I see a furtive figure, crouched and swift-running from the direction of the netter’s house, glancing side to side. The way he moves, bent and unlike a man, I can see why a fearful mind would think him a demon. Barely there, but I see him. I know him. John.
I turn and head towards home, not daring to call to him, though I wish to. Whatever John is about cannot be good, and can only invite danger after last night’s meeting. I’ll have it out with Mam as soon as I see her. Hurrying up the hill, caring not to protect my white stockings from the dust as I lift my petticoat and march on. Mouth dry and brow damp with exertion but I do not stop. I pray they are there, that Seth had the goodwill to rouse them from their beds last night with warnings of the bitter words flying about the village.
Outside the door I pause, even now, to twist the ring on my finger. As though I carry Daniel with me this way, though I only dare wear it on visits home lest his father see and discover us. Watch my own hand reach out, metal glinting in sunlight, push the door open. The moment, the last unknowing one before I find which of them awaits inside and if all is well, stretches out unbearably.
‘Mam,’ I call before my feet are even in, before I can see anything of the dimness inside. ‘Mam, tell me you’re all safe there’s talk in the village, and I’ve just seen John—’
She appears in front of me, says softly, ‘I did not expect you now.’
I throw my arms around her, chin on her shoulder as I stare into the shadows for Annie and John, for perhaps he’s reached home before me.
A woman sits at our table.
I am fixed, holding on to Mam. I know who this is that watches me as I, Sarah the farm dairymaid, embrace my mother, the cunning woman from the cursed hill, but am unable to understand her presence here.
Her soft-edged beauty is out of place against the battered furniture, grimy walls and cobweb-strewn corners. Her skin too bright, her round eyes too light. Though I note, as I grow used to the gloom, she carries a haunted look I’ve not seen on her before. Of course. Only the troubled call upon this dwelling.
She looks from the ring I wear to my face under the coif that is my disguise, and I see she understands all.
‘You,’ she says, the word floating from her cracked lips like a feather.
Mam eases out of my clasp and steps to the table. ‘Drink up,’ she says.
The girl lifts the cup and swallows down the brew. I cannot see from here, but I know well enough the scent.
She meets my eye again as she finishes.
‘Parsley and tearthumb,’ I say.
There is nothing more to be spoken. Each looking at the other, knowing the one thing we would strive to keep hidden is revealed.
Mam takes the cup from her, holds out her hand for the coin in return.
I remain by the door as Molly stands and straightens her petticoats. Walks past me without a word, without a glance, just the brushing of fine cloth against my arm and the faint scent of hot metal.
Annie and John don’t return home. Mam assures me they’re both in the woods, and when I tell her I saw John in the village she claims I’m mistaken, that I saw another lad and imagined my brother. She swears it so, I’m almost convinced. She busies herself over the fire.
I tell her all. How with just the prattling of one tongue her work will have her condemned and swaying from the Hanging Tree. To continue with balms and poultices if she must, but on no account to stray into enchantments and curses.
‘You tell me nowt that Seth did not say last night, and nowt that has not always been the case,’ she says.
‘It’s not the same, now. Magistrate Thompson is gone and they’re feared, I’ve seen the change. They’re angry. You’ve no hold over this Wright. You mustn’t give him any chance to hurt you. Any of you.’
She pats my hand. ‘Don’t fret, lass. I know how to keep them safe.’
At last I must leave, without knowing the comfort of holding Annie, without seeing her sweet, unmarked skin. Hearing nothing to assure me that Mam understands.
Heavily I walk, from a home no longer a home, to a home not yet one.
Daniel waits at the path by the sheep field. A risk, but I’m glad to see him. He takes me in his arms and, just for a moment, I let myself breathe in his scent of sunlight and hay, and be comforted.
‘It feels everything we’ve built is about to be swept away,’ I say. ‘Should they discover who I am we’ll be forced to part. And worse, they will hurt you.’
‘We will not part,’ he says. ‘We are bound now.’ He releases me, taking my hands in his. ‘There is another way.’
I know his mind, for the same thought is in mine. ‘To leave?’
‘Yes. Leave and find work.’
I long for it so, but the thought of Mam, John and Annie left here is too much to bear. To go without them is not possible. ‘But – I can’t. My family …’
He hesitates just a beat. ‘They shall come. Yes. We’ll find work and then call for them. And one day, in the end, we shall have our own little house. You will bake the bread.’
‘And we’ll eat flawn,’ I say.
Even now, in the face of desperation, we laugh. He pulls me to him, kisses the top of my head. ‘You would run away with the flawn itself, I am surplus.’
I shrug.
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Do not deny it.’
‘I – nay, of course.’
He shakes his head, smiling. ‘You lingered too long, I know the truth of it now.’
For a moment the thought of the fire and the flawn, the thought of this life with him, feels real. Hope soars in me. ‘Where can we go?’ I ask.
He sighs, spreads his arms. ‘I don’t know. We both have skills, we can find work. We cannot wait for the mop, we shall have to travel and seek. Take whatever work and lodging we may find.’
‘You’ll lose the farm.’
‘Matters not.’
‘And your family?’
He shakes his head.
‘This is our plan?’ I ask.
He bends to kiss me. ‘This is our plan. But first, we must be wed.’
I have not set foot in church before. Colourful splinters of light fall from the window behind him and splash on to the dusty floor, and I struggle to focus on Seth. There is a scent I recognise from the farm as candle wax and, though the sun shines outside, a chill seeping from wall and ground.
‘We will not part,’ Daniel says, glancing at me.
‘Would I could persuade you otherwise,’ Seth says, slowly, as though each word is a boulder of great weight heaved from within. He holds a leather-bound book, which I know must be the Bible.
‘You cannot,’ I say. ‘But you can help us still, if you’re willing.’
Seth chews his lip. ‘If there is any way to make amends for the hurts I’ve caused by encouraging your feelings and putting you in danger, then—’
‘We’re leaving this place,’ I say.
‘And we must be wed,’ Daniel says.
Seth looks upon our clasped hands. ‘Where shall you go?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ I say.
He walks to a raised area at the front of the church and climbs the wooden steps. ‘Then I may be able to help a little, and perhaps do some small good after all. It will not be easy, but I see you are determined.’ He lays out his Bible, turning the pages until he finds the one he’s looking for. Daniel meets my eye. It is all I can do to stop myself screaming at Seth to continue.
‘I know of a family,’ he says, ‘far from here, that might help. Farmers, they have suffered dreadfully with the loss of their children, and I in my humble way comforted them. Perhaps, if I entreat on your part, they will allow you to work their land and share their home, echoing as it does with vanished joys.’
Daniel’s grip on my hand tightens. ‘Parson, we would be so grateful.’
Seth gives a brief smile. ‘Then I shall send word today. Bide just a little time, I shall inform you as soon as I receive reply. And you shall be husband and wife before you go.’
Outside, Daniel glances around to make sure no one sees, pulls me into his arms and swings me until my shoes lift free of the grass.
I hold on to my coif, laughing. ‘What?’
‘We shall be together. It will happen – the house, the farm.’ He runs his finger down the centre of my face gently: forehead, nose, lips. ‘Husband and wife.’
No word of Molly passes my lips, nor ever shall. For the balance of all things lies in this, that her secrets remain sewn into my mouth unspoken and so then mine shall lie buried in her breast also. Never shall we call ourselves friends, but we are bound by the frailty we have each shown the other today.
Innocence
The hay rattle was bleached dry and thin, ready to cut, and so the endless toil of August began. Rising at dawn and working till dusk, straw hat little protection from the callous sun that left Daniel’s arms and the back of his neck raw as he bent and swung the scythe all day. The constant itch of sweat, dust and insect bites. He thought often of the new life that was to begin, trying to imagine what it would be to live and work elsewhere, to leave all he had known. Sometimes in trepidation, sometimes excitement. Soon, he would rest each night in the arms of his wife. They counted the days in secret smiles and stolen glances, waiting for word from Parson Walsh.
He returned at last, hot, exhausted and dirty from the field. On the doorstep stood a jar.
He recognised it, but asked all the same. Opened his mouth. Waited for his voice to come. ‘What’s this?’
Father cleared his throat, met Daniel’s eye. Stamped the dust from his boots before entering. ‘You know what it is.’
‘Why do we need a witch jar? There’s no – we are none of us cursed.’
‘To ward off those that are coming.’
Daniel stooped to remove his boots. ‘We needed no such protection before.’
‘There was no such wickedness in the air before. Happen the magistrate warns us rightly, we should fear these spirits, son. We know the truth that Phyllis gave in to the mischief that tempted her, and so she’s lost. Now Sam Finch fails – cursed by the Devil-boy up the hill, some say. You know that young Robinson lad was out in the woods when he should have been helping with the catch last week and his father fit to beat him until the boy told of a demon in the shape of a hare that tempted him away and swore to lay a curse upon the family if he disobeyed?’
Daniel looked out at the endless spill of trees and fields, the blinking of the first stars. Put his hand to his pocket, where he carried the stone Sarah had given him, and wondered how strong was the protection it brought. ‘I hadn’t heard,’ he said.
‘Aye, well, you must keep your ear to the ground now, son. Listen out for whispers of what takes place. The boy’s family took him straight to tell all to Magistrate Wright and he is keeping record of any such happenings to better hunt down the evil that breeds here. Papists and witchery. What should become of us if we fall victim to a curse? Hay harvest fails, we lose the livestock come winter and we starve. I must protect the farm and all that work it as best I can.’
A moment of silence.
‘I thought witch jars are strongest when buried? Or – or burned?’ Daniel asked.
Father opened the door. ‘This one is strongest here. Where the magistrate can see it and be assured of our innocence.’
Flesh Will Pay
The door opens and Bett throws something on to my bed, tearing me from imaginings of life as Daniel’s wife. Of the life that’s soon to be mine.
‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘Sunday best.’
‘For what?’
‘For God.’
I sit up, pulling the blanket to my chest. ‘Church isn’t for me,’ I say.
‘It is now. Magistrate’s on the lookout.’
‘But none questions that I go to my own church of a Sunday …’
‘They will now. Show your face with the rest of the village.’
She leaves, door swinging closed behind her, and I take a better look at what she has given me. A coif, not much different to the one I already own, but for the holly leaves embroidered on in black thread, silky under my fingers. Such beauty as I never dreamed of possessing.
Gabriel walks beside me all the way, too close so that I can smell his skin in the hot air.
‘Stay next to me, lass,’ he says. ‘For once I saw that witch-girl and her Devil-sister from the plague hill lingering here ready to curse any passing, like she did to me, though I am strong enough to withstand it. I shall keep you safe.’
Shadow bristles in my eye. I wish now Mam had not given him the salve to cure his pox. He would not be so bold, then. I breathe deep, bite the inside of my cheek to bring me back to myself, before my fury takes hold and the dog overpowers me.
My laughter is spiked with hate. ‘I hardly need protection from a lass and a child.’
‘These aren’t no ordinary ones, but riddled with hellish magic and ready to harm any person on their way to church. Have you seen her, that witch? Wild hair, and those eyes, nowt earthly about her.’
Growl shudders my bones. I bite down harder, and blood fills my mouth. I stop and look him in the eye. ‘Happen they ask for nowt more than a kindness.’
His head jerks towards me, eyes narrow as he studies my face. My heart lurches and I know I shouldn’t have spoken those same words Annie used that day. I should drop my eye so he cannot recognise the wildness that flickers there, but can no longer bring myself to cower before this brute.
He shakes his shoulders out, laughs. ‘Ah, you’re such a innocent, you just cannot fathom their true nature. And you’ll never have to, for none such evil will touch you, I’ll make certain of it. I’ve a mind to walk up the cursed hill and take her to the magistrate myself, watch her dangle from the rope.’
I walk ahead, fighting to control the snarling that overcomes me, the blaze that flares whenever I close my eyes. My head aches by the time we reach the church. Framed by a bright, blue sky and nestling behind a great oak. The sight gives me an unexpected and welcome sense of calm, quieting the fury in me.
The top of the wall is lined with the heads of some creature I do not recognise, carved in stone, with a wide-open mouth and hair surrounding the face. To instil fear, perhaps, at the masterful beings God has at his command, yet I feel nothing but peace, and am glad to step into the hushed gloom. Chase the turmoil from me. Stop the power taking me over.
At first I keep my eyes on those around, lest my true master seek me out in disguise. I recognise most faces; Molly Matthews sits across the aisle, with her parents. Still sickly and red-eyed. I wonder if the parsley brew has played its part. In front of us is Nelly Finch, her clothes loose and face lost its softness since last I saw her. Sam is not here. Phyllis’s mother sits at the back, hands clasped on her knee.
I watch the feet walking down the aisle, for I know should he come for me that would be the only part he could not change. And he may not have me, not now, when I can almost reach out and touch my new life with Daniel. When to be exposed would be to call down disaster upon all I love. Shoes peeking from petticoats, boots under breeches and socks. No hoof. Nothing that makes me think all is not what it seems.
At last I lift my eyes. Seth takes his place, and though I’ve seen him in robes and hat before, he seems now unlike the man I know. He speaks of love and trust, of withholding judgement and obedience to God. I try to catch his eye, search for any hopeful sign that he has good news for us. His words are slow and flat, I see the effort it takes for him to pass them through his lips.
He will be at Mam’s after this.
I try to join in with the prayers I’ve never heard, sing the hymns I don’t know. Kneel, stand and sit when others do and, when the service is done, follow everyone out into the dazzling sunlight.
In hopes of catching Seth, I linger, but Bett takes my arm and drags me to a quiet corner of the graveyard. I stumble as I try to keep pace with her.
‘It’s well you brought me,’ I say. ‘I’d n
o idea it would be so—’
‘Hush, lass. You make a show of yourself, babbling on as though you’ve never stepped inside church before.’ She bends her head close to mine. ‘The talk is all of Sam Finch.’
My happiness floats away into the warm air, leaving me chilled under the beating August sun.
‘What do you know of it?’ she asks, glancing past me to the crowd gathered near the path. I turn. No one approaches.
‘I know nowt,’ I say.
‘You know that there have been troubles for him, a series of luckless happenings, and now he is suffering with the flux.’
‘Well, aye, I knew that—’
‘And you know that three times now who has been seen running from the house but your brother?’ Her words a near-silent hiss. Behind her a spadger sits in the branches of a tree and chirps, and I long to listen only to its song and keep her words from my ears.
She stops, hands on hips, scrutinising my face. Her chest rises and falls quickly.
‘Sarah?’
‘I know nowt of it.’ Though even as I say the words I think of the crumbled clay image of Sam Finch, of the mysterious business John’s been about. I knew it was he I saw in the village. I swallow but the bitter taste in my mouth returns.
Bett breathes out heavily, purses her lips and turns her face up to the sky. ‘They say he’s dying.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘If they are about some wickedness, your brother or your mam, you must make them stop. This place is changed. If Sam dies, they’ll gather together and punish those they blame. I’ve heard talk of a plan to march with torches to the house again. I have begged Nathaniel to calm them and he does what he can, but he is just one voice. And the next they look for shall be you, folks have started asking why we’ve not seen you beg— out with your sister of late. Understand?’
I do.
Cunning Women Page 23