We had pulled up outside my door and I still had not replied. I had not cried for my father, but I was quick enough to weep for myself.
‘Look,’ Tom said, as he handed me down, ‘perhaps you love the lad, but you are a cripple and his mother hates you. There’s no future in it. You know by now what was done to your mother?’
I nodded.
‘Well then, think. Do you want to follow her to the scaffold, Martha? Do you want to follow her, when you could leave?’
We agreed to meet by Aylhill before dawn. It wasn’t far. I could hide my things tomorrow near the cottage for him to pick up on his way back from the Hall.
I stepped out the back of the house and looked up at the wounded hill. The spring sun was warm, but the grass and branches were still beaded from the rain that had fallen hours before. The drops shone like brilliants. I could hear the burrburr of a turtle dove. The trees were beginning to come into leaf. Jacob would be heading up to the ewes by now, or down to the Hall to the horses. Somehow after my night at the well, and with my father gone, I felt free to love the land. Had my mother loved it too?
More than anything I wanted to see Owen, but I could not do that without his sister. I was afraid of seeing Aggie, but my heart would not be at peace till I had. Yet what was there to say? I was sorry, yet I was not sorry. I did not know even if I had practised on Jacob as they said. Until the water slapped me and he pulled me to the bank I had thought myself drawn by the moon and the song. I had thought the song would bring me to the cold water and my mother, but it brought me him, the red rose and the lily flower. I was no witch, but there was magic worked through me and I didn’t know if it were for good or ill.
I sat in the empty house on the cot where my father used to lie and conjured Aggie to come. And just as the sun began to droop she came. She did not smile at me or embrace me, but sat primly in the chair. Her lips were pressed tight together.
‘You must miss him. He was a good man,’ she said, without conviction. We sat stiffly, either side of the table. She was holding a bunch of early columbines, and she thrust them at me as though she wanted none of them.
‘Aggie,’ I said, taking them, ‘would you wish I gathered rue to mix with them?’ I tried to take her hand, then, but she flinched and snatched it away. For a while she sat with her shoulder tilted towards me, saying nothing, but throwing me fierce looks. Then she got up and turned to the door.
‘Aggie, talk. I know what’s on your mind.’
I got up and stood in front of her. To my surprise she slapped me, full in the face. I stepped back, my conscience stinging more than my cheek. She glanced defiantly at her hand, then looked me up and down. ‘I only came because Mother made me.’ She crumpled her face in disgust. ‘When your father lay dying. How could you, Martha?’
‘How could I what?’
‘The Widow herself has said it. You were wet through with half a meadow in your hair. You lay with him. Jacob doesn’t deny it, not outright, just fell to cursing and walked off back to the Hall. You used your herbs and your enchantments and drew him after you like a tame dog.’
I had meant to be meek with her, not angry, but my spirit rebelled. I talked calm enough, but I knew the words could spin off at any moment.
‘Had he promised himself to you, Aggie?’
‘You knew it was what we wanted.’
‘Had he promised himself? Had any word been spoken?’
‘That is of no consequence. We did not need to speak of it. Both our families were happy, the Widow and my father especially. There could be no engagement while Owen lay so ill.’
I sat back down; my heart was pounding in my chest, and yes, with relief. I was half smiling, I could not help it.
Aggie stepped back, full of shock and indignation. ‘Martha, I have always been your friend, I have helped you and pitied you, but how could you think it? It’s almost disgusting. No respectable family could have you. Perhaps if you were fair… but even then… And now, suspected as you are, limping with the mark of the Lord’s disfavour…’
The truth she spoke sucked the air from my chest and all the silly fancies lurking in my brain. She had said it. The idea of his choosing me was almost disgusting. That was what I had seen in his eyes in the morning. I clutched the table and waited for my heart to calm enough for me to turn to her and lie.
‘Aggie, listen. I lay down that night and listened to my father dying and I could not bear it. I fell into a great sin, but it was despair, not lust. I left the house, meaning to throw myself in the river, to be washed away. To prove with my death I was no witch. Unbeknownst to me he followed, fearing what I might do – I had hinted as much when he helped me home with the barrow. I did not get to the river. I threw myself in Pentaloe Well and he dragged me out and made me pray forgiveness for the deed I had attempted. That is all, Aggie. He had no interest in my flesh – you said yourself I am not fair like you. I do not have magic enough to make him choose a little dark cripple over you. It was my soul he sought to bring back to the light.’
She crouched down and stared at me a long while to divine if it were true, biting her lip all the while. I returned her gaze, filling my eyes with a look of honest confession, until she nodded and smiled and pulled me to her.
‘Oh, Martha,’ she said, ‘I should not have doubted you. You are so small and dark and spiky; you are like blackthorn and you scratch and tear whether you will or no.’
I was glad of her embrace and her warm soft shoulders, and pleased with myself to have won her back so easy. I felt a little wretched too, for she was right; I was full of thorns and deceit and yearning.
36
Owen Returns
I was surprised how quickly Aggie put by her fears. Within minutes she was happily telling me that a messenger from the Hall had come by, asking after Owen and saying she must attend Miss Elizabeth on Monday, early, to discuss a position.
‘But, Agnes, if you are to be betrothed soon?’
‘Oh, don’t be silly, Martha. I may not marry for years. I have nothing against long engagements. There is no hurry. And the joy of it is, the position is not with Miss Elizabeth, but an acquaintance of hers, the lady who found me pretty all those weeks ago. And just think, Martha, she dwells in Hereford and her husband is a rich man, a cap merchant. He is said to have a house in London. There will be dances, the players, I will have my hands in ribbons all day long.’
Her face fell and she remembered where she was. ‘I should not be talking like this now. It is my turn to be sorry. But after all these months of suffering, I can’t help it if my mind keeps lighting on silks and satin slippers. How I would love to be away from all this.’
‘How is Owen?’ I asked. ‘I should love to see him.’
‘That’s just the thing: Mother wants you to come. Father left this morning, said he wouldn’t be back till after nightfall. There is a group he meets with over by Cockyard Farm. As you know, he is grown very strict in his religion. They are for rooting out idolatry where it lingers and…’ She blushed.
‘… and witchcraft. You can say it, Aggie. Your father wants me at the end of a rope.’
We toiled over the back way, keeping to the field edges in the hope of passing without notice. I could not enter by the front door any more. It would be safe for no one. Ann Simons was waiting for me by the window with a box to help me in.
‘Oh, you poor, poor girl,’ she said. ‘I would have come, only Richard would not allow it. And you all alone now. Come in, come in. Have you the monkshood? We used up what you left us and I dare not attempt to mix it myself.’
‘You must not,’ I said. ‘It is powerful. How is he?’
‘You will see,’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘I believe he is coming back to us, Martha, only Aggie and Richard will not take heed.’
I glanced across at Aggie, who shook her head slightly at me. She had told me as we walked that she feared her mother’s long watching and seclusion had affected her mind.
Owen was where I had last seen
him, his face turned to the window. He was sleeping peacefully enough, though there was a lassitude in the placing of his limbs that spoke of weakness. He was so pitifully small. I sat down and stroked his hair.
‘He knows me,’ Ann said, ‘I am sure of it, and there are times I think he wishes to speak, only he can’t seem to find where his voice has gone. After I have given him your tincture, in particular, he seems more alert, more understanding. He has squeezed my hand no end of times. Aggie, don’t look like that. I know you have given up hope, but I have not. My husband and Father Paul believe you have possessed him, Martha. If Richard knew you were here, I don’t know what he would do. It is selfish of me to put us all in danger like this. I don’t know what I was thinking. Owen is sleeping. He might not wake for hours. Maybe you should go before any harm comes of it.’
‘I asked to come,’ I said quietly. ‘Please let me stay awhile. Might I lie down with him? I am very tired.’
She went away to make me food and Aggie, too, let us be. I lay down on the bed, suddenly filled with a weariness that seemed ancient. As I stroked Owen’s shoulder I noticed they had put a tiny book around his neck: St John’s Gospel, no doubt, proof against the witch. I talked to him softly as I fell asleep, for though he was little he saw the world through eyes like mine, and understood what others never would. I hugged him in my arms and wept for both of us.
A slight movement woke me. For an instant I could not remember where I was and I started and sat up, staring at the unfamiliar beams and the clanging of pots below. This must be the gaol; I had been taken. Then I remembered and looked across at Owen. His eyes were open, but more than that, he was looking at me. I smiled at him and slowly, silently, he smiled back.
He had smiled back! He had returned! I opened my mouth to shout it out. But at once a picture came into my mind of myself as a tiny child, coaxing a blackbird that hung about our door. For days it had avoided me and then at last it came, in short bounds, cocking its head as it paused and considered the grain I held. ‘Go easy,’ my grandmother said, ‘stay quiet, do not fright it or it will fly off for ever.’
I sat on the bed next to him and took his hand. ‘Do you know me?’ I said.
He nodded.
‘Oh, Owen,’ I said, forgetting the blackbird, ‘I am so sorry, I am so sorry I couldn’t bring you home. You must have had such nightmares out there. But you are home now, you are safe. The Good Lord has preserved you. Oh, Owen, you have come back.’
I stood up to call his mother, but he pressed my hand. ‘Martha,’ he said, ‘you won’t go? Please don’t go.’
I sat down again. ‘Oh, Owen, love, I have to, but I’ll come back. I’ll come back just as soon as I can and we’ll live together and you can go to school and I’ll keep house. And at night we’ll look out over all the roofs in the city to the great Cathedral.’
‘Stay, Martha,’ he said again.
I heard a cry behind me and a small crash. It was Ann coming up with a bowl of stew for me. ‘Oh my darling,’ she said, rushing forward to bury his head in her bosom. ‘Oh, Martha, I will not forget this.’
‘Don’t hurry him, please, Ann. Maybe best not to tell Master Richard right away, not till Owen is more settled into himself. We must let him back gently into the world; they’d ply him with talk.’
‘Yes, yes, you’re right. Oh, Owen, how I’ve missed you, my boy. Oh, my darling child…’ and she rocked back and forth with tears streaming down her face. Then she shook herself and turned to me.
‘I’m sorry, Martha, I was coming to say you had best shift yourself soon. You’ve been asleep hours, you know. It’s quite dark outside. Aggie’ll walk back with you. Best say nothing to her of this, not yet. She is her father’s girl before all.’
We both promised Owen I’d be back very soon – the next day, even. To say goodbye, I thought, for a while at least. Aggie and I stole back by the fields. I told her there was no need to come, but she seemed ill at ease for me. She said I was safer with her by. Every second step she pestered me to rest until it irked me, though I was glad to have her goodwill. Truth was, I barely felt my ankle. I was floating. Owen had come back, his eyes were quick and full as they had ever been. Perhaps the evil set loose in the hill had at last sunk back into the dark places I had helped to wake it from.
Aggie was all of a jitter and kept flying ahead of me along the path till I could scarce make her out in the gloom. Then a second later she would run back and exhort me to rest. I was relieved to reach my door; the night would be long and lonely, but I had a yen to sit quiet among my father’s tools and to think of him.
‘Good night, Aggie, and thank you. I could not bear for us to be at odds. Oh, Aggie, it means the world to me that we are reconciled.’ We embraced one another and her innocent curls fell across my face as I laid my head on her shoulder and thought how easy, after all, it had been to betray her and how quick I would be to betray her again.
I did not want a light. I sat in the darkness, on my father’s ash chair. He had turned the wood in the green and the back fitted to his own. I pressed my spine against it, aware of a pain in my chest that rose and sank, and blocked my breathing. His hasp knife lay on the table where I had placed it, wondering if I should throw it in his grave. I patted my hand around till I found it. It was solid and smooth in my fist and I gripped it till my heart calmed and I could picture him alive. It was in the workshop I could see him most distinctly, seated at his lathe with the draw knife steady in his hands. The tools held the memory of his hands when they were strong. I got up. I would sort through them tonight, pack up such as I might carry and sell. I was searching out a candle stub when the door banged sharply.
‘Martha, it’s me, Aggie. You must come, there’s been an accident. There’s hopes you can help.’
‘What was it? On the road, on your way back?’
Aggie looked confused, then she nodded hurriedly, ‘Yes, yes, Robert Tanner, on the road, that’s it. They’ve taken him to the Widow’s.’
So, I thought, they are ready to hang me, but are not above asking my help.
‘Let them look to their own,’ I said. ‘Why should I stir? The Tanners have been no friends to me.’
Aggie looked nonplussed. Her face darted this way and that like a bird’s. There was something strange about her. Then she brightened into speech. ‘You should come, Martha. Who knows but what if you help, it’ll lay some of the ill will that threatens you? Think, it can only do you good.’
She was right, I had to admit it. I let her lead me out. No sooner were we in the road however, than her manner changed again.
‘But you may be no use at all, Martha, and after all, perhaps it would be better if you did not come.’
‘Oh, do not dither so, Aggie. First you call me, then you hold me back. I cannot make you out at all. Come, it is hardly even a step. We are at the door already.’ I banged and waited. Light seeped below the door and through the shutters. In the noise before I knocked I’d heard many voices. Richard Simons’ voice loud among them. Suddenly all had gone quiet. Something was wrong. I turned to Aggie, and her face was contorted with fear and something else: shame, perhaps.
‘I’m sorry, Martha, I’m sorry. Father said I was to bring you. It is to help Owen and stop you… They will not harm you, they promised, they…’ But her words were cut off by the door flinging open and Richard Simons himself was there before me with blood on his hands.
37
Protection
The room blazed with candles. There must have been a dozen of them, pooling the faces that turned and stared: Robert Tanner, nothing amiss with him, then; Dick Loader; the Laddings; Goody Reynolds and the Widow either side of a yellow fire. Every one of them was turned towards me with hands sticky with gore. I glanced around for Jacob but he was not there. That was good. But did he know what they did here? Had he simply chosen to be absent?
‘Aggie,’ I said, but she had gone. It was only as the door slammed behind me that I took in the reek of blood. The air was so hot an
d thick with it my knees buckled beneath me and I found myself clutching the arm of Richard Simons.
‘Look!’ cried the widow, ‘her strength is leaving her. It is working, it is working.’
Richard Simons grabbed the back of my head and thrust me forward. ‘What do you say, witch, what do you say?’
The room was swimming. I felt my stomach heave, but somewhere my mind was quite at liberty, watching, as though this were a scene acted out by the players in an inn yard. I looked into the fire and saw what caused the stench: it was the blackened heart of a pig, stuck with pins. My part now was to say a blessing. It was a healing charm to do away witching. I had heard of it working when the Cleggs’ boy had been made ill out at Sapness. He’d been sick a fortnight when they called in a cunning woman to unwitch him. No sooner had the heart blackened and burned than an old neighbour had knocked on the door and blessed the house. The boy got better directly. A month or so later the witch was found; she’d been dead a week. A fall, it was said. What would they do with me if I said the blessing? Let me home to bed? I did not think so. I would not name myself a witch.
I backed away from the fire, but it was a small room and the assembly pressed around me.
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I do not bless you, I curse you. All of you. The curse of an orphan with her father fresh in his grave. You’ve broken his rest.’ They shifted uneasily and glanced at one another. Dick Loader stepped back into the shadows, as if my curse were water and he thought not to get splashed. Even Richard Simons shrank back away from me. Only the Widow seemed unperturbed.
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