At last he freed the ring. A simple gold band. Tiny, so that he could barely make out the words engraved on the inside: Love me and leave me not. He brought to mind Sarah’s small hands, her narrow, chapped fingers; he was sure it would fit.
Trinket
I am breathless when I reach the house, having marched up the hill as fast as I can, preparing what to say to Mam. How she’ll respond I cannot guess – with kindness or anger, depending on her mood. I’ve no choice but to face either.
Bitter scent of henbane lingers as I step in. Seth has been, once again in need of Mam’s offerings. I pick my time well; he is gone when I arrive, Annie in the woods and John away, though when I ask where, Mam just shrugs and replies that he’s busy. I have not time for the flare of fear this would usually spark in me.
Her gaze alights on the ring glinting on my finger as soon as I step in, and she grabs my hand, examines it.
‘What’s this trinket?’ she asks.
‘No trinket, Mam.’ Sweat prickles my skin. I don’t know why. This is proof I was right and she wrong. Her eyes take in my face like birds scratching for scraps.
‘Are you telling me there’s been a wedding?’
‘Not yet,’ I say.
She drops my hand. ‘’Tis just a trinket, then.’
‘We will be married,’ I say. The truth of it chimes through my voice.
She looks at me, eyes narrowed. ‘Got yourself in trouble, haven’t you, lassie?’
I ignore the heat creeping over my cheeks. ‘No trouble.’
She watches me. I wait, fiddle with the cloth of my petticoat, stones at my wrist, ring on my finger.
‘At least, I don’t think there’ll be trouble,’ I say. ‘We’ve only just—’
She steps forward, jerks her arms out, so suddenly and with such force that I flinch.
‘Well, don’t stand there gormless, lass,’ she says. ‘You know where the parsley and tearthumb are kept. I’ll set the water on.’
The brew is one I’ve not tasted before. An underlying bitterness, tongue scorched as I swallow. We sit at the table, and were it another drink we could be just mother and daughter, sharing stories of nothing.
‘When will you know?’ she asks.
I think. ‘While the next full moon.’
‘You’d best take some with you. But just know, it will fail, in the end. This won’t always keep you safe.’ She clasps the hare pendant in her hand, rubs her thumb over the smooth wood.
I swallow the last mouthful, grimacing at the grainy sourness. Nod. But I can only hope it keeps me safe long enough. We’ve discovered a new way of living and there’s no undoing it now.
She reaches across the table, places her hand on my arm. ‘Whatever happens, this is where you dwell. Always. You know that, don’t you?’
I put the cup down, glad now I’ve drunk its contents for I could not swallow another thing, my throat is full. Grasp her hands. ‘I know, Mam.’
She squeezes my fingers, gives her head a little shake. ‘Well, now. Tell me of the fine life you have there, eh? I want to hear all—’
The door opens and Annie tears in, launching herself on to Mam’s lap, sobbing. We glance at each other over her head. An orphaned fox cub or some suchlike, I expect. I hope.
Eventually, her words become clear, though sodden with grief.
‘The lassie,’ she says. ‘The lassie’s dangling in the woods.’
We run silently, the three of us. Annie leading the way, faster than I’ve ever seen her, pulling Mam by the hand.
The feet are level with my knees. Not so far from the ground that kept her safe.
Around her neck, and tied to the branch above, a strip of cloth torn from a sheet. Staring blankly down at us her bloated, blackened face. Tongue swollen like a rotting fish.
Hers was not a quick death. Not merciful. She will have swung and choked before life drained away, with not even a kind soul to pull on her legs and break her neck.
Tear tracks still, on those bruised cheeks.
Mam moves slowly, weighed by the horror of what we have just seen. She wraps the neckerchief around me, as though I were a child, and presses the package of petals into my hand. Cups my face and kisses my cheek.
‘Tell only one you trust,’ she says. ‘Say nowt of us, we cannot be tied to this. And let it be known another discovered her, not you. You mustn’t be found out now.’
I embrace her briefly and bend to Annie. She’s folded herself in Mam’s petticoat, sucking her thumb. Small, brown eyes peer out at me.
I kiss her cheek. A little plumper than before.
‘Mammy will keep you safe,’ I say. ‘The lassie’s resting now.’
‘Poor thing,’ Mam says as I straighten up. ‘Her soul will tread that wood with the others.’
He is stabling the animals and I am grateful, for there’s no other here I must put on an act for. One look at my face and he frowns, steps forward and takes me in his arms.
‘Phyllis,’ I say. ‘Phyllis hanged herself in the woods.’
Crescent of the Whole
Daniel counted the tolls of the passing bell. Six for a woman, and then one for each year Phyllis lived. Fourteen.
They always offered the horse and cart for funerals, and so here he stood once again, looking into the faces of the bewildered and sorrow-stricken. Phyllis’s mother leaned forward, grasped his hand. So close, he could count the new furrows and contours marking her in the days since her daughter’s death.
‘She did not give herself to him, you know. She was not willing,’ she said.
The sight of Phyllis’s tearful face that night in the woods would plague him always. ‘I know.’
She stepped closer, cold hands gripping his. Tears flooded and fell. ‘It was when the second bleed didn’t come,’ she said. He could not tell if she nodded, or simply shook so violently in her grief.
‘Mary,’ Phyllis’s father called, frowning. He strode over, took her by the arm and led her away. He looked over his shoulder at Daniel. ‘She’s mad with the loss of her,’ he said. ‘Speaks not a word of sense.’
Daniel took his place in the line of villagers that would follow the cart to the graveyard. Glad of the darkness to hide him, glad of the candle to protect from returning spirits. Glancing back he found Sarah, part of the procession for the first time, coif bright in the moonlight, Bett at her side.
It was not usual to retire to the barn after a burial.
There were no biscuits offered, no wine, only a gathering of the sober and sorrowful. Magistrate Wright’s suggestion. He resumed his position from the last gathering, standing high and precarious on a sheaf at the front of the crowd.
‘It is a sad event that brings us here,’ he said. ‘The tragic perishing of a young spirit, and one that is a great loss to her family, to the village.’ Sobbing from Phyllis’s family. ‘But we must not turn blind to the unsavoury happenings that played a part in this, brought about by her own female failing and womanly wantonness.’
Daniel’s breath caught in his throat. He waited as the magistrate looked around. Though every person in the village knew Phyllis’s death was chosen, and unnatural in every way, the story that had been told to and accepted by Parson Walsh was of a calamitous accident. His voice had cracked with sorrow during the service. He would, surely, deafen his ears to any contradiction even, Daniel hoped, from the mouth of the law itself.
‘All you who are parents, all you who have standing in this village, the duty is yours to lead the way, to light the path of purity with your own model. I see the wickedness that shrouds you, lurking like a fog. Your catches will dry and your children starve at the evil hand you invite in.’
Daniel shifted, kept his eye on Sarah. Could see nothing of her face. He longed to be at the river with her in his arms, on a day just past, when Phyllis was still living and he not sullied by the guilt and despair of her death. Only Sarah could reach him now, for he was in a well of misery. He began to sidle round the edge of the crowd. To stand near
her would be enough.
‘Our young are weak,’ the magistrate continued. ‘Our women are weak, they have not the strength of spirit to resist the workings of the Devil. Blighted by feebleness and an existing stain of the soul, they are willing prey for the forces of evil. We must protect them from their own base urges.’
There was shifting, murmuring amongst the villagers. Daniel made his way past, slowly.
‘You must be vigilant.’ The voice rose. ‘Observe your womenfolk for wantonness above their usual failing, watch for the meeting of covens without a man to give spiritual strength. You must keep an attentive eye for secret knowledge of herb-use, the mark of the Devil upon the skin, for these are the signs of wickedness.’
Daniel walked faster. The words moved like a poisoned vapour, slowly intoxicating the crowd, until it had them shuffling and shouting. He thought of Sarah’s mother and her herb remedies, the whispers he had heard of worse, and had no doubt he was not the only one. Some courageous female voices dissented.
‘I warn you now,’ the magistrate shouted above the rabble, ‘these women are among you, breeding like maggots. And they wish harm upon you in every way.’
He saw her head turn. Looking for him, and he not yet with her. Behind her now, an arm’s reach away.
‘I question why,’ the magistrate bellowed, ‘I do not see witch jars outside your houses, I do not see lights in windows at night and witch marks on your walls. I question if you are not warding off this evil, then who amongst you invite it in? My studies into the papist abomination you hold in the breast of this village are almost complete. Those guilty will stand before God and my judgement, and for the sake of your souls, no mercy shall be shown. Now is your chance to show your innocence, come to me with what you know, or stand tainted with those that sin.’
Daniel pressed through, reached out his hand, fingers grazing her shoulder. She turned to him abruptly, eyes dark with fear and fury.
Bett leaned back. ‘Get her away,’ she said softly. He saw her squeeze Sarah’s hand, then release it.
There was scuffling in the corner where Phyllis’s family sat, then the anguished crying out of a woman and a male roar of pain.
Daniel took Sarah’s hand, caring not for the eyes around them, and led her quickly towards the door.
The crowd swelled and surged as Phyllis’s father lunged forward, and those nearby held him back.
‘My daughter was not wanton. And no witch,’ he yelled. ‘Hear me?’
Daniel and Sarah recoiled to avoid his flailing fists and wild eyes. The open door just a few steps away.
Phyllis’s father pushed through the crowd. ‘She was an innocent that fell prey to—’
Daniel did not wait to hear more. He dragged Sarah through to the cool night air, passing the parson as he slumped against the wall by the door, head dropped.
‘I have to get to Mam,’ Sarah said, as soon as they were safely outside.
‘I know.’
They made their way back to the house, loitering in the shadows and speaking in whispers.
‘But – but she’s a cunning woman, every person has turned to her at some time for a, a salve or remedy. Only healing and herb-knowledge.’
Even as he said the words he knew they were but a crescent of the whole, the other truth lying in unspoken shadow. The Haworth hag, up the cursed hill in the old plague village, with her brood of wild Devil-brats. Stories of crops dying if you crossed her, of starvation and suffering and maladies afflicting your children. Spells to wipe out your foe for the price of a coin. Sarah’s cursing of Gabriel. The demon seen in the village.
‘You know they all carry guilt of one kind or another,’ she said. ‘Every woman washing clothes at the beck tells of who lies with another’s husband, or which man beat his wife and then claimed she’d become possessed by a sprite and flung herself into the walls. They’re feared and they’ll hand her over to cover their own sins as sure as they beg her for cures and then spit at her on their way to church.’
The tap on his shoulder caused him to cry out. There had been no warning footsteps.
‘I’m sorry, my son,’ Parson Walsh said, hands lifted by way of apology. ‘I did not intend to startle, but I must speak with you both urgently.’
Sarah clasped his arm. ‘Seth, will you go to Mam? Please? Warn her?’
‘I will, rest assured.’ He patted her hand. ‘But I’m sorry to say I was mistaken in my confidence and now I have churned you both into the befouled workings of my mind. I have failed to convince Magistrate Wright of the Shaws’ innocence and I realise now the staggering arrogance of my belief that I would be chosen to bring your families together.’
This was unexpected. Daniel glanced at Sarah for explanation, but she looked upon the parson with pity.
‘You strove only to help,’ she said.
‘You are in a precarious position of my making. Why the Lord has burdened me with this corrupted soul I shall never know.’ His voice dropped so quiet that Daniel could hardly hear. ‘Though I do endeavour to bear it.’ The parson bent his head and wiped his eyes. ‘Oh, had I but counselled you with more caution.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Sarah said.
He shook his head and spoke at pace, barely drawing breath. ‘You must see that now you cannot be wed, you cannot be discovered, Sarah, in such times as are coming. Magistrate Wright has spoken with me of his past achievements, as he sees them, of hunting down papists and witches, condemning them on no more than a mark on the skin and the word of a neighbour.’ He leaned in, whispered. ‘Should he learn who you are, I fear you will be condemned for bewitching young Daniel here.’
Daniel felt something run through her, though she made no sound.
‘But we are already wed, as good as, we have pledged to God and He knows it,’ he said. ‘I gave my mother’s ring.’
He heard voices from the barn, rising in a growing tide of anger and fear, an uproar that made the hairs on his arms rise.
Seth’s whisper quickened. ‘And God I am sure sees the purity of your feelings, but you must concede now that those marvels you dreamed cannot be.’ He took a breath and said, ‘You must part.’
Daniel reached for Sarah, and she for him, as she spoke. ‘We shall not.’
‘They will not discover her,’ Daniel said.
‘Eventually, they will. Someone will, and this venomous talk destroys any hope we had that your union be accepted.’
Daniel could not catch his breath. ‘We cannot part.’
‘You must.’
‘Nay,’ Sarah said.
They stood together, joined by hand and in purpose. Daniel’s heart kicked, his breath came fast and thin. He was afraid as he had never been, and sure as he had never been.
The villagers began to pour out. Parson Walsh started and was gone into the darkness, leaving them silent, and bound together.
Sewn
I lie a-bed, awake. Weeping hot, angry tears into the thick straw mattress and cotton sheet. Tonight more than any I am feared to my belly that my master will seek out Daniel and take him from me. Remove me from this new life and this house. I feel him so strongly, calling me to whisper a curse upon the hate-filled magistrate, and I long to, I imagine him cowering in fear before me, but I dread to let this power consume me. I must battle the shadow in my eye.
When at last I sleep, I dream of Annie, standing white and still, thicket of twig-filled hair and scraped, muddy knees. Whispered words spool out of her, fine and silver as spider’s web, and surround me until I am caught in their gossamer threads. I cannot move, cannot speak, cannot see, but I know she is gone and ever will be, and all because I stood and let it be so.
As I wake I hear through the floorboards Daniel persuade his father that I’m stricken with grief at Phyllis’s death. Mr Taylor is fond of me, I am a good dairymaid, and so looks with a soft eye and grants me leave for some hours of the afternoon.
First I must help Bett with the laundry, and we carry the basket of clothes and sheets
to the beck. A task I usually like, but am not eager to be in the company of village women today.
The lye we’ve soaked the linen in stings my eyes as I wade into the water and dunk the clothes, then beat them against the rocks with the washing-beetle. Satisfying work. Today Bett minds my mood, and does not chat or laugh and splash me as she usually does but instead watches the children playing at the bank with the same expression Annie wears when she sees someone eating cake. Still, I cannot avoid hearing the other women talking about Phyllis, and how they had always known she had badness in her, and no wonder she would come to such an end.
I slam the clothes with extra force, splashing the woman next to me, not one I have seen here before but one who sometimes came to Mam for a salve to soothe the skin. I turn away.
‘Sorry.’
‘No matter.’ She stares at me. ‘You know I – have we met elsewhere?’
I bend to inspect the clothes, heart beating a little faster. ‘No.’
‘Yes I – can’t place, and yet I know you from somewhere, I’m sure.’
Bett steps between us. ‘Ah, she’s that kind of a face, everyone feels she’s a life-friend when in fact they’ve just met.’ She pats my arm, turning me gently towards the bank. ‘Isn’t that so?’
I try to laugh. ‘Yes.’
‘See, there we are. That’s all it is. How’s that son of yours, still a wild one?’
The woman laughs, and I wish I could thank Bett, but she waves me away. ‘You begone,’ she calls. ‘I can wring these myself and I know you’ve that task to be about.’
I walk through the village to see the aftermath of the magistrate’s words for myself. And it is plain. On every step sits a witch jar, in every window a cross fashioned from driftwood or corn. Many a wall bears a newly-hewn pattern. There’s a hush I’ve never known, I can hear each of my shoes hit the ground. No lingering on the street to exchange news, no wandering by the harbour to flirt. Into this quiet falls another set of footsteps, quick and light.
Cunning Women Page 22