Stearne, too, was spine-stiff with excitement as he swung up onto his horse. “Fare thee well, friend!” said Stearne, raising his hand.
Something occurred to Hopkins, and he said, “What if we should meet by chance somewhere in the middle, before Bury?”
“Then it be a sign that the infestation is particularly bad, and will need our combined strength to root out,” said Stearne.
This made sense. Hopkins nodded once. “Right, then. Farewell!” He dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and leapt forward, undeterred by rain or wind or storm. He hunted the voices. He saw not countryside of grain and sheep, but the landscape of Heaven and Hell and the souls therein. Most especially he saw his own soul, both the glory and the blight, and knew that he would go down deep before he was cleansed.
“Tan-a-dik.”
“Flim flam flum.”
“At midnight on a Friday, we meet. The Master meets us. Follow us into the woods, and you will find our book.”
Hopkins remembered what he’d been told.
THE HIGH PULSE OF LATE springtime had taken over the Vale. Farmers and laborers took advantage of the growing hours of daylight to work, with muscles swinging and backs bending over their plows. Some of the women, too, worked in the fields. Despite the extra sun there was never enough time. The Brewers likewise did a strong business, for hard labor raised a great thirst.
Pippa was busy from dawn until dusk. Now was the time to grow and harvest herbs, to gather certain fruits to be preserved, to treat aches and pains and babies being born. The scent of life was rubbed deep into her skin—the mineral earth, the pungency of herbs, the coppery wet of birthing blood. For the first time she’d watched Lillibet at work, attending Margaret Howell for the delivery of a fine healthy girl.
The elements of her life were falling into place, for the moon had turned and it was time to find a treasure for Old Man Ash.
The morning was young when Pippa met Ash on the road outside her house. She had gone about her morning chores as quietly as possible and then muttered to half-awake Lillibet that she was off to gather fresh nettle. Unsuspicious, Lillibet had nodded and turned back to sleep.
The air was crisp ahead of the heat that Pippa knew would develop later. It seemed full of promise, perfect for divining treasure. She’d hidden her dowsing stick inside a hedge and she retrieved it on the way to Ash, checking it over. The branch was made of rowan wood, also called witchwood or mountain ash, and both names led Pippa to choose it for this project. It was whittled into twin points, like the forked tongue of a snake, and she’d carved three crosses into the branch.
In her mind she rehearsed the incantation to find treasure in the earth. She’d heard Lillibet say it once, many years ago, when they were having a slow year and needed a few extra shillings to pay for essentials. Lillibet hadn’t found money, but she did find a patch of wild poppy flowers and harvested them for their valuable seeds.
Pippa had a good ear-memory, but still hoped she remembered the rhyme correctly.
Ash swayed on his good foot, waiting for her, and gave her a dubious look when she reached him. “None’s going to follow us, are they? If we find a big treasure, I don’t want to share it.”
“No one’s awake yet,” Pippa reassured him. “Besides, we’ll not be staying in the village. That would be too easy.”
Pippa wasn’t certain how to proceed, so she stepped with Ash into the field next to the road and said, “We’ll start here.” She remembered something about walking around a fire three times to say the charm, but it was daylight and they had no fire, so Pippa faced the rising sun instead. It was the most powerful fire of all.
Closing her eyes, she held the dowsing branch in her hands and chanted, “Panthon, Craton, Muriton, Bisecognaton. Siston, Diaton, Maton, Tetragrammaton.”
She could feel Ash watching her. The more mysterious the rite, the more credit she would receive when it worked. Feeling the warmth of the sun on her face, she continued. “Sorthie, Sorthia, Sorthios. I conjure you three sisters of fairies, Milia, Achilia, Sybilia, by the Father, by the Son, and by the Holy Ghost, Amen.”
For a moment Pippa wondered if Sybil was indeed a fairy-sister and she giggled to herself. They were three friends, after all. But no, it was just a coincidence in the rhyme.
Pippa spun three times around and stretched her arms. Taking off in huge strides, she allowed the dowsing branch to lead her forward.
Ash scurried after her, complaining. “Slow down, gilly!”
Pippa marched across the field. The dowsing branch had a mind of its own. Right, left, forward. It jerked this way and that. “Oh, here!” she called to Ash as he struggled to follow her meanderings.
They were led through the field, along the brook, through a muddy ditch, up into a fallow field made of weeds. The spirit trail led south, bordering the road to Lavenham, and then up a rise.
Pippa jerked to a stop.
A thin layer of sweat tickled her neck. Ash was far behind her. She could just see the patched-up roof on the row of hovels where the Bucketts lived. Thin curls of smoke rose from their early morning fires. Pippa felt safe from being watched, for the Vale was just rising. She beckoned at Ash to hurry up.
The ground at her feet was balding, free of grass. A perfect place to dig. The dowsing stick did not seem to want to move anymore and it hung from her hands, pointing straight down.
“Here!” she mouthed at Ash, gesturing.
He wheezed up next to her, leaning on his cane.
Kneeling, Pippa scrabbled with bare hands at the earth. The soil was loose and dry. Deeper and deeper she went, finding nothing but a few earthworms and dead roots. Pippa felt the first shadow of disappointment, and then her fingers brushed against something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
A piece of leather.
“There’s something here,” she muttered.
Ash bent over, blocking the sun’s rays. “What is it?”
“Just … one … moment …” Pippa excavated the object and held it up in triumph.
A money sack.
Ash’s eyes gleamed. “You done it! You really done it!”
Grinning, Pippa tore open the string and turned the sack inside out, counting the heavy coins in her hand. “One … two … two pounds and fourteen shillings! ’Tis a fortune!”
It was not the money that grew wings on Pippa’s heart. It was success. At last her cunning had worked! I have what Lillibet has. She must have remembered the charm perfectly. She turned to Ash. “This is yours,” she said, beaming with pride as she handed over the results of her first independent act of cunning.
“And this is yours,” said Ash, counting out seventeen shillings for her.
They shook hands for their success and Pippa said, “Don’t give it all to Renshaw at the inn!”
“I intend to go to Lavenham with this,” said Ash, jangling the coins. “They’ve got the whisky I been yearning for, no country ale.”
It was not for Pippa to judge what Ash spent his money on. She had her commission, and that was the fair deal. “A nice day for a walk,” she said.
“Walk? I’ll be hitching a ride with me new fortune!” said Ash. He pinched her cheek. “Thank you, Pips. You’ve brought happiness to an old man today.”
“Remember it,” she said, patting his arm.
She carried her dowsing branch home. Lillibet was up and about, and Pippa meant to draw out the story of her spell, to tell it with suspense, but she couldn’t resist blurting her triumph. “Lillibet! I did it! I found a treasure!”
Lillibet, in the middle of slicing bread, turned to her, astonished.
“I didn’t tell you because I thought you would disallow me. That it would not work. But it has! We found a treasure this morning, and I did it with this!” Pippa held up the branch.
“Why … Pippa, what are you saying? That you cast a charm and actually found a treasure?”
“Yes!”
“Well, my goodness …”
“And I brought
us our share of it. Seventeen shillings.” Pippa fished the coins from her apron pocket.
Lillibet reached out to touch the coins. “Where did you find this treasure?”
“On the rise next to the road. It was buried in the earth, the branch led me to it. A satchel of coins.”
Lillibet turned a shade paler. “Oh, Pippa …” she said.
“Why don’t you sit, Lillibet? I’ll make us that mint brew. With this money we’ll be able to afford everything for awhile.”
Hand pressed to her heart, Lillibet sat in her rocking chair. Pippa decided her newfound abilities must have come as a shock to her mother. It shouldn’t, she thought. Runs in the family, it does.
Pippa was halfway through brewing the mint and recounting the details of her treasure-hunting when someone pounded on their door.
“Lillibet! Help me! I been stolen from!”
Alarmed, Pippa jumped to the door and opened it to find Joan Buckett, her grey hair standing on end, her papery cheek smudged with dirt.
“What is it, Joan?” asked Lillibet. There wasn’t a trace of surprise in her voice.
“I went to check on me savings this morning, as I always do,” Joan stammered, her voice filled with outrage. “Someone’s dug it up! Everything I saved!”
For a moment Pippa was upset, too. Who would steal an old beggar’s life savings? And then, the awful truth dawned on her.
She had stolen it.
Gripping the herb strainer, Pippa stared down at the floor. It couldn’t be … Joan Buckett was an impoverished old woman. There was no way she could have saved over two pounds. Every time Pippa saw the Buckett women, they were haggard and begging for more. Who could have known that Joan had savings?
No, she’s impoverished now, admonished Pippa’s inner voice. Thanks to you.
Lillibet patted Joan on the shoulder. “I’m truly sorry. I’m the one who told you it would be safe to bury it away from your hearth.”
Pippa understood why she’d been led to that spot. If Lillibet knew of it, Pippa must have accidentally picked the information from her mother’s mind, for they were connected. Shamed, she reached into her pocket for the few coins that remained of Joan Buckett’s life savings.
Joan muttered in a torrent of curses.
“Now, there must be something to be done,” said Lillibet. She reached her upturned palm to Pippa. “Let us help you with as much charity as we can spare.”
Wordlessly Pippa placed the coins in Lillibet’s hand.
“Here, take this for now,” said Lillibet. “We’ll see about retrieving the rest.” She pressed Joan’s coins into her quivering hands.
“You’ll track down the thief for me?” Joan asked.
“I’ll try,” said Lillibet.
Still muttering, Joan shook her finger once at Lillibet. “See that you do! ’Tis your fault I ever agreed to put me treasure out of sight.”
When the woman was gone, the silence in the cottage was too much for Pippa to bear.
“I’m so sorry,” Pippa murmured.
“Where is Ashley? At the inn?” Lillibet asked.
“He’s gone to Lavenham, said something about buying whisky …”
“The money is truly lost, then,” said Lillibet. “Oh, Pippa.”
“I’m sorry!”
Lillibet pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know what to do with you,” she said, more to herself.
“Teach me, Lillibet, please! It worked, I did find a treasure, even if it wasn’t mine to find.”
“Sit, Pippa.” Cradling her cup in her aged hands, Lillibet looked weary. “You have done a grievous wrong. You have destituted Joan Buckett. You must pay her back over time. I will disguise it as charity, for we can’t have you charged with theft. That’s a hanging crime. How could you do this? Why did you not come to me before charging off on this … errand?”
“Why will you not let me be independent?” Pippa said, but she knew the answer. It was because her bumbling ways just brought trouble.
“You’ve made a real knot of things,” Lillibet said.
“But —”
“I think,” said her mother with deliberation, “it would be best if you refrained from attempting spells. You have no focus, and you wield your ability unwisely. There is no good in cunning-ways, Pippa, if you know not the results of your actions. You are like a bull thrashing about a kitchen. You must learn to harness yourself. This is why I’ve not allowed you to work on your own. ’Tis the little bit of knowledge that be a dangerous thing.”
Pippa’s eyes swam with tears of defeat. She had failed in the eyes of Lillibet, the one person whom she’d hoped to impress. She was not cunning, she was stupid and hasty and impetuous. Whatever power she had was being misused. The worst part was that Pippa didn’t even know where to begin learning what Lillibet called wisdom. She didn’t know what it was, or how she would know when she’d found it. “Are you angry with me, Lillibet?”
Lillibet paused before answering. “Yes. No. I’m disappointed in you, Pippa. I thought I’d set a better example.”
“’Tis not your fault! I’m the one who acted badly. I’ll never do magic again. I’ll be good, I promise.”
“The day may come when you find your wisdom. Until then, I daresay you will stop these attempts to misuse what I’ve taught you.” Lillibet leaned back in her chair, lips pressed together, her decision final.
But Pippa knew she would never be like Lillibet, hard as she tried. It was not in her nature to be patient, wise, and calm.
“I’ll sweep the floor, then,” said Pippa, awash in self-pity. For the first time the cottage had become a mundane place. Pippa’s function here was to cook and clean and sweep and chop herbs for Lillibet’s work. There was nothing for herself.
Lillibet looked sympathetic, but she did not ask Pippa to help her as she began to stitch a charm into an old shoe intended for the wall of one of Felton’s new tenant cottages.
THE TREASURE-HUNTING DISASTER was not the last time Pippa did magic. A week later, when the full moon approached, she resolved to cast one last spell, one last chance, just to see if God would grant her one last wish.
In the dead of night when the moon lined the world in liquid silver, Pippa crept into the yard and stood beneath the yew tree. From a heart-shaped knot on the trunk, sap coursed like blood in rivulets and globs, shining in the light. For a moment she was tempted to taste that heart’s blood of the yew, but she knew better. It might kill her.
Somewhere a confused bird chirped. In the bright of the full moon, some creatures thought it was still daytime.
Pippa tilted her head upward and gazed at the moon, a crisp white circle against the black sky.
“Illuminate me,” she whispered.
She reflected on Lillibet—her mother who could heal a fever, and birth a baby, and break a curse, and divine a husband for a young maiden. Lillibet held the power of birth and death. Pippa wanted that power, too.
From her pocket she tugged a single piece of red ribbon. It was the gift from Sybil on May Day, with a flower stitched on the end. Clutching it in one hand, Pippa held it up to the moon. “God … Jesus … whoever’s out there, please hear me. Make me into whatever I’m supposed to become.”
At that moment, Pippa didn’t hold herself in high regard. She’d misread a curse on a child, Francis Pye, and cast a phony hex-breaking; she’d stolen the life savings of a beggar-woman and given it to a drunk. It was hardly a road to happiness and success. But even now, Pippa wanted to walk through that door to magic, if it remained open to her. Gritting her teeth, she didn’t care how it happened, only that it did. If it took reading and hard work and prostrating herself to her mother’s mercy, she would.
She tied the ribbon in a firm knot around a strong branch. Murmuring soft and low, she repeated her request, talking to the tree.
“Please, please, please. Give me the key, open the door. Make me cunning and wise. Send something to me in this small village, this small cottage, something to make
me strong and powerful and famous. Make Lillibet proud of me. Make Hugh want me, and let his family want me as their daughter above any other. I’m tired of being a child. Make me into a woman.” She rested her forehead against the branch. The yew was the tree of immortality, and its smooth, solid arms pulsed some terrible evergreen force.
It was known that if a person made a wish and tied something red about a branch of yew, the wish would come true … as long as it was not a trifling thing. The yew was too old and too wise to be bothered with frivolity. Lillibet had done this before, praying to heal a lump that had grown in her breast near the pit of her arm. Within two months the lump had gone away—a relief, for it could have been that wasting disease that sometimes afflicted people, and turned them grey and pale and weak until they died.
If it worked for Lillibet, it might work for Pippa.
In the moonlight the red ribbon was the same color as the glistening sap.
Pippa regarded it and felt … nothing. The world had not changed. The bewildered bird chirped for a morning that was hours away. The yew was still, the moon was white, the land remained in its well-known curves. Perhaps her wish was too vague or too much. Dissatisfied with the anticlimax, she shuffled back inside, resigned to the power she would never have.
WEEKS PASSED. PIPPA WAITED for a divine omen, but her days were filled with chores instead: feeding the pig and the chickens, preserving berries picked from the forest, sweeping the yard, running up the hill to the Baxters’ farm to buy milk. She sometimes helped Alice watch her younger siblings, and they took walks in the forest, but never for girlish rituals anymore.
Pippa wondered if such would be her mundane life. Sybil and Alice would find men to marry, and they would all have children, and Pippa doubted that any of them would have time to dance in circles around a fire after that happened.
Another of Pippa’s jobs was errand-girl, carrying things for Lillibet whose bones ached in the heat. One day she’d carried a bottle of tonic up to Pye’s farm for the son, Francis. It was to calm his nerves. He’d had another seizure. The curse was strong upon the family. As payment for the tonic, Goody Pye had given Pippa a young rooster. The noisy bird would be bred with their hens.
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