‘Bess,’ he said, ‘my poor, poor Bess. I have heard the terrible news, of course.’ He spoke as he whisked her through the grand entrance hall, past the polished wooden staircase, and through another door. The comfortable room contained more furniture and wall hangings than Bess had seen in her lifetime. It also contained a fair-skinned young woman seated on a low chair by the fire. Bess stopped, thrown by the sight of this unexpected stranger. William drew her on to a carved oak seat made restful with tapestry bolsters and cushions.
‘Bess, you have not yet met Noella Bridgewell.’ He turned to the woman. ‘Forgive me, my dear, I fear this is not the time for formal introductions. Bess Hawksmith is a neighbor and a good friend.’
Noella gave a short nod by way of greeting.
‘I have heard the name, of course,’ she said.
Bess took in at a glance the girl’s fine clothes, the expensive Spanish lace at her throat, the rich silk of her gown, the pearl-encrusted band in her hair. This was a lady of some standing, considerable wealth, and undeniable beauty. Bess sat down, conscious of her roughened hands and drab clothes.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she said, unable to concentrate on thinking up social pleasantries to exchange. ‘Forgive my bluntness, but I am come on a matter of life and death.’
Noella nodded again, taking out an ivory fan to keep the warmth of the fire from her face. ‘I am certain my fiancé will afford you any assistance in his power,’ she said.
Fiancé! This woman was to be William’s bride? Bess felt her head spin. She wanted to run from the room, but she needed William’s help. He was the only hope left to her mother. She drew a deep breath and raised her chin.
‘How fares your mother?’ William asked.
Bess did not know how to answer. She no longer felt she knew who her mother was or how she might be feeling. She dug her nails into her palms to stop herself giving in to tears.
‘I have not been permitted to see her since the trial,’ she told him, shaking her head. ‘Oh, William. They will hang her tomorrow!’
William still had hold of her hand. He squeezed it, showing no signs of wanting to let go, despite the constant gaze of his fiancée.
‘The world no longer lives by any rules I can understand, Bess. Your mother is a good woman, a God-fearing woman of modesty and prayer. A loving mother and wife. She has helped so many people. I am at a loss to explain how such a thing can have come about.’
‘Many in Batchcombe have suffered greatly, William. They look for someone to blame. It was my mother who made me see that.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘People fear what they cannot explain.’ She felt her heartbeat quicken and knew that she herself was frightened. Not of the mother who had raised her and loved her and instructed her all her life but of this new power inside that same beloved woman. She looked up at William. ‘Will you help us?’ she asked.
‘But what can I do?’
‘Your family is well regarded. Your father has influence. If he were to make a plea for mercy, surely…’ She stopped at the sight of William’s bowed head.
‘My father will not intervene.’
‘You know this?’
William nodded.
‘But you could approach him, ask him yourself, make him see that these are innocent women. The plague took so many; surely enough people have died. What is to be gained by more death?’
Slowly William’s grasp on Bess’s hand began to loosen until at last he let his own hand fall by his side. He could not look at her. At last it was Noella who spoke. She stood and stepped forward to stand beside her future husband.
‘You should know that it was William’s father who sent for Nathaniel Kilpeck,’ she said, her voice level.
Bess could not believe what she was being told.
‘What? Your father sent for the witchfinder? But I do not understand. What possible reason could he have for concerning himself with such matters? Why would he bring such ruthless injustice into our midst?’
Still William could not look at her. He paced as he spoke, his hands raised in despair. ‘There are wider issues at stake, Bess,’ he said. ‘Things you cannot know of. Parliament is a place of unrest and intrigue. Every man has to prove himself, to prove his loyalty. My father treads a perilous path. Should he step too far to one side, he may be called traitor and lose his head. Should he veer to the other, he may find himself on shifting sands a short time from now, and the end result would be the same. In these dangerous times, the winds of change turn from north to south and back again between sunsets. There is pressure on the nobility to maintain firm control over their own regions. People feel this state of flux in the country and they fear it, Bess. They want to see strong government. They want to know they are in the hands of men of action. That they will be protected. If they cannot be saved from plague or starvation, they must at least know they are in God’s keeping and the devil is not among them.’
In the silence that sat between them, Bess was reminded of how different her life was from William’s. Here was a man whose father would sacrifice anyone to maintain his position. How could she ever have entertained the thought that he would have allowed that position to be weakened by letting his son marry a girl of no wealth or standing? And indeed, William had never harbored such a wish himself. She saw that now. All along he had known where her place was, and it was never going to be at his side. Not publicly at least. Noella was precisely the sort of woman his father would have chosen for him. She would enrich the family’s standing and no doubt its fortune. She was important. Bess and her family were expendable. She closed her eyes against the dizzying colors of the fine tapestries around her. She did not belong here. There was nothing William could do to save her mother. There was nothing he would be allowed to do. She stood up, mustering more composure than she felt.
‘I see now I was wrong to hope for your assistance for my mother. I am sorry to have brought this to your door, William. Good day to you.’ She strode from the room, uncertain how long she could hold back the tears of anguish now pricking her eyes.
‘Wait.’ William sprang to his feet and hurried after her. ‘Please, Bess. There must be something…’ He barred her way to the door.
‘What? Shall I take up your kind offer and install myself as your lover in the servants’ quarters, William? Or am I no longer even suitable for that position now that my mother is condemned?’ She pushed past him.
‘Will you go to your mother now? Let me at least accompany you…’
‘They will not permit me to see her,’ she said without stopping, her hand already reaching for the front door latch.
‘Not see her? But surely…’
Bess swung round, anger lending her the strength she needed. ‘Yes, she will hang in the morning, and they will not admit me so that we might say our good-byes. There is greater cruelty in that one denial than my poor mother ever committed in the whole of her good life.’
‘Then there is something I can do. Please, wait here but a moment.’
William sprinted back into the room they had just left. Bess was on the point of leaving when she noticed the maid who had let her in watching. She straightened her shoulders. She would not be made to feel ashamed. Why should she? William scurried back to her.
‘Here.’ He pressed a leather pouch of money into her hand. ‘Take this. It is sufficient to pay whom you must so that you can spend a moment with your mother. It is the very smallest thing for me to do. I pray it brings you both peace of mind.’
Bess closed her fingers around the bag, still struggling to control her overwrought emotions.
‘Thank you’ was all she managed to say before fleeing the house, knowing as she ran back to Whisper and snatched up the trailing reins that she might never have peace of mind again.
* * *
The entrance to the jail beneath the courthouse was down a twisting stone staircase barely the width of two men. Bess followed the jailer down the dimly lit spiral, the light from his smoking lamp falli
ng nowhere useful to her own faltering feet. Here was a man corrupted by the company he had been paid to keep for so many years. Bess detected a darkness emanating from him beyond even the foul stench of the breath that belched out between his blackened teeth.
‘Nobody gets to see the prisoners the night before an execution,’ he had told her flatly. ‘Nobody.’
Any hopes Bess had harbored of appealing to his Christian spirit were quickly dashed.
‘I only ask a few brief moments.’
He leaned back against the bolted door and folded his arms. ‘I’d lose my job. I’d be out on my ear. And where would you be then, eh? Would you come a-looking for poor old Baggis, jobless and starving, mibben? Eh? I think not.’
‘Perhaps, if I could provide you with some … insurance. Against such a terrible consequence…’
He grinned, taking in her simple clothes and young body with a leisurely stare. Without any sense of hurry, he stepped forward and reached out a grimy hand. ‘And what could a maid such as you have that old Baggis might want now, eh? What d’you think?’
Bess took a step back and held up the purse of money.
‘Half now,’ she said, ‘half when we have been permitted time together. An hour.’
He frowned at her and at the bag dangled in front of him. With a shrug and a grunt, he held out his hand. Bess quickly counted half the coins into his filthy palm.
The gloom and airlessness in the cells was not the worst of it. With the accused confined to their prisons day and night for the length of their stay, the air was thick with the stench of piss-soaked straw and loosely emptied bowels. Bess could only begin to imagine how much worse the jail in a town the size of Dorchester must be. These were merely cells for holding those accused of crimes and awaiting the assizes for their trials. An exception had been made for Anne and Mary. At least they had been spared possibly months of incarceration in such a hell-like place. When Bess saw Old Mary, she doubted the ailing woman would have survived more than a few days. She sat in the corner of the cell rocking back and forth, her fetters jingling as she did so, still muttering to herself, having aged a decade in a few days. Anne saw Bess and came quickly to the metal cage door, the shackles around her ankles slowing her progress. The jailer rattled his key in the rusty lock and let Bess in, slamming the door behind her. Bess fell into her mother’s arms.
‘There, child. Hush now.’ Anne stroked her back.
‘Oh, Mother, I feared I would not be allowed to come to you again before tomorrow.’
‘Indeed I am greatly surprised to see you here. Who was it who gave you permission?’
‘It doesn’t matter now.’ She pulled back to look at her mother. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders, a veil of white. Her face was tight drawn but somehow serene. Not for the first time Bess was struck by her mother’s self-possession and apparent lack of fear. The memory of how she had sat unperturbed through all that had happened on the night of the watchers came back to her and spread a chill over her heart. She shook her head slowly.
‘There is so much I want to ask you,’ she said, ‘so much I do not understand.’
‘But you will, one day, Bess. One day. Do not judge me too harshly.’
‘Never! How could I judge you? You have given everything for my sake, that much I know.’
‘I am so sorry, my dearest one, to leave you so alone. Forgive me.’
‘There is nothing for me to forgive.’
Anne glanced toward the door to make sure they were not overheard.
‘Listen to me, Bess. You must make me a solemn promise.’
‘You have only to ask it.’
‘After tomorrow … no, do not weep … after tomorrow you must go to Gideon.’
‘What? Mother, no!’
‘Yes, you must ask for his help.’
‘But have we not suffered enough for his help already? Have you not paid a higher price than any other would?’
‘You know so little of the minds of folk, Bess. Do you not see that those who have condemned me must in turn persecute you?’
‘Me? But for what?’
‘You are the daughter of a proven witch. These are times unlike any we have known. People live in fear, though they do not know of what. For now it is witchery. By disposing of Mary and myself they will feel a little safer. For a short time. But it will not be many days before panic is stirred up anew, and the mob will lust for another killing. Gideon is the only one who can protect you.’
‘By what means? Would you have him turn me into…’
‘… a loathsome creature such as your mother has become?’
‘No! That is not what…’ Bess left the words unsaid and gave up trying to control her sobs.
‘Bess, heed my words, child. You are all that is left of me. Of all of us. You have your father’s good heart, your sister’s love of life, your brother’s fortitude. Survive, Bess! Live on, so that we all can continue. If you do not, then I die defeated. If you give your word you will do as I bid—then and only then can I go to the gallows content.’
‘Oh, Mama.’
‘Your word?’
Bess gave the tiniest of nods. ‘If you must have it, then yes, I give you my promise. I shall go to Gideon and ask his protection.’
Anne sighed and Bess fancied some of the tension and tautness went from her body. She put a finger beneath Bess’s chin and tilted her daughter’s face up to her own.
‘Let these be the last of your tears,’ she said, ‘so that you will have none without me there to dry them for you.’
‘Oh, Mother, I am so … powerless. If only I could tear down this terrible building and bear you away to a place of safety. How can I watch you die?’
‘You have more strength than you know, Bess. Do not grieve for me. I go to join our family, and I will take your love with me. I am not afraid.’
Bess stopped crying and touched her mother’s cheek. ‘I am,’ she said.
‘I know. But I will always be at your side, Bess. Know that. You are clever. You are resourceful. You are steadfast. There is a world waiting out there for you. I know you will do wonderful things.’
They were interrupted by the wheezing cough of the jailer as he thumped down the passageway toward the cell.
‘Right you are,’ he barked. ‘Time’s up.’
‘What?’ Bess clung to her mother’s hand. ‘You said an hour!’
‘No, lass, t’was you said an hour. I mentioned no such time. Come on, out with you before I lose my job.’
‘I won’t give you a penny more till we have had the full hour.’
‘You will if you don’t want to end up locked up in here yourself, you cocky little vixen. Here, give me that.’ He stepped forward and grabbed the purse from her belt. ‘Now move your pretty young backside up those stairs before I find another use for it.’
Bess turned to her mother, who quickly kissed her hand.
‘Go now,’ she told her after they had embraced, ‘and remember, no more tears.’
From some hidden place within her, Bess found a small, brave smile. Then she turned, fearing her courage might fail her. On leaden legs she forced herself to hurry after the jailer.
8
Being a place of no great significance, Batchcombe did not boast its own gallows, and there had not been time to construct one. There was, however, a stout oak to the west of the village, which had for as long as any could remember been known as the Hanging Tree. In less civilized times, the hapless and the wicked were summarily hoisted from its convenient boughs. There had been no steps to mount and no platform for the priest to say his words of comfort, but the convicted had ended up nonetheless dead at the end of their ropes. It was to this tree that the cart carrying Anne and Old Mary made its tortuous progress. It seemed to Bess the whole of the parish had come to witness what she saw as the murder of these two poor women. Peasant families, merchants, and nobles alike had turned out and jostled for a position with a good view. The cart carrying her mother was pulled by two m
ules. The women were still shackled at the ankles, with nooses already placed around their necks. They stood leaning against each other to ride the rough track without falling onto the cruel wooden spikes that surrounded them. Every step of the journey was accompanied by the jeers and taunts of the crowd. Bess looked at the wild faces and raised fists and was taken back to the cock pit where last she had seen such frenzied and brutish behavior. She had not slept but had hitched Whisper to the farm wagon and found a place on a small hillock to one side of the hanging tree. From here she could see her mother, and her mother could see her. The two women exchanged looks of longing and sadness, but true to her mother’s wishes, Bess did not cry. Indeed, she could not. It was as if over these past dreadful months she had cried the tears of a lifetime, and there were no more left.
The crowd grew noisier and bawdier as the Reverend Burdock intoned his prayers. The cart was positioned beneath the tree, and the trailing ropes of the nooses were quickly looped over the branch above. To the front of the tree sat Nathaniel Kilpeck on his fine white horse. He held up his hand for quiet as the preacher finished commending two more souls to heaven.
‘Let it be known,’ he said in the thin voice that now inhabited Bess’s nightmares, ‘that there is no victory here today. The wretched creatures you see before you were corrupted by the devil himself, and they are deserving of our pity.’
There were murmurs of dissent at this. Kilpeck continued: ‘Nevertheless, I know that all here will believe me when I say that Batchcombe is now a safer place, a more godly place, a better place, because it is free of witchery.’
This brought a cheer and cries of ‘Hang the witches! Let them dance with the devil if they love him so much!’
Kilpeck turned to the women in the cart. ‘Have you any words?’ he asked.
Mary merely whimpered and shook her head. Anne remained composed and said only, ‘I go to my family.’
Kilpeck seemed irritated by her calmness. If he had hoped for desperate pleas for mercy and last-minute confessions, he got none. He raised his hand again, signaling to the constable at the head of the mules. As he brought his hand swiftly down, the man dragged the animals forward. Both women were hauled off the back of the cart by the ropes attached to the tree at one end and their own necks at the other.
The Witch’s Daughter Page 13