12
Jane
No Smoke
My hands were cut to ribbons, as it was impossible to cut holly properly with mittens on. But the scratches were soon forgotten and my heart skipped when Tom Verger appeared at the top of the hill, his red hair bright against the blue sky. I waved to him.
‘Hello, Tom.’
He ran easily down the hill. ‘Hey, Jane. Wouldn’t you rather be at home, keeping nice and warm on a day like this?’
‘Yes, but I need to start making wreaths for the church.’
‘Already? Here, I’ll lend a hand. Mind, the holly trees are fair weighted with berries this year.’
‘Meg says the more berries, the harsher the winter.’
Tom grimaced. ‘It’ll be hard enough hereabouts, even if it’s not harsh.’
‘I know; everyone looks thinner and their clothes more patched than usual.’
Tom folded his arms over his patched jerkin. ‘Thanks.’
I touched his arm. ‘Sorry, Tom, I meant nothing, just, you know …’
He smiled down at me. ‘Aye, I know. Besides, you’re looking well-patched yourself of late!’
My frock was too short and my bodice strained. Our eyes met, and he turned away to hide his thoughts.
‘Mam says it would be wasteful to make a new frock just yet. She hopes it’ll do another winter. But it’s hard to lift my arms without making ripping noises.’
To prove it, I raised my arms. Tom grinned and then looked away again.
‘Tom Verger, are you blushing? Whatever for?’
But Tom’s words deserted him. He pushed past me, pulled his own knife from his belt and began hacking at the tree. His hands were big and hardened, and he ignored the holly scratches, but one deep scratch drew blood. Frowning, he held his cut thumb before my face.
‘See what you’ve cost me now. A pint of good blood!’
Before he could stop me, I grabbed his wrist and put his thumb into my mouth. But the look on his face was terrible and he reared away, tucking his thumb firmly under his oxter and out of harm’s way.
‘Pack it in, Jane, there’s an act that would send an angel to the gibbet.’
‘Tom Verger! Don’t you go wishing bad fortune on me.’
‘Well, witch, stop dining on the blood of innocent lads.’
‘Quiet, villain, or you’ll have me taken away!’ I made to cuff his ear, but he laughed and dodged me. ‘Here, if you’ve finished bleeding, cut some of those high boughs and I may forgive your slanderous tongue.’
He came and stood close and stretched over me to reach the high branches. There was a new smell from under his arms, and when I breathed deeply, his face looked hot again.
‘So, do you plan to stop growing this year, Tom? Or will you eat your father out of house and home?’
‘There’s always plenty of hunting in these parts, so me and Da will never starve.’
When he passed me the boughs he’d cut, our hands brushed and my heart leapt. He looked at me until I dropped my gaze this time.
He frowned. ‘Jane, where’s Meg? I’ve not seen her lately. Is she on her travels again?’
‘Meg? Not that I know of. She came round last week with berries.’ I put down my holly and looked at him, torn between worrying about Meg and enjoying being alone with Tom. My hand still tingled where he’d brushed it with his and it made me warm inside. But guilt made me push down the happiness welling inside me.
Tom tucked away his knife. ‘I generally see her on my hunting jaunts, but she’s not been around for days. Most likely, she’s just on her travels.’
‘No. She’d have said something. Meg always tells us when she’s going away. I’d better go and check on her. We need to stock up on bitters anyway as there’s so many women due to be confined. It’ll save Meg the walk.’
Tom looked at the sky, perhaps weighing its intentions. ‘You’re not setting off at this hour? It’s dark nights, mind. You’ll not make it there and back by nightfall.’
‘Oh, it’s dry and it’ll be fine. Can you take this lot home and let Mam know where I’ve gone?’ I shrugged my cloak around me.
‘I’ll do no such thing, Jane Chandler!’ He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. ‘I’m coming with you. And don’t waste your breath arguing, because you don’t know who might be abroad. Besides, if Meg has taken bad, then I can help.’
‘Tom! Don’t let Meg hear you offering to help her, or she’ll have your ears.’
He grinned. ‘I’ll chance it. Come, let’s get our legs going before dark and we’ll soon see what ails Meg.’
Although Tom was only walking, he had such long legs it was impossible to keep up and my lungs burnt with the effort.
‘Are you all right, Jane?’
‘No, I can’t match your great strides. You’re so long of limb these days.’
‘Sorry, I was just hurrying to get to Meg. I’ll slow down a bit. But not too much. I want you out of these woods before dark.’
* * *
It was nearing dusk when we approached Meg’s dwelling.
Tom frowned. ‘Look, there’s no smoke from the chimney. Meg never lets her fire go out unless she’s away. And the nights are freezing.’
We began to run. But Tom reached the dwelling first and pushed himself between me and the door.
‘Let me in first, Jane. Just in case, you know …’
I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. ‘Thank you, Tom. But you’re very close to Meg, so you don’t want to be the one to find her.’
But he shook his head. He pushed open the door and went in.
I followed behind and a bad smell emerged. This wasn’t the usual aroma of wood smoke and herbs. We edged towards a pile of rags on Meg’s bed. But then came the sound of laboured breathing, and Tom knelt at Meg’s bedside.
‘Meg, it’s Tom. Tom and Jane. Can you hear us?’
When I managed to speak, my voice was wavery. ‘Meg, it’s me as well, Jane.’
Her rheumy eyes flickered and she croaked something. Tom’s eyes scanned the room. ‘Meg, you’ve no clean water and no fire. And it’s so cold in here.’ He looked at me and all the colour had drained from his face. Even in the gloom, his face was pallid. He stood up. ‘Meg, I’m going to fetch wood and get your fire going while Jane sees to you.’
Meg’s mouth was moving, but no sound came from her. I clutched his sleeve and shook my head slowly.
‘Come, Tom, we must stay by Meg’s side. Take her other hand.’
Tom took Meg’s hand. She was cold, and I swallowed back tears as the woman who’d been a grandmother to me slipped away into the night.
Eventually, Tom let go of Meg and took my hand. He was trembling and he would not meet my eye. Instead, he peered out of the door.
‘Come on, Jane. We need to get going. It’s already getting dark. I’ll come back with me da at first light, and we’ll fetch Meg.’
I glanced at Meg and felt fresh tears welling. ‘But, Tom, we can’t just leave her unwashed and unburied.’
He looked at me in the half-light, and I saw his wet face. He took both of my hands and spoke quietly.
‘There’s no choice, Jane. We need to get Meg brought to the church for a proper burial. I’ll fetch Da, and we’ll bring her back.’
I laughed sharply. ‘A proper burial? Meg won’t have it. She’ll get up and walk at the thought of being buried in the churchyard.’
Tom frowned at me. ‘It won’t be up to us, anyway. Or Meg. The Reverend and me da will decide what’s best for Meg. Come on, let’s say goodbye to Meg, and then we have to go.’
* * *
The sound of a twig snapping made me flinch, and Tom stopped and looked at me. ‘You’re very jumpy, Jane. It’s not like you. Is it because of Meg?’
I nodded.
We continued through the woodland maze, but I paused to look over my shoulder.
‘Tom, wait. Please stop. I’ve got the curious feeling of eyes on me.’
He stopped and turned
to face me. ‘Eyes, Jane? Why there are thousands of eyes upon us. The whole wood teems with creatures getting their pantries ready for winter.’
‘But, Tom, it’s not the creatures I fear. There’s no danger from a bury of rabbits. I fear we’re the prey.’
He looked around, one hand on his knife. ‘I can’t see or hear anything.’
‘Sorry, Tom. I’m still upset about Meg. And the dark wood is making me skittish. Or perhaps my conscience pricks me. We shouldn’t be here alone.’
He held his breath and listened. ‘Sh, Jane. There! You’re right, branches snapping. Most likely a deer followed by poachers. But quick, get up that old oak.’
Tom linked his hands for me to step on, and he hoisted me up so I could reach a decent foothold, and then he scrambled after me. Breathless, we rested near the top of the tree. I rubbed my damp palms on the rough bark.
‘Tom, I feel scared. My heart’s hammering.’
But he was busy inching along a bough so he could peer down. ‘Jane, look.’
I heard animals crashing through the undergrowth. A red doe appeared, followed by a white fawn and a brown mare. The mare’s hooded rider pulled an arrow from his quiver.
‘Oh, no!’ I put my hands over my eyes and would have slipped from the bough had Tom not steadied me. He put a warning finger to his lips and took out his catapult and a handful of pebbles. He lay along the branch, narrowed his eyes, drew back the catapult and let fly the stone. The stone found its mark. The mare reared and she tore off, with her rider barely managing to stay on.
‘Tom! You saved the white fawn.’
His face flushed and he fidgeted with his catapult before putting it back in his pocket. ‘It’s naught. I wonder if it’s related to the one you saw being born?’
‘It must be, Tom. It might be her granddaughter. You know, Meg told me a white fawn is a sign from the other world.’
Tom raised his brows. ‘Other world? Don’t let the sergeants hear you talking like that, else they’ll have you off to the assizes.’
‘Tom, please don’t say that. But Meg said it was a warning of danger coming.’
‘You’re touched in the head, Jane. And I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but so was Meg. Look, I’ve never seen a white deer before. Let me try and get a closer look.’
I pinched his arm. ‘If you want a closer look, I’ll push you out of this tree – just say the word.’
‘Fighting talk, eh? At the top of the tree and all?’ He plucked a sprig of acorns and handed it to me. ‘Come on, let’s stop fighting. Here’s peace.’
I held the sprig to my face. ‘Thank you, Tom. I miss Meg. Do you?’
He nodded and looked down, but not before I noticed his chin quivering, ‘Aye, and always will. But let’s get down and see what’s what.’
‘Is it safe? What if that hunter comes back? We’ve deprived him of a great prize and he might be angry.’
Tom shrugged. ‘He’ll be long gone. I doubt he’d think to blame a lad in a tree, so the innocent mare will have no oats for her supper.’
Even so, we set off at a brisker pace and kept our silence so we could listen for anyone following.
* * *
On the homeward walk, Tom suddenly stuck out a hand to stop me and stepped in front of me. I followed his gaze and saw the red doe lying in the clearing. Her throat was gashed badly and there was a lot of blood.
‘Oh, Tom! The wastrel didn’t get the fawn, but he killed the mother, anyway. Or, what if he did get the fawn?’ I hurried to the doe and ran a hand across her pelt. ‘She’s still warm, so he–’
The words died in my mouth as an arrow flew past, slashing Tom’s leg on its flight. His hands went straight to the wound, and instantly they were soaked with blood. I made to run to him, but he held up a hand to warn me off. I saw a shadow slip down from a tree and silently make away. Tom glared at me, trying to get me to heed my own safety. But I ran across the clearing.
‘It’s all right, Tom, he’s gone. I saw him go. He won’t be back. And I’m not going to leave you untended, bowman or not. Stop thrashing and lie down, or you’ll bleed more.’
My voice was filled with tears, but I pressed his wound firmly, staunching the flow.
When Tom looked down, his eyes widened at the pool of blood at his feet and he sank to the ground. He lay still while I untied the rope holding his breeches and fastened it around his leg. He flinched when it pulled tight.
‘Careful, or you’ll have me leg off.’ He smiled, but his voice faltered.
I paused. ‘You’ve killed enough game in your time to know how much blood you can stand to lose.’
He nodded. ‘Pull it tight, Jane, else who will save you then?’
I sat holding the knot. It sickened me to see blood running from him. It was too much blood to lose so quickly. It would’ve been better had the arrow lodged in place. After a time, the blood slowed a little, and Tom’s eyes fluttered and then closed. He had either fallen asleep or fainted and there was no time to ponder which. But I kept talking to him, hoping that my words were getting through.
‘I must find something to help your leg knit.’
My heart pounded as I ran about looking for suitable plants. The only time I’d seen this much blood was when Ma Thompson bled to death after birthing. But Tom was bigger than most men and must have more blood than a short woman. I hoped not to find out and continued searching for woundwort, sphagnum moss, oak leaves, anything to staunch the blood and knit the wound. My eyes fluttered left and right, always finding their way back to Tom, who was awake again. His groans grew further off as the circle of my search increased.
Eventually, I stopped and recalled Meg’s advice. ‘Still your feet, still your heart and still your breath.’ Although my body urged me towards hectic activity, frantic searching would only waste time. So I held my breath, closed my eyes and saw in my mind’s eye what was needed. As my mind stilled, my eyes opened and I let them haze before blinking them into focus. There, on the periphery of my vision was a clump of dry yarrow – woundwort. I ran over and began scooping handfuls of dry flower heads into my pinny before racing back to Tom. His breathing was laboured. Tears stung my eyes as I began to pack the wound. At first, despite the rope, Tom was still bleeding, but then the woundwort started taking up the blood. As I pressed more yarrow into the wound, the blood gradually stopped seeping.
The rope round Tom’s leg was a worry, and while it wouldn’t do to loosen it until the yarrow did its work, it would need slacking off soon, or Tom’s leg would be lost. I packed the wound with more yarrow and then pushed my knee into the freshly padded wound, causing Tom to groan. Slowly, I unpicked my knot, careful to pull on the ends so that the bite wasn’t lost as soon as the knot was loosened. The woundwort turned red as the pressure of the rope lessened, but the compress seemed to be holding the blood back. Tom was shaking. He had to be kept warm, so I unwound my shawl and covered him as much as possible. Night would fall soon and he couldn’t walk like this, so it was best just to keep the cold off him. He needed something hot in him, which meant finding dry wood. I slid my hand into Tom’s pouch until my fingers touched cold metal. Tom’s fire steel. His most treasured possession. And there was the piece of flint and the little tinder-box.
There was plenty of dry yarrow remaining, so I prised open the tinder-box and took out some dried moss and a square of char-cloth. I folded the cloth over twice and then clamped it over the piece of flint. Closing my eyes, I murmured a quick prayer and then began striking the fire steel’s hard edge against the flint. Eventually, one of the tiny sparks caught the tinder. I tucked the smoking tinder into a nest of dried moss, held it above my head and blew air into it. Once the flames caught, I set the burning nest into the dry yarrow stalks and guarded the little fire until it was well away.
It was tiring work, gathering wood and dashing back to check on Tom. The yarrow poultice had moved a little, but there was no new blood. It was important to get him under cover. There wasn’t much in the way
of shelter, but there were plenty of branches to cut and there were dry leaves everywhere. Providing it didn’t rain, Tom would stay warm and dry.
Exhausted, I wanted to crawl next to Tom and sleep, but he needed hot liquid in him. He’d borne up well so far and I had to keep going for his sake. The stream was nearby, which meant an abundance of herbs even so late in the year, and Tom’s flask would hold plenty of water. First, I gathered the herbs. It wasn’t the best time for picking, being neither sunrise nor sunset, so I mouthed charms to make up the shortfall in strength. Meat would be best to bring up Tom’s blood, but meat would be too hard to eat and there’d been enough bloodshed for one day. A brew of nettles would have to do.
When I knelt at Tom’s side and stroked his brow, he smiled at me, but it wasn’t a proper Tom grin and he was in a bad way. He was so pale to begin with; his only fire lived in the red of his hair, but his complexion now held a strangled hue. He looked at me with eyes I’d never seen before. There was no green there, only black holes surrounded by white. It may have been the fire, but whatever had flared in Tom’s eyes made me scared. First Meg and now Tom. It was too much to bear.
‘Tom, I’m going to get water to keep you warm, please hang on.’
I found two flat stones to pulverise the herbs, and then I added these to the flask and hung it over the fire to boil. Once it cooled, Tom could manage small sips, but he was barely awake when I fed him the astringent brew. It was a slow job, but sip by sip, I got a flask of tea into him. So far, he was keeping it down.
Tom’s face glistened in the firelight, so his face and his hair both seemed to be alight. Fever? But I had to leave him to get help. I banked the fire in the hope it would last. Then I dropped a dry kiss onto Tom’s slumbering forehead, promising not to be long. As I wended my way through the wood, my heart raced. I peered into the darkness, watching for movement in case the hunter came back. But he must have gone for good, as he’d not want to risk the villagers’ wrath and be hanged for near killing their favourite lad.
Widdershins Page 10