The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  Twissleton was literally hopping mad. “You may mock, Nicholas Faulkner, but this is not the only case of suspected witchcraft to reach my ears. There are at least two more cases, and one of them is much closer to home than you might think.” He turned to Davy. “Give me your arm and let us depart, there is work to be done.”

  Richard and Nicholas, along with the women helpers and two rustics, conveyed Nancy to a nearby cottage. The owner was reluctant to render assistance, but a coin pressed into his hand soon changed his mind. Nancy was put to bed and given hot sweet drinks, and as Nicholas and Richard took their departure, those who remained were torn between superstition and pity. More significantly, they hoped there wouldn’t be any consequences - in any respect.

  “What we just witnessed was barely human,” said Richard, as he and Nicholas returned to the abbey.

  “You cannot expect mercy for a witch.”

  “But the means taken to prove her guilt were as absurd as they were iniquitous. If she had died, all concerned in the ordeal would have been guilty of murder.”

  Nicholas sighed. “As much as I hate to concede it, Twissleton was acting within the law. No judge would condemn him.”

  “Yes, but as you rightly pointed out, he made a mockery of justice. In seeking to discover one offence, a greater is committed. Nancy was proven innocent. How can justice excuse the atrocities to which she was subjected?”

  “I don’t think she is entirely innocent,” said Nicholas. “If you were paying attention, you would have seen that the only reason she escaped was because she deflated her sleeves. And don’t forget, Smithers accused her of making clay images.”

  “You really don’t believe his story, do you?”

  Nicholas shrugged. “Whether he was indulging in aggrandisement or not, her relationship to Mistress Craddock is indisputable.”

  “She should have been examined by a magistrate and not some puffed-up solicitor. When I think that Lavinia might be subjected to the same treatment because she’s related to Mistress Dymock, I can scarce contain my anger.”

  Nicholas thought for a moment and then said, “Perhaps that’s why Davy befriended the little man in order to protect her.”

  Richard looked dubious. “He was quick enough to denounce Nancy.” His eyes were full of pity as he added, “Would that Lavinia could be removed from her family, at least until Twissleton has gone.”

  “If I am any judge of character, her family are more likely to be removed from her if Twissleton has his way.”

  Richard shook his head sadly. “The poor girl. There’s only so much we can do to help her. I can only hope Davy Ashmore knows what he’s doing.”

  ***

  Davy Ashmore did indeed know his business. After listening to a plethora of threats and complaints, he had deposited Twissleton at the White Swan and then hurried home, his expression grim and thoughtful. Catherine was sitting by the window again and stroking the cat when he entered the room.

  “Is mother home?” he demanded without preamble.

  “I’m here,” said Elizabeth, coming into the room. “So, Nancy Redfern escaped punishment.”

  “I told her all about it,” said Catherine, still stroking the cat.

  Davy glanced at his mother significantly and then at his sister. Elizabeth understood at once. “Catherine, have you checked the chickens for eggs today?”

  “How could I?” she shrilled. “I was helping Lavinia to dress this morning, and then I went to the fair with Davy.”

  “Well you can do it now,” and taking her by the arm, Elizabeth marched her into the back yard.

  The cat had curled-up on Catherine’s now empty chair, its eyes seemingly staring at nothing, and when Elizabeth returned to the room with a dish of cold chicken and pickles, it evinced no interest in the food.

  Elizabeth poured her son a cup of ale and then said quietly, “Now, tell me what else has happened.”

  “That solicitor fellow is asking questions, very awkward questions.”

  Elizabeth sat at the table and drummed her fingers. “And Alice told me when I met her, that Twissleton intends to visit mother tomorrow, and if he finds cause, arrest her.”

  “He’s a sly bastard,” said Davy, spearing a piece of chicken with his knife. “I tried to befriend him to discover what he’s planning, but all he did was whinge and complain.”

  “You must go and warn your grandmother. Tell her everything that’s happened. She’ll know how to act.”

  Davy ate in silence for a few minutes and then said, “Did Alice say anything about Lavinia?”

  “Yes. I think she’s beginning to suspect. She remarked on the lack of resemblance.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said Lavinia was a throwback on your father’s side.”

  Davy touched his own reddish fair hair. “Did she believe you?”

  “I think so, but perhaps when Lavinia has finished playing the grand lady tonight, I’ll keep her indoors until Alice returns to Barkham Manor. It would not do to have them meet too often. Alice might be remote in terms of distance, living in that hulking house with only a handful of servants, but there’s very little goes on that she doesn’t know about.”

  Davy grunted as he finished his meal. “She might not be as clever as she thinks. Twissleton made a remark to Nicholas Faulkner about a case being closer to home. I wouldn’t trust that solicitor even if my life depended upon it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s now more interested in proving Alice a witch than adjudicating the dispute with Metcalf.”

  Elizabeth suddenly shuddered. “Someone just walked over my grave. I…”

  She would have continued had Davy not put a hand over her mouth. He pointed to the cat. Nex had jumped off the chair and was sniffing at the bottom of the door. Elizabeth stood up, tip-toed across, and yanked it open. Catherine literally fell through the door. A moment later, she was on the other side of the room, courtesy of her mother’s backhanded blow.

  “You little bitch! People who listen at keyholes never hear good of themselves.”

  Catherine rubbed her stinging cheek, and with her eyes riveted on her mother, stood up defiantly, the cat now twisting around her feet. “Touch me again and Master Twissleton will know all I heard.”

  “Think you clever, eh? Mark my words, child, one day you’ll pay dearly for your disobedience.”

  “I am clever,” said Catherine imperiously. “Even a simpleton can deduce why Davy is going to Wolfdene. People think that because I’m deformed I must also be stupid, but I’m not.” She tapped her temple. “You wouldn’t believe the secrets in here, secrets that…”

  Elizabeth raised a hand again. “Hold thy tongue! You’re not clever. You’re not even smart…”

  “Oh, let her be,” interrupted Davy impatiently. “Let her have her fanciful notions. If someone takes a swish to her back because she can’t keep her mouth shut, she’ll only have herself to blame.” He donned his cap, pushed a cudgel under his tunic, and left the house, leaving mother and daughter glaring daggers at each other.

  Chapter Six

  Mid-Afternoon

  Though of superior breeding and rank, Dorothy Faulkner – Nicholas’s wife, had taken an instant liking to Lavinia Ashmore. Lady Eleanor, being more concerned with the preparations for the Ball, had relinquished care of the ‘queen’ to her daughter-in-law, and being of similar age, the two young women were getting along famously.

  It was nearly four o’clock, and the birds were issuing their final calls before the day came to an end. “You should hear the nightingales at Craxton Hall, Lavinia,” said Dorothy. “You must come for a visit. I should like to show you the house and gardens. They are very different from those at the abbey, and there is no hideous ruin to blot the landscape.”

  They were walking along the part of the river that ran behind the ruined chapel. In the intervening decades, Mother Nature, in the form of creeping ivy and other invasive plants, had smothered and disguised the old blackened stones to such an extent, tha
t the structure now resembled a squarish hillock.

  Lavinia plucked a pretty red flower and twirled it between her fingers. “I wish I could,” she said dolefully, “but my mother would never allow it.”

  “Why not? Surely she wouldn’t prevent you from visiting a friend. Forgive my forwardness, but every time you’ve spoken of your family you’ve looked sad, nor have you mentioned any friends.”

  “Apart from Catherine, I don’t have any friends. Yes I know lots of people, but my mother has always discouraged close associations. She will never allow me to quit her, no matter how great the advantage might be to me.”

  “That is indeed strange. I can only think that she loves you too dearly to part with you.”

  At this, a shadow of unhappiness crossed Lavinia’s face. She turned her head away for a moment. She did not want to disgrace herself in the presence of such a refined lady.

  Kind and considerate, Dorothy Faulkner had a generous romantic streak, and as mistress of Craxton Hall, she was well schooled in all the social graces. However, unlike many of her class, her privileged existence did not blind her to the suffering of others. She could also be quite perceptive at times, and within minutes of meeting Lavinia, had recognised a troubled soul.

  Conversely, Lavinia had been touched by Dorothy’s gentleness. It inspired trust and confidence, and though ordinarily reserved, she now found herself divulging years of suppressed emotion.

  “Love me? I suppose she’s proud of me in her way, but most assuredly she does not love me. And yet I have no cause for complaint. Though she has shown me little affection, she has treated me well, nor, unlike my sister, Catherine, has she ever beaten me.

  “Poor Catherine. She was born with an affliction of the shoulders which she greatly resents. Perhaps this is why she is wayward and insolent. I have tried to teach her good principals, but more often than not, she scoffs at my efforts and says she will make her own way in the world. Nor has she ever set foot in church. In fact, to the best of my recollection, none of my family ever has. I have often asked mother to let me take Catherine to a service, but she always refuses.”

  Having been raised by loving parents and with respect for the church, Dorothy was disgusted by the revelations. “What you have described is unnatural. Every mother loves her child and wants to set a good example. If it were me, I should have found an excuse to leave, even if it involved marrying a man I did not love.”

  “I have little chance of marrying. Besides, I feel I can be of service to Catherine while she’s still young and impressionable.”

  “I admire your intent but… well, is it wise?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dorothy hesitated, not quite sure how to phrase what she wanted to say. “You have spoken openly and frankly to me, so please allow me to do the same. Your grandmother, so Nicholas told me, is a reputed witch, and if you stay within the family bosom, you also may be stigmatised.”

  “It’s nothing but malicious gossip,” said Lavinia dismissively, though in truth, she had rarely seen her grandmother. “My grandmother and another woman, Mistress Fanny Craddock, have been feuding for years, so long in fact, that I doubt either can remember the original cause.”

  “Even so, gossip is harder to quench than a wildfire.” Dorothy pointed across the river. “You have heard the story of the stones?”

  “I’ve heard several, one being that they were once people who, like Lot’s wife, looked upon something they shouldn’t.”

  “My point exactly. They are nothing but natural formations, and yet superstition and ignorance has turned them into something they are not.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” said a reedy voice from behind.

  Startled, both girls spun around. An old woman with black eyebrows and snowy-white hair had emerged from behind a bush. She was using a stick to support herself while looking at Lavinia intensely.

  “Come closer, my dear, I want to speak to you,” and drawn by an impulse she could not resist, Lavinia stepped forward. The old woman grabbed her wrist with a strength that belied her age. “You are Lavinia Ashmore?”

  “That is my name. Who are you?”

  “You do not know me? Perhaps you can guess.”

  Though she did not know why, the answer sprang to Lavinia’s lips. “Mistress Craddock.”

  “I will run for help,” said Dorothy, but as she started to turn away, Fanny clicked her fingers. The young woman stood rigid as a statue, a glazed look in her eyes.

  “What have you done to her?” demanded Lavinia, trying to break the old woman’s iron grip.

  “Nothing that will harm her.” Fanny stared into Dorothy’s eyes. “I will release you, but stir not if you value your life.” She clicked her fingers again and Dorothy’s body relaxed.

  “Do as she says,” said Lavinia quickly, every instinct screaming that they should be careful. The warning was unnecessary. Dorothy was so terrified that she dare not move.

  Fanny cackled as she asked, “Tell me, Mistress Faulkner, when did thy last see thy husband and brother?”

  Dorothy’s mouth was devoid of saliva. She therefore answered in a raspy voice. “Not since mid-morning when Lavinia was brought to the abbey.”

  “Ah, then allow me to inform you of their fate. I was minding my own business with my granddaughter when your husband insulted and menaced me. I cursed him with aches and pains, and then Richard Faulkner…”

  “What have you done?” cried Lavinia in alarm, the memory of the sword fight with Metcalf flashing through her mind.

  Fanny looked at her shrewdly. “What is this? What interest be Master Richard to you?” She released her grip and placed a hand over Lavinia’s heart. “Ah, now I understand. Thy heart is warm and soft because it is being imbibed with love for Richard Faulkner.” She dropped her hand and laughed. “It will avail thee nothing for I cursed him as well.”

  Lavinia stepped back and rubbed her wrist. “Leave us alone!”

  Fanny chuckled maliciously. “Not yet, wench. My tale is not half told. Not content with insulting me, the fools tried to have me arrested. But, I escaped. I tricked them nicely, so they took my Nancy instead.”

  “Nancy?” Lavinia’s face turned pale. She had always liked Nancy Redfern. “For pity’s sake, tell us what’s happened.”

  Fanny pointed to where the river cascaded over the edge of Hadrian’s Folly. Her voice was bitter as she explained, “Took her to yonder pool and made her swim. She is still alive, poor lamb.” Her tone momentarily altered as she added grudgingly, “Master Nicholas and Master Richard helped her afterwards.” Her voice rose again. “But do you know who bound her? Who carried her like a sack of potatoes? Who threw her into the water and would have let her drown? Your pox of a brother - Davy Ashmore!”

  Lavinia staggered backwards but Fanny was not done yet. “All connected with him shall feel my fury. I would kill thee now if thou were of his family.”

  Lavinia was so shocked that it took her a moment to digest the old crone’s words. “Of his family? What mean you?”

  “Have thou never wondered why thy has black hair and the others either fair or red? The secret of thy true birth is known to me, and…”

  “No!” screamed a voice. Alice Nash was storming towards them, her face as black as thunder.

  Fanny suddenly fell on one knee. Lavinia, in spite of the old woman’s viperous tongue, made to move to help her stand up, but once again instinct warned her not to interfere.

  Like a dark, ominous cloud, Alice stood over the cowering old woman and demanded, “What lies have you been telling these girls?”

  Emboldened by such a formidable member of the family, Dorothy said in a rush, “She implied that Lavinia was not the daughter of Elizabeth Ashmore.”

  Alice blinked. “Is that so?” she said slowly, her brow creasing into a thoughtful frown. “Get up, Fanny, and tell me thy reason for the assertion.”

  Fanny slowly got to her feet. “Oh, no good reason,” she said evasively, her coura
ge and cunning seemingly restored.

  But Alice would not be dissuaded. The notion of an idea had formed in her mind. “Good reason or not, I demand to know.”

  Once again, Fanny’s shrewdness ‘sensed’ a secret. This time however, it was potentially worth money, and she was not about to reveal it without being paid. She thrust her head forward and said in a tone of surprise, “You really don’t know, do you?”

  Alice pointed an unsteady finger at her. “Tell me or…”

  Fanny mirrored the gesture. “…or what?” Generations of in-bred spite prompted her to add, “Many a mother has lost a child and would give anything to have it back, including… but I say no more.” She looked at Lavinia and then back at Alice. ”Yes,” she muttered as she hobbled away, “it’s definitely there.”

  ***

  Alice, Dorothy, and Lavinia, made the return journey in silence. Then, just before entering the abbey by the rear garden gate, Alice stopped. They were standing in the shadow of the old chapel wall, and although Lavinia could not see Alice’s face, when she did speak, her voice was a curious mix of bewilderment and determination.

  “Lavinia, Dorothy, promise me that you will not mention the incident with Fanny to anyone. I have my reasons for asking, which hopefully I will be able to explain very soon. Right now, silence is paramount.”

  “May I not at least tell Richard?” asked Dorothy.

  Alice gently put a hand on the young girl’s cheek. “Not a soul. It will be our special secret. Men can have secrets, so why can’t we?”

  Dorothy tried to smile but it lacked sincerity. “Alright, I promise. But, Aunt Alice, she did something to me. I couldn’t move, and yet I could see and hear perfectly. I was terrified. What did she do?”

  When Alice hesitated, Lavinia had the impression that the old dame was crafting a response. Finally Alice said, “It was a form of hypnotism. Obviously you are very susceptible, and Fanny is the kind of person who would know how to exploit it.” She looked at Lavinia. “Did she do anything to you?”