‘Oh, Meg, that doesn’t bode well.’ Mam’s eyes flicked at me. ‘And must the men dress this way as well?’
Meg shrugged. ‘Men are as men are. But there’s worse to tell than that. There’s talk in Newcastle again.’
‘Talk? In Newcastle?’ As soon as she spoke, Mam closed her eyes.
It was too late though, and Meg grinned in triumph.
‘Hah! I knew it! You’ve been drawn in. It’s too late, Annie, so you’ll have to pay the price.’
‘And I suspect the price will no doubt include giving houseroom to that wretched cat.’
Mam reached for her lemon-balm tea and began to drink slowly. But Meg watched and waited until she drained it before speaking again. I huddled near to the fire, tantalising Gyb with a scrap of yarn. The kit lay on his back and scrabbled at the yarn with all four paws, his claws unsheathed.
‘Aye, there’s talk, Annie, of witches.’
At this news, Mam almost choked and wiped her mouth on her pinny. ‘Meg! Is this a subject fit for Jane’s ears?’
I looked up, hoping Mam wouldn’t be able to resist the pleading look in my eyes. This sounded too interesting to miss.
‘Of course it is, Annie, of course it is. Better by far to be wise before the event than after.’
My mother looked at me and gave in. ‘Very well, Meg, I suppose it’s better for Jane to hear it as not.’
Meg settled back on her cracket. ‘Aye, the Puritans are up in arms about sorcerers, shape-shifters, witches and all kinds of nonsense. Though old Meg thinks it more likely the physics are up in arms about cunning women and they’ve talked the Puritans up into a high fret.’
Reverend Foster turned from his books. ‘And is there any substance to this high fret, Meg?’
‘Aye. Mind, it’s only hearsay, but there’s talk of bringing down Scottish witch-finders.’
The Reverend shook his head. ‘Scottish witch-finders? As if there’s not plenty of locals willing to do the job. May God spare us from the Puritans.’ He peered at Meg. ‘No wonder you were so keen to palm off that furred beast, you old trout, for yours is a neck ready for the rope, if ever there was one.’
Meg affected a pained expression, but then rubbed her swollen hands together and wriggled her eyebrows. ‘It’s time Meg was on her way. So, shall we settle up, Annie? Take the puss, for … say … tuppence, and I’ll give you the flowering sticks. Everything else, normal prices apply.’
Mam looked steadily at Meg and reached inside her shawl. She extracted a farthing and held it up. The firelight caught the coin and made it glint. Meg’s eyes caught the glint and she reached for the farthing, but Mam made to return it to her shawl.
‘A farthing the lot. And that’s only because it’s winter and I’m sorry for your old bones.’
‘Pah!’ Meg hockled into the fire and the green gobbet hissed. ‘You’re nothing but a knave, robbing an old woman of her meagre belongings.’
Mam moved the farthing nearer to her shawl. Meg’s eyes followed it, but then flitted quickly to the cupboard where the wine and mead were kept. Since the old soul clearly knew where they rested, it might be wise to find a new keeping place.
Meg coughed and pulled her thin shawl about her bony shoulders. ‘A pint of your sweet mead to seal the bargain. It’s so cold, my chest aches.’
‘Jane, fetch Meg a half-pint of mead. And leave that cat there.’ Mam passed the farthing to Meg. ‘There’s only one knave around here. Now, tell me the properties of the flowering sticks.’
‘Almost magical. A decoction is grand for bulging veins, whether in leg or backside; a poultice is a blessing for ulcers, and a tonic will stop all kinds of bleeding.’
I hefted the jar of mead onto the table. Carefully, I measured out half a pint of the sticky liquid, covered the jar and stopped a bottle. When I returned, Mam and Meg were huddled over the hearth and Meg passed a dark glass vial to Mam, which she tucked into her shawl. I stood in silence, not interrupting.
Eventually, the conversation broke and Meg tore her gaze from the fire, her eyes lighting on the bottle. And no wonder, since mead in the white months was a choice gift. But I was certain Mam’s mead wouldn’t be going to warm Meg’s chest. Already, she’d be totting its value in her machine of a mind. I wondered whose belly it would finally lodge in and what tittle-tattle it would buy in return.
‘Jane, guard that cat. Grease his paws, keep him close and you’ll never have a rat across the threshold again.’
The bottle of mead vanished into the layers swaddling Meg and she reached for her sack with a gnarled hand. I saw her to the door, waving her off with one hand while trying to extricate Gyb from my hair with the other.
‘Same time next week, Meg?’
‘Aye, Jane, if God wills it. If God wills it.’
While seeing Meg out, I saw Bill Verger resting his spade against a gravestone.
‘Reverend, Bill’s out there with his spade. Shall I go and see him for you?’
The Reverend looked up. ‘No, I’ll go. You stay here with your infernal creature.’
But I put the kitten down, drew on my cloak and followed the Reverend outside. Without any snow, the earth was still harder than iron and it didn’t give as I crossed it. Bill Verger tugged the brim of his hat.
‘Afternoon, Reverend Foster. What brings you out in this cold?’
‘I’m hoping to learn that the soil’s fit for planting.’
The verger shook his head. ‘No, Reverend. Me and our Tom tried again just before, but only the top soil could be budged, and that only with some effort.’
‘And how is it beneath the surface, Bill?’
‘Hard as the hobs of hell underneath, Reverend. Another moon needs to pass before we can plant.’
I huddled in the frigid air while the Reverend interrogated the verger. ‘What’s their condition, those unfortunate souls in the crypt, and how many are they?’
Bill rubbed his tatty beard. ‘Nine big uns and seventeen little uns. They’re still frozen solid, but the queer weather might change that at any time.’
Reverend Foster scuffed the hard earth with his toe. ‘Will they soften and spoil before the earth yields, do you think?’
‘Hard to say, Reverend. I’ll keep watch. It’s the little uns that spoil first. Best get them out of the way.’ Bill picked up his spade and hacked at the ground. ‘I’ll keep on at it, and maybe get some of the river lads up to help.’
‘Just do your best, Bill. But get yourself inside and out of this cold for the time being.’
I drew my cloak around me and watched Bill’s retreating back.
‘Come on, Jane, and stop your eavesdropping. It’s the worst time of the year, this, for everyone. Provisions running short and no meat on the bones of man nor beast. The ground too hard to accept the departed. Families unable to grieve and suffering greatly at the thought of loved ones lying frozen solid, blue and hellish in the crypt.’ He saw my face and grimaced. ‘Sorry, Jane, my mouth’s running away with me again.’
Even the Reverend couldn’t bring himself to go in there; he could only bless the bodies before Bill and Tom took them in. Then he blessed and anointed the entrance to the crypt, sealing it with prayers. It was always a race to do the winter burials. A race between the hard earth thawing and the hard bodies spoiling. This was the coldest winter we’d known in these parts. Too cold even for proper snow. At this time, there should have been a thick blanket of white to seal the holes and burrows. Instead, there was only ice, and lots of it. And the earth remained too hard for digging.
A sudden flash of movement caught my eye and I saw Mam marching past, carrying the flowering sticks and Bill’s spade. I stopped myself from calling out and watched as Mam stripped the yellow blooms away. Using the spade as a makeshift hammer, she hit a stick until one end was under the soil by about two inches. Then she withdrew the stick, scraped the soil off with her knife, chewed it, and then planted its newly frayed end into the waiting hole, stamping the soil down with her feet. She
spat and repeated the process a few feet away, stripping, jabbing, chewing, stamping and spitting.
Reverend Foster sighed. ‘If only Bill Verger’s job were as easy.’
3
John
Stranger Beasts
After a particularly bad night of drinking, Father picked a fight with two sergeants who were trying to quiet his raging ways. They threw him into the street, where he crawled away on his hands and knees, cursing the moon for not providing enough light to see by. Those futile curses at the moon were the last words uttered by him, for his quiet form was found tangled at the dam near Dora Shaw’s dwelling place. His head was caved in, but it was impossible to tell whether someone had taken a stone to his skull and tossed him into the river, or whether he’d fallen into the rushing water and dashed his head on the rocks. Dora pulled me tightly to her as we watched the sergeants haul his dripping corpse from the water. One of them haled Dora and walked over to us.
‘Cannot say there’ll be many mourning this one’s passing.’
Dora scowled. ‘Maybe, but he was a father, and this laddie is an orphan.’
‘Aye, Dora? And you not a hundred steps from the man’s watery grave.’
Dora paled. ‘You have no right to say that, sergeant. Why, I brought you and all your brothers safely into this world.’
The sergeant looked away, but did not apologise. ‘Be that as it may. What of the lad?’
‘John may bide with me, sergeant, or he may go to his uncle if he prefers.’
‘His mother’s brother?’ The sergeant glanced at me and then took me to one side. ‘That might be better for you, laddie. Your uncle is a man of the kirk. What are you? Fourteen? He’ll get you out of the fields and teach you your letters. You’ll be set on the right path in life. And if you’re fortunate, he might be able to keep you out of the wars.’
I looked towards Dora. At her familiar face. ‘But Dora has always been very kind to me … and my uncle has never wanted me before now.’
The sergeant turned his back to Dora. ‘Listen, lad, I’m not convinced the old witch didn’t have something to do with your father’s passing. It may just take us time to prove it. The hag may seem kind, but whenever there’s misery or death, Dora Shaw is never far away. Think about it. She took your mother. It looks to me as though she’s taken your father. She could well be collecting souls and yours might be next. Take heed, lad, take heed. Save your soul. Your uncle will take you now you can earn your keep.’
I looked at Dora Shaw and wondered about her ungodly ways. Had she really killed my mother? It seemed hard to believe. And why would she kill my father? All the same, she had never liked him and often wished a bad end on him. It had always troubled me that a woman so seemingly kind on the surface bubbled beneath with darkness. My father had not long since plucked me from her clutches. And although my body had suffered mightily from his blows, I felt my soul was all the safer for it. It would not do to put myself back in her hands now, however kind she might appear to be.
* * *
So I took myself to my uncle’s home, snot-nosed though I was, and still bloodied and broken from the blows received from my father’s hands and feet. Hands and feet stilled forever by the hand of God. That was what my mother’s brother said to me on my first night in his home.
‘John, your father’s hands and feet have been stilled forever by the hand of God. They can hurt you no more.’
I liked that. His words made me feel as though God’s eye had finally found its way to me and now I was cared for by the Almighty. And by Uncle James.
‘Uncle, I only wish God might have stilled my father’s hands and feet before they killed old Jinny–’
He stopped me with an open hand. ‘Who was Jinny?’
I turned my milk teeth over in my pouch. ‘My old dog, you see …’
But at this, Uncle James’ face darkened. ‘You must never expect the Lord’s intervention for a dumb animal, John, for they have no soul. So it is a sin, a blasphemy, do you see? But not so great a sin as wishing your own father dead. Though, in truth, few could blame you. For dishonouring your father, you will miss your supper tonight.’
Uncle James’ hand quickly ran out to fondle the ears of a lumpen black dog at his side. This gave lie to his stern words, and I knew that Jinny had a soul just like mine. If I went to heaven, Jinny and her pups would be waiting for me, along with Mother. The devil would take Father, though, of that I was certain.
Uncle James’ dog was not at all like Jinny. Its face was lopsided and it looked stupid. But worse than that, it was wall-eyed, which meant it was hexed. This made me afraid, so I kept my distance from it. When Uncle invited me to pet it, I shook my head and took a step back, certain that this dog had the evil eye. Perhaps Uncle didn’t know the dog was hexed.
‘Uncle James, do you know your dog has something the matter with it?’
Uncle smiled at the dog. ‘Oh, certainly, Nosewise is a most unfortunate dog and he has plenty wrong with him. He was a runt and thrown to the fighting dogs as bait. Barely survived, and no better than blooded meat when I got him. But he’s recovered well enough under my care, though granted, he’s no beauty.’
The dog’s hard life didn’t convince me into liking its queer expression, its wall eye, or its curled lip.
‘Come, John, there is hope for us all to heal here, no matter how desperate a case we might seem on arrival. Do you see?’
I shrugged, hoping Uncle James was not comparing me to the cursed dog.
‘You will see, John, for there are many stranger beasts in the world than old Nosewise.’
* * *
One morning after kirk, Uncle James pulled on his cloak and beckoned me away from my Bible study.
‘Come, lad, we’ll go to visit the sick and the needy. It will improve your mood to see others worse off than yourself. The Slaters have no woman in the house and the father has fallen sick, with five mouths to feed. And the eldest girl, Kirstie, has fallen wrong, as if they didn’t have woes enough to contend with. Kirstie has already bewitched one decent man out of his wits, and he swung for it, so fill your heart with prayer before we enter the dwelling, lest you go the way of the late Arthur Murray.’
I nodded and followed my uncle. My heart raced with excitement at the notion of a maid fallen wrong. And especially one who had bewitched a man out of his wits. It seemed strange that my uncle would want to visit such a household. But I knew he only wanted to take my mind off my troubles. In truth, I felt guilty for drawing his sympathy so. Yes, I’d lost my mother and my loving dog, and those twin sorrows would live in my heart always. But my final orphaning through the death of my father, well, in many ways, that was a blessing. It was wrong to have these thoughts and God would no doubt punish me for having them. But God, who saw all, would surely understand my relief at escaping my father’s fists and clogs. I’d been kicked so many times that my ribs ached all the time, and I’d almost grown used to taking short, gasping breaths so that my bones moved as little as possible while they knitted themselves back together.
The poultices applied by Dora Shaw over the years had helped me, but it was against God to use magical herbs. God would heal me, or not, as He saw fit. Uncle taught me this, and I realised that Dora’s interference in my birth had perhaps kept me on earth when God intended to take me straight to my reward in heaven with Mother. All those cruel years endured at the hands of Father were perhaps my just punishment for the ungodly tinkering of Dora Shaw. I sighed. If only she hadn’t meddled, I might have died with Mother, or lived with Mother. Either way, I’d have been safe from Father’s rages.
After seeing Uncle James’ more kindly approach to life, I vowed not to become a raging man like Father. If ever anger rose in my heart, it would be quelled through prayer or will. It would remain within and not be unleashed on innocents through my hands and feet. And I’d do something about these women who went around practising their dark arts on unsuspecting innocents like myself and my mother. Oh, they did it with cheer
ful countenance, but beneath lay disguised their ill intentions.
‘You are somewhat silent today, John, is all well with you?’
‘Yes, Uncle, only I’m thinking about my parents and about Dora Shaw.’
‘Ah, the old witch. Push her from your thoughts, John. It was wrong of your father to expose your tender soul to her dark ways after the end she brought to your blessed mother.’
‘But Dora always seemed so kind. It’s hard for me to believe badly of her.’
‘Well, lad, the Bible teaches us that if Satan can disguise himself as an angel of light, then his servants will almost certainly follow suit. People and things are not always what they seem. You must treat everyone and everything with suspicion. It’s the only way to root out evil.’ He rested a hand upon my shoulder. ‘It’s no surprise that you’ve grown fond of the hag, I suppose, but it will not serve you to dwell so much in your thoughts. You must push that woman from your mind and turn your heart cold against her if you are to live under my roof and become a true servant of righteousness. Come, once we’ve visited the local families and you’ve witnessed true suffering close at hand, you may take Nosewise out for his run.’
Uncle smiled, which obliged me to smile back. This run with Nosewise was offered as if it were a great blessing from heaven, when Nosewise was a vile beast, given to slobbering and lunging at sheep. And when he caught a certain scent on the air, his ears would move to the side, his tail would take on a kink and he’d bound off in search of whatever bitch was in season. Many times, I returned minus the dog. Uncle James never blamed me, but I felt reproved even so.
‘It’s only a dog’s way, John, and often man’s as well. But dogs are creatures of nature and don’t know better. We’re men of God and must control our base desires by transmuting them into love for God.’
* * *
When we arrived at the village, we entered the Slaters’ shack, which reeked of ailment. A man lay near the fire, with sweat glistening on his face. Beside him, a young girl with a curved belly mopped his brow with a dirty rag, and then mopped at her own tear-stained face.
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