by Stacey Halls
Richard began pacing through the dust motes illuminated in a shaft of light, stepping into the beam then out again; lightness then darkness. “Why must you constantly undermine your own husband? Do you know how you make me look? And over a lowborn local girl you barely know—is she worthy of your attention? You have known her mere months. Why must you make such a spectacle of yourself, of us, for a woman who gave you some herbs?”
“If you do not understand this now, then you never will—Alice is innocent. And nobody believes it but me! Nobody wants to help! I need you, Richard. Who will you choose—your wife or your friend?”
“He was your friend, too! He was your friend!”
“I cannot be friends with that man after what he has done, and you shouldn’t either.”
“How can you say that? Roger is the closest thing to a father I have, and you. He has looked out for us. He has helped us through so much. He thinks I have what it takes to be sheriff. He sees me in Parliament one day. He believes in me, Fleetwood, like no one else ever has.”
“You should see the gaol he has them in, then you would not think so highly of him. It is a corner from hell—dark and damp and they are locked in there with no light, standing and sleeping in vomit and waste and there are rats and Lord only knows what else. One of them died in there... Where is your heart? Do have a hole in your chest where it was? Where is the man I married?”
Richard was standing out of the shaft of light so I could not properly see him. What he said next made my blood run cold.
“Your lying-in starts now. I don’t want to see you out of your chamber. You will stay in the house until the child arrives. It is mindless and foolish of you to go here, there and everywhere, putting yourself in harm’s way. You are not thinking of our child, you are thinking only of yourself.”
“What is so wrong with wanting to save her life?” I sniffed, wiping my eyes. “You were more grieved for your bird than the fate of an innocent woman. And you would prefer me dead anyway, would you not? Your life would be easier without me here, your friendship with Roger intact. You can marry Judith and forget I ever existed.”
Puck whimpered and I stroked him absently. Richard’s face was full of a private sort of agony. Before he could reply, I left the room, shutting the door behind me so he would not hear me cry.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The day of the dinner arrived, and the house hummed with purpose, but I did not. I’d followed Richard’s wishes and stayed in bed, but I might as well have been running from a tiger because my heart raced as if I was, even when I was lying down. The thin sheet of pain was still wrapped around my chest, fine but tight, and my neck pulsed.
I had a new nightmare. In it, I was in the witches’ dungeon. Even when I opened my eyes it was blacker than black, darker even than when my eyes were shut. There was the sound of dripping water, and someone was sobbing softly in the corner. I did not move, because the floor was wet, covered with what felt like straw and other things of unknowable textures. Just as I thought I would die from fright, close to me, very nearby, there was the sound of something eating. Not a person; something bigger, like a dog or some other creature. Teeth ripped easily through flesh, and the chewing was the worst thing, like it was in no rush at all, as though it was savoring every mouthful. That sound sent my stomach churning, my skin crawling, and I woke up drenched with sweat and fear, and my heart battering my rib cage.
I had no reply from the Lords Bromley and Altham, though I was not expecting one. But in my confinement I had not been able to ask Katherine whether or not she had carried out her task. By the time the morning arrived, my nerves were jangling like a bunch of keys. I sat in my chamber and imagined what was happening two and three floors below: the kitchen servants would be plucking, chopping and peeling; James would be selecting wines from the cellar; glasses and cutlery would be polished, knives sharpened... If they didn’t come, it would be a splendid feast for two.
There was no sign of Richard: he was not speaking to me. I climbed out of bed and went to the looking glass, deciding to tackle my hair that hadn’t been combed in a week. My arms ached, and I felt as though I hadn’t slept in days, when really it was all I’d done. I cleaned my teeth and went to my dressing room, where I no longer took enjoyment. My notebook gathered dust in the corner.
Once I’d dressed in pale gold taffeta, the idea of going downstairs after so many days in my chamber felt strange. I had grown used to the size of it, like Alice and Joseph in their one-roomed cottage.
Just before midday, there was a knock at my door. Richard put his head in, his face tight. “Are you coming down?” he said.
I stood up. “Are they downstairs?”
“No, but the mistress who invited them should be.”
The great hall was laid out for a feast, glinting with silver and glass and fresh linen napkins. Bowls of fruit brimmed with strawberries, plums, apples, pears and peaches. A very low fire crackled to take the slight chill out of the large room, and the sky blazed blue at every window. Richard and I stood in unhappy silence looking at it all, and then James appeared in the far-right doorway. “Master, your first guest has arrived.”
Roger stepped into the great hall. Richard stepped forward to greet him. “Hello, Fleetwood,” Roger said after shaking Richard’s hand. His expression was mild. “Are you much recovered?”
I swallowed. “A great deal improved, thank you.”
“You have Katherine to thank for that.” He smiled placidly.
My heart banged as loud as a musket going off. Richard moved to fetch him a glass of wine, ignoring me.
“The Lords Justices are not arrived?” Roger asked.
“Not yet. What time did you tell them dinner would be served, Fleetwood?”
“Noon, I think.”
“It is unfortunate today is a fish day,” Roger said to Richard. “That was a fine fallow you killed on Thursday.”
“That was thirsty work. I think I shall wait for the weather to break before going out for that long again. The heat made the horses grow stupid.”
“Your skill surpasses stupid horses. You would hunt well on a mule.”
Richard laughed and clinked his glass with Roger’s. He had not handed me one, so I moved toward Jacob, our red-cheeked, bright-eyed young server, who had noticed Richard’s slight toward me and had flushed in embarrassment. I took a glass.
We made an odd triangle as the two men stood close to one another and I away from them, breathing deeply to calm myself, when James appeared again through the low doorway.
“Sir Edward Bromley and Sir James Altham.” He gave a little bow and retreated, and as though appearing on either side of a stage, both doorways into the great hall were filled.
On the left, in the order James had announced them, Edward Bromley stood poised, a thumb hooked behind the velvet sash that cut through his middle. His doublet was very finely embroidered, with slashes through his sleeves, and his fan collar was tied beneath his chin with a green ribbon. He wore a wide black hat, and beneath it his eyes twinkled merrily. A mustache framed rosy cheeks, plump as apples that shone at either end of his smiling mouth. He was past middle age—at least forty—but handsome with it.
Standing ten feet from him in the other doorway was James Altham. Perhaps ten years older than Bromley, he was taller and slimmer, enhanced by a voluminous sleeveless gown thrown over one shoulder. His jacket was a pretty cream silk, cut close to his body with wide cuffs. His breeches were black velvet with gold stitching to match his jacket, and ribbons were tied around each of his slender knees. He was hatless, and had gray hair and serious dark eyes in a lined face.
As though hearing some silent cue, they both stepped forward. Richard went to Sir Edward first so I hurried to the older Sir James at the same time, as was proper with guests of equal rank.
“Sir, thank you for coming to Gawthorpe,” I said. “I trust you had a pl
easant journey?”
“Mistress Shuttleworth, thank you for inviting us. It was very generous of you to entertain us while we are in the north.”
His dark eyes fixed on mine as he kissed my hand, and I noticed their intensity.
The steward’s voice interrupted, surprising me. “Master Thomas Potts,” he announced.
I looked toward the door, my hand still caught in Sir James’s, and saw a tall, slim young man standing in the entrance.
“Mistress Shuttleworth, I hope you do not mind my taking the liberty of inviting our constant companion during our tour. Master Potts is the clerk of the assizes.”
The young man directed an elegant bow in my direction.
“Of course, welcome, Master Potts,” I said.
The clerk moved inside and looked around the room, studying the coats of arms on the wall and the minstrels’ gallery at the ceiling. He might have been younger than Richard, perhaps twenty-one or -two.
“Gentlemen.” It was Roger’s turn to greet our acquaintances, and he slid smoothly over to shake their hands. “It has been an age since we were last in each other’s company. When was it...Tuesday?”
They all laughed heartily and the three arrivals were handed wine.
“Master Potts, you are traveling with the assizes?” I asked the youth.
“Yes,” he replied in a gentle voice. Was there a hint of Scot about him? “We have just left York, and begin the Westmorland assizes the day after tomorrow.”
“Ah, my mother lives in Westmorland,” I said, regretting it instantly because she was the last person I wanted to talk about.
He nodded politely.
“Tell me.” I lowered my voice, but the other men had moved toward the table and were talking loudly. “If you were at York, then you must have been present at the trial of Jennet Preston.”
“Indeed,” he said pleasantly, as if we were talking about a shipping merchant we had in common, not a woman hanged. “Are you an acquaintance of Master Lister of Westby?”
“Yes...” I trailed off, expecting something else would come to me, but it did not.
“This is a beautiful house.”
“Thank you.”
“How do you like living in the north?”
“I have never lived anywhere else.” We walked toward the table, where a sixth setting had been discreetly made. “Is this your first tour of the assizes?”
“Yes, and very interesting it has been, too. I must say I find the people in the north very...different. Everything is different—the food, the humor, the towns. I am craving London already.”
He smiled with sharp teeth like little pins. I smiled and took my seat, farther back than everyone else because of the size of my stomach. Roger was introduced to the young clerk.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said Master Potts, repositioning his glass of wine.
Roger’s eyes flicked toward mine, then away.
The first course was brought: salmon poached in beer, with pickled herrings. One glass of wine had helped me overcome the shock of Roger’s arrival, and I turned to the two Lords Justices.
“How does your tour fare so far?”
“Very well, Mistress,” said the genial Sir Edward. “We are over halfway through, with Kendal next and Lancaster after that, as you know.”
I colored slightly, hoping desperately that he would not mention in front of Roger the request I’d made in my letter, but he stopped there.
“So far we have completed Durham, Newcastle and York, and Carlisle is after Lancaster. And then we are on the long road home to the south.”
“Tell me,” I said. “You must have seen all sorts of fascinating arraignments in your work. For how long have you been justices on the northern circuit?”
“Two years,” replied Sir Edward.
“And I just under ten,” said Sir James.
“And this is my first time on the circuit,” announced their clerk.
The men’s eyes fell to their food and we began to eat. I could feel Roger’s intense presence from across the table.
“I recently heard the news...” I tried to keep my voice steady. “That you found a woman guilty of witchcraft at York?”
“Indeed,” said the older justice. “That was an interesting one, because the woman was also at the Lent assizes accused of the same thing.”
“Again by Thomas Lister,” I said.
The table fell silent. A piece of herring trembled before Sir James’s lips, having failed to reach its destination. “Quite right,” he said. “You must take quite the interest in the laws of the realm.”
“But this time she was found guilty.”
“The woman was found to be guilty of the felony of murder by witchcraft of Thomas Lister Senior, yes.” James Altham’s voice was quiet, almost soft, as though cushioned. No doubt he saved its full impact for the courts.
I nodded and dislodged a salmon bone from the back of my mouth, trying not to gag.
“Sir Edward, however, did pardon her at Lent, so her life was graciously extended by some months.” He spoke to his colleague. “I wonder if you had an idea then of how very disparaging her supporters were, and that was how you reached your verdict.”
Sir Edward’s eyes twinkled. “I knew nothing of the sort. They’re a loud bunch, the Prestons,” he explained to the rest of the table. “Poor Altham here has been vilified at every town from York to Gisburn. And that’s quite a few.”
I tried to imagine people crowding the streets in Padiham and Colne to protest against the arrest of the Pendle witches, and could not imagine so much as a single raised fist.
“And have you tried a person for witchcraft before this year?” I asked.
The pair looked at one another, considering for a moment.
“Never. In fact,” said Sir Edward, “this is the largest group of people to be tried for witchcraft in this county.”
“Ever?”
He nodded. I could not help but glance at Roger, who had been waiting for his turn to speak. “They have successfully hidden themselves all over the country, until now. It’s like catching mice—when you find one, you know there’s a whole nest. The king has long suspected Lancaster to be the hiding place of delinquents and sorcerers, so I am only happy to help root out the evil before it spreads and infects the rest of his kingdom.”
“Would that imply you think evil is like a plague, Master Nowell?” asked Sir Edward.
“In certain neighborhoods. Look at the Devices and Redfearnes—they live not a hundred yards away from each other. Whether one household began with witchcraft and the other took it up to protect themselves, or something else, it’s no coincidence. But old Demdike has been practicing for, oh, decades.”
I realized I was staring at him and lowered my eyes.
Thomas Potts spoke. “Why do you think the old woman has avoided detection until now, if that is the case? Has no one accused her before this?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Our plates were removed and the second course of oyster pies was brought. I had three more courses to persuade the Lords Justices to...what, exactly?
“Where are you staying tonight?” asked Richard.
“A modest inn not far from here.”
“Oh, but I insist you stay here.”
“We will not intrude. We leave very early in the morning.”
“Although a feather mattress would be quite welcome after so much straw,” said Thomas, leaning in as if conspiring. The men laughed. I cleared my throat.
“I suppose you were relieved to cross the border and escape the Jennet Preston supporters,” I said. I could feel Richard’s eyes on me, but did not look.
“Quite, yes.”
“And you have met no such protest on behalf of the so-called Pendle witches?”
“We have only
just crossed into Lancaster,” said Sir Edward, spilling open his pie. “We are not so familiar with the cases yet, with Westmorland to come first. How many women are accused?”
“A dozen or so. But regrettably one passed away,” said Roger, without a hint of regret. “However, I am investigating another case of a woman at Padiham.”
“Another one?” I failed to control my voice.
“A woman named Margaret Pearson. My colleague Mr. Bannister is taking evidence tomorrow from her servant, who swears that she has seen Mrs. Pearson’s familiar spirit.”
“What is it?”
“A toad.”
There was a pause, in which I’m sure a noise like suppressed laughter escaped from Thomas Potts. Roger ignored it.
“Mrs. Booth the servant says she was carding wool at her employer Pearson’s house and asked her for some milk. They added wood to the fire to warm the milk pan, and when Mrs. Booth removed it, a toad—or a spirit disguised as a toad—came out of the fire. Margaret removed the creature with a pair of tongs and carried it outside.”
“I am curious to know,” I began mildly, “if you have yet seen any of these familiar spirits yourself, Roger.”
There was an awkward silence, in which Roger chewed thoughtfully. “The Devil only appears to those who crave his company,” he said eventually.
“Did you not say,” I went on before I could stop myself, “that a familiar spirit is the surest sign of a witch? In which case, if a witch does not have a familiar spirit, they are likely to be innocent?”
Roger regarded me through heavy-lidded eyes and took a sip of his wine. “Or they keep it well hidden.”
“Gentlemen,” I addressed the Lords Justices. “I have a very large dog, who accompanies me everywhere. Should I not be accused of witchcraft?”
The table went silent, and my gaze landed on Roger, who regarded me coolly. “It sounds almost as though you are inviting accusation, Mistress. I would be very cautious, if I were you. You have your husband’s reputation to consider. His name, the Lords Justices have told me, has already been heard of at Whitehall for the right reasons, so let there not be a wrong one.”