Rose sat back in her chair and nodded. ‘Anyway, Seabourne might have been quite a bit older than Viola.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘It wasn’t unusual. He was born about 1551 and died in 1604, but she lived for much longer. She published some poems on the birth of Prince Charles, who became Charles the Second, in 1630, under the name Viola Banstock, not Seabourne.’ Rose shuffled a pile of papers into some sort of order. ‘I’d love to find out more. It’s a real mystery, isn’t it?’
Sage examined the folders lining one wall of the room. Death Curses, Weather Spells, Water Witches. ‘This is a weird subject to study. Does Felix believe any of this stuff? I mean, does he actually have any evidence?’
Rose’s smile was more of a wince.
Sage grinned. ‘I bet you get asked that a lot.’
‘All the time. The answer is, I started out completely sceptical. I think he did, too.’
‘And now?’
Rose shrugged. ‘Now… I’m not so sure.’ She started writing on a notepad. ‘You heard his lecture. Belief in magic is still ingrained in us from early childhood: tooth fairies, Father Christmas, ghosts and goblins, witches and wolves. It’s hard to completely shift it. When strange things happen, we interpret what we see through layers of beliefs. Take ghosts. Nearly half of all westerners claim to have seen or heard a ghost of someone they loved.’
‘It’s strange but—’ Sage hesitated, reluctant to give credence to Maeve Rowland’s story. ‘The cottage, where the well is. The owners think it may be haunted, they’ve heard wailing noises.’
‘Wails are common, so are babies crying.’ Rose tore off the paper and handed it to her. ‘These are the names of books by Solomon that you might like to look up. You can find them at the British Library. And Viola’s.’
‘Seabourne was quite well known, then?’
‘Yes, but the real occult stars like John Dee didn’t agree with some of his work. They were looking for a unifying glimpse of heaven, to heal the fragmentation of Christianity. Seabourne was much more interested in the dark arts and alchemy. He may have been consulted by Christopher Marlowe before he wrote Doctor Faustus. They probably knew each other.’
Sage read the titles on the list. The Nature of the Elements. The Deep Realms. The Invocation of Spirits and Binding of Souls, and the book Felix had mentioned, Casting Out Devils leading Good Women to Witchcraft. ‘I know it’s a horrible thought, but would he ever have used sacrifices in his rituals?’
‘It’s possible,’ Rose said. ‘Human sacrifice is supposed to be the most potent. Nowadays, murder in magical rituals is actually on the increase in places like Uganda and Namibia. Felix has consulted with government agencies and NGOs in several African countries about it. Dozens of cases of people mutilated or killed for their body parts. Some of the victims are just babies, some are disabled people.’
Sage looked around at the crowded bookshelves lining the room. ‘I had no idea it was that serious.’
‘You’d be surprised. Hundreds of people are killed each year in India alone because they are suspected of witchcraft. I don’t know if Seabourne ever did dabble in sacrifices, but there are texts that suggest it was possible.’
Sage tucked the paper into her messenger bag. ‘Human sacrifice,’ she said, only half joking. ‘That was one possibility I hadn’t considered when I was digging.’
Rose pulled a face. ‘Welcome to my world.’
20
22nd August 1580
Bread and meats for the midwife three shillings and tuppence Wines and meats for the gossips three pounds and sixteen shillings
Accounts of Banstock Manor, 1576–1582
Life at the manor progresses, as we wait to see if Lady Banstock can hold her child longer than any other. Gossips have arrived, matrons of status from our side of the Island, and the lady of the lord governor of the Isle of Wight has visited. The midwife has advised the household not to unlock or untie any lock or knot except the main door. This is especially tedious, because I need to look at the old rent rolls and they are tied up with ribbons. It’s probably a foolish superstition but we want a healthy child.
The one person who seems to be too distracted with her own problems to worry about the baby is Mistress Isabeau. Many times she takes to the chapel, and I hear her sobbing there. Even Viola cannot comfort her.
Viola seems much taken with Master Seabourne’s ideas, and he is to pay us a visit today. I have decided to act as chaperon for a while, to learn more of the man.
Seabourne bows low, and the plumes on his hat sweep against the floor. Although in his usual black, his clothes are richly decorated and his hands adorned with several rings. Viola bows back formally, and I bend my knee. We are all very proper in the solar.
‘I hear the Lady Flora, your stepmother, prospers?’
Ah, I think, we are going to have that conversation. But Viola has other ideas.
‘She does, thank you. I have some questions for you, if I may?’ She leaps into passages from the pamphlets he lent her, and he, half laughing, struggles to explain them. Some of the topics are a little indecorous. The male and female qualities of substances in nature, depending on whether they yield or otherwise, is one I judge suspect, but their interest seems innocent. Both are so involved in their discussion of the properties of different humours, I confess, my mind wanders.
I let my attention travel out of the windows, where I can see the smith walking one of the farm horses up and down the drive, while a man scythes in the distance. His silent sweep must have been mesmerising, for when I look up again, the horse is gone and the scytheman is halfway down the front field.
‘—but surely, there must be some sort of balance?’ I hear Viola say, her hands clenched in her lap as she leans forward on the settle.
‘Balance, indeed. There must be energy, to place in the transformation, to fuel it. This is drawn in by the magician, the agent, as he calls upon natural spirit to aid his work.’
Viola is too absorbed by the man to notice my attention. ‘Is that why the Romans sacrificed animals to strengthen babies?’
I stare at her, the bright expression of her need to learn softened by something. Seabourne nods, but notices my attention. ‘I was explaining the principles of alchemy to the lady,’ he explains.
‘Sacrifice smells like sorcery to me,’ I grumble, much troubled by an ache in my lower back. ‘A short step to witchcraft, indeed.’
He hurries to correct me. ‘We are merely examining the nature of the world around us, Master Vincent. In the way that we discover that if we do not water a plant in a pot, it withers. For example, take the commonly held belief that spiders’ webs prevent festering in arrow wounds. This has been proven by many soldiers, but they observe that only fresh webs work. Thus we understand more of the nature of spiders and their gift from God.’
I found I was interested myself. ‘How might a sacrifice be used?’
Viola explains, Master Seabourne nodding and adding a few words of correction as she does. ‘In – is it lustratio? Yes lustratio, the Roman sacrifice blessed the new child with good health and strength, by drawing the weaknesses into animals, then destroying the beasts.’
Seabourne leans forward. ‘Such life energy was believed to influence the child’s growth and fortunes, even its destiny.’
I stand, stretching my back. ‘Well, maybe we should do that lustr— sacrifice for my Lady Banstock’s baby.’ I look at Viola, who stands, and Seabourne joins us. ‘Now, I have accounts to do and no one can be spared to keep Lady Viola company, so we must bid you farewell, sir. I hope you are comfortable at Well House?’
‘Indeed, very comfortable.’
Viola swings around to me, swishing her best kirtle over the rushes. ‘Oh, Master Vincent! Can we show Master Seabourne how the work is progressing on the East Wing?’
The wing that the newly wedded couple will share as married man and wife. There is a slight pause as both the betrothed look uncomfortable.
> ‘Another time, child, when John Carpenter is there to show us around.’ I speak to Seabourne directly. ‘There was some rot in the roof beams from a few loose tiles that needed repair, no more. But the rooms have not been occupied since Lord Anthonie brought his bride there.’
‘I shall be honoured to look at the rooms when there is more time.’ He bows, Viola bows, I bow. We are all very polite. I resolve to take a closer look at these radical ideas he is feeding Viola.
Vincent Garland, Steward to Lord Banstock, His Memoir
21
Thursday 4th April
Sage stopped in at Banstock village’s small library before starting work at the dig, hoping to have a chat with the librarian, Kate Jordan.
The lights were still off, the door propped open by a bag. ‘Kate?’
The lights flickered on, and Kate smiled when she saw her, no hint of the slight guardedness of their first meeting. ‘Hi there. Could you bring the bag in? I’m sorting out lists of children’s books to buy. The deadline for my budget is today.’
Sage lifted the bag. ‘I’m familiar with budgets and deadlines. The joys of working for the local authority.’
Kate waved her to a table. ‘Village libraries are hanging by a thread, thanks to cutbacks. Sit down. I suppose you’re looking for more about the cottage?’
‘I was told that Solomon died a rich man. If he was renting Well House – Bramble Cottage – he wasn’t to start with.’
Kate disappeared into a cupboard. ‘I can still hear you,’ she called.
Sage raised her voice anyway. ‘Lord Banstock’s steward kept very detailed accounts. I just wondered if anyone kept similar records on Seabourne’s finances.’
Kate returned with a bulging box file. ‘Banstock’s steward was Vincent Garland. Olivia Mackintosh is the historian up at the manor, and we’ve been copying his ledgers for the local history group. Here.’ She pulled out a large sheet of paper and unfolded it.
‘I don’t understand,’ Sage said. It wasn’t a ledger entry, but a legal document with seals. A bill of sale.
Kate pointed out the lines at the bottom that detailed the terms. ‘To ensure the succession to Viola and her male children, the old Lord Anthonie sold the estate to Seabourne, although he continued to live in it for the rest of his life.’
Sage squinted at the tiny words. ‘Wouldn’t they have lost the title?’
‘The family petitioned later to get the title restored when it lapsed for lack of male heirs. The estate gained land and money: Seabourne paid eighteen thousand pounds for the whole estate and bought another two hundred and thirty acres.’
‘Which leaves the question,’ said Sage. ‘Where did Seabourne get all that money?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I better get to the site.’
‘Indeed.’ Kate hesitated for a moment. ‘How’s your mother? I meant to keep in touch when she left the Island but…’
‘She’s fine. Well, actually, she’s separating from my dad.’
‘Oh.’ Kate looked like she had a lot more to say, but in the end she just smiled lopsidedly and turned back to her books. ‘Well, I’m glad she’s OK. And looking forward to the baby, I imagine. When’s it due?’
‘Fifteenth of June. It seems very soon. I’m not ready for this.’
Kate laughed. ‘No one ever is.’
* * *
‘Good morning.’ James Bassett leaned against the doorframe of Bramble Cottage, smiling at Sage. She hadn’t appreciated how tall or how thin he was. ‘Are you incredibly busy today?’
‘Not really, just more of the same.’ She smiled. ‘Lots of pottery.’
‘It’s just that Judith’s out. I wondered if you could drop me round at the vicarage? I don’t want to wear myself out walking across the green, and I’m a bit wobbly these days.’
Sage smiled at him. ‘Put a warm coat on, I’ll take you round now. Just let me sort Elliott and Stephanie out.’
The now empty well was secured with a heavy cover, and the students were busy with sieving and examining as much of the spoil as they could in the time they had left. When Sage got back, James eased himself carefully into the seat of her van, his hands shaking with the effort so much she had to help him with the seatbelt.
‘Sorry.’
‘Not at all.’ She started the van, checked her mirrors. ‘I assume you’ve arranged to see Nick?’
James sighed, leaning into the seat. ‘Yes. Judith doesn’t want him in the house.’ He stretched his long legs out in front of him with a grunt. The back of his hands were purple with bruises, perhaps from the hospice treatment. ‘The story of the cottage has really caught my imagination. I know this sounds a bit strange but it’s as though the house is trying to tell me something. I wasn’t surprised when Ju told me about the bones.’
Sage drove around the one-way system and into the vicarage’s drive, opposite the church. ‘Your wife said something similar.’
‘She seems to feel there’s something sinister there, but for me it’s more… cerebral. As if someone is trying to explain something, telling a story.’
Sage parked, and unlocked both seatbelts. ‘The story of the people in the well? Stay there, I’ll give you a hand.’
Nick came out of the porch in time to steady James’s other arm.
‘So sorry, weak as a cat.’ James was white around the mouth by the time Nick settled him into an armchair in the study. Sage moved towards the door, but James waved a hand at her. ‘Wait. I need you here too.’ He coughed, and relaxed into the chair. ‘OK. Breath back. Now, Nick, tell Sage what you told me.’
‘I’ve been getting phone calls late at night. Anonymous calls.’
James rolled his head against the back of the chair. ‘The police, very nicely, asked us if we knew someone at the house was phoning Nick late at night from a mobile. I didn’t recognise the number but they said it came from the village, and they triangulated it to the cottage or its immediate surroundings. It’s an unregistered phone.’
‘Oh.’ Sage sat on a leather office chair. ‘Do the police know who—?’
‘Well, it started while I was in the hospice, so they couldn’t blame me.’
Nick folded his arms. ‘I never thought it was you, James.’
‘I know. They think it might be my wife, but I know, with all my being, it isn’t Judith.’
‘Maybe it’s a wrong number?’ Sage said.
‘At first, it was just silence,’ Nick said. ‘But last night, it was a string of obscenities shouted down the phone. It was very personal – not a wrong number.’
James looked at Sage. ‘That’s not Judith’s style at all.’
‘Anyway, the last call was definitely from a man. It was such a deep voice, even if he was trying to disguise it. The calls are changing, becoming threatening.’
Sage pulled a notebook out of her pocket, and filched a pen from a mug on the desk. ‘Let’s approach this scientifically. How many calls?’
‘It’s been going on five days now. At first, two or three a night, between eleven and about two. I don’t like to turn the phone off in case I’m needed by a parishioner. I thought they were just wrong numbers at first.’
‘And then?’
‘I had thirty-two calls last night, some just a few seconds, a single word. I won’t repeat the word in the present company. One lasted about twenty minutes; I just left the caller rambling.’ Nick rubbed a hand over his face. ‘Honestly, I’m exhausted. I had to turn the phone off eventually, around three.’
Sage stopped writing. ‘That’s awful.’
James covered his eyes with a hand for a moment. ‘Well, if it was a man’s voice the police won’t think it’s Judith anymore.’
Nick shrugged. ‘I think the police only considered her because she got so upset with me outside the school. But when she was shouting at me, her voice was high-pitched, and the caller’s voice is really low.’
Sage dropped her voice into the lowest register she could manage. ‘How low?’
James managed a chu
ckle.
Nick smiled. ‘Very good. But I bet you can’t shout like that.’ He sighed. ‘I get the impression the police think I’m being a bit hysterical but honestly, I’m exhausted. They just tell me to record them in case the caller leaves some sort of clue.’
James leaned forward, and caught Sage’s eye. He tapped his fist on his knee. ‘If I had the energy, I’d come over this evening and listen, see if I could help.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Sage surprised herself, but then turned the idea over. ‘I mean, I’m only filling out endless bits of paperwork for the one billion artefacts we’ve found in the well. I could do that here. Give me a ring when the calls start, if they do, and I’ll come over and you’ll have another perspective on the voice. At least you can get a bit of sleep.’
James smiled. ‘Excellent. Now, I did have a useful thought. Take my mobile number and give me a ring when this crank calls Nick and I can have a look around the cottage and the garden. I’m a bit fuzzy after I’ve taken my medications, but I’m OK to have it a bit late.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Nick.
James grinned at them, suddenly looking younger. ‘I know I’ve got cancer, but I’m actually dying of boredom. This will be the perfect antidote.’
* * *
Sage had managed to do a couple of hours of paperwork at home before Nick called.
‘I’ve had the first call.’
‘I’m on my way.’ She glanced at the clock; it was later than she had expected, nearly ten. ‘Put the kettle on and I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
‘I’ll make coffee.’
‘Make it tea. Decaf if you have it.’ She cut off any attempts at apologies. ‘See you soon.’
Sage snatched up work bags and her tablet, grabbed a warm jumper and headed for the van. As she drove through the town streets into the quiet of the countryside, she slowed for foxes and a badger, her headlights picking up the sudden white swoop of a barn owl. She pulled into the silent village, past dark-eyed houses and the gleam of cars. The scrunching of gravel under her tyres sounded loud as she pulled up on the vicarage’s drive. She got out of the van and turned towards the road, looking over the village green to the thatched house hunkered down in its nest of yews. She had the strangest feeling, as if someone was watching. She stood still, just her own breath hissing in the silence. Bramble Cottage was still and black, and Sage had to ignore the feeling of malevolence creeping from it, as if the darkness was somehow deeper around its limed walls. She shook the idea off. The whole situation was becoming far too fanciful.
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