The Familiars

by Stacey Halls

  “Thank you, Sarah, that’s enough. While there’s no need to throw accusations around, I trust my household’s loyalty in the main. Some, however, could be more demonstrative with their allegiance.”

  Did he look pointedly at Alice? But when I snapped my neck around to see the subject of his gaze, Alice’s face was hidden by a wide shoulder, and Richard was moving toward the staircase. “I will leave it with you. Remember, noon tomorrow, that necklace will be back in Fleetwood’s possession. That is not a request.”

  As the hall filled with chatter and the servants filed out, I went to Alice and took her arm. “Will you come upstairs?”

  She shook me off. “I don’t think I will.” She handed me the package, shoving it in my arms. The scent of herbs and lavender drifted up, but now the strength of the mingling scents was making me feel sick.

  “Why not?”

  “I have brought things as you asked. I can’t see what else I am needed for.”

  “The parlor, then. I will have the kitchen send up some...”

  “No, thank you. I need to go to the Hand.” Her voice had lost all its softness.

  The hall was quiet now, with the last footsteps squeaking in the passages. Richard’s ancestors watched keenly from their portraits on the walls, and all the while Alice was glaring at me.

  “I hope you don’t think I was accusing you of theft,” I said, trying to coat my words with ridicule, but it came out as pleading.

  “You have nice jewelry, but I’m not sure any of it would suit me. I trust you aren’t in need of my service any longer?”

  “Pardon? Alice, no, you can’t leave. I know you didn’t steal it.” Do I? I remembered her closing the drapes around me after she drew my blood. How, an hour after I left her, she sat thoughtfully at the window in my chamber with her straight back and fine angular features, as though she was posing for a portrait. But buried underneath was another thought: What did she do with my blood? There was a whole bowlful of it, and when Richard demanded to be let in it was gone. Had she thrown it on the fire? I’d heard no sizzle of burning liquid, no stench of burning blood. Now was not the time to wonder: Alice was watching me, and I knew my face betrayed my doubt.

  “I must go,” she said hotly. “I cannot work where I am not trusted.”

  And before I could move she had slipped into the passage; by the time I reached it she was at the front door, hauling it open and flying down the steps, barely avoiding a collision with the figure dismounting his horse at the bottom.

  “Mistress Shuttleworth!” said Nick Bannister, turning to watch Alice’s narrow form grow smaller.

  “Nick,” I managed to say, catching my breath. I felt as though I was coming apart; something terrible had happened, and I had no idea what to do about it. Over a stupid necklace that meant nothing to me!

  “You look as though you’ve had a fright—who was that woman?”

  The magistrate approached hesitantly, placing a wrinkled hand on my arm where the fleam had been driven in. The wound smarted at his touch, and I withdrew it, stammering my apologies. In just a few days it had almost sealed itself into a neat scar the shape of a crescent moon. All I could see of Alice was her white cap bobbing toward the edge of the forest—she had not gone to the road via the outbuildings, but straight into the trees.

  “Mistress, are you quite well?”

  I sighed, and felt the chill wind creep its fingers down my gown. My stomach pushed at my corset, and it would not be long before I could no longer wear them. “Yes, quite well, thank you, Nick. Are you come to see Richard?”

  “Only if he is available. I am here to collect a message Roger left when he was here last.”

  “Yes, I know it. I will find it for you.”

  I would not ask Richard; I did not even want to look at him. Nick followed me into the house and I instructed a passing servant to see to his horse. James’s study was only a few steps from the front door, and he was out for the day with the bailiff. As though sensing I was upset, Puck found me and came to me, pushing his wet nose into my hand.

  “Forgive me, Nick, what is it I am looking for?”

  “Perhaps Richard knows its whereabouts...”

  “No. I can help you,” I said, more sharply than I realized. “Richard has done enough for today.”

  I pushed open the door and went to the large desk in the center of the room. James kept a neat office, with only a jar of quills, a single bottle of ink and a neat stack of parchment on its surface. Behind the leather chair was a shelf containing several bound household ledgers, dating back twenty years to when Richard’s father first began to keep the Shuttleworth family records. I searched the stacks of bound letters organized and filed in some unknown method, remembering how James had brought me the neat parcel of correspondence about my failed pregnancies. A rage was burning inside me: Richard did not think it prudent to inform me of my impending death, and now he had removed from the house the only person I could trust to save me. I realized I was shaking, and hot tears were blurring my sight. I sniffed, and Nick cleared his throat.

  “Fine beast you have, Mistress,” he said.

  I wiped my eyes and scanned the shelves once more, finding what I needed: a square letter sealed in wax with the Nowell crest. I turned it over to find Nick Bannister’s name written in Roger’s cursive script, and handed it to the shabby little man stroking my dog.

  “Thank you.” He nodded. I know I had made him uncomfortable, and he was looking for something to say. “Nasty business, this.”

  “What is?”

  “These Pendle witches. Trust Roger to root them out, though. I doubt he shall ever retire from the king’s service. I said to him—Roger, have this last hurrah and then live comfortably. Let some youngblood take over, like your Richard. He trusts your man, you know. Hopes he’ll carry on his work one day, as justice of the peace.”

  “Yes,” I said dully.

  “Roger doesn’t do things by halves—he’s not content with sending a whole family to trial, oh no. He wants the glory days back—he wants his name in the London press. I swear he’s after a knighthood. He is already known at court, but he won’t stop there. You know him as well as me.”

  I wondered how far Alice had got, whether she had reached the alehouse yet. Whether I should have gone after her, and how soon I could.

  “Best get them all, I said. There can’t be harm in questioning them.”

  “Questioning who?” I was being awfully rude, but wanted Nick to finish his monologue and go, so I could think about what to do. Perhaps in the months it took for me to grow, Alice’s temper might cool, and she could be persuaded back? If Richard was in the house, that was unlikely.

  “The gathering of witches at Malkin Tower. He found quite the rats’ nest there. Not just the Devices but friends of theirs, the ones talking about killing Master Lister, and blowing up the gaol. There are a few local names on it. No doubt this will cause a scandal in the community. Who would have thought, so much Devil’s work in this wet little corner of the land? And on Good Friday—ha. It won’t be a good one for them, not now.”

  “You have the list there?” I nodded at the paper in his hand, something in his words making me curious. “What does it say?”

  Relieved by my interest, he asked for a knife, and I found one in the top drawer of James’s desk. He sliced open Roger’s scroll, letting it fall and holding it at arm’s length to read the words.

  “Jennet and James Device said they rode off on white foals after the meeting, and Jennet Preston bade them come to her house in Gisburn for their next meeting in a year’s time. Preston brought her familiar to the meeting: a white foal with a brown spot on its face.”

  I felt my heart pumping in my chest. “The other people at the gathering on Good Friday—who were they?”

  It took an age for the elderly man to find them with his cloudy squint. “Let me se
e...ah, yes, here we are: the wife of Hugh Hargreaves of Barley; the wife of Christopher Bulcock of the Moss End, and John her son; the mother of Miles Nutter; one Mouldheels, of Colne, and one Alice Gray, of the same.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Hand and Shuttle was a short distance from the river before the road split to go north or west. I had passed it many times before but barely given it a glance. As I tied my horse in the yard and saw the wooden sign on the side of the low building, the thought arrived that its name of course came from mine. Above the mantelpiece in my chamber was the Shuttleworth coat of arms in plaster: a shield of three shuttles, with a hand rising from it grasping a fourth, and the same symbol was carved here.

  The place went silent as I stepped through the door, and what felt like a hundred pairs of eyes came to rest on me, even though I wore one of my most modest outfits with a black wool cloak, and a simple black hat with a gold band. The place was small and low ceilinged. A few groups of men sat around what looked like creepie stools laden with jugs, their faces hard and blank. A man behind a partition like a stable door waited to see what I would do, perhaps thinking I had walked into the inn by mistake. I moved toward him.

  “I must speak with Alice,” I said.

  He had a ruddy face, and his mouth stayed open when he was not speaking, displaying unpleasant teeth. “Alice...”

  “Alice Gray,” I whispered. “Is she here?”

  He nodded dumbly. “I’ll fetch her, Mistress. Might you want somewhere more private?”

  “Thank you.”

  I followed him through a curtain of cloth and he led me through a narrow, dimly lit passage to the dining chamber, which was empty. The whole place was cold, with no fires lit, and stank like the brewers at Gawthorpe. I pulled my cloak around me and went to the window that overlooked the yard, where barrels were being rolled into the storehouse. I recognized them to be the ones from the house, stamped with the Shuttleworth crest. So the landlord was our tenant and we sold him the ale. Before I could think about what this meant, through the open door I heard footsteps in the passage, and raised voices.

  “Stop coming here.”

  It took a moment for me to recognize it as Alice’s voice. I placed a protective hand on my stomach and stepped into the doorway to look out. At the end of the passage was a dark-haired young man, whose grubby shirt and threadbare trousers did not detract from how handsome he was. He looked almost foreign, like a pirate or a prince, with black hair and tanned skin and fine, dark eyes. Alice was standing with her back to me, her hands on her hips.

  “You think you can just leave me?” he demanded.

  “Leave a horrid drunk like you, why on earth would I do that? Go home.”

  “There is nothing for me there, not now.” He looked as though he might cry, his face crumpling.

  At that, her shoulders sank, and she held the tops of her arms like I’d seen her do in the woods. I drew back in the doorway in fear they should see me. When she spoke next, her voice was thick. “We have to put it behind us.”

  “Easy for you to say, with your work and your new...position.”

  “Get out, will you.”

  He pushed his face into hers, and his dark eyes shone. “I can ruin that for you, if I like. I could tell them things... People have been asking.”

  “Leave me alone!” she shrieked, and the hairs on my neck stood up. “Don’t you dare come back.”

  With a final withering look, he stumbled down the passage, past me and out into the yard. The distinctive smell of ale clung to him. I took a few hesitant steps to where Alice was standing facing away from me, hugging herself.

  “Alice?”

  She spun round, her face a paler shade than usual. Her eyes were large and fearful—more fearful than I’d seen her earlier in the hall full of servants. “Fleetwood. What are you doing here?”

  I took her hand and led her into the room. “Will we be heard in here?”

  “Who by?”

  “Anyone.”

  She shook her head, and I closed the door. “Who was that?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

  She shook her head. “No one. If you’ve come about the necklace...”

  “No, I haven’t, forget all that. Alice, I read a letter just after you left, from Roger Nowell to Nick Bannister. Do you know either of them?” She shook her head again, and her face was so open and confused I did not think for a moment she was not telling the truth. “Well, Roger knows you, or he will. Alice, how do you know the Devices?” Alice swayed like a felled tree and had to grip the back of a chair to stop herself. “How do you know them, Alice? How?”

  “I do not know them.”

  “What were you doing at their house on Good Friday? They are accused of witchcraft, Alice. They are almost sure to be executed—all of them. The grandmother, the mother, Alizon... The youngest daughter, Jennet, she is staying with Roger, telling him everything.”

  Her eyes darted in front of her as though she was trying to see something. “I...”

  “Alice, you have to understand. Your name is on a list—a list that is in the hands of a very powerful man who makes the law around here. You will be arrested, and almost certainly arraigned for witchcraft.”

  All the color drained from her face. I thought she might fall, so I ran to her, holding her by the arms and sitting her carefully in a chair.

  “I am... I will be arrested? And arraigned...but what does that mean?”

  I swallowed. “It means you will face trial at the assizes. Lent has happened, so summer, perhaps.”

  “Trial,” she whispered. “But witches are hanged.”

  “Most of them are.” I knelt before her, and took her hands in mine. “But you have not yet been arrested, and there is time to change Roger’s mind. Alice, you must tell me what you were doing with the Devices at Malkin Tower. I can help you. Richard can help you.”

  Still frozen in shock, she ever so slightly shook her head in disbelief. Then she balled her hands into fists, shoving them under her armpits like she was cold. “Who gave him my name? Elizabeth Device?”

  “Her daughter, Jennet, I think. What took you there, Alice? You have to tell me so I can tell Roger he has it wrong.”

  There were footsteps in the passage; my heart pounded with them until they went away, and Alice looked up briefly, distracted with fear. More barrels rolled around outside.

  “Was he wrong?” I asked.

  After what felt like an age, she sat up straight and tucked her hair beneath her cap. Her wide mouth was solemn. “I do not know those people,” she said.

  “You have to understand they will think you do if you were there. They will see you as a witch.”

  She bit her lip and blood bloomed under her tooth. The pink tip of her tongue came out, serpent-like, to lick it.

  “Tell me. I will tell Richard and together we will go to Roger and tell him he has made a mistake.”

  She was not looking at me, her gaze somewhere beyond. “No. I do not trust him. And you should not either.”

  “Trust who? Roger?”

  She closed her eyes and rubbed at them, as though she was suddenly very tired.

  “Richard?” I said. Her fingertips covered her eyes. Her mouth remained closed. “I can’t trust Richard? My husband?” I rose to stand, but my meager height meant I was only a head or two above her. “Is this because of what he said about the necklace? He knows you didn’t steal it—he was just angry.”

  Something was starting to make me tremble and I realized it was fear. I wanted to prize her hands away from her face and make her look at me. “I do not think you comprehend how much danger you are in.” My voice shook with emotion. “Roger is witch-hunting. He is collecting women like cards at a table. I have come to warn you, and offer my help. If you want it.” I turned to go. “I would advise you stay away from Colne for now.”

 
“But that is where I live.”

  “And that is where they will look for you. You should stay with a friend, or family. Roger and Richard know your name, do they not? It won’t take them long to realize you’re the same Alice on Roger’s list.”

  “Then why have they not burst through the door to arrest me?”

  “Because they do not know you yet, and I will not lead them to you.”

  With that she made a noise that sounded like a scoff.

  I reached for the door handle. “I will go home and explain everything to Richard, and he will go to Roger.”

  “You adore your husband.” Her voice rung out clear in the cold, empty room.

  “Of course I do. What do you mean by this?”

  “Do not go to Richard.”

  “Why?” Hot fury bubbled up again. “Do you not comprehend how much influence my husband has? Are you saying you do not need our help? That you will somehow get through this on your own? Alice, your life is at stake. Roger will not be made a fool of in front of the London justices if I know him at all. He made a list for the former magistrate Nick Bannister, and your name is on it. What of this do you not understand?”

  Again she put her head in her hands. She had aged ten years in one afternoon.

  “Alice, are you listening to me? Do you not trust me?”

  “Yes, I trust you,” she said. It was a small triumph, and despite my anger, her words glowed in my chest. They’d never been said to me before, or needed to be.

  “But you don’t trust Richard? What is this?”

  Very slowly, she turned her face slowly to look at me, as if it was causing her great pain. “The ledger,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The ledger your steward keeps. Everything you buy and everything that leaves Gawthorpe goes in there, you said. Is that right?”

  I nodded, bewildered.

  “Look at the ledger.”

  “But...how do you know what’s in there? You can’t read.”

  In her wide amber eyes there was an inexplicable sympathy. “I don’t need to read things to see them.”