by Mary Wood
‘I – I knaws that, Governor, and I’m ready to go back to work.’
‘That’s good. Right, Matron, one more day of starvation should do it. She’s cracking. She’s not given any curses for two days now. I have a catalogue of her misdemeanours whilst in this hospital. Let’s see: throwing the piss-pot at you, screaming a curse at Jackson, spitting in Jackson’s eye, clawing Jackson, throwing the water you offered her over you. The list goes on. Any more trouble and I’ll present it to the magistrate. That should put at least another year on her sentence, and well deserved.’
As he walked away, Ruth’s mind screamed after him, I never did all of them things, I didn’t! But she dared not say it out loud. That’s what they were taunting her to do. Aye, she’d gone a bit mad, but the pain of the salt being rubbed into her wounds with a rough piece of hessian had sent her that way. As had Jackson’s ways. She’d had to defend herself. And, yes, she’d clawed at him, but not without reason.
‘Ha!’
Jackson’s sarcastic laugh cut into her thoughts. Her body cringed away from him as he bent over her, his voice thick, his stinking breath wafting onto her face. ‘So you’ve to do as you’re told, eh? Well, you can start by opening them legs for me. Because if you don’t, I’ll add something else to the governor’s list.’
This had been his mission from day one of her coming onto this ward. Looking up at him, Ruth could see the shape of his hardness jutting from his trousers. Should she just give in? What would it matter? But then she thought of Josh and the purity of her union with him, and she couldn’t. Opening her mouth wide cracked her lips and her scream rasped her dry throat, but somehow she shouted, ‘Governor!’
Jumping back from her, Jackson, a security guard for the hospital wing, went to turn away as the governor came back to Ruth. ‘Have you sommat to say, Black Witch? You do know that wasting my time is another offence?’
‘He . . . Jackson, he wants to rape—’
‘So? What’s that, to a whore who lived in sin? Jackson has every decent piece of woman that comes in here, and you look like you’d be good to have, despite your gammy leg. I may take me own turn after Jackson. I’ve never done it with a cripple, let alone a witch! Pity they weren’t successful at burning you at the stake. If I’d have been there, the job would have been done, and no sorcery from you would have stopped me. You don’t scare me.’
‘So I have your blessing, Boss?’
‘You do, Jackson. Then if nowt happens to you, I’ll take me turn. Go ahead. And you let him, Witch, or I’ll not only add to me list sommat like stealing from inmates, but I’ll present it to the magistrate on the morrow!’
Despair crept through Ruth, leaving her knowing that she was nothing. At this moment she hated the Earl. Why? Why had he insisted she be brought into the hospital, and why had he made such a fuss about her treatment, then not come back to make sure she was all right? Yes, he’d left her in a clean, bright ward, with only a few well-cared-for inmates and a doctor in attendance, as well as crisply dressed nurses, but hadn’t he known this would change? Why hadn’t he listened to her when she’d told him her fears?
For a moment she had a feeling that she would curse him to hell and damnation, but stopped herself, as fear of her own powers showed her a vision of the Earl being hurt at her request – though power, if she possessed such a thing, wasn’t helping her now as she cursed Jackson. ‘Damn you, may you rot in hell!’ And yet still he stood there, the grin on his face showing his blackened teeth, and his hands busy undoing his belt.
A moan from the bed next to her got her looking in that direction. An old woman lay with her face turned towards them, her distressed expression stretching her paper-thin skin over her protruding bones. Finding a smile from somewhere, Ruth tried to ease the old woman’s fear and mouthed to her that it would be all right.
Giving in was her only option. Fighting had no merit now, as she had no strength and no one was going to come and help her. The female warden had disappeared the moment the governor had given the nod to Jackson.
The bed creaked under Jackson’s weight. Now that he was this near, she could taste his sour breath. Cringing away from the touch of him on her skin, her body stiffened so that he had to prise open her legs. Her resistance caused her pain. Desolation filled Ruth as he crushed her body with his. Within minutes he entered her, and his thrusting scrunched her inside with the agony and the filth of it. Looking towards the old woman, she tried to focus on her, through tears that blurred her vision as the violation went on and on.
Pale eyes looked back at Ruth. Eyes that had seemed unseeing, when the old woman’s distress had shown, now looked alert and willed her to bear it, sending her an unspoken message that she wasn’t alone.
At last it ended. Drops of Jackson’s sweat dripped onto her trembling body as he rolled off her and stood up. A hate she’d only ever felt once before entered her and filled her soul. It seared her eye sockets and burned her eyes, as she directed it at Jackson. He shrank back from her, his satisfied smirk turning ugly as his features twisted in pain. Gasping for air made his eyes bulge and swelled his face. Clutching at his chest, he collapsed onto the floor.
A wail that started as a whimper came from deep within her. Footsteps, plodding and hurried, came towards her. She knew that tread.
‘What the—? Oh, my God, she’s killed him!’ Horror slackened the female warden’s facial muscles and a strangled cry of fear erupted from her as she looked at Ruth. ‘You’re a demon. The devil incarnate – a witch!’ Turning from her, the warden ran towards the door. Her petrified and piercing screams of ‘Help me . . . help me’ drained all thought from Ruth, filling her mind and then her heart with fear.
That fear had her teeth chattering, as her whole body shook with the force of it. Vomit – consisting of what, she did not know – came from her mouth. She could not take her eyes off the prostrate figure of Jackson. He lay still; not one part of him moved, not even his chest. A blue tinge circled his open mouth, and his eyes stared back at her.
The governor’s heavy footsteps resounded in the silence, coming nearer and nearer, his step hesitating once he could see Jackson’s body. His face was a mask of horror, and his voice held incredulity as he asked, ‘What the—? How did you kill him?’
‘She didn’t. The dirty bugger had his way on her, then keeled over. I saw it all.’
As he swivelled round to look at the old woman, the governor’s mouth dropped open.
The old woman’s voice grew in strength. ‘He went down after he’d done her. I’ve seen it afore. It were too much for his heart. She didn’t even struggle.’
‘Shut up, Alice. You’ve not opened your mouth in four years, playing the deaf-mute, and now you’ve a lot to say. She must’ve killed him. He stood large as life afore me, not ten minutes since. She’s a black witch. They should burn her.’
‘Naw . . . naw I didn’t. It was as Alice said.’
‘Don’t open your mouth, either.’ Turning, he shouted, ‘Pauline, clean her up, and do a proper job. Don’t leave a trace. Take Alice into solitary. I’ll get the police. We’ll let them deal with this.’
A hubbub of noise built to a crescendo of screaming – ‘She didn’t kill him!’, ‘She didn’t!’ – as all the weary occupants of the room tried to shout in Ruth’s defence.
‘Shut up, the lot of you. She’s a witch! She doesn’t have to do owt – just curse him. If you want bread and water for a week, carry on how you are, you mad idiots. Clamp them all to their beds, Pauline, and the black witch can go to solitary an’ all.’
With this, hopelessness overcame Ruth. Nothing could save her from the gallows now. Nothing.
Washing her in cold water didn’t cleanse her – not inside, it didn’t, though the way the female warden dealt with her between her legs, you would think she was trying to. She doused Ruth time after time, and then shoved a rolled-up piece of hessian into her and twisted it. The soreness this caused got Ruth crying out, but it wasn’t a cry of protest. She allowed everything th
at the woman wanted to do. She could almost taste the woman’s fear as she worked, for her glances told of her terror. Ruth knew that with just a look she could stop her, but no. She wasn’t a witch, she wasn’t!
They had to carry Ruth into the Assizes. Looking around, she wondered if this was where the lads had learned their fate. But she dared not think of that time. All of her, even her soul, felt ready to give way, but she mustn’t. She had no one to defend her. She needed to be able to ask questions. At the sound of someone knocking on a door, the male warden lifted her onto her feet. Her legs gave way. Catching her, he supported her with stiff arms that spoke of his revulsion.
‘Stand for Judge Christian,’ the voice of the clerk commanded.
Her hope was that his name stood for a Christian man, a fair man who would see through all the charges that were levelled at her.
‘I can’t stand without me crutch, Sir.’
Showing a small amount of compassion, the warden offered his arm.
As the proceedings began and they were all told to sit, Ruth willed herself to sit upright. The judge had been told of her affliction, and he allowed her to take a seat. Her heart raced as a list of her supposed crimes was read out. Murder had been added to the list of offences. Despair threatened to undo her, at the sound of the word.
Yes, she had killed – but not Jackson. The death she’d been responsible for had been the young Earl’s, but it had been done in defence of her family. Oh God, would she feel the tightening of the rope on her neck tonight? A tremble of horror and fear left no part of her body untouched and set her head pounding.
‘How do you plead, Miss Dovecote?’
Looking at the judge, she opened her mouth. Her throat dried, releasing what sounded like a croak, but it was snatched back in a gasp as a man’s voice shouted, ‘She cannot plead. She has not spoken to me; I have not advised her. I am her defence counsel, Your Honour!’
The warden’s stiffened body next to her relaxed as his breath left him in a sigh. His growly whisper of ‘You’ll be all right, now, love’ shocked Ruth as much as the man’s interruption had. As she started to look at him, the warden said in a sharp whisper, ‘Don’t. Act as though I am telling you off.’
Cringing from him, Ruth hoped she gave the right impression. She could feel his concern. What is going on? A scene outside the court, when they had arrived from the prison earlier, came to her: the warden calling a lad over, looking all around and passing a note and a coin to the lad, then saying, ‘If you get him here in time, there’ll be more for you.’ The warden must have arranged this, but why?
The words from the judge held her joy in check. ‘Mr Cotram, I have seen nothing that you have filed as the defence in this case. Besides, it is cut-and-dried, from what I have read. There is no defence. It is a simple matter of murder.’
‘I beg Your Honour’s pardon, but there is nothing simple about an accusation of witchcraft!’
As he said this, Mr Cotram – a tall, thin man with a thick-lipped mouth and a huge nose that told of his drinking habit – looked around the court. His nod was directed towards a man scribbling away in the corner.
The judge brought his attention back. ‘What witchcraft? Don’t be so ridiculous. Are you playing to the journalists? There is nothing about such an accusation and, if there was, I doubt it would be lawful. Witchcraft has long been considered something of the past. Does your so-called client conjure up spirits?’
‘No, she does not. It is said that she curses and bad things happen . . . Yes, I know, Your Honour, you may well smile. I did myself, when I heard. Stuff of the last century and all conjecture, based on whipping up the fear of the crowd. I ask for an adjournment to give me time to talk to my client.’
In a voice that spoke of his disbelief, the judge asked, ‘Does she even know she is your client? I doubt it, by the look on her face.’ His drawl turned to a stern, ‘Well, whether she does or not, I hope you can come up with a defence, and that this is not all a waste of my time. I will want witnesses and concrete evidence even to order a new trial.’
‘Yes, Your Honour, but I understood this to be a hearing?’
‘It is. But it is one, from what I have been told about the case, that could have ended in a judgement being passed, as there was no evidence to contradict her guilt. Now, I am not bandying points of law with you. You should have filed as the defence before now. I will adjourn for two weeks. At such time, if you do not present a case, we will go ahead without one.’
When the judge stood, the warden helped Ruth to. She could see from the judge’s face how angry he was. But then her body crumpled, as the warden let her go with a rough gesture. ‘Don’t tell anyone I was involved or I’ll never be able to help others. Good luck.’
Never had she been told good things in such a rough way, but she understood and, though she wanted to thank him, she didn’t dare.
‘Hold yourself together, Miss Dovecote. Everything will be all right. I will visit you tomorrow.’
Ruth looked up into the face of the lawyer who had come to her rescue. ‘But I – I can’t pay you.’
‘You don’t have to. There’s a charity set up by those of us who care about the poor and getting them justice. The hardest thing is finding out when they are up on charges, as they won’t let us hang around the court to pick up cases as they come in. Gardener, your warden, is one of our contacts. He gets information to us, when he can. He’s a good man. He must believe in you, as he won’t give us anything on anyone he doesn’t think innocent. But he won’t give evidence for you. He’d lose his job, and then we’d be back to not finding those in the prison who need our help . You have to start thinking of your own defence. Think of the names of anyone who witnessed anything. All I know about you is that you are up for murder, and they say you are a witch.’
‘I’m not. I – I didn’t mean owt bad to happen, not ever. It just does.’
‘Don’t talk like that. It doesn’t. No more to you than to anyone else.’ He’d come closer and she could smell drink on him. Some of Ruth’s hope died as his nose proved that he was a man who liked his liquor, and she knew those who couldn’t leave it alone couldn’t always keep their promises, either. ‘And don’t look so distrustful. No one may ever have helped you before, but you have me on your side now.’
‘I beg your pardon, Sir, but if that man you directed your comment at, about me being done for witchcraft, was a newspaperman, he might make things bad for me. My Josh said as those as can read newspapers are influenced by them. What if he makes folk hate me?’
‘He won’t. He is a friend. He will make it sound ridiculous. And who is Josh? Can he be of help?’
She didn’t want to tell him everything, but knew he didn’t believe her when she said that Josh had just been a friend.
‘Rule number one: honesty with me at all times. My learned friend the prosecutor, William Thirsk, is very astute. Now that he thinks he has a fight on his hands, he will get his men to dig up all there is to know about you. So I need to know everything. The good and the bad.’
At this, Ruth thought, Most of it will be bad. The picture her story would paint would put off even the kindest man – and that was how she’d come to think of Mr Cotram. Well, he must be kind, to do what he did for no pay. But was kindness enough? Did he have the skill to save her? And what of his obvious love of drink? Would that stop him doing as he promised? Ruth didn’t know, but she had to have faith in somebody. And she knew she should have, as there were still good people left in the world. The warden who had brought Cotram to her had shown her that.
25
Frederick
Love is Blind
With his horse saddled and ready, Frederick looked forward to the ride home. It would take him all of seven hours, but for most of the way the scenery was spectacular. He would change his horse once he’d skirted around the Pennines and reached Threshfield, where he’d taken to leaving a mount at the inn and spending a night to break his journey. Not that he would have that much respi
te this time. He’d been away for weeks, and was missing Katrina and all she had to offer. That wasn’t a gentlemanly thought, he knew, but he couldn’t argue with it and so he intended to complete the journey in one go.
It had been two weeks since he’d visited Ruth, but he had received regular reports that she was doing well. The latest said that she wanted to go back to work. That boded well, and he felt satisfied that she was now being taken care of. Surely they wouldn’t dare do otherwise, knowing that he was involved in her case?
His heart had yearned to visit, but he dared not show more than a passing interest in Ruth’s welfare. Someone in his set would note it if he did, and would see that either Lord Bellinger or Katrina – or, indeed, both – knew. Either would be a disaster, as Katrina must still have her suspicions about his feelings for Ruth, and Simon Bellinger would make mischief with the information.
The course he’d taken was the right one, but putting it into practice had proved – and was still proving – a little more difficult. Bloody difficult, in fact! because every part of him wanted to be with her. Oh, Ruth . . . Ruth.
The journey wasn’t without heartache, as he had so much time to think. And most of his thoughts were occupied with what he’d learned about Ruth. His soul ached at the thought of what she had been through, but mostly he couldn’t get her common-law husband, Josh Bottomless, out of his mind. Thinking of Josh, and how he had taken Ruth in a way he himself wanted to, compounded Frederick’s hurt and somehow tainted Ruth. But he pulled himself up and refused to let the thought take hold. Ruth had seen her life panning out as she and Josh being together forever. The man had offered her everything she needed, and she would have made their union legal, if she could. She’d had no choice in the matter. He had to accept that.
At least his mind was at rest concerning Ruth’s future. He’d checked with Josh Bottomless’s solicitor and had found him to be a good, solid man, who had looked after Josh’s family’s legal requirements for many years and was capable of sorting out what Nora wanted to happen. The man had seen immediately to the transportation of the livestock to the farmers’ market and made sure he got a good price for them. He’d engaged an agent to see to the tidying-up of what was left of Josh’s property, and to prepare the tools and equipment for sale. They would go to auction. And he’d had the piano put into storage.