Cunning Women

by Elizabeth Lee

  I tighten my hold on Seth’s waist, though the heat of him is almost more than I can bear on such a day. A figure stands at the foot of the hill. A man. It appears he looks this way. He doesn’t move.

  ‘They shall make you welcome, to a one, to a one, and the Wilsons are the best of all. Such good souls and so beset with grief.’

  I keep my eye on the man standing below. It is not Daniel. This man leans back, swinging a stick like a child.

  ‘Tomorrow nightfall, you come to me, and we shall have you wed and gone before sunrise.’

  ‘Thank you, Seth,’ I say, breathless from the heat and walk and heaviness of him. ‘We owe you everything.’

  Seth stops, so abruptly that I almost trip. He holds his finger up as though considering the direction of the wind.

  ‘I fear I must puke,’ he says, and falls to his knees.

  The figure walks towards us, and I towards him. It’s not long before I know him. Gabriel.

  He whistles through his teeth, stands still. Regards me, and stabs the ground with the stick. He has sharpened the end.

  I glance back at Seth, on hands and knees, retching. That Gabriel knows who I am matters not, for tomorrow I shall be gone.

  I face him, silent. No point attempting to lay a curse, it will take more than a pointed finger and some words of magic to fright him.

  ‘So, Molly spoke right after all,’ he says. ‘You are none but that witch-whore, disguised as a sweet, comely lass.’

  The story fits together in my mind like pieces of a broken branch, entwined to leave no space for doubt.

  ‘The brew didn’t work, did it?’ I ask.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She carries your babe.’

  He moves closer, but a step away from me now, tall and wide as a wall. I stand my ground, staring up at him. Seth groans behind me.

  ‘You planted it in her belly with some witchery, for all I know.’

  ‘I’ll stake it was you did that, Gabriel.’

  ‘Dare you speak my name?’

  His hand flies out, dropping the stick at his feet, and I flinch, despite determination to stand firm. He grabs my coif and throws it to the ground, rips the pins from my hair so it falls down my neck and over my shoulder. Slowly, he wraps it round his hand, brings it up and caresses his cheek, dips his nose and breathes in, eyes closed. I am brought closer to him as he winds my hair around his fist.

  ‘Leave me be,’ I say.

  ‘Long, I have dreamed of this,’ he says, voice softer than I’ve ever heard. ‘To know the look of it about your shoulder, to know the feel and scent.’

  I try to keep my breathing slow and steady. Fail. This moment, when happiness rests within reach, he dares touch me, forces fear upon me.

  ‘Get your hands off,’ I say.

  His eyes snap open, grip tightens on my hair. I wince.

  ‘No matter, for I see you with a clear eye now. Did you lay a spell on me, that I would see you as other? I have shook it off, witch.’

  He winds my hair tighter, tighter, reeling me in close, my body pulled next to his, head tipped up to him. I feel the pounding of his heart against my shoulder, the fast rise and fall of his chest. I would have to rip the hair from my head to escape. At the corner of my eye I see the shape of Seth, on hands and knees, body wracked as he heaves. He turns to us, and I pray that he keeps away, protects himself.

  ‘I would not waste my time with the likes of you,’ I say.

  ‘I see you now,’ he says. ‘Ugly. Only your sorcery could make me want to wed you, give myself to you. Touch you.’

  He runs his thumb over my lips, head bent close to mine, breath hot on my face.

  ‘You got a ugly little mouth, lass. You little whore, it wasn’t you, never you, the one I loved, the one I wanted. Not this mouth.’

  He forces his thumb between my lips. I struggle to free myself.

  ‘Not this hair.’

  Twists and yanks. A blaze of pain in my scalp and I cry out. Heart thundering now.

  ‘Not this body.’

  Hand on my skin, forcing under my shift and closing hard around my breast. Face so close to mine now, the breath from every word hitting my cheek.

  ‘Was never love,’ he says, ‘but trickery, a mockery of my feelings, but I see you now, I see you, you ugly little bitch.’

  His lips on mine, tongue forcing into my mouth, invading, hands yanking hair and pounding skin. I pull away as hard as I can, but he is too strong, too determined. Try to cry out but my mouth is full of him and I have no voice. Heart thudding, I struggle, fight, but nothing happens. Taste of him, and of my own tears. I pull away and away, must free myself. Cannot. I am trapped.

  ‘Gabriel.’

  The voice is loud, sure and slow. Seems to come from above, and we are both jolted out of the moment. Gabriel loosens his grip and I run free, wiping my mouth and aiming a sharp kick at his shin on the way. More grateful for the shoes than I’ve ever been. He yelps and staggers, glaring at me.

  ‘Whore,’ he says.

  ‘Brute.’

  I hate now as I’ve never hated, with every part of mind and body. For forcing his touch upon me. For laying this fear on me, leaving me shaking and weak and taking refuge at Seth’s side. I hate him enough to embrace my powers, to release the dog just so I can watch it rip his throat out and soak this desecrated ground with his blood. Enough to become what I fear and lose all I hope for.

  Seth lays a hand on my arm. He stands tall, face calm and commanding, though I see the pallor of his skin, catch a whiff of puke about him.

  ‘You leave her be,’ he says to Gabriel.

  ‘But, parson, you don’t know—’

  ‘We are all children of God, and you are to leave this one be. Always.’

  ‘No, she isn’t what she appears, you’ve been—’

  Seth turns to me, speaks softly. ‘Go, now.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Go,’ he says. Drops his head lower to look me in the eye. ‘Go to your love, share your news.’

  I glance at Gabriel. He listens to every word, frowning.

  ‘No,’ I say.

  ‘Begin the new path,’ Seth says. ‘I will calm the seas here, and see you both tomorrow night.’

  I back away a few steps, then run to him again, kiss his cheek before turning and fleeing the hillside. The words that begin to pour from Gabriel’s mouth follow on the wind.

  Witch. Whore. Slave of the Devil. Sorceress. Rising in volume and venom with each one.

  I run from them. Run to Daniel. To our new life.

  The Very Brink

  They stood. Daniel and Father in the silent kitchen, looking about at the cold fire and empty table.

  The sleepless night of excitement at what was to come and heartache for what he must leave had left Daniel exhausted, and filled with uneasy vigour.

  Father looked at him, shrugged in an open-armed gesture of defeat.

  ‘Gabriel, I can understand,’ he said. ‘Bellyful of ale last night left him sore-headed and lazy, or he’s found a fray on the way in and delayed himself. But Bett – never been away a day, has she?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘Not one, but for the day she wed. And that they should both be gone—’

  Father pulled on his beard. ‘Strange.’

  They glanced around again, as though the absent persons might crawl out from under the table and confess some jest.

  ‘Little lassie will be milking, of course,’ Father said.

  ‘As ever.’ Daniel tried to keep his voice dispassionate. He had not seen Sarah this morning, could only hope that she was about her tasks as always. ‘Do you—’

  The door swung open and Bett staggered through, panting and pressing a hand to her side.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, leaning against the wall. ‘Oh, news from the village, the most fearful news, and though I pray God it’s not true, but I have heard from many.’

  ‘News of what?’ Father asked.

  She heaved herself from the wall and lurche
d towards Daniel, taking his hands. ‘You must come, for what they’re saying it’s – you must quiet them.’

  ‘What news?’ he asked.

  ‘Of the parson,’ she said.

  Daniel ran as never before, outstripping both Father and Bett.

  The happiness and fearful hope that had filled him through the night, knowing that he would end this day Sarah’s husband and at the very brink of a life of his own making, felt still within reach. The tale Bett had been told would prove false. A mistake; so great an evil could not have taken place. He would find all calm, all as it was and should be. And he and Sarah would say their quiet farewells, and begin along their own path.

  He heard the shouts and wails before he came upon the crowd gathered at the foot of the cursed hill, standing a small distance from the figure on the ground. Desperate, he flung aside any that stood in his way, until he looked upon the dreadful sight himself.

  The parson lay on his back, arms outstretched and feet together, a grotesque imitation of Christ on the cross. Pinned to the ground by a stake through the chest, grass below him darkened by black wings of blood. His face waxy and white, mouth gaping, eyes open and blank. Hat nowhere to be seen. His wispy hair shifting in the breeze in a cruel replica of life.

  Daniel refused to believe what he saw, looked again and could not deny. Gasped for air and found none. Fell to his knees and reached to stroke the parson, to ease pain or give comfort, but found only the chill of death beneath his touch. A sound he did not recognise came from his own mouth, an expression of grief and anger that could not be articulated. The knees of his breeches stained with blood.

  Hands gripped his shoulders, lifted him to his feet and turned him. He leaned for a moment in Bett’s sturdy embrace.

  ‘He – he is a good man,’ Daniel said. ‘Godly. How can this be?’

  Bett nodded. ‘I know. And you are stricken, as are we all, but you must come back to yourself now. Blame is being laid and it falls close to your heart.’

  Daniel took in her tear-tracked face, let her words seep into him. Heard the voices around him, smelled metal soaked into sod.

  One voice rose above all, leading until others followed. Gabriel.

  ‘Plain as day who’s the culprit. Only one family lives just outside our reach. Only one family would do this to a church man. It’s that witch-girl from up the hill, with her curses and sorcery.’

  Daniel looked around, as the crowd bayed its agreement. No familiar face to reason with, no one in a position to make them listen, and Sarah accused. He thanked God they would not know where to find her. It had always been the parson that Daniel turned to for a calming voice in situations such as these. Long gone was a magistrate who could be called upon to exercise fair judgement.

  ‘Surely this is no witchcraft?’ he shouted out, desperate to stall them. ‘This was an attack of force, we can see what killed him, there is no spell or curse here.’

  ‘Who else would kill a man of God?’ Gabriel said.

  Daniel could not answer.

  ‘Look at the way he’s laid out,’ a voice came from the crowd. ‘A mockery of the church itself, of all the man stood for. It can only be those heathens.’

  ‘Still, my son speaks some wisdom,’ Father called. Daniel was grateful for this calmer, stronger voice of support. ‘No girl would have the strength for—’ He waved his hand towards the brutal scene laid out before them. ‘By my reckoning, it must be the son.’

  Daniel’s heart jolted so hard that he gasped.

  ‘The boy has strength and fury enough, we’ve seen it before, and he has a demon in his power, the one seen running from Sam’s house. It’s him that’s done this wickedness. Who else could it be?’

  ‘Aye, and I’ve been telling you all these weeks past, was not I but him that thefted your belongings,’ Gabriel put in. ‘You see he is guilty of that and much worse now.’

  Daniel ran, let their voices fade behind him, let the pounding of his blood drown out his own doubts. Knew only that he must reach Sarah. Did not let himself think of the question he could not answer.

  Who else would kill a man of God?

  She walked along the path, sun at her back, her expression calm. If he knew some spell, some word of magic to stop her at this moment, before all she loved and hoped for was swept away, he would barter his soul and save her the pain to come.

  ‘There you are,’ she said as she neared him. Glanced over her shoulder at the clear path. ‘Husband.’

  She reached her arms around his neck. His heart broke for her fleeting happiness.

  ‘I came back to the house and no one was there, what’s happening?’ she asked.

  Still he could not bring himself to speak.

  She frowned. ‘What? What is it?’ Looked him up and down. ‘Is that blood?’

  ‘When you saw your family yesterday,’ he said, ‘was your brother there? Did you see him?’

  He tried to stop her. Tried to reason, to persuade her that she should hide. She ripped off her coif, picked up her petticoat and ran. He followed.

  Bett met them at the foot of the hill. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I tried to stop them, or make them wait for the magistrate at least, but—’ She shook her head.

  ‘They’re at the house?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘On the way, yes. Sorry.’

  Sarah ran on, pausing when she came upon the parson. So intent on exacting revenge on his behalf, they had all abandoned him to his indignity. Sarah gasped, bent to place a kiss on his forehead.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  Daniel took her in his arms and shared her misery. She stood a moment, face pressed against his tunic.

  ‘It’s all gone,’ she said. ‘Everything just gone.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘I know.’

  ‘And now they blame my family.’ She pushed him away, staggering towards the Haworth shack with tears pouring down her face.

  The crowd was already at the house. Some had collected weapons: sticks, knives, ropes, torches. Gabriel had a pitchfork.

  Hackles

  They have ripped him from his bed, I see by the way his blanket is flung aside. Four men to carry him, one grasping each limb. He twists in their arms, eyes rolling, face the colour of wood-ash.

  Just a lad. Frightened lad. I don’t know why they cannot see that’s all he is.

  ‘Mam,’ he calls. ‘Mam, make them stop.’

  She runs from man to man, pulling on their arms and weeping. ‘Leave him be, what dust want with my son?’

  Annie in the corner of the other room, kneading her petticoat. Tears dripping into her stretched mouth as she wails and sobs, as I’ve not seen her do since she was tiny.

  I run to her, lift her. She shows no sign of knowing me. Allows me to pick her up without speaking or putting her arms around me. My neck soaked with her tears.

  Daniel stands in the doorway, staring helpless as the men struggle to carry John’s thrashing body outside, as they throw Mam off. He looks at me, eyes huge against the sickly shade of his skin. Feared.

  I run to him, force Annie into his arms.

  ‘Take her,’ I say.

  His arms close around her, he strokes the hair from her wet face. ‘Come with us,’ he says.

  I shake my head. Cannot.

  ‘Sarah—’

  ‘Go.’

  He nods.

  The men carrying John, the crowd that follows and Mam as she drags against them are all outside the door now. I am sick with fear, sick with seeing John’s fear.

  ‘Please,’ he shouts. ‘Let me be. Please.’

  There are whoops and jeers from the crowd. People I saw at church, women who chat and laugh at the market, who have come to Mam for cures many a time. Gabriel at the head of them, pitchfork held aloft.

  I run after, pull with all my strength at those holding John, try to prise their fingers away.

  ‘Stop,’ I say. ‘Please, he’s just a lad, he’s done nowt.’ Earn a stinging slap to the face that sen
ds me crashing to the ground. Stand again, beg again, try again to free him.

  I don’t look down the hill to see Daniel make his escape with Annie. He will keep her safe.

  They surround us and those holding John’s legs release him, stand him up. He struggles, but they hold him fast. He sobs, calls for Mam.

  ‘He’s just a lad,’ I shout. ‘Let him be.’

  ‘This is no lad, but demon in the flesh,’ Gabriel says.

  ‘Please,’ John says. Holds himself up straight, breathes deep and I see him try to stay calm, keep reason, despite the trembling that quivers his whole body. ‘Please, this is a mistake. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but ’tis no more than try and fail to earn honest living. And any here look into your soul and find pity, offer me a chance and I will prove decent. As God is witness.’

  ‘Why did you kill the parson?’ Gabriel asks.

  And I hate. The flicker comes to my eye, the shudder to my bones, and I welcome it.

  John stumbles back, as if the words knock him. ‘What? Seth? I never touched him,’ he says. Taunts from the crowd. John looks around, eyes wild. ‘Please, I never would. He’s good to us. Please. Let me go.’

  ‘Was not John that killed Seth and you know it, you carry that guilt yourself, murderer,’ I shout.

  Gabriel turns to the crowd, laughs. ‘Oh, the witch-sister would lay blame on me for the killing of a church man, lain out in mockery of Christ and right where these Satan-slaves dwell.’

  I launch myself at him, am held back and look to find it’s Bett that pins me. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, soft in my ear. ‘I cannot let you sacrifice yourself, even for this.’

  There is a crescendo of sound, from outside and inside myself. Mam wailing, John begging, the roaring voices around. The growling, growling till it thunders through my bones and I don’t know how Bett has strength to hold me.

  Gabriel strikes the first blow. Pitchfork to chest, and John falls. Cries out. Sobs and clutches his wound. Calls for Mam.