Widdershins

by Helen Steadman

  ‘John, there’s no choice. Lucy’s blood has boiled to a dangerous head and it’ll soon cause apoplexy. That is sure to end her, and with her, the baby.’

  ‘If Lucy dies, you can cut the bairn from her, can you not?’

  Dora turned wet eyes on me. ‘Aye, John, we can. But there’s no certainty that the baby won’t already have been killed inside her.’

  At that, Lucy’s body wracked, her belly tight and her face puce. She fitted for a moment and blood-specked foam appeared at her mouth. Then she fell back, slack-bellied and open-eyed on the bed.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, hags, cut my child free. Shift and I’ll do it myself.’

  Dora held up a hand. ‘We’ll do it, else you jab the bairn. But I warn you, Lucy’s blood was as furious as a furnace and the heat may have killed the child already.’

  Kirstie raised her flenching knife. Once Dora confirmed that Lucy was dead, the girl pushed her knife into Lucy’s body. Together, the women opened her belly and lifted out my slippery child. Dora rubbed his blue flesh and cleaned his face with muslin. She dandled him by his feet and cracked his backside with the flat of her hand. Then she swaddled him and gave the silent child to Kirstie.

  ‘I’m sorry, John, he’s still. They’ve both gone.’

  She drew a sheet up over Lucy’s destroyed body.

  I looked at her, dry-eyed and silent.

  18

  Jane

  The Brief Candle

  I was making syrup from dried violets, which in normal times was my greatest joy, but today the fragrance was overwhelming and made me queasy. Somehow, dried violets had an even more cloying smell than freshly picked flowers. When I was a child, Mam would wave a spoon in the air at me, telling me how the syrup eased pains of the heart and the head. She’d let me lick the spoon, but always warned me to be careful with violets, because once you’d smelt them, you could never smell them again. That certainly wasn’t true for me in my present condition, as I could smell violets a mile off. In truth, it would be a blessing not to smell them anymore.

  A sound jarred me from my thoughts, and I saw Reverend Foster hurrying towards the house. This was unlike the Reverend, who never hurried a day in his life. When I opened the door, he had a bad look about him.

  ‘What’s wrong, Reverend? You don’t look quite yourself.’

  ‘Oh, Jane. There’s such dreadful news. I might never be myself again. Where’s Annie?’

  ‘I’m here. Why, Reverend, what’s wrong? You look terrible. Come and sit next to the fire. Jane, bring some wine.’

  But he shook his head. ‘No, Annie, you fetch the wine and let Jane sit next to the fire.’ Reverend Foster pressed me onto the fireside cracket. ‘Jane, you need to be ready for a terrible shock. The most terrible of all shocks.’

  Lead settled in my belly at these words and I looked up at the Reverend, my face crumpling. ‘No, please, no … not my Tom.’

  Reverend Foster took my hands between his own. ‘Yes, dear Jane, I’m afraid so. I heard it this morning in Newcastle. Tom’s ship went down, with all souls lost.’

  * * *

  There was no spirit in me and I stared woodenly into the hearth.

  My mother held me tightly to her. ‘Come, we’ll boil up chickenwort for a warming broth.’

  ‘But it’s the height of summer, Mam. What do I want with a warming broth?’

  Mam frowned. ‘It’ll sustain you and prevent you from succumbing to a fever.’

  ‘Oh, I wish I could succumb to a fever, and then I could join Tom.’

  ‘Whisht, Jane, you mustn’t say such things.’

  ‘It’s true! I can’t bear it. For him to be snatched away like that and then to drown in the cold, dark sea, with not a single person known to him.’

  Mam pulled me closer. ‘Jane, I’m sorry for you, truly. And I know this is a very bad time for you, but you must stop to consider your future.’

  I sprang away, my eyes wide. ‘Mam! I can’t believe you could say such a thing. Tom lying in a watery grave and now you’d wish the same fate on his child. Well, I’ll not do it. I’ll not. This baby is all that’s left of Tom.’

  ‘Sorry, pet. But please don’t make your life harder than it needs to be. Come on, we must get going. We must tell Bill these dreadful tidings.’

  My mother put her arm around me and drew me back to her. Together, we went to seek Bill Verger and found him walking up the hill from the village. As he drew near, his brow wrinkled.

  ‘What’s wrong? Not even a twinkle from either of you.’

  I scarce knew how to tell him, and doubted any sensible words would find their way out of me, so I stood back while Mam took Bill’s hands and looked him square in the face.

  ‘Bill, the Reverend heard terrible news this morning. The Durham went down, with all souls lost.’

  He pulled away from Mam, sank to the little hillock behind him and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Dear God. Dear God, my own sweet lad taken.’

  Mam said nothing, pulled me to her side and we waited for Bill to gather his wits. When he looked up, his face was wet and he struggled to keep his voice even.

  ‘I must arrange my lad’s burial. Even though his … his body isn’t here, this was the place of his heart and he must have a cross in memory.’ He swallowed noisily. ‘It’s not decent, a Verger lad being committed to the sea. I’ll ask the Reverend if he’ll pray for my lost lad. Will he do that, do you think?’ He turned rheumy eyes on Mam as he struggled to his feet.

  Mam nodded. ‘Oh, Bill, of course the Reverend will pray for Tom. He’ll give a service, as is usual for men … men who are lost at sea.’

  ‘I’ll put our Tom’s cross next to his mother. She’d want him close and safe.’

  My chin quivered and I didn’t trust myself to speak without crying. It felt wrong for me to mourn, seeing Bill, who’d lost both wife and child.

  But Mam spoke. ‘Tom would like that. It’ll give comfort to mother and son.’

  ‘God bless you, Annie. And you, Jane. Instead of looking forward to a wedding, all we have to look forward to is a funeral, without even the grace of my lad’s body to bury.’ He shook his head. ‘My sweet lad, him that spent his days making sure that the departed were safely delivered into the earth.’

  Tears glazed Bill’s eyes once more. He’d not even have the comfort of performing that last terrible service for his own son.

  * * *

  The church was packed and I sat in the front pew, flanked by Bill and Mam. Reverend Foster prayed for Tom’s soul and for the souls of all the other men lost on The Durham. He also prayed for those still at sea. It gave no comfort to me and tears ran freely down my face. Reverend Foster explained that Tom was in a better place, but it just made me angry, and I was tired of hearing his voice. I laughed bitterly and Mam put a hand on my arm.

  After the short service, the villagers came to speak to me and to Bill. Andrew Driver was amongst them, but he hung back to shake hands with Bill and Mam while I took comfort in the arms of May Green. When Andrew approached me, cap between his hands, May untangled herself from me and scurried away.

  ‘Jane, I’m right sorry about Tom. If I could’ve swapped places with him that night, then I’d have done it gladly. I only wish I’d been there. The hot press might have taken me instead.’

  ‘They might have taken you as well, you mean. And what might that have achieved? Then it would be your mam and dad standing here grieving as well.’

  ‘Aye, I know. But I wouldn’t be leaving a sweetheart behind. Or a bairn.’

  I baulked at this and hissed at him. ‘What? What are you saying?’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘Settle yourself, Jane. It’s not hard to guess for anyone looking close enough. But don’t worry, I’m deep as the … at any rate, deep. I’ll not breathe a word. But listen, there’s no need for you to hide yourself away any more.’

  I glared at him. ‘There’s every need. Someone in my condition can’t be seen living under the church’
s roof, or any roof, for that matter. No one was meant to know. You must promise not to tell another living soul.’

  Andrew stuffed his hat into his jerkin and grabbed my hands. ‘Jane, marry me. I can look after you and Tom’s bairn–’

  But I snatched my hands back. ‘How could you? How could you? My Tom is barely in his grave. In fact, he’s not even in his grave, but lying in the cold sea and you’re trying to steal me and his baby. I’d sooner starve than marry a man who would betray his best friend!’

  With that, I left Andrew staring as I fled to the house.

  * * *

  In the morning, I went out to gather roses to place on Tom’s cross. Although he wasn’t resting there, it gave me a place to remember him. The spiteful thorns scratched me and the pain was welcome, since this day was too beautiful for a world without Tom in it. I was sucking the blood from my thumb when Bill came towards me. He’d aged, and no wonder, considering the loss he had to bear.

  ‘Morning, hinny. Those for our Tom?’ Bill nodded towards the roses climbing up the wall.

  ‘Yes, Tom might like them on his … on … well, he always loved roses the best.’

  ‘Aye, he did that. They were his mother’s favourite flowers and he always picked them for her when he was little.’

  The old man smiled crookedly and I wondered at his pain. The thought of Tom as a motherless boy made my breath catch and my chin quiver. Bill put out his calloused hand and clasped my shoulder.

  ‘Now, Jane, don’t go being sorry for me, or for our Tom. He’s gone to his reward and he’ll be with his mother, God rest her, so you mustn’t take on so.’

  But it was no use and my tears refused to be held back. ‘Tom was such a good person. I just can’t bear the thought of his bairn never knowing him.’

  ‘His child will know him through you and me. But he isn’t coming back and you need to decide what to do.’

  I eyed the old man. ‘But what is there to do?’

  Bill patted my shoulder. ‘You can see sense and do what Tom would have you do. Marry young Driver.’

  The basket of roses fell from my hand. ‘Bill Verger! You can’t mean it? Surely, you of all people wouldn’t have this? And what would Tom think?’

  ‘Lass, it would please my lad’s heart. The very last thing Tom would want in all the world would be for you and his bairn to suffer because he can’t be here to care for you. Young Driver is a kind lad to offer himself.’

  ‘What will people say? I was promised to Tom. Our wedding was in the offing.’

  ‘Tongues will wag as they always have. There’s not a law in the land that says a lass can’t be married to another in this situation. None need know that the bairn isn’t Andrew’s, or even that there was a bairn to begin with. Only a few of us know and we’ll not tell another living soul.’

  ‘But, it’s disloyal to Tom’s memory, to you, to the baby. And it’s not even fair on Andrew, making him settle for a wife who loves someone else.’

  Bill plucked a white rose and passed it to me. ‘Come on, we’ll place this beauty on Tom’s cross. And you can make sure that he’s the first person you tell. My lad will give you his blessing and you already have mine. Then go and see young Driver.’

  I looked at Bill Verger’s shining eyes and wondered how the Vergers came to be such good people. He took my hand and we walked to the plot of earth that he’d marked out for Tom. Kneeling before the little wooden cross, I placed the rose beneath it. There was a lump in my throat that was somehow connected to a new flood of tears pricking at the back of my eyes. There was plenty for me to say, but my voice was certain to come out in a rush of tears and croaks, so I swallowed hard first.

  ‘Oh, Tom. I hardly know how to begin …’ But the one thing I couldn’t do was marry Andrew Driver. Just the thought of it gave me a cold feeling in my heart.

  19

  John

  Satanic Kisses

  In front of the kirk session, I retold the anguish caused by the two women, Kirstie Slater and Dora Shaw, who’d conspired to kill my wife and child. What I did not tell was the feeling of rage that had overtaken me in all my recent waking hours.

  ‘Aye, the elder witch, Dora Shaw, not content with taking my blessed mother all those years ago, has waited for another chance to cause me yet more agony.’

  The moderator peered down his nose at me. ‘Very well, Sharpe, explain what took place.’

  ‘Kirstie Slater, the youngest witch, was left alone with my wife while she sent me to fetch her dark mistress, Dora Shaw. When I entered my home, it was to see my wife’s swollen body made naked, with her breasts laid bare to the night. But they were covered with the bite marks of the devil’s own satanic kisses–’

  ‘That’s a plain lie!’ Kirstie pointed her finger straight at me. ‘You made them marks with your own teeth. You’re a cruel man and you were a liar from birth!’

  This fire from the young hussy was quite unexpected. Although under oath, I felt certain that God, who saw all, forgave all. Even so, to be safe, I closed my eyes and recited a silent prayer to Him, seeking forgiveness. If the truth needed to be managed to avenge my mother, my wife and my child, then so be it. But it was a relief when the moderator’s eye was taken off me for a few moments as a small struggle broke out amongst the rougher elements. The scuffle took two burly sergeants and their clubs to quieten it. The moderator pursed his lips and looked ready to continue only once peace was restored and the injured removed from the premises.

  ‘These are strong words, Kirstie Slater, mayhap with little foundation to them. Mr Sharpe being renowned as a God-fearing man and raised by our own pastor.’

  Kirstie opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it and then hung her head.

  The moderator made a note. ‘Very well, as the maid seems done with her tale, the crowner may give his record.’ The crowner stepped forward and waved his soft hands before his face as if trying to rid himself of flying insects.

  ‘As crowner, it has been my terrible duty to make a searching examination of the late Goodwife Sharpe.’ He paused and wrung his hands. ‘It’s true that her breasts were scarred by bite marks both numerous and demonic in their nature.’

  I nodded, glancing around the room, pleased at the stir created by this news. Even the crowner seemed to enjoy the sensation. But the moderator looked less impressed.

  ‘Yes, yes, we shall get to that, crowner. But could these bite marks possibly be the work of John Sharpe? Pray, can you tell us that?’

  The crowner rested his eye on me. ‘I can certify these bite marks were not the work of John Sharpe. It is my belief that the hag, Dora Shaw, did counsel with Satan, bargaining the souls of Goodwife Sharpe and her child.’

  Dora’s face became livid and she shouted out. ‘Crowner, those marks were old. They’d healed and scarred since they’d been made months ago–’

  The sergeant cuffed Dora, who fell down in a heap of bones, nursing her lip.

  The moderator frowned. ‘Crowner, this seems most unsatisfactory. Is there any possibility that these marks were made by John Sharpe? Think hard on it, man.’

  The crowner rubbed his nose and then shook his head so thoroughly that his jowls wobbled.

  ‘Assuredly not, moderator. At my examination, I put callipers to the bite marks and also to Sharpe’s jaw.’

  The room fell silent as the man produced two pairs of callipers. He adjusted them and held up the first pair, whose points were two inches apart.

  ‘Please note the opening of John Sharpe’s jaw. Stretched to its utmost, there’s scarce two inches between upper and lower incisors. To whit …’

  He nudged me and I opened my mouth.

  The crowner inserted the callipers.

  ‘A perfect fit, you see, perfect.’

  A man in the crowd ran forward and pointed at me. ‘Look at Sharpe’s huge dog teeth! He could take a bite from a horse’s backside!’

  The ensuing rumble of disgraceful laughter was quickly put down by the moderator and his gavel
, along with some encouragement from the sergeants’ clubs.

  ‘We will have silence. The crowner must be allowed to continue.’

  Consulting his notebook, the crowner took the second pair of callipers and fitted them to a set of marks set out on thin paper.

  ‘I made an ink replica of a bite mark on Goodwife Sharpe’s left breast.’

  He held up the paper, which showed a meticulously drawn bite mark – albeit a distorted one. Then he held up the second pair of callipers, whose points were four inches apart. Once more, I opened my mouth and the throng hushed as they saw the callipers run wide of my mouth.

  The crowner nodded. ‘You see, moderator, no man’s teeth could make this bite, which is the mark of the devil’s jackal. And it cannot be coincidence that he marked the left breast, which is the devil’s own side, is it not?’ My eyes swept the room as the crowner pointed to the variance in size between the callipers and my open jaw.

  Dora appealed to the moderator. ‘But sire, a woman’s breasts must engorge when she is with child. Oft as not, they’ll double in size. Surely, you see that this accounts for the enlarged scar–’

  But the crowner interrupted. ‘I repeat, as a man of science, that no man’s jaw could make this mark. No woman’s breast can stretch to two times its original size. I’ve witnessed naught like this during my time as crowner.’

  Kirstie spoke up. ‘But, sires, as Dora says, the scars were old. They were pink and silvered, which is the colour of old scars that have healed–’

  The crowner butted in. ‘That is of no consequence.’

  The moderator peered at him. ‘Pray, explain why not, crowner.’

  ‘Two reasons, sire. First, the elder hag sent the devil’s imps to find suck long before Goodwife Sharpe’s milk came in. In their infernal frustration, the imps set to biting her instead.’

  I observed a fainting woman being carried out by her reluctant husband. When the crowner gained the room’s attention again, he continued.