Sebastian stared at the corpse wondering at the circumstances of his demise. The fact that he was looking at a ghostly form hardly shocked him at all. He was becoming used to it, the bakery and house appeared to be well serviced by restless spirits.
He was close to the figure now and could have touched it had the man been real, not merely a ghostly illusion. Sebastian looked deeply into the vacant staring eyes, almost on a level with his own. As he looked the eyes flickered and Sebastian felt a stab of fear, his heart skipped a beat and then another. He was frozen to the spot, unable to break the stare from the bulging eyes now only inches away. The corpse’s blue tinged lips moved, and he caught the whispered words, ‘Why, Luke, why?’
Sebastian was about to collapse again; he could hear a swishing noise in his head and recognised the precursor to a faint. Able at last to break the stare from those terrible eyes, he staggered back, and the vision disappeared. He was alone again.
Chapter 40
The ship rested against the quay barely moving as it rubbed against the timbers of the structure. Luke and Lilly walked up the gangplank to be greeted by the first mate and shown to their cabin. They had adopted the role of father and daughter, it was easier that way, and nobody asked any awkward questions. The cabin they were to share was small but sufficient. He knew the voyage would be long and tedious, but the prospect of returning to the Americas excited him. Lilly for her part was even more excited. To escape this damp little island with its dire poverty and miserable climate was something she had never even dreamed of. They had sufficient gold coins left from the bakery to eke out an existence, and if Luke’s friend and former business partner turned out to be half as good as he maintained, their life would be very pleasant indeed. Luke’s face had healed, but the scars were even more visible. The seared flesh had dried into hard ridges, and his burnt nose gave his face a lopsided look. His once generous full lips had become a thin line, more of an ugly gash than a mouth. Lilly still insisted on kissing him even though he pulled away, afraid she might be repulsed. But her love for him surpassed any physical deformity. She loved him completely and looked past his injuries to find his heart, untouched by flames and still imbued with a natural kindness as it always had been.
The ship pulled away from the quay on the next high tide making its way out through the heads to wrestle with the open sea on the beginning of the long voyage to Virginia. It was a seaworthy vessel and rode the waves easily, the crew smoothly making any necessary adjustments in a relaxed and friendly manner. Luke decided it was a happy ship and settled in to enjoy the voyage. He had Lilly by his side, what more could any man want?
Meanwhile, things were not running so smoothly at the bakery. Rose had discovered the missing money and vented her fury on Robin, her new husband. He couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, both his stupid mother and Luke had gone and good riddance to both in his opinion. Rose agreed about the last part wholeheartedly, but the money was something else. How dare they steal her money?
The production of bread had gone from bad to worse, and the orders were drying up; to make matters worse there was a rumour circulating that a new baker was about to set up in Upper Marston. That would seal the fate of the Lower Marston bakery once and for all. Robin had trouble controlling the heat of the oven. It had taken to roaring up the chimney one minute and almost dying the next. Consequently, the bread varied from half baked to charred objects as hard as a brick. Some mornings there was simply nothing worth taking to Upper Marston, and the villagers were obliged to go without. Robin had come close on two occasions to falling victim to the oven as Luke had. For no apparent reason, the oven door flew open, and long flames reached out as if searching for him and even as he stepped back the flames continued to reach out to take him in their deadly embrace. He cried out in alarm on both occasions, the flames seemed to be guided by some external force, and he immediately suspected witchcraft. The taking of witches was still an ongoing occupation, and the witchfinders roamed the towns and villages looking for likely victims. He expressed his fears to Rose, now heavily pregnant, and she at first dismissed his concerns as stupid superstitious nonsense. However, as her devious mind considered solutions to their problems, the major of them being the advent of the new baker in Upper Marston, a sly smile lit up her face.
‘We need to find a witchtaker.’ She announced out of the blue.
‘Why?’ Asked Robin.
Controlling her anger at Robin’s dimness, she fixed him with a stare,
‘Because, dear husband, our business is almost finished, the unreliability of the oven has reduced us to the point of closing down. Now, who is set to gain from our misfortune?’
Robin didn’t answer; he was still absorbing what his wife had said.
‘The new baker in Upper Marston, who else could it be, you moron?’
Robin’s face registered comprehension at last,
‘Yes, why else would the oven door open of its own accord sending out hot flames to get me and look what happened to Luke?’
Rose snapped at him,
‘We won’t mention Luke; that happened before the new baker came to the area, do you understand, do I make myself perfectly clear?’
Robin, looking suitably admonished, agreed with his wife although not sure why. It was simply more prudent to be guided by her in everything.
Rose set out the next morning to walk to Upper Marston. The child she was carrying made it the more difficult, but there was no alternative. She had to strike quickly, and the rumour mongers at the inn were spreading the word about a particularly vicious witchfinder in the area. She hated being pregnant, had no use for a child and could not see the value in it. The sooner it was born the better and if it died at birth or soon after as many did then so much the better. She would make certain it never happened again; there were ways to make a woman infertile, potions she had heard about in the Gypsy camps, the women there were nearly all witches to some degree.
Now though, her malevolence was directed at the new baker. He had set up shop in the main street of the village close to the inn, and she made her way there.
He was a very pleasant man. Middle aged with a wife and six children. The little shop in front of the new bakery rang with the laughter of young children and general good bonhomie.
Rose bought a loaf and walked out the shop having maintained her steely expression against all the happiness.
Her enquiries revealed the whereabouts of the newly arrived witchfinder, he was boarding at the inn, and she made her way to him discreetly. He was a big man, unsmiling and grim of looks. Rose thought nothing of it; he appeared normal to her. His name was Silas Wainwright, and he was perhaps the most feared man since the days of Matthew Hopkins, the self professed Witchfinder General.
Rose stated her case, inviting Silas to their bakery to witness the oven’s behaviour, secretly hoping the flames would charge out and at least singe him a little.
Silas, sensing a victim with at least a little proof against him, readily agreed and said he would attend the bakery that evening.
Returning to the Lower Marston bakery Rose explained her plan to Robin. He smiled and agreed it was a good idea but then thought of the major flaw,
‘What if the oven behaves itself tonight, what then?’
Rose, exasperated as usual with her oaf of a husband, painstakingly set out a list of chores he was to perform. He was to split logs and feed the oven until it was hot, scorching hot. Then just as the witchfinder entered the building, he was to throw green logs, which he was to ensure were thoroughly soaked in water onto the fire. She emphasised they should all be thrown into the oven and none left outside. Hopefully, it would generate enough steam to blow the fire out into the room, proving her case.
The hour for the visit was fast approaching, and Rose attended the bakery to make sure Robin was carrying out her instructions to the letter. For once he had, and the oven door was almost glowing with heat. She heard the crunching of gravel in the yard and looking o
ut saw Silas entering. With a backwards glance at Robin and a terse, ‘Now.’ She walked out to greet him.
‘We are about to begin baking, so please come in, Sir.’ She said.
Silas followed her into the bakery, and she made sure he stood opposite the oven door. She waved her hand at Robin by way of introduction, and he nodded, following her instructions to say nothing. Rose glanced at the oven door hoping it would happen soon as Robin approached with the first batch of dough filled tins. He hesitated at the door, glancing at Rose, waiting for instruction. She nodded imperceptibly, and Robin took hold of the oven door with a thick piece of leather to protect his hand from the heat. As he swung the door back, the internal pressure was relieved, and the flames shot out propelled by large quantities of superheated steam. Robin dropped the baking tins in shock as the flames encircled the witchfinder. Silas yelled out as the flames touched his bare flesh, burning with ferocity, both with naked flame and steam. Rose was ready and slammed the door shut using a long pole.
‘There you have it!’ She exclaimed, ‘This happens almost every time now. The bakery has stood here for generations and never a problem. The new man starts in Upper Marston, and we are unable to supply any bread. He has all the business now. It’s witchcraft, nothing more certain.’
Silas was still beating at his smouldering garments, conscious of the pain in his hand, the one closest to the oven. It surprised him how much it hurt; the contact had only been brief. It crossed his mind that condemned witches in Scotland and Ireland suffered death by burning and how agonising it must be. He quickly dismissed the thought with the reasoning that here in England witches were not burnt but merely hanged.
‘I acknowledge your accusation, madam, and shall pursue it vigorously, you have my word on it.’
As Silas Wainwright mounted his horse and made for Upper Marston, Rose looked at Robin and smiled. It was the chilling smile of the victor and Robin felt a little uneasy as he realised the constant danger with which he lived. He hoped he would never outgrow his usefulness to Rose; the penalty would be severe, he knew.
One week later the new baker was dancing to the hangman’s jig at Lincoln. He was put on the scaffold and dropped in front of his wife and children. He only lasted five minutes, finally giving up and succumbing to strangulation.
The baker’s widow, Sarah, and her six children having no means of support were now destitute. The village was also back in the position of having no fresh bread. Rose watched the situation unfold, and again her deviousness came to the fore. She approached the widow and put forward a proposal. The poor woman had no idea it was by Rose’s accusation that her husband had been tried at the Assize and hanged as a witch and gratefully accepted the proposal that they legally exchange ownership of the two bakeries. She would also receive a small pension with the understanding that she would care for Rose’s baby when it arrived. Rose wanted nothing to do with it, Sarah could breastfeed the brat as well as her own youngest.
And so it was that Rose and Robin took occupation of the new bakery complete with new oven in the centre of the village of Upper Marston, while Sarah suffered the cold loneliness of the old bakery in Lower Marston, the only remaining building in the village.
The new bakery served its purpose but was never as successful as when the original baker owned it. Robin’s skills were limited and Rose’s meanness knew no bounds. The bread always had extra water added so that the bread became stale quicker and when toasted on a fork in front of a fire was reduced to half its thickness.
Rose gave birth to her baby, a little boy. However, she never saw him again after he was left with the widow at their former home. She had no interest in anything but herself. She made sure there would be no more children having secured a potion and the means of making it. The old Gypsy had been more than happy to oblige after Rose gave her a handful of gold coins. The concoction ensured she would remain infertile for the rest of her life. There was no going back after she had taken it for some months. The result was complete barrenness.
Sarah had been at the old bakery for five years existing on the little allowance Rose gave her for looking after her son. Rose didn’t know or even want to know the boy’s name. She had wiped her hands of him completely.
Robin on the other hand, and despite his oafishness, thought it rather rewarding to have a son and secretly visited him on the odd occasion when he was able to escape the notice of Rose.
Sarah didn’t look forward to his visits; he spent as much time ogling her as he did playing with his son and on every occasion he visited, strange things happened in the house and especially in the now disused bakery. If the sun was shining when he walked uninvited into the kitchen it soon disappeared, ducking behind dark storm clouds which seemed to appear out of nowhere. When he finally departed the sun would peep out as if to celebrate his departure.
Then came the day when fate would play yet another role in the life of the bakery at Lower Marston.
Rose had never been anything less than painfully thin; it suited her shrewish nature. She ate sparingly and frowned at Robin’s healthy appetite. However, even he began to notice she was becoming painfully thinner. When he asked after her health, she would direct a tirade of invective at him in an outburst of wrath. In the end, he stopped asking, in truth he didn’t care anyway. Theirs had never been a loving relationship; rather he lived in fear of her. The fact she had sent their son away and never again mentioned him set them still further apart, and when she suggested they sleep in separate bedrooms he was more relieved than offended.
She began to rise later in the mornings and retire very early in the evening. Sometimes she appeared to be in pain, but by now he knew better than to ask after her health. She took to wearing the same dress day in and day out, and he believed she slept in it too. The house became dirty and untidy, and the very act of washing clothes ceased altogether. He ate at the inn when he tired of eating his own inferior bread and began drinking heavily, anything to escape the drudgery of home.
Robin seldom saw Rose, but after a week without sighting her, he decided to risk the abuse and knock on her bedroom door. Expecting the usual rantings, he stood back waiting, but when nothing happened, he gingerly opened the door to peer in. The smell hit him first, followed by the loud buzzing of thousands of flies. With his hand over his mouth, he walked in to see Rose or what she had become lying on the bed, covered in flies and a seething mass of maggots. She had been dead for some time, probably the full week and nature was taking its course. Robin rushed to the window, flinging it open while the hoard of flies attempted to settle on him. He leaned out of the window and vomited into the street the stench was so overpowering.
The funeral was brief and to the point. Rose had no friends, and at the church, Robin stood beside the vicar as her body was lowered down into the freshly dug hole by the gravediggers. Robin found it difficult to mourn her passing genuinely. She had never brought joy into any of the lives she had touched. Notably missing was her child, the son she had never acknowledged.
In the days after the funeral, Robin wasted no time in attempting to woo Sarah. He could, he assured her, provide security both for herself and her children. Robin, naturally, would have his son back too. She didn’t really like him and thought he might be a little unkind at times, but she had very little choice. It was becoming more difficult to manage as the children grew up and a woman without a husband was very vulnerable, especially as her husband had been hanged as a witch. There were those who talked behind their hands saying it was perhaps her and not the husband who had conjured up the demon of fire in the old bakery.
Robin and Sarah were married exactly six months after Rose’s funeral, and she, along with all the children moved back into the bakery in Upper Marston. Because of her new married status, Robin became the owner of the old bakery as well as the new one; married women were not permitted to own property. He found himself suddenly lifted up in status and revelled in his new found importance, although he was still a brute, nothing had cha
nged there, and Sarah didn’t have the control over him that Rose had nurtured for years. He expected, nay, demanded total obedience both in and out of the bedroom and after their first night together as man and wife she knew she had made a mistake. The children at least were cared for and enjoyed a privileged life under Robin’s new status as a multi property owner. The old bakery was let to a farmer as accommodation for his workers although few would stay there for longer than six months. As soon as their contract came up for renewal, they moved as far away as possible from the place. Rumours were manifest that it was haunted by more than one ghost and after only two years the farmer cancelled the agreement. The bakery sat idle for years, gradually deteriorating. Robin never visited the place and was content to let the place rot; it harboured no fond memories as far as he was concerned. He made a will leaving it to his son, John, the progeny of himself and Rose, named by Sarah in memory of her hanged husband. Rose had given up the child immediately after the birth, so he had never been christened. Robin took care to ensure the christening took place once the pair were married. However, the child's mother was given as Sarah, not Rose.
The Haunting Page 34