The Pendle Curse

by Catherine Cavendish

  How could he tell her that she repelled him? That he had only bedded her this long to get food, drink and clothes for his family? And how many more years would he have to endure until she finally grew tired of him? Then surely the rewards would stop anyway.

  Something snapped within him. He slid out of bed, taking care to avoid any contact with his disappointed mistress.

  “Where are you going?” She whined like a spoiled child and set his teeth on edge. Not even little William grizzled like that.

  He buttoned his shirt. “I have work to do. Master Towneley will be displeased with me if I do not finish repairing the fence.”

  Anne Towneley heaved herself off the bed. “And I will be displeased with you if you do not stay with me this afternoon.” She entwined her arms around him.

  He hesitated, but only for an instant. “No, Mistress.” He unwound her arms from his neck. “This must be our last time together. I can do this no more. I have respect for Master Towneley and I will cuckold him no longer.”

  She stepped back, her eyes wide and her mouth half open. “You would deny me? You would refuse to perform your duty?”

  His duty? Could she be serious? One look at that face and he had his answer. He had rejected her and he would pay the price.

  “I will give you one more chance to redeem yourself, or it will go badly for you.” Her voice had become low, threatening, but James refused to be intimidated. Powerful she might be, but she wouldn’t want her husband to know what she got up to during those long afternoons.

  He shook his head. “No, Mistress. Now I must away to my labors.”

  Before she could threaten more, he had left the room and closed the door firmly behind him. His heart pounded in his ears, but a great weight had been lifted away. As if someone had removed a huge slab of stone from his heart.

  Free. At last.

  “Just a quick one today then, James?” Robert Weaver, a fellow laborer, grinned, showing sparse, yellowed teeth and blackened stumps.

  James shrugged his shoulders, used to the teasing. Usually he let it pass. Only sometimes, when the ale overheated his blood, would he lash out at the perpetrator.

  In the busy yard, ten or more laborers were mucking out stables, chopping wood and mending tools. James took off his jacket and was making ready to sharpen some blades when the door of Carre Hall opened and Mistress Towneley, now fully dressed and wrapped in a shawl, appeared. She advanced rapidly and pointed at him, and he heard her chilling words.

  “James Device has stolen turfs from me and he has stolen food and ale. He should be arrested and whipped!”

  “You’re in for it now, lad,” Robert said, moving away from him, as if sheer proximity would render him equally culpable.

  Without a word and determined to remain calm, James put on his jacket. Anne Towneley had stopped six feet away from him, and the laborers formed a semicircle behind her, eager to see what she would do, as she advanced another three feet and confronted him. James looked down at her. He stood a good twelve inches taller than her, but, at that moment, she held the advantage of rank.

  “You’re a thief. You should hang for what you have done.”

  James stared at her for a moment. Pathetic, sad little woman. He could almost pity her if her accusations weren’t quite so dangerous. The crowd waited. Hushed. James scanned the expectant faces.

  “You’ll get no sport from me this day.” He turned his back on Mistress Towneley and strode away.

  She let him get about ten yards before she started after him, her fists flailing. He turned and she caught him a glancing blow on his chin.

  Anger flared up inside him. He glared at her, his eyes burning into hers. The demon flame began, as it always did—a shimmering ripple, welling up inside him from the pit of his stomach. He breathed in, deeper, deeper. The flame gained strength. It pulsated through him in waves. It would be in his eyes. She alone would see and remember it.

  He watched as her blind rage turned to fear, then terror. She cowered and stepped back. Enough. It was done.

  He turned back and, at a measured pace, quit the yard. Voices behind him told him the men were gathering around Mistress Towneley. Let them. He had no need of any of them. He was James Device, and one day they would know what that meant to anyone who crossed him.

  Chapter Five

  I stared at the tumbler for ages. How could it be empty when I so clearly remembered dropping the ball into it? I’d seen it come to a standstill at the bottom of the glass. It couldn’t have bounced out again. But I checked the floor. Just in case.

  What if someone had broken into the flat during the night? Dear God, what if he was still here?

  “Oh, Rich. What’s happening here? What’s going on?”

  But this time he gave no soothing reply.

  Terror chilled me, despite the warmth of the apartment. I hardly dared take my eyes off the empty glass, as I backed away into the hallway and glanced over my shoulder at the front door. Locked, bolted and with the security chain drawn, just as I’d left it. No one had come in that way. And only Spider-Man could have got in through the windows. There were no footholds, no balconies and a sheer drop to the street below. Even so, I had to check.

  In the living room, the curtains and windows were as I’d left them the night before. Open wide to let in any possible breath of wind. I peered outside. No scaffolding had appeared overnight that could have allowed anyone to climb up.

  I set about a thorough search of my apartment. I left nothing unexplored.

  In the kitchen, the last cupboard revealed Rich’s sports bag. I’d forgotten about it when I’d dredged up the courage to dispose of his things a couple of months earlier. I would never use it. I couldn’t imagine ever going back to that sports center without him.

  Inside, I found a couple of table tennis rackets, our clean sports towels and a box of six table tennis balls. Then I found Rich’s spare pair of white shorts and T-shirt. Tears once again pricked my eyelids. I clasped the shorts to my face, inhaling deeply, hoping for one last vestige of his scent. But these were freshly laundered. I closed my eyes and willed an image of Rich into my mind. He batted a ball back to me across the table. Smiling, happy, his body tanned against the white shirt and shorts. I heard the clack of the ball as it bounced on the hard surface. The image faded, and I set the clothes down on the unit and sat on a stool.

  I opened the box of tennis balls, letting them fall into my lap. Five. One missing. It had to be the one that had been in the glass. I picked up each ball in turn. Maybe Rich had put them in this box and his had been the last hands to touch them. Stupid, I know. But you clutch at anything when you’re mired in grief. I was still deep in thought a few minutes later when I heard it.

  “Laura…”

  My breath caught in my throat. I jumped off the stool, scattering the balls in all directions. Where had that voice come from? Surely not in my head. This was too distinct. Too real. It sounded so much like… But it couldn’t be. I heard a small whimper. Mine. I scrabbled about on the floor and retrieved the five balls. Then I shoved them and their box back into the sports bag and leaned back against the kitchen unit for support.

  A clatter. Something rolled towards me.

  The missing ball.

  “Oh God, Dawn, thank you for coming. I’ve been scared to death. I didn’t know what to do, where to go.”

  My hands wouldn’t work properly, and I fumbled with the locks as I closed the door after letting her in.

  “Good grief, Laura, you’re white as a sheet. What on earth’s happened? I couldn’t make out much of what you were saying on the phone.”

  However hard I tried to control it, my voice still shook as I told her. “Oh God, Dawn, I think I’m going out of my mind.” I burst into tears.

  Dawn put her arms around me and I let her lead me to the sofa. She sat next to me and took my hands in hers. “Y
ou’ve been through a hell of a lot. Maybe it’s simply a reaction to all that. Your brain is clinging on to some vestige of Rich, but I’m quite sure it’s perfectly normal.”

  Could she be right? I wiped my eyes with a tissue. “But how did that ball roll like that, as if someone had thrown it? And where did it come from? And the voice I heard. It was different, Dawn. Not like the sort of echo I get in my head. This was as clear and real as you are now.”

  Dawn shrugged. “I can’t explain the voice, but, as for the ball…Who knows? Maybe it really was under a piece of furniture all that time. Maybe vibration from the traffic outside shook it free. Anything’s possible. They weigh virtually nothing, after all. Where is it now?”

  “I left it where it lay. On the kitchen floor. I was too scared to pick it up.” I gave a nervous laugh. “God, now I sound really stupid, don’t I?”

  Dawn shook her head. “No. You’ve had a bit of a scare, that’s all. I reckon it’s a buildup of all the tension and grief, coupled with lack of sleep.”

  She stood and I followed her every move as she went over to the kitchen and picked up the little white ball. She came back to join me.

  “I want you to take this in your hand,” she said.

  I recoiled. Angry with myself, but unable to stop.

  “No, come on, Laura, it’s okay. Take it. Feel it.” She pressed it into my hand.

  I felt the cool, smooth surface as I rolled it around in my hand.

  “See? It’s just a normal table tennis ball. It could have been disturbed by the slightest puff of wind or movement. There are wooden floorboards under here, aren’t there?”

  I tried to remember. If I’d ever known. “I think so.”

  “And this building is well over a hundred years old. You could have stepped on a slightly wobbly floorboard. Maybe even a bit of wonky laminate, so slight you didn’t even notice it. But something as small and light as that ball—well, it’s easy to see how that could start it rolling.”

  That, at least, made some sort of sense. “I suppose you could be right. What I don’t understand is how it got out of the glass. And I still keep coming back to the voice.”

  Dawn looked as if she wished I hadn’t mentioned that again. Then she put her hand over mine. “Look, I wish I had all the answers, but I don’t. I—” She withdrew her hand as if I’d burned her.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Dawn rubbed her hand, a forced smile appearing on her face. “Oh, nothing. Just a bit of static, I expect.”

  “It happened when you touched me, didn’t it?”

  “There’s your answer then. I picked up some static from you. Don’t go brushing your hair in the next few minutes or it’ll be standing on end.”

  I continued to stare at her. Right now, my sense of humor had deserted me.

  Dawn stopped rubbing her hand. “I think it’s a really good idea you’re going away for a few days. As you said yourself, you’ve finally found something to take your mind off things. When is it you leave? Tomorrow?”

  I nodded, but the effect I’d apparently had on Dawn wouldn’t stop disturbing me. I stopped fiddling with the ball and put it on the table, relieved to see it remained still.

  “Would you like me to stay here with you tonight? It’s no problem. I can go home, pick up a few things and be back within an hour. I’ll bring pizzas. Got any wine?”

  I smiled. “Oh, thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.”

  “That’s settled then. I don’t have to go back into school, so I’ll get off now. Good thing this happened on a Friday when I have a free afternoon.”

  I walked her to the door. “Isn’t that supposed to be when you get your marking done?”

  Dawn put her fingers to her lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  I unbolted and unlocked the door. Dawn watched me.

  “You know, I really wouldn’t worry about anyone getting in. It’s like Fort Knox here.”

  “Best to be safe.”

  “Well, if it helps, I’m quite sure you are. Back before you miss me!”

  I locked the door behind her.

  Dawn had to be right. Maybe these dreams or hallucinations were my brain’s way of telling me I needed to get away. Maybe it was all related to the stress of the past months. So why not immerse myself in the fresh air of the countryside and start planning that book? Would three days be enough? Probably not, but at least I’d have made a start. Maybe if I liked it there I could stay on longer.

  I returned to the living room and picked up the ball. At least it hadn’t moved this time.

  As I held it, I let my mind drift. Once again, I remembered Rich throwing it up, batting it to me across the table, back and forth until he or I won the point.

  “You were always the better player, Rich. Remember how delighted I was if I ever beat you? Now, I wouldn’t care if I never won another match. If only you could come back to me.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek.

  If only… The saddest words in the English language.

  That evening and night were mercifully uneventful. Dawn arrived with delicious pizzas and we washed them down with a bottle of Chianti. We watched multiple reruns of Friends and I rediscovered the fun of laughing at a frothy TV show. We went to bed a little after midnight.

  “Don’t forget,” Dawn said, “if you need me, I’m only next door, so wake me if you can’t sleep. Promise?”

  “Thanks.” I couldn’t say anything else; my throat had become too constricted with emotion. I felt so lucky to have a friend like Dawn.

  She gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning and wave you off. Don’t worry about the flat. I’ll keep an eye on things while you’re gone. I’ve got your spare key, so I can let myself in.”

  I slept for nearly nine hours straight until I woke to hear someone moving about in the kitchen. Panic. Then I remembered. Dawn. She would be making a coffee or something.

  I decided to take a quick shower and emerged from the bathroom in time to see her open the door of the spare room and wander out into the hall.

  She yawned. “Morning.”

  “Morning. Sleep well?”

  “Mm. I could murder a coffee though. Need my daily dose of caffeine.”

  “Couldn’t you find the jar? I thought I’d left it out.”

  “Sorry?”

  “A few minutes ago. I heard you in the kitchen. Sounded like you were making coffee or something to eat.”

  Dawn looked blankly at me. “Not me. I’ve only just woken up. Heard the shower.”

  “Sorry, I really thought you were already up.” Then a thought struck me. “But I’m sure I heard… Oh my God!”

  I raced down the hall and into the kitchen, with Dawn close behind me. Our two wineglasses from last night were neatly stacked on the drainer, half-filled with water and ready to wash up. The coffee jar stood next to the kettle, along with two mugs. Nothing out of place.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “I know what I heard.”

  Dawn sighed and wandered over to the kettle. She touched it. “Stone cold.” She peered into the sink. “Nope, nothing here either.”

  I stared all around but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  Dawn filled the kettle and switched it on.

  “The way I see it, either this place is haunted—”

  “Don’t be daft,” I said and wondered who I was trying to convince.

  “—or you need a holiday. Which you’re getting. Starting right after breakfast when we get you and your suitcase into your car. Got your route planned?”

  I nodded slowly, only half listening. “In my handbag.”

  “Good. Money? Petrol in the car? Plenty of knickers?”

  Despite myself, I managed a smile. Good old Dawn, ever practical. Never known to pass a branch of Marks and Spen
cer without checking out their lingerie.

  “You can never have too many decent pairs of knickers, and woe betide you if you ever get caught in an accident wearing a shabby pair. That’s what my mum used to say.”

  Probably what almost every mother used to say.

  “Come on then,” Dawn said, “I’ll make you breakfast. What do you fancy?”

  No point resisting. Dawn would only insist I couldn’t undertake any kind of journey, even one lasting just a couple of hours, without something inside me. No doubt her mother had instilled that in her as well.

  “Toast and honey please. One slice. Bread’s in the bread bin.”

  “You’ll have two.”

  “Yes, Dawn.” I gave her a mock salute.

  We sat at the breakfast bar on the high aluminum stools Rich and I had bought on a whim one day and then regretted. Dawn wriggled around, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Not great, are they?” I said. “I always find my legs dangle and you get a numb bum if you sit too long. I’ll replace them one day. If I stay here.”

  Dawn took a bite of toast. “You think you’ll move then? I thought you liked it here.”

  “I do really. Or I did. It was different when Rich… But I don’t think it’s a good time to make any firm decisions. The property market’s lousy and flats aren’t selling well. I don’t think I’m quite in negative equity yet, because I haven’t been here very long, but I know if we’d moved here three or four years ago, we—I— would be counting the cost now.

  “And then there are the memories. Rich and I were ecstatic when we found this place. It was just what we wanted. Now a part of me wishes we’d stayed where we were. At least I knew people nearby. Here I don’t know one single neighbor. The only person I ever speak to is Nigel.”

  “He seems nice.”

  “He is. His father and grandfather worked here when it was a brewery. He told me one day that the building’s haunted by the ghost of old Thomas Lane, who founded it in 1885. He told me the old man didn’t like all the changes, so I should expect bangs and crashes and things getting broken.”