Raven Witch

by Cach, Lisa

  She pulled back the cover of the blanket, looking at the two small faces, touching one downy cheek with the tip of her finger. They were so small, so fragile. Their life had been taken before it could even begin. Tears slipped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto the blanket, and she covered the children once more. She would have to tell Howard.

  But first, for a moment, she would rest. She was so tired. Her eyelids drooped shut, and she let her head fall forward, resting her chin on her chest. Just a moment of rest, just a moment…

  The pounding of many footsteps rushing up the stairs woke her with a start. For a minute she was disoriented, blinking at the dim room, then at the bundle on her lap, held there by the weight of her arm.

  The door flew open, banging against the wall, and a group of villagers piled in, led by Alice and a confused Howard. The quiet in the room brought them to a halt, and for a long second they were frozen there, taking in Charmaine’s quiet sleep, and then the bundle on Valerian’s lap.

  “Hush,” Valerian said softly, and gently shooed the crowd back. Bewildered by the peaceful scene, they obeyed, murmuring lowly, and Valerian followed them out of the room, for the moment her only concern that Charmaine not be disturbed.

  Once down below in the kitchen, voices rose in volume, arguing over the peaceful scene above. Obviously, there were no demons tearing at Charmaine now.

  Valerian held the bundle close to her chest, and as she felt the unnatural form through the blanket it dawned on her what danger she might be in if these villagers asked to see the baby. Eddie’s imagined groin ailment was as nothing compared to concrete proof that evil was at work.

  She wanted to believe that here in her cousin’s house, she was safe. And she could be, if she handled this well with Howard.

  There was no space to speak privately with him in the kitchen, so she led him into the shop in front while the others continued their debate. Alice made as if to follow, but Howard, perhaps having had enough of her, asked her to wait. He looked nervous, although whether of the group in his kitchen or of Valerian herself, she could not be sure. She had known him as a gentle man, but never known him well. She did not know how thoroughly he might share Charmaine’s dislike of anything bordering on the supernatural.

  “Charmaine?” he asked.

  “She sleeps. She is well,” Valerian said. She saw some of the tension leave his eyes. A good sign.

  “The child. It was too soon,” he said, looking at the silent, motionless bundle she held, the light from the open kitchen door catching in the folds of the small blanket. He blinked several times, as if clearing tears from his eyes.

  “They did not survive,” Valerian said. “I am sorry.” It would be easier for her if she did not tell him the whole truth, if she offered to take the babies away unseen. It might even be easier for Howard and Charmaine.

  “They?” he asked, surprised for a moment out of his grief.

  She swallowed against the tightness of her throat. “Yes, they. Girls. Twin girls.” She took a deep breath. It was only right that she tell him the full truth. “They could not have survived, even if brought to term.”

  Howard looked at the bundle, and she almost felt as if she could hear his thoughts. Infant death was no rarity, the causes often unknown and unknowable, and it was almost unheard of for twins to be born healthy. He nodded his head in understanding, and Valerian gave a mental sigh of relief. He would not ask to see their little body while the villagers were here. There would be time enough in private.

  “I will prepare them,” Valerian said, referring to the children and their burial.

  They went back into the kitchen, the milling group waiting expectantly. “Frank,” Howard said to the carpenter. “We will be needing two small caskets.”

  Valerian opened her mouth to protest they only needed one, but shut it before the words came. A rustle of discomfort went through the gathering at the news. No one seemed inclined to press the issue of Alice’s demon, not when Howard stood before them, his grief in his eyes. If he of all people was not going to accuse Valerian, then they had no right to do so.

  A few made their apologies and left through the back door, but Alice stood staring at the blanket-wrapped children in Valerian’s arms. Valerian tucked the bundle more closely to her chest.

  “Where is the other child?” Alice asked, as more people left behind her.

  Valerian watched the others go, silently urging them out. “They are both here.”

  “In one blanket?” Those remaining in the room turned their heads, their interest stirring. Howard sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, oblivious. “They are very small,” Alice said and came up to her, reaching out a hand to lift the blanket. “Let me see them.”

  It was on Valerian’s lips to deny the request, and she looked to Howard, but he was lost in his own world. If she said no, Alice’s curiosity would only be the stronger for it. She turned slightly away from the group and lifted the edge of the blanket, arranging it so that only the two small faces were showing. It looked like they were snuggled against each other.

  She turned back, and watched Alice’s face as she examined the babies. A mix of emotions played there: disappointment, pity, and the faintest hint of tenderness. She touched one of the little faces with a fingertip as Valerian herself had done, and then there was a growing hint of suspicion in her expression. Before Valerian could discern her purpose and stop her, she grasped the blanket and jerked it down, revealing the body that the twins shared.

  Her horrified gasp drew the attention of those left in the kitchen, and before Valerian could cover the twins again, they had seen.

  “‘Tis the seed of Satan!” Alice proclaimed.

  “No!” Valerian protested, already knowing it would do no good. She saw the kindling light of fanaticism in Alice’s eyes, and saw the fire spread to the others in the room. It was the confrontation at the smithy again, only she knew it would be worse this time. Much worse.

  With a horrid sense of déja vu, she turned and stumbled through the kitchen doorway to the shop, and then to the front door. She struggled for long moments with the lock, the children clasped in her other arm making her clumsy. She whimpered with frustration, and then with a quick apology to the souls of the twins, set the bundle on a nearby worktable.

  “The devil himself was at the birth,” Alice was saying in the kitchen to her followers, her voice rising. “Sitting upon her shoulder, then clawing to get at his child through the very womb of their innocent mother. If ’twere not for my reciting of the Lord’s Prayer, the demon child may have lived. What further proof do we need of the witch’s evil? We must stop her, before she finds another in whom to implant the devil’s spawn!”

  The door came open under Valerian’s hands as she heard a rising murmur of agreement from the kitchen. She ran out into the darkness, her long heavy skirts and the unfamiliar tight stays of the silk dress hampering her movements.

  Despair pulled at her, weakening her even more. There would never be a place she could live in peace as another face in the crowd. There was no place she could live without fear of discovery and hate. Not here, in Greyfriars. Not with Nathaniel, where to meet his friends she had to don a mask. There was nowhere for her.

  She tried to push the thought from her mind, feeling how it slowed her steps. Better to think of survival, first. She was exhausted from a day and a half without sleep and the healing she had done, and the only place of safety was Raven Hall, but the road that led there was at the opposite end of town. She would never make it.

  She turned instead down the road that led to the mill, and the bridge that led across the small river and on to the road to Yarborough. With luck, she could leave the road somewhere and disappear into the forest. With luck.

  She heard shouts behind her, and knew that the entire town would soon know of Charmaine’s poor children, and the demon sitting on Valerian’s shoulder.

  Nathaniel, she called out silently. Help me. Please help me. />
  Chapter Twenty-five

  Nathaniel rode slowly into town, his mind on Valerian. He had never had to break the news of a death to a family member, and he did not know how best to do so. At least it would not come as a total surprise, given how ill Theresa had been.

  Lord Carlyle was still with the body, waiting for the women that Nathaniel had sent for from Raven Hall to take care of Theresa. If neither Valerian nor Charmaine had any objection, Nathaniel would have her buried in the cemetery at the hall.

  He imagined that Valerian would want to stay on in the cottage, but he could not let her do that. It was no place for a young woman, alone. She would have to move in with her cousin, unless she had other relatives he did not know about. If this were London, he could set her up in a townhouse of her own, and no one would so much as blink an eye at the arrangement. But this was not London.

  Which left Raven Hall, only she could not live there as a servant, as she was not one. And living there openly as his mistress would, he knew, be unacceptable to both her and the village.

  Not that he would mind having her there. He liked the few quiet evenings they had shared on the couch before the fire, and he enjoyed talking with her. In fact, all questions of lust put aside, he rather liked her as a person.

  He reined Darby to a halt, surprised by the idea. He had plenty of friends he found somewhat entertaining, but did not find commendable as people. He examined the strange, unfamiliar sensation he felt when he thought of Valerian, the one other than lust and pleasure. It felt, rather remarkably, like respect.

  He nudged Darby and resumed his slow ride into town, examining this revelation. He had never before combined respect with feelings of desire for a woman. It was a novel experience. It occurred to him that she deserved more than what he had been giving her.

  A shout in the distance brought him back to the present, and to the purpose of this journey. A quiver of self-reproach went through him, as he realized his thoughts had been on his own emotions, when he should have been thinking about how to soften the blow his news would bring to Valerian.

  The village felt both alive and empty at once, and he began to pay a little more attention as he rode through. Here and there a door hung open, or a child peered out a window, although as far as he could tell there was nothing to see.

  He dismounted in front of the cobbler’s shop, intending to wait downstairs until Valerian had finished with Charmaine. The front door here, as well, hung open, the shop dark, but there was light coming from the kitchen in back. He rapped on the open door frame. “Hello?” he called inside. “Is there anyone here?”

  There was no answer, but perhaps everyone was upstairs. He was hesitant to enter his second house today uninvited, but then mentally shrugged and went ahead. After all, the door was hanging wide open.

  In the kitchen he stopped short when he saw the back of the man sitting at the table, his head down on his crossed arms. “Your pardon, sir! I didn’t believe anyone to be about.” Which made him sound, he realized, rather like a housebreaker.

  The man stirred at his voice, raising his head and turning, then staring blankly at him. “Pardon?”

  “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to intrude. I came to speak with Miss Bright. You’re her cousin?”

  The man did not answer, only continued to stare.

  “Miss Bright is here, isn’t she?” He was beginning to wonder if he had stumbled into the wrong house. They did all look alike.

  “No.”

  Nathaniel turned about, looking at the kitchen. Did the houses all look the same inside, as well? He could swear this was the same kitchen he had been in before. Then the man spoke again. “She has gone.”

  Nathaniel felt his heart trip. She could not have gone home, he could not have missed her. He had promised Theresa. “When?”

  “Five minutes past? Ten? Maybe longer.” The man resumed staring at nothing.

  What was wrong with the man? Nathaniel gave up trying to gain any more definite information from him. He was already on his way out when the man spoke once more.

  “I know she’s not a witch, whatever they may say. She did all she could for my Charmaine and the babes.”

  The words brought Nathaniel up short. “What do you mean?”

  “I have no wish to see her harmed. It wasn’t her fault.”

  Nathaniel came back into the room, and laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, mustering all the patience he possessed. “What’s not her fault?” Did he have to drag every word out of the man?

  But the man would tell him nothing more, and pulled away from his hand, dropping his head back onto his arms. His shoulders shook, and Nathaniel knew he was weeping.

  He ran back outside and mounted, the empty village and open doors now taking on an ominous cast. He rode back to where he recalled a child’s face at the window. She—or he, it was not clear which—was still there.

  “Where have your parents gone?” Nathaniel demanded.

  The child stared.

  “Answer me!” Could no one in this damned village speak?

  Another head came up beside the first, slightly older, hair in braids. She looked him over for a long minute, then pointed a pudgy finger down the street. “Mam and Pap went down there, with everybody else.”

  “My thanks!” Nathaniel shouted as he wheeled Darby about and dug in his heels, urging the beast to a gallop, his own heart beating in his chest with a growing fear for Valerian.

  A short distance past the edge of town the road led by the mill, and Nathaniel saw the lanterns and torchlight even before he heard the voices, raised suddenly in a cheer. He bent low over Darby’s neck, urging the horse to run as it never had before.

  Whatever it was that made that mob cheer, it could not be good for Valerian.

  “She should be burnt!” Alice Torrance declared, backed by several assents.

  “Hang her!” someone else opined.

  Valerian cringed on the ground at the center of the group, listening to the low hatred that murmured from their throats. She was bruised but otherwise unharmed.

  Jeremiah O’Connor, the smith, pushed through to the front of the group, meeting several gazes before speaking. “I’m not convinced she’s a witch.”

  “Nor I,” said Mr. Miller, Gwendolyn’s father, as he came forward.

  “What more proof do you need?” Alice shouted, and grasping Charmaine’s melded children by the feet, held up their naked body in the torchlight as if they were trussed fowl.

  “No!” Valerian cried, and rising tried to snatch the children from Alice. She could not bear to see them displayed so, these innocent children. At that moment, she thought she could see the true face of evil, and it belonged to Alice Torrance.

  Alice jerked the body out of her reach, as someone else knocked Valerian back to the ground. “See how she craves to have it, as if it were her own child. Hers and Satan’s!”

  “I don’t believe she’s a witch,” Sally said and pushed forward to stand beside the two men. “She has never harmed me or my children, has only used her gifts to help us.”

  Valerian turned a grateful look at the threesome, and became aware of a shift in the crowd. A small, ever so small faction seemed to be growing behind the lead of these three. The majority, however, still had bloodlust in their eyes.

  Alice lowered the body, letting the children dangle by her side as she held them by one foot. “If we are not certain, then we should try her in the old way.” The crowd waited, expectant. “By water!”

  A moment of silence was followed by a murmur of assent, rising, growing in strength as the group considered and found the idea acceptable. Even a few of those who seemed to support her were nodding their heads. Then Gwendolyn offered to get rope from the stables, and new energy ran through the mob.

  Aunt Theresa’s vision in the scrying came back to her, that she would be in the water with the light of flames about her. She had thought she had made it come true herself, when she took Nathaniel to the cave. She should have known b
etter. Nothing ever came true as one expected.

  Then, the final words of Theresa’s vision came back to her. The baron is there. She tried to see past the crowd, tried to find some hint of his presence, but there was none. Not yet. But he would come. He had to. She had to hold tight to that hope, even as she felt a shudder of fear run through her.

  She tried to fight the fear by focusing on her breathing, on the beat of her heart, trying to find the calm that Theresa had taught her. She had to hang on to her reason, lest she panic and somehow bring about her own demise. The baron would come. He would come. The crowd and their intentions faded slightly from her awareness as she focused on that thought.

  Gwen returned with the rope, and it was decided Valerian should be stripped down to her chemise, as the weight of the green gown might give her unfair advantage and help her sink. If she floated, however, it would prove that God’s water had rejected her and she was indeed a witch.

  Sally stepped forward to tend to the task of undressing her, taking the opportunity to speak for Valerian’s ears alone. “We’ll pull you up as soon as we can. Hold your breath. We cannot stop the dunking, but perhaps we can make it shorter.”

  “The baron will help,” Valerian said under her breath, her voice flat as she sought to deepen her trance. “He will come.”

  Sally nodded, but Valerian knew she doubted her words.

  Someone pulled Sally away, and then rough hands shoved Valerian to the ground and pulled her hands forward to tie them to her feet. A rope was wrapped around her waist, with which they would haul her out when they were through. The fear she had been holding in firm check fought to break through, and she trembled, but then forced her muscles to go slack. Her only chance of survival was in submission.

  Your hair spreading in the water. The baron is there. She clung to the words. He would come when she was in the water. He would come.

  She shut her eyes as hands lifted her and carried her to the edge of the millpond, swinging her to build momentum. “One… Two…” the voices said in unison, “Three! Heave!”