Agness is forbidden to speak to Viola. My lady may be comforted by the gruff voice of the rector’s sister but I am not. I am fatigued, but I make the short journey to Well House to speak to Seabourne about the doll, as his knowledge of such sorceries no doubt eclipses mine.
Kelley answers the door, and bows low, showing me into the parlour. The air stinks with some foul smoke, and he forces open a window for me. ‘’Tis the charring of base matters,’ he apologises. ‘I shall fetch Master Seabourne.’
I look around the room, as cluttered with books and equipment as before. A clay pot is filled with powdered brimstone, and a glass bottle is filled with quicksilver. Other substances are confined to small jars and bowls.
‘Master Vincent.’ Seabourne stands before me, in a simple shirt and hose, covered with a linen apron. ‘You bring bad news? Is Viola unwell?’
‘I am not the man who should speak to you,’ I grumble. ‘It is widely known that you have got the seamstress with child. Viola’s father is of a mind to dissolve the betrothal.’
‘I have not denied it.’ He stands before me, bareheaded, his eyes flashing. ‘Lord Banstock may decide Viola’s future, as her father, but I have a duty as father to Mistress Duchamp’s child.’
I shut the heavy door, mindful of Kelley’s ears in the hall. ‘You should have thought of that before you made a whore of an honest woman, as a betrothed man, as well. You are neither of you children. Did it not occur to you that your lusts might bear fruit?’
‘I fancied myself in love.’
There is something about his voice that I take note of. ‘You are still smitten.’ I sit upon his high chair, favouring my stiff knee. ‘You would take our sweet Viola to wife while you are still besotted with the Frenchwoman?’
‘Isabeau,’ he says, ‘will be well cared for. Viola will not be embarrassed by my foolishness, and Isabeau will be secure and able to bring up her child in prosperity.’
‘We can do better.’ I look to the table where a ledger lay open, I suppose relating his experiments. Many of the symbols are unfamiliar to me. ‘Viola can go to her sister’s lodgings at court and will attract other suitors. She will soon forget the betrothal.’
Seabourne takes a turn about the room, stamping a little, his hands clenched behind his back. ‘I love Viola, in my own way.’ He returns to the table, and looks down at me. ‘You know the tale of Lettice Knollys and the Earl of Leicester? Even though he loved the queen, he married his other love.’
‘Who is utterly banished from court and treated badly,’ I say, turning a book towards me to examine a diagram. ‘She is like to hardly see her husband, as the queen demands his attention. Will you not yearn to be with your mistress and child?’
Seabourne’s face is racked with some sadness. ‘I shall arrange it so I never need see her again.’ He looks determined, now, to follow through his plans. ‘She goes to my cousin’s estate, to a cottage there, and will take in sewing as she pleases. I have written to my father some days since, and asked for a pension for her.’
I am secretly impressed, but try not to show it as I examine another open book. ‘Very proper,’ I say. ‘But Viola may still be grieved if you decide to see your child.’
‘I have confessed all to Viola.’ There is a tone in his voice that makes me look up. ‘She is remarkable,’ he says, his voice shaking a little. ‘I am not worthy of her.’
I agree. ‘And yet you think to bring your shame to her, as a bride gift?’
He shook his head. ‘I think you do not yet know Viola the woman as well as you knew her as a child.’
I stop my reading and think on his words. Perhaps he sees something I do not. ‘You must give her father time to think about it, some time to forgive.’
‘He shall have it.’ The man bows with grace, and as low as if I were, in fact, her father. ‘And you, Master Vincent, whom I know Viola loves and trusts as a father also.’
I admit to being a little flattered when I leave, but then think of the strangeness of the summer we are having, with the unborn baby, the exotic Frenchwoman and her lover the sorcerer, and the madness that seems to afflict Mistress Agness. Master Kelley is outside, holding my horse, and I remember the doll that looks so like Isabeau.
I turn back to my host, who has accompanied me. ‘Master Seabourne – there is a matter I would value your opinion upon.’
He stands with his hands behind his back. ‘If I can help…’
‘There is a small figure made of cloth and straw that resembles Mistress Duchamp, discovered in Banstock. I fear it was made by someone who bears her ill will.’
The man looks at Kelley, who steps forward. ‘We have some writings about the magical use of such,’ he says, his bright eyes darting around me, as if expecting me to produce the mannequin. ‘Her Majesty was portrayed by such a doll, and her astrologer Dr Dee himself was called upon to dispose of it.’
Seabourne bows to me. ‘I would be happy to safely destroy such an item, but would ask who carries such malice?’
‘I cannot say.’ I mount the horse, feeling somewhat stiff and old this morning. ‘I shall consider the matter.’
Seabourne looks up at me. ‘Please keep it safe, Master Vincent. Who knows what evil it carries?’
Vincent Garland, Steward to Lord Banstock, His Memoir
33
Friday 12th April
After a day of site visits for the planning committee, Sage got to the dig late in the afternoon. The students were starting to pack up. More than a dozen cases of plastic-wrapped finds waited to go to her office in Newport, and Steph was filling in inventories for each box. She smiled at Sage in a distracted way, and went back to her lists.
Elliott was still sieving, hoping to find more glass, probably. ‘I’m almost finished,’ he said, not looking up. ‘I think I have most of it. We’ve put the big cover over the well, and cordoned it off, but we can’t get it filled in until next week. When it’s all finished we should celebrate with that pizza.’
‘Good idea, but I’ll warn the Bassetts first. Are they around?’
He dropped his voice. ‘I think the doctor’s there now.’
‘Oh. It’s probably better if we pack up and go, let them have a bit of peace.’ Sage inspected the heavy cover Rob Greenway had lent them. It was a storm drain lid, so heavy it took two people to carry safely, and completely covered the well. ‘I think it’s too heavy even for several kids to move. Well done, you two. We’ve done a great job in very little time, mostly down to your hard work. Ideally, we’d work the site for months, not a couple of weeks.’
Elliott looked pleased, although he was always hard to read, and Steph grinned.
‘It’s been great.’ Steph glanced over at Elliott but he had turned away. Perhaps he hadn’t asked her out, after all.
Sage smiled back at her. ‘As long as you know digs aren’t usually as good as this one. Normally it’s a few tons of earth, modern bricks and pipes, and a couple of scraps of pottery.’ She took her phone out of her pocket. ‘Let’s get a picture of the two of you. It will be good for the university website.’
Steph stepped over to Elliott, who looked more uncomfortable than normal. ‘Come on, Ell. Smile.’
He looked over to Sage and managed a grin for the camera.
‘One more, then we better start packing up.’ She waved at them. ‘Huddle up, guys.’
After Sage had taken the photo, the students started shuttling backwards and forwards with the finds boxes, packing them in the van. When everything was secured, Elliott locked the van’s back doors and gave the keys back to Sage.
‘So we’re finished,’ Steph said.
‘For the moment. But we have thousands of finds to examine and identify, and the whole puzzle of the bones to solve. There’s plenty for you to get involved in, when you both have more time.’
Elliott nodded. ‘I’ll see you at the office on Monday, Sage, if that’s OK. I’d like to work on reconstructing the bowl of the alembic.’
‘Go ahead. Actu
ally, I have one more cheeky request.’ They both looked at her expectantly. ‘I’ve organised a public meeting to talk about the excavation, the bones, everything. It’s Sunday, two o’clock, up at the manor.’
Elliott bit his lower lip, looking down at the floor. ‘I’m busy,’ he said, finally. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK. It was a long shot after all the effort you’ve been to already.’ She turned to Steph. ‘There will be cakes.’
Steph laughed, and then feigned a sigh. ‘OK. You’ve convinced me. One more ferry ticket.’
‘I will even fund the ferry ticket. You can talk about the bones, if you like, I’ll do the pottery. Are you off now?’
‘No. Sadly, I need to document so I’m going to be sketching and taking photos for a bit longer. I’m writing up the report for my end-of-year project. Elliott’s going to show me his site plan.’ Steph looked at Elliott but he was staring at Sage.
‘Well, that’s kind of you, Ell. Ride carefully, Steph.’
Sage gave them both a wave and walked over the village green to the vicarage.
Nick was in a T-shirt and jeans, mowing the lawn in the front of the Victorian house in the fading daylight. He switched off the mower when he saw Sage and walked over. He seemed younger with grass stains on his clothes.
She was suddenly shy. ‘I came over to say the dig is finished. Greenway’s going to fill the well in with the remaining soil. Do you know how James is? The doctor was with him when I left.’
‘He had a bad day,’ said Nick. ‘I think he’ll be going to the hospice tomorrow for another transfusion.’
‘I’m sorry. I really like him, and it must be dreadful for Judith and Chloe. Hopefully, the well will be filled in next week and that will give them some peace.’ She sat on a bench on the edge of the lawn, stretching back in the sun. ‘Maybe things will settle down when the well is covered up again. Buried bodies in the garden would unsettle anyone, let alone a family going through cancer.’
‘I know something of the hell they’re going through.’ Nick wiped his forehead on his forearm. ‘I wish I could do more to help.’
‘I suppose there isn’t much you can do,’ Sage said. ‘I mean, nothing’s going to change the facts.’
‘No. You’re right. I remember—’ He seemed to shake off what he was going to say, and Sage wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. ‘They seem haunted by that house.’ He seemed like he was only half joking. ‘Maybe there is a curse on the place. It’s creepy enough.’
‘I think there’s definitely a case to be made for suggestibility, given the stress James and Judith are under. But it’s time for me to take all the finds back to Newport and let them go back to their lives without strangers digging up the garden.’
Nick held her gaze. ‘So, you won’t be in Banstock next week.’ The sadness in his expression made her catch her breath.
‘I’m back on Sunday for the village meeting at the manor, remember?’
‘You know what I mean. Sage… I’ve been thinking a lot about you.’ He sighed, sat next to her on the bench. ‘I know this is ridiculous timing, but when the right person comes along, you have to ask, you know?’ The sun glinted off his gold wedding band.
She snorted a laugh. ‘You mean the timing when I’m having an illegitimate child and you’re recently widowed?’
He moved a little closer, and she could smell the cut grass, and a salty tang on his skin from the work. ‘Every relationship has problems.’
That made her laugh. She looked up at him, squinting into the low sun. ‘Maybe we could just be friends, until the baby. See what happens.’
A smile crept across his face. ‘I’d like that. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
Sage walked to the van in a daze of speculation. She got her keys out of the pocket, then saw it. It was laid out on the front seat, a splash of colour. She had left the windows open a crack to dry the van out in the spring sunshine, and whatever it was must have been shoved through the narrow gap.
She fumbled the key into the lock and wrenched open the door.
It was a doll, hair cut raggedly, eyes inked black. It was the one Chloe had made into an archaeologist. But now its body had been hacked open with a dozen cuts, and stuffed with red cloth.
34
24th September 1580
Received as bride gifts eight yards of red silk, imported, and a gold-framed miniature the size of a girl’s palm.
Accounts of Banstock Manor, 1576–1582
It is only after the morning’s work that I recall the rector’s strange story about his sister and wonder again of the wisdom of letting her see my Lady Banstock. I reach within my money chest for the doll, where I have hidden it away from meddling servants, and place it upon my desk. It looks like a child’s toy save for the eyes, the stitches so deeply set into the padding that they seem buried. It is as if the eyes are gouged out. The simple body has no arms, merely empty sleeves as if it is deformed, and the face has no mouth. Yet there is a sense of Mistress Isabeau about it. The tight bodice, the scrap of embroidery, surely taken from her workbox, the white wool escaping from her cap all give a sense of the Frenchwoman.
Do they not say that if a mannequin of a person is created, the person will suffer if the doll is harmed? I examine the thing more closely, but there is no sign of damage. It gives me disquiet, however, and I resolve to destroy it even as I wonder how to do so in such a way that it harms no one. Feeling foolish, I hide it away again. Perhaps I will take it to Well House and let Seabourne deal with it, as he suggested.
I am called to the home farm in the afternoon, to see the bullocks and choose a new bull. The farmer shows me three, but I insist on seeing the rest, and certainly a fine fellow is hidden in a barn. Ned the cowman walks him home, while I ride over the park to see how many of the deer calves are stags and will be good for the hunt in the winter.
The still, hot air is heavy, and I am not surprised to see the heavy clouds above. A flash is followed by a rumble of thunder and the deer scatter into the trees. I hope the rain holds off until I reach the house. A few large drops of rain spatter onto the dusty path, but it seems just a shower. I put my heels to my horse, to make the hill to the manor gates.
Although his behaviour is poor, Seabourne’s repentance seems sincere and Viola still resolves to wed him. I shall wait for her father’s judgement, of course. All this is driven out of my head by the wailing in the stableyard as I ride in. Three laundrywomen are screeching as one, and the stable men look frightened.
‘Witches at Banstock Manor’ seems to be the message, as I order a pail of water apiece for the women, who rapidly control themselves. I question them, and the story seems to be that two of the smith’s children saw signs of devilry at the abbey and were chased off by a great crash of thunder.
The children, two boys known for causing mischief mark you, are sent for. The rain is coming down harder and the sky darkening above the stables when I dismount, cast off my hat and coat, and seek out Viola.
She is overseeing the decanting of beer in the buttery, wearing an apron that dwarfs her. I tell her the rumours. ‘There can be no witchcraft here,’ she says, ‘or we would have heard of it.’
‘I wonder how long it will be before they blame the seamstress, given Mistress Waldren’s words,’ I answer, sampling the beer, which is potable, if a little green for my taste.
‘Perhaps Master Seabourne would know more,’ she says, nodding to the man standing by with the bung and mallet.
I lead her out into the quieter dining hall. ‘Child, are you truly still wishful of marrying the man?’
She looks at me with the directness I have always loved. ‘I am, Uncle, and I hope you will support me in this. If you do my father will agree, even if he grumbles.’
This is true, of course. My brother says he is a poor thinker, as he has me to think for him. But his anger is all his own.
‘Do you not fear he will be unfaithful after the marriage?’ I say, holding one of her little hands
. ‘Maybe he will set Isabeau up as his mistress.’
‘Marriage, as you have said a hundred times, is not about love but duty.’ It is irritating to have one’s words thrown back at one. It may be that I frown. ‘It seems Master Seabourne has an excess of love, not too little,’ she adds. ‘Please, Uncle, let me worry about my marriage, and let you worry about everything else.’
I sigh, but nod and change the subject. ‘How fares your lady stepmother?’
She wrinkles up her nose. ‘I cannot say. One minute she is insensible with tiredness or her aching bones; the next minute she wants to be sung to, or for Mistress Agness to read the psalms to her.’
‘Yet the babe still moves?’
‘More than ever. She complains ’tis a foal in her belly, his legs are so long.’
We share a laugh, the first since our quarrel, and she kisses my cheek. ‘Worry not for me,’ she says, pulls her fingers from mine and walks to the door.
As she departs, my heart asks if I shall ever stop worrying about Viola.
Vincent Garland, Steward to Lord Banstock, His Memoir
35
Saturday 13th April
‘Lady George?’ Sage took a step into the hall. The golden retriever padded over, wagging her tail, followed by Lord Banstock, who took a bite out of a sandwich held in one hand.
‘Hello there,’ he mumbled around the bread. ‘She tells me you need to set up some tables?’
‘I just wondered if I could put my information boards up and the pottery finds out today.’ Sage stroked the dog, while Lord Banstock finished his lunch.
‘We’ve moved the rug from the great hall. We’ve got some chairs that we use for weddings, we can put them out. Do you want to use the big table? It’s a bugger to move without about a dozen helpers so you’ll have to leave it where it is.’
Sage followed him into the great hall and inspected the wooden table, probably twenty feet long, four or five foot deep and possibly two planks from a tree felled five hundred years ago, mirror images of each other. It was almost black, and the grain tickled her fingers.
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