Book of Shadows

by Paul Doherty

  ‘For God’s sake, man!’ she demanded. ‘What is that?’

  Morel just rushed past her, hastening up the stairs, gesturing at Kathryn to follow him. Kathryn did so, wiping the palms of her sweaty hands on the skirt of her dress. She found the smell growing stronger. She paused and made to turn, but Morel came down and grasped her by the wrist.

  ‘You must come.’

  And, whilst Kathryn covered her mouth with one hand, she was dragged up the remaining stairs and into the secret chamber.

  ‘Stop!’

  Kathryn leaned against the inside of the door and stared around. A few of the purple candles fixed in their black-painted sconces had been lit: these made the shadows dance. The centre of the room was shrouded in darkness, the stink of corruption was almost too much to bear. Kathryn grew accustomed to the poor light and peered at the dark shape which sat in a chair behind the table.

  ‘What is this?’

  Morel yanked her forward, slamming the door behind her. He almost ran her across the chamber until she bumped into the table. Kathryn felt unsteady. She gripped the edge of the wood, looked up and stared in horror at the now decaying corpse of the dead magus Tenebrae, seated in his chair. His body was still dressed in a grey sheet, his dome-like head lolling forward, mouth open, eyes half-closed, the white, podgy skin now a dirty white, like the underbelly of some landed fish. Kathryn steadied herself, staring at this ghoulish vision.

  He’s dead, she thought: rotten in life, rotten in death. Morel, standing at the side of the table, gazed expectantly at her.

  ‘Is this what you want?’ he gasped.

  Breathing slowly, hoping her stomach would not betray her, Kathryn swallowed hard.

  ‘When did you do this?’

  Morel smiled like some little boy expecting a lavish reward.

  ‘This morning,’ he replied, his dull face now bright with excitement. ‘Before dawn. I took the master’s body from the grave.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Master always said he would come back within three days. That someone with the power would make his spirit return. I knew it had to be here.’ He pointed at Kathryn. ‘You have the power, Mistress. You know the words.’

  Kathryn backed away from the table.

  ‘You can do it!’ Morel shouted triumphantly. ‘You know the old ways!’

  Kathryn kept slowly walking backwards. ‘The door must be opened,’ she said. ‘If Tenebrae’s spirit is to return, the door must be open to receive it.’

  Morel looked askance at her. Kathryn’s nerve broke. She turned and fled towards the door even as Morel came pounding behind her. Her hand was sweating and slipped on the latch; cursing she tried again. Morel was almost on her when she threw it open and flew down the stairs. Morel followed. Kathryn reached the bottom step. She glimpsed the overgrown garden through the half-open front door. She stumbled. Morel caught her by the cloak, yanking her back. Kathryn screamed. Closing her eyes, she flailed her hands, scratching and kicking as Morel tried to trap her in a bear-like hug. One of her nails must have caught his eye, and his grip loosened. Kathryn stumbled towards the door, but Morel jumped, knocking her to the ground, bruising her shoulder. Kathryn turned like a cat beneath him. She did not care what she did. Her knee came up, bruising Morel in the groin whilst Kathryn began to criss-cross his face in red cutting scars. She did not know what was more frightening, Morel’s bulk pressing down on her or his dead blank eyes staring so fixedly at her, as if impervious to the pains she was inflicting. Kathryn fought desperately, fearful lest her strength ebb. At last Morel caught her hands, trapping her wrists. Kathryn tried to roll away, freeing her body from the crushing press. She heard a shout, glimpsed something falling, Morel grunted and rolled to one side.

  Kathryn closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath even as Thomasina leaned down and, using every filthy word she knew, her old nurse pulled her up and out into the garden. Kathryn lay gasping and retching, not caring about the bramble trail which plucked at her dress. Thomasina grasped her face and pulled it round; even Kathryn was chilled by the fury in Thomasina’s eyes.

  ‘Compose yourself!’ Thomasina snapped. ‘Breathe easy and deep.’

  And before Kathryn could stop her, Thomasina, still holding the stout cudgel, walked back into the hallway and gave the prostrate Morel another resounding whack on the back of his head. Kathryn dragged herself to her feet and staggered towards the door.

  ‘Leave him, Thomasina!’

  The old nurse already had the cudgel raised.

  ‘Stop it!’ Kathryn shouted.

  Thomasina looked strangely at her. Kathryn stretched her hands out.

  ‘Thomasina.’ The tears welled in her eyes. ‘Leave him! Please!’

  Thomasina sighed noisily, lowered her club, but kicked the prostrate man with the toe of her boot.

  ‘I hope he’s dead!’

  Kathryn crouched down and felt the pulse in Morel’s neck, which still beat strongly. Kathryn rose to her feet, clutching her chest.

  ‘He’ll have a very sore head, but he’ll live.’

  She glanced tearfully at Thomasina who came forward and embraced her, pushing her head on to her shoulder, stroking her hair.

  ‘You’ve lost your veil,’ she murmured.

  Kathryn laughed. Thomasina pushed her away, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

  ‘Faugh! That smell!’ She looked back upstairs.

  ‘Don’t go up,’ Kathryn warned. ‘There’s a corpse.’

  And, sitting on the foot of the stairs, Kathryn described what had happened. Morel stirred so Thomasina sat down on top of him. Kathryn smiled and glanced at the rent fabric of her dress. Ah well, it had seen better days. Thomasina was now staring open-mouthed up the stairs. Kathryn leaned forward and tapped her gently under the chin.

  ‘You’ll catch flies!’

  ‘A corpse,’ Thomasina stuttered. ‘This misbegotten knave dug up his master’s corpse!’ And, springing to her feet, Thomasina grabbed Morel by the scruff of his neck and dragged the still senseless man out into the garden. ‘And what are you looking at?’ Thomasina bellowed.

  Kathryn hurried to the door. An astonished Bogbean now stood at the gate, staring at Thomasina as if she was some Medusa.

  ‘Go and get the bailiffs!’ Kathryn shouted. ‘Quickly now, man! Say they are to come here.’ Kathryn caught her breath. ‘Say it’s the King’s business!’

  ‘Well, go on!’ Thomasina bawled.

  Bogbean hurried off. Thomasina went across to the local alehouse and brought back a cup of wine, a small pitcher of water and a ragged, but clean cloth. Thomasina then fussed round Kathryn like a clucking hen. She made her sip the wine whilst she bathed her mistress’s face and hands; she then reclaimed the veil from the stairs whilst still keeping a watchful eye on the unconscious Morel.

  ‘Thank God for Wuf!’ Thomasina breathed. ‘I had sent him for some flour. He told me where you were going.’ She stepped back. ‘There! You are still a little pale and you’ll have a slight bruise on your cheek, but otherwise, the Irishman will still be lecherous towards you.’

  Kathryn smiled and sipped at the wine. The trembling had stopped but her shoulder and the small of her back felt stiff and bruised.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ Thomasina snapped.

  Kathryn shook her head. ‘I would never have thought.’

  Thomasina clucked in annoyance, but held her tongue as Bogbean came back with some of the bailiffs from the market. Kathryn introduced herself and mentioned Colum’s name. Morel was pulled to his feet, his arms and ankles trussed whilst two of the bailiffs hurried upstairs. They came down a few minutes later, both green around the gills.

  ‘We took a blanket from one of the beds and covered it,’ the bailiff said. ‘Satan’s balls! What happened here, Mistress?’

  Kathryn shook her head. ‘Master Murtagh will inform the council,’ she replied and pointed at Morel who was now coming to his senses, shaking his head and groaning as he was held fast between two of the bailiffs.

 
‘Take him to the castle!’ she ordered. ‘Though God knows the man is more mad than evil.’

  ‘And the corpse, Mistress?’

  ‘Take it back to Saint Mary Bredman’s,’ Kathryn replied. ‘And bury it deep.’

  Chapter 11

  Tenebrae’s corpse was removed, the bailiffs carrying it gingerly out into the lane, complaining and cursing. Thomasina, at Kathryn’s urging, accompanied her back into the house.

  ‘You should go home,’ Thomasina wailed. ‘You need to wash, change and rest.’

  ‘I need to get to the bottom of this mystery!’ Kathryn said. ‘So, Thomasina, let’s snoop around before our masters at the Guildhall send their stewards to seal every room and lock the house.’

  ‘Mistress?’

  Half-way up the stairs, Kathryn turned and stared down at Bogbean.

  ‘Mistress, can I help?’

  Kathryn shook her head. ‘No, Bogbean, you can’t, though I thank you for what you have done.’ She opened her purse and put two coins on the stairs beside her. ‘Drink my health!’

  She continued up into the chamber which still smelt foul and rank. Thomasina busied herself, opening the windows whilst Kathryn went back downstairs to close the door behind Bogbean. She returned to examine the lock on the inside of the door to Tenebrae’s chamber.

  ‘What’s the mystery?’ Thomasina asked.

  Kathryn pointed to the lock. ‘There’s a keyhole on the outside as there are on the other two,’ she remarked, pointing to the far end of the room. ‘However, once Master Tenebrae was in the room only he could open the door.’ She smiled at Thomasina. ‘And that’s the heart of this mystery. No one could get into this chamber, without Tenebrae’s permission.’

  Thomasina blew her cheeks out and dabbed at her brow.

  ‘Faugh!’ she breathed. ‘The stench is still terrible.’

  ‘Go down to the kitchen,’ Kathryn urged. ‘Find two rags and soak them in vinegar. They’ll serve as nosegays.’

  Thomasina obeyed, then came back. ‘I also sprinkled on some herbs,’ she said, giving one of the soaked rags to Kathryn.

  ‘Well, search the other chambers. See what you can find.’

  Thomasina, grumbling under her breath, waddled off.

  ‘Nothing much,’ Thomasina called up from the hallway. ‘Bed chambers, a small parlour.’

  ‘Keep looking,’ Kathryn replied absent-mindedly, sniffing at the vinegar-soaked rag.

  With the windows open, the room had lost some of its macabre atmosphere. Kathryn was surprised at how bare it was. A bench along one wall, but apart from the sombre tapestries, the only furnishings were Tenebrae’s broad desk and the high-backed chair with the stool in front for his visitors. Kathryn went round the desk, carefully avoiding the chair where the corpse had been slumped. Morel had apparently kept everything orderly in expectation of his master’s return. Kathryn opened a small casket but it only contained tarot cards, a small scroll of new parchment, a collection of quills and a pumice stone.

  ‘There must be something.’

  She went and examined the door through which Tenebrae’s visitors left, then out into the small gallery and down the stairs. Still she could discover nothing. However, coming back upstairs, Kathryn found the smell of corruption so strong, she unshuttered the gallery window and pushed open the large casement. She stared down into the alley-way, her fingers gripping the sill. Curious at what she’d felt, Kathryn studied the sill more carefully and noticed two scuff marks on the wood, about fourteen to sixteen inches apart. Kathryn went back into the chamber, lit and brought back one of Tenebrae’s candles. She held this against the wooden sill, carefully scrutinising the scuff marks. She blew the candle out, walked back into the chamber, easing her bruised shoulder and ruefully reflecting on the mistake she had made.

  ‘Always remember, Swinbrooke,’ she murmured, ‘that pride comes before a fall and is the root of all evil. I should have been more careful in my examination.’

  ‘You are talking to yourself.’ Thomasina stood in the doorway.

  ‘No, I am scolding myself,’ Kathryn replied. ‘I failed the first test of any physician. Examine the symptoms carefully and then draw your conclusions.’ Kathryn struck her breast in mock contrition. ‘Mea culpa, mea culpa. I did not do that.’

  ‘Well, it’s all a mystery to me,’ Thomasina grumbled, coming into the room. ‘There’s nothing here, Kathryn. Well, nothing remarkable: clothing, food in the buttery, bed drapes, furniture, mere bric-a-brac. I thought Tenebrae was a wealthy man.’

  ‘Oh, he was,’ Kathryn said. ‘But he was also a mystery. I wager he has houses between here and London and keeps his valuables well hidden. Don’t forget, Thomasina, witches and warlocks lead perilous lives. They never know when they might have to flee in the dead of night.’

  ‘But what about books, muniments, manuscripts?’ Thomasina persisted. ‘Oh, I have found parchments and pens.’

  ‘The same applies,’ Kathryn retorted. ‘The Book of Shadows was Tenebrae’s great possession: he’d list everything there.’

  Thomasina stared round the chamber. ‘I wonder where he came from? I have lived in Canterbury for decades, Mistress. At one time Tenebrae wasn’t here. Then, like black smoke, he swept in and everyone became aware of his presence.’ She came over and looked sharply down at Kathryn. ‘Tell me, Mistress, what mistake did you make?’

  ‘I am going to find out,’ Kathryn replied, getting to her feet. ‘Thomasina, I want you to close and shutter all the windows.’ She plucked the tinder from her purse and handed it over. ‘Then light the torches and candles.’

  ‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Thomasina shivered. ‘This is an evil place, Mistress, and it’s best if we were gone.’

  However, one glance at Kathryn’s determined face and Thomasina reluctantly obeyed. In a few minutes the chamber was transformed, the light and air shut out, the candles and torches flickering as if welcoming the return of the demons. Shadows danced, fire sputtered. Kathryn stared up at the Goat of Mendes painted on the ceiling.

  ‘Truly the gateway to hell,’ she murmured. ‘But look around, Thomasina. See the pools of light created by the torches and candles. Now, tell me. If you wished to conceal a corpse without any visitor noticing it, where would you put it?’

  Thomasina gazed round. ‘I’d come in through the doorway,’ she replied, ‘and sit on the stool.’ She pointed to the corner where the darkness was greatest, just inside the door. ‘I’d place it there. No visitor would see it as they came in. They’d sit with their back to it, whilst Tenebrae talked to them, then they’d leave through the other door.’

  ‘I agree,’ Kathryn said, ‘but let’s see if our conclusion withstands scrutiny.’

  She helped Thomasina open the shutters and placed the candles in the corner Thomasina had indicated; going down on her knees, Kathryn carefully examined the wooden floor-boards.

  ‘Ah!’ she exclaimed. ‘And so we have it! Look, Thomasina.’

  Kathryn moved a candle, allowing blobs of wax to fall beside the rusty-coloured stains she’d found there. Kathryn scraped these carefully with her finger-nail then went and stood by the window.

  ‘Blood,’ she declared.

  ‘Whose?’ Thomasina asked.

  ‘Why, Master Tenebrae’s.’ Kathryn shook her head in disbelief. ‘We now have all the pieces. But it’s fitting them into place that counts.’

  A short while later Kathryn and Thomasina left the magus’s house and hurried back to Ottemelle Lane. Their arrival created more hubbub as Agnes and Wuf became alarmed and frightened at Kathryn’s appearance. The bruise on her cheek was now coming through and Wuf excitedly pointed to the dirt and tears on Kathryn’s dress.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Thomasina declared as Kathryn hurried upstairs. ‘Just a witless, wicked man!’

  ‘I’ll kill him!’ Wuf cried. ‘I’ll get my sword. It was the giant, wasn’t it? The one I saw Kathryn talking to at the top of the lane?’

  Once she was in her bed chamber, Kathry
n crouched on the floor with her back to the door, crossing her arms about her body. For a while she just sat, eyes closed, rocking herself gently as she tried to clear her mind of Morel’s violence. He hadn’t really frightened her. She was bruised, a little fearful, but the incident had stirred other nightmares in her soul: her husband Alexander Wyville, drunken and slobbering, his arms flailing like a windmill as he used them to beat and hurl her about. Kathryn thought of her medicines, those potions which could be used to create sleep or calm the humours of the mind. She was tempted to go downstairs and seek some consolation there but she recalled the words of one of her father’s friends, a venerable physician: ‘Let fear purge itself: there’s nothing a good bowl of claret and a sound night’s sleep won’t cure.’

  Kathryn smiled. ‘Medice, sane Teipsam,’ she whispered. ‘Physician, heal thyself. This, Mistress Swinbrooke, won’t do.’

  She got to her feet, opened the door and went downstairs and out into the garden. She let Agnes and Wuf chatter around her as she filled two buckets of spring water from the butt and took them upstairs, reassuring Wuf that all was well.

  ‘Can I get you some medicine for the bruise?’ Wuf offered.

  ‘In a while, master physician,’ Kathryn replied.

  Once she was back in her own chamber Kathryn stripped, washed herself carefully, towelled herself dry and dressed in her best finery. For a while she sat on the edge of her bed, combing and re-arranging her hair. She forgot about Morel, but concentrated on what she had discovered and the fresh conclusions she had drawn. Only then did she go downstairs and apply some witch hazel to the bruise on her face. Of course, when Colum returned, tousled and dirty from Kingsmead, Wuf screeched the news at him as soon as he was inside the door. The Irishman came storming into the kitchen. He gripped Kathryn by the shoulders.