You know him?’ Edward asked, staring at the mourner.

  ‘It can’t be . . . He’s dead . . . long dead.’

  I was almost sobbing from the shock. I hauled myself up on Edward’s arm. The figure under the yew tree had set down the candle and turned away, walking back to join the other mourners, who were leaving the churchyard by the far gate, making for the alehouse. From behind they were as indistinguishable, one from the other, as a flock of rooks.

  Edward watched them go, then put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed me. ‘Seeing ghosts, little Maman? It’s being in this miserable graveyard. It’s a wonder the stench of Jan’s foul corpse hasn’t brought every spirit rising from their graves in protest at having to lie with him. Robert’s son was an annoying meddler in life and is still causing trouble now he’s dead.’ He gave a nervous giggle and those few who remained in the churchyard glared at him. Edward ignored them. ‘Come, little Maman, we need funeral meats and strong wine to banish the ghosts. See if you can’t drag your husband-to-be from the sheriff. Even old Father Remigius looks as if he might start chewing the grass if he’s kept here much longer, and he should be used to fasting.’

  I grasped at his arm. ‘He was taunting me as if he wanted me to know he was there.’

  ‘Who? It was only a poxy beggar. God alone knows where the priest’s clerk rounds them up, but half of them are as mad as a wolf at full moon. He was just leering at you. He wouldn’t be the first man unable to take his eyes off you. Look at Robert.’

  But I was staring at the candle, still burning under the yew tree. The tiny flame flickered and beckoned, like a light on the marsh, the soul of a dead man come to drag the living into his grave.

  May

  A hot May makes for a fat graveyard.

  Chapter 32

  If a hen crows like a cock, it must be immediately slaughtered else a death in the household is sure to follow.

  Beata

  Why are men so easily bewitched by women? Women fall in love, ’tis true, and foolishly run after men they know are dangerous. They often hanker for a savage wolf or cunning fox, but know them for the untamed beasts they are. They see the cruelty behind the eyes, but that excites them. Men, though, can no more see what lies beneath a woman’s soft breast than the corpse buried beneath a sweet meadow.

  I know what they all said about me – that I was jealous of the Widow Catlin. She even told Father Remigius that I was besotted with Master Robert and wanted to become his second wife. I’ll not deny I was fond of him. How could I not be after all those years? He’d often confided in me things that he could never tell my poor mistress. But I’d no desire to share his bed. Tenney was different. I’d have climbed into his arms, but never Master Robert’s. So you have to believe me when I say that I’d much better cause than jealousy to hate the Widow Catlin.

  After they had pulled Master Jan out of that accursed harbour, I was sure Master Robert would think on what his son had been trying to tell him and call off the wedding. I thought, too, Father Remigius would tell him he must wait till a decent period of mourning had elapsed. But no sooner had they laid Master Jan in the coffin alongside that of his mother, Widow Catlin was whispering in the priest’s ear: Little Adam will be in even greater need of a mother to help him through the tragedy of his brother’s death. Poor Robert is desperate for the support of a wife to aid him in this terrible loss.

  Terrible loss, my arse! I’d wager a barrel of gold coins she was dancing round her chamber like an imp in Hell, when she heard about Master Jan’s drowning. Now there wasn’t a soul left to speak out against the marriage, save me, and she knew fine rightly I had to bite my tongue for fear of dismissal or worse.

  Master Robert grieved sorely for the lad, though I reckon none would have realised just how much, unless they knew him like I did: he certainly wasn’t a man to shed a tear in front of anyone. But I slept in the great hall. Night after night I heard the creaking of his bed in the chamber above as he tossed and turned until dawn. Often I’d see Master Robert sitting alone, staring into nothing. He’d start up each time he heard the door, as if he expected his lad to saunter through it. Then you’d see his face crumple when he remembered it couldn’t be him. Grief weighs twice as heavy on the soul when the last words you spoke to the dead were bitter.

  Tenney, the great muttonhead, said a wife was just what the master needed to take his mind off things. Said the bed would soon be creaking to a different tune, and Master Robert would sleep soundly enough after he played that fiddle each night. That’s a man for you. The heavens could be crashing to earth and Hell rising to meet them, but a man has only to straddle a woman for every worry to fly clean from his head. Try as I might, I couldn’t make Tenney see that something was not right. But that woman could charm milk from a bull if she’d a mind to. So the master and the widow were married, and she and her brat moved in, bringing that filthy old hag, Diot, with them.

  Diot shifted her arse long enough to do a mite of work when Master was looking, but the moment he left f
or the warehouse, she plonked herself down on her great hams and supped his wine as if she were his sister, not his maid, and Widow Catlin encouraged her. The two women would settle down to a gossip, expecting me to wait on them, though they’d always fall silent whenever I walked in. I’ll own that Mistress Edith and I used to talk of an evening over our stitching, when the master was out and all the work done, but nothing was ever said between us that had to be whispered. Diot claimed she used to work in a tavern. Well, if that was true, what secrets would a respectable widow and an old tavern-slut share that couldn’t be spoken about in front of me or Tenney?

  The only times Diot stirred herself was when there was shopping to be done, with the master’s money, of course. It was always her that went to the market. I didn’t set foot out of the yard now, not even to buy the meats I was expected to cook. I’d not seen a single friend, since the wedding, save at the servants’ mass, and then I’d have to hurry straight home from church to cook dinner for the family returning from their mass. And that was what I was doing on that particular Sunday when he turned up again.

  Master Robert was away on business at Wainfleet and Catlin had taken the children to mass, insisting that Diot accompany her as her maid. As usual I had to hurry home to start baking and boiling, chopping and basting. On days like that I wished I’d been born with four arms, like that babe in one of the shacks along the river. It had four legs too, so they say. Its mam sold it to a man who wanted to take it to the fairs and charge people to gawp at it, poor creature.

  The sun was a blister that day and I was sweating long afore I stoked up the fire in the baking oven. It wouldn’t draw properly and I came out into the yard and went round the back to rattle a stick in the vents behind the oven and clear them of soot, so that the smoke would be pulled out better. It was then I noticed the ladder from the stable lying in the yard near the house. I thought at first either Tenney or the stable-boy must have forgotten it, but I was sure it hadn’t been there earlier for it was so close to the door: we’d have tripped over it as we left for church. In any case, it would have to be moved before the family returned.