Cunning Women

by Elizabeth Lee

  This Bitter Seed

  At last the day of the mop came. A fat and generous sun rose.

  Daniel gathered what he needed and made to leave.

  ‘Have all you need, son?’ Father asked, rising from his seat. ‘Know what you’re looking for?’

  Daniel tore his thoughts away from Gabriel, who sat at the table with one heavy finger trapping a spider by the leg while he slowly stripped it of the others. ‘What? Yes.’ He took out the full purse and shook it.

  ‘Don’t be distracted by a pretty face or—’ Father made the shape of a woman’s body in the air with his hands. Daniel coughed and looked away. The spider struggled to escape, remaining legs scrabbling and slipping on the table. ‘Nothing wrong with a good, stout dairymaid. See how well our Bett has done us.’

  Bett frowned and shook her head.

  ‘I’ll remember,’ he said, trying to step through the door. Anxious to leave, for this new life to begin.

  ‘And go gentle with the ale, you know what it’s like at the mop, and the horse and cart doesn’t drive so well when you’ve a bellyful.’

  ‘Of course.’ Though in fact he had only been to the mop once as a boy and knew little of it, just the stories told in the village of drinking and violence.

  ‘Here,’ Bett said, handing him a cloth filled with food. He waved his thanks, but she had already turned to Gabriel. ‘Can’t you leave that poor creature be, you brute?’

  Gabriel looked up but kept his hold on the spider. ‘It has no feelings, what does it matter?’

  ‘Has more feelings than you,’ Bett said, but under her breath, head bowed as she concentrated on placing a jug of ale in a basket.

  Daniel hesitated in the doorway. He needed to be gone, or Sarah would be left waiting. But Bett’s stand held him here.

  ‘Can’t you – surely you needn’t be so cruel?’ An appeal to Gabriel’s charity that he knew was a mistake even as he spoke the words.

  Gabriel glowered. ‘What do you know? You, with all this?’ He waved his free hand around the room. ‘And you, with your husband warming your bed every night? What do you know about me?’ He rose from his chair, at last releasing the spider and allowing its hobbling escape. ‘Mam sickens, though I do all I can to care for her. And they, down there –’ he waved a hand at the doorway ‘– they’s all saying I’m a thief, things gone missing each night and Sam Finch saying he’s had clothes stole and I see the way they’re looking at me, and that new magistrate will have any thief dangling from the Hanging Tree. I hear the whispers but if there’s thieving happening it’s not me, and if they’s planning on telling the magistrate I’ll let another take the blame, like you said to, I’ll gather a horde and we’ll—’

  ‘Enough, Gabriel,’ Father said.

  Daniel clenched a fist and bit down on his tongue to prevent himself raging at Gabriel and his stupidity, or Father for sowing this bitter seed in Gabriel’s mind.

  ‘There’s no one here calling you a thief or anything else besides. Is there?’ Father asked. He looked around at Daniel and Bett, who both shook their heads. A bully and a brute Daniel knew him to be, but not a thief. He must leave, before anger took hold.

  ‘There,’ Father said. ‘See?’

  Gabriel took his seat again, staring at the table and flicking crumbs on to the floor.

  ‘I’ll be off, then,’ Daniel said. The only response came from Bett, catching his eye and giving a small nod. He stepped out into the warmth, the sound of the blackbird and scent of new grass. Soothed by the promise of what was to come. He broke into a run, changing path as he spied the parson loitering once again by the sheep field, waiting for him no doubt. He had not time for such blusterings today.

  Blur and Shiver

  It is another world. A world of enchantments and delights that souls such as mine were never meant to discover. Crowds of people as I’ve never dreamed. Children running, laughing, fingers and faces sticky with remnants of sweet treats. I walk among them, waiting for someone to see past these clothes, to point and taunt, to throw a stone.

  Scents of ale and cooking meat mingle with those of so many bodies close together on a hot day. The air rings with the shouts of those selling their skills: girls carrying mops or pails, boys with crooks or a wisp of straw.

  Daniel is at my side again, having paid a coin to stable Bonny and the cart for the day. He takes another from his purse, holds it in front of me, grins.

  ‘Young lass,’ he says. ‘I wish to purchase your services as dairymaid, for which I offer this token payment as binding of our understanding, that you return with me to Taylors’ farm and agree to work as such for a year to the day. If you find this arrangement to your satisfaction?’

  I laugh, take the coin from him, drop a little curtsey. ‘I do.’ I hold the coin, warm and gritty in my hand, unsure whether it’s actually mine. ‘Is this how it’s really done?’

  ‘It is,’ he says. ‘The payment is yours now and a token of the agreement on both parts.’

  ‘Oh. Well, thank you.’ I look around at the rise and fall of the colourful crowds. ‘Then should we go back?’

  ‘Oh no,’ he says. ‘We’ve only just arrived. Besides, I need to search more thoroughly. I may yet find a better milkmaid than you. I may leave you here and take another back with me instead.’

  I skip ahead of him, waving the coin. ‘Too late – the agreement’s been made on both parts.’

  ‘So it has. And what are you planning to buy? Shall we walk about the stalls?’

  I feel my eyes widen and see Daniel’s smile in response.

  He takes my hand. ‘Come,’ he says. ‘Stay with me. And stop waving that around, this place is full of pickpockets.’

  I hide the coin in my closed fist, glance over my shoulder. Though I know too well how hunger can tempt a body to theft, we strive to live on the side of right, and I would not have my first earnings taken from me.

  Stalls line the edges of the marketplace, and it’s here that the smells of food come from, the shouts of the stallholders advertising their wares. A small man, no taller than I, dressed in clothes made of bright rags and with his head bare and garish hat laid on the grass at his feet, throws and catches coloured wooden skittles.

  I pull Daniel towards a stand where jewellery is laid out – fine rings gleaming in the sun, bands of polished stones and wooden pendants carved into the shape of flowers or animals. Leather purses and pouches. The village women wear such things sometimes but there’s nothing like this in our house. Mam once wore a thin wedding band, but she sold it to a pedlar in exchange for a worn petticoat each for me and her, and a little food besides.

  The woman at the stall watches us as we admire her wares. ‘Trinket for your pretty lass, sir?’ she asks.

  ‘I’ve my own money,’ I say. Honestly earned. At least, it will be.

  ‘What better to spend your wage on?’ she says. ‘A bracelet, perhaps, for your sweet wrist?’

  There’s something about her gentle persistence, the toughened and chapped fingers that hold out the trinkets to me, that reminds me of Mam.

  I pick out a polished leather case, perfect for John’s knife, and pendant in the shape of a fox’s head, the wood smooth under my finger, a light brown that is almost the right colour. ‘Look at this,’ I say, holding it out to Daniel.

  ‘You like it?’ he asks.

  ‘Annie will love it, she spends all day scampering around the woods looking for spadgers and foxes and squirrels.’

  He smiles. ‘Anything else?’

  I look again, head bowed over the frivolous objects laid out, fingers gliding over cool metal and hard stone. There’s another pendant, it looks like a hare, the ears too large to be a rabbit, that I’m drawn to again and again. I feel the woman’s eyes on me, feel she can read who this gift would be for, why the hare calls to me.

  ‘She’s a beauty, is she not?’ she says. Her voice soft, sibilant. Like Mam’s.

  ‘Aye.’ I take the pendant she holds out to me, staring so hard a
t the little hare that it seems to blur and shiver in my fingers, and I feel the spirit of Dew-Springer in it.

  ‘A special animal, the hare. You could make no better choice.’

  The heat of the day dries my mouth and soaks the back of my neck, makes my head feel as though it’s about to float from my shoulders. In my palm the hare twitches and blinks.

  The woman leans towards me, whispers. ‘It is the right choice for her. The perfect gift.’

  I look up at her so suddenly that the sky tilts to the side, the grass slides up towards me.

  ‘Steady,’ Daniel says, arm around my shoulder. ‘You all right?’

  I force myself to focus on his face. Shake my head a little. No whispers of mysterious understandings can be heard when he is here. ‘Aye. I lost my balance.’

  ‘All right.’ He rubs my arm. ‘Ox roast next, I think. You need to eat, yes? Shall you take these?’

  I glance at the woman and her toothless smile. The fox and the hare, now perfectly still, a carved wooden pendant, no more. Yet I cannot leave without it. ‘Please,’ I say. Keep my voice light to show her this is nothing more to me than a pretty trinket.

  ‘I want to take something home for them,’ I say to Daniel. ‘Something they’d never have.’

  I wait in the cart, skin smarting from the day’s sun.

  Daniel returns at last from whatever business he left to take care of. He looks pleased with himself.

  ‘Here,’ he says, climbing up on to the cart and handing me a small parcel.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something you would never have.’

  I unwrap it and find a bracelet from the woman’s stall, the stones small and glossy, all colours from so pale as to be almost translucent to the darkness of Bonny’s shining coat. So pretty. I am torn between knowing what the selling of it would buy for my family, and wanting just one thing for myself. The stones are hard and cool against my skin as he rolls it on to my wrist and I expect it to feel unnatural, but it rests there comfortably, as though I was born to wear such things.

  ‘For our new life,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you.’

  I cradle the gifts in my hand, the smooth pendants, the hard leather case. Bonny stamps and the cart rocks. Daniel waits. Tonight I will not fall asleep to the sound of Annie’s steady breathing, tomorrow will not wake to hear Mam rattling the embers. Will not keep check of John’s wanderings.

  Daniel places his hand over mine. ‘You wish you were going home? There’s still time,’ he says gently. ‘You can change your mind. I’ll tell Father I could find no one suitable. He will be glad to save the money.’

  I look to the hare, see if he’ll give me an answer. He remains a piece of wood. ‘When will I see them?’

  ‘Sundays. After milking.’

  Today is Tuesday. I cannot imagine the sun rising on Annie four times without me there to search her skin, though Mam has promised to do it in my place.

  ‘But I will find a way for you to go more often,’ he says.

  ‘All right,’ I say.

  ‘Yes? You want to come?’

  ‘Aye.’ I blink away tears. I will be a milkmaid. Live on the farm, with Daniel and his father, earn my wage and bring it to my family. See them only on Sundays.

  Daniel leans in, so close that I smell the straw scent of his skin. His lips, when they reach me, are warm and soft. There’s nothing in the world but this.

  He breaks off but remains close, head dipped against mine, breath on my cheek.

  ‘Go then, why do you tarry?’ I say. ‘It’s turning cold.’

  Wavering Light

  Bett came to greet them, dressed in her hat and neckerchief, ready for home.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘You look born to those clothes now.’

  ‘No more waddling,’ Sarah said.

  Bett’s eyes flickered with amusement. Daniel walked around to lift Sarah to the ground but she had already jumped.

  Bett stepped closer, glanced at him and then Sarah. ‘I put another petticoat on your bed. Spare is good to have.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sarah said. ‘When I can I’ll—’

  Bett shook her head, scowling a little. ‘No. It’s a welcome gift. Nowt special. Do the same for any new milkmaid.’

  They all knew that any other milkmaid would bring her own spare clothes. Daniel felt a brief urge to kiss her, though she would not approve, and thanked God that Father had seen fit to gift Bett so many of his mother’s clothes. Her generosity would not leave her short.

  ‘Well, I can’t be dawdling here all night,’ she said. ‘In you go.’

  Inside both fire and candles were lit, there was a smell of cooked meat and the dinner plates had been washed and cleared away. Father sat at the table with his ale and Gabriel stood in his cap, ready to leave. Daniel looked around, trying to see as for the first time. It was welcoming, as new homes go. Sarah stood in the doorway, her face cast into shadow so that he could not see her expression. Daniel swallowed and steadied himself. There was no turning back now.

  ‘Step in, lass,’ Father said in a voice so soft Daniel barely recognised it. ‘Strange feeling to start anew, I know, but this is your home now. Do not be shy.’

  Sarah stepped in, smiled at them. ‘Thank you.’

  Daniel waited for a shout of recognition to come. The moment stretched endlessly. He kept his eyes on her, and saw just a girl, a milkmaid, no different from any other but that he knew the chaos of light and dark that stormed through her, and had been drawn into it. Bett’s warning spun through his mind. He had brought Sarah to the home of her enemy, and placed her in a worse situation than before. They would know her now, and all would be undone.

  He waited. Nothing.

  Gabriel cleared his throat, removed his hat and turned it in his hands. ‘You are welcome to be here,’ he said, glancing at Father’s amused expression and raised eyebrows. ‘Though it’s not for me to say so, not being my home to offer.’ Head down, he stepped towards the door. ‘Lovely to have you here, miss. Meaning that, you are needed. By the cows.’ He stopped in front of Sarah, blushing, peering at her face. ‘Wait, we have not – have our paths crossed?’

  Daniel’s heart beat faster. Sarah stiffened, glancing at him. He laughed, as convincing as he could. ‘Not – not possible, how could it be so?’

  ‘Out, Gabriel,’ Father said. ‘Be off home.’

  Gabriel shook his head and replaced his hat. ‘Aye. Senseless notion. I’ll be saying good evening.’ He hurried out into the night.

  ‘Well,’ Father said. ‘You must be hungry and tired. There’s food saved and my son will show you to your room.’ He emptied his tankard, placed it on the table and swallowed a belch. ‘I shall be off to the tavern.’

  Just he and Sarah, then, standing in the wavering light of the fire, listening to it snap, waiting as the sound of Father’s footsteps receded. Sarah put her hands over her mouth, stifling laughter, and ran to him.

  ‘Oh, I thought they’d know me,’ she said.

  ‘To them you will only ever be a dairymaid from another village.’ His words were more confident than his spirit. Still, he willed this to be so, with all his being. All their plans depended on it. He removed her coif, pulled her hair from the pins until it fell over her shoulders as he had seen so often before. ‘But not to me,’ he said. ‘Not me.’

  Full-Moon Eyes

  A new life, a new skin. Perhaps.

  In the light of the candle I unlace the stays and strip off my shift with shaking hands, turn my side to the flame, lift the flesh as much as I can to be sure, scrutinise it.

  The mark remains.

  I look again, again. Run my fingers over the skin, though it’s always been smooth, the stain just for the eyes.

  Still marked, still chosen. I press back tears with my fists, hold at bay the flicker at the corner of my vision. I don’t know why I thought that a different house, a new outfit would wash this fate from me. Relief and disappointment mingle. I must manage my powers with care, must
ensure that the dog does not overwhelm and expose me as imposter.

  I am still chosen, and I don’t know how long my master will let me hide here before taking me over, even against my will. He may yet take Annie. I press my hands to my eyes but cannot force away the image of her little arm bearing his mark, of the magistrate casting his cold eye upon it and dragging her, them all, to the assizes. And after that … I beat my forehead with my fists, driving out thoughts of the rope.

  Snarling shudders my bones. If so much as a whisper of harm strays their way I shall bear all the dark power I can muster down upon those responsible. Any that speaks of my family to Magistrate Wright shall suffer my wrath.

  The gentle tap on the door can only be Daniel’s. I pull my shift back on, lace the stays and call for him to enter.

  ‘So,’ he says softly. ‘Do you like it?’

  I look around the room that once was Bett’s and now is mine. The same size as the one Annie, Mam and I sleep in, with a mat in the centre, a neatly folded petticoat lying on top of the thick blanket. Annie will be cold tonight without me there to warm her.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ I say.

  ‘It’s small,’ he says.

  ‘Big enough for me.’

  He sees through me. ‘I think – you miss home, don’t you?’ he asks. ‘Tomorrow you will go to them. There will be time, I’ll make sure.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He takes me in his arms. ‘I’m happy you’re here.’

  ‘I’m happy to be here,’ I say. And at this moment it’s almost entirely true.

  The bed is a large stack of hay tied together, it’s thicker than I am used to and the blanket warmer. I am under the same roof as Daniel. I should sleep like an angel, but I cannot.

  At home Sleep sails in on the sounds of Annie’s steady breathing, even John’s night-time snorts. Here there’s only silence and she has no means to enter. I lie in my comfortable bed, relieved when sunlight fingers through the window and I may rise to be about my work.