The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  Nicholas thought he understood the implication. “Untie him,” he said to John.

  “But sir, what if he escapes?”

  Nicholas’s response was slow, calculated, and full of meaning. “Then you have my permission to shoot him in any part of his body you please.”

  “That will not be necessary,” said Davy as his bonds were removed. “May I use the horse trough to wash?”

  “I’ll not have thy filth contaminate the horses,” said Crouch angrily.

  Davy glanced at him contemptuously before saying, “And perhaps you could afford me a little bread and cheese.”

  “You insolent dog!” said John stepping forward, his enormous hands curled into ham-like fists.

  “No!” Nicholas’s voice rang out in the still morning air. It was vital that he ascertain if Davy was in possession of certain facts. “John, you and your friends go to the kitchen and tell the cook I said to give you a good breakfast. Crouch, return to your duties. I’ll speak to you later.”

  John touched his cap. “I thank ye, Master Nicholas, but if you don’t mind, we’d best be going. It was only by chance that we were in the area when we caught the varmint.” He paused, and Nicholas knew why.

  “Master Knowles and I may not be on the friendliest of terms, but I’ve always known him a fair man, and I have no doubt you are entitled to the reward he offered.”

  The big forester took on the countenance of an embarrassed young lad as he mumbled, “With luck, the reward money will prompt my Suzy to marry me quicker.”

  “And I shall dance at your wedding,” said Nicholas, laughing. “Now, be off with you.”

  ***

  From a distance, a casual observer might have thought that Nicholas and Davy were the best of friends as they strolled towards the horse-trough. But this was only an illusion. Indeed, as Davy stripped off and began to wash, Nicholas scrutinised the exposed torso for any abnormalities, the so-called ‘devil’s mark’.

  “I don’t suppose you have a spare shirt?” asked Davy as he began to dress.

  “Don’t push your luck,” said Nicholas harshly.

  “Not nice being on the receiving end, is it?”

  “State your business and get it over with.”

  “A simple exchange. My freedom for that of Alice Nash. Make no mistake, if I’m conveyed to Leeds, she’ll be coming with me.”

  “Are you holding her prisoner?”

  “You know full well that I don’t have her, nor do I know where she is, but I’m sure you and your cousin do.”

  “Do we?”

  “Don’t play games with me. I was there, I saw you take her.” He pointed to a ring on Nicholas’s finger. “The Faulkner crest I believe.”

  “I see,” said Nicholas, silently cursing his stupidity. “I suppose you want a horse as well.”

  “And money. Whatever is in your purse will do.”

  Nicholas bowed in acknowledgement. “You’re a blackmailer, Ashmore, but I suppose I have no choice. Wait here while I organise matters.”

  Crouch and another man, whom Nicholas presumed to be Bainbridge, were loitering behind the stable door when he entered. “Sir,” said Crouch in alarm, “you’re not going to let him go are you?”

  “Of course not, but I do regret sending John and his friends on their way. I had to promise Davy a horse just to come in here where I knew you’d be waiting. We need a plan, but any false move and he’ll bolt.”

  “May I make a suggestion, sir?” said Bainbridge, whose voice was unexpectedly mild. “If Master Crouch will oblige, he can use the horse as a distraction while I slip a rope over the fugitive’s head.”

  “What? And strangle him?”

  “Not exactly. Just confuse him sufficiently so we can fasten him more securely.”

  The plan worked perfectly. “You will regret this, Nicholas Faulkner,” said Davy viciously as he was tied on a horse.

  Nicholas could not resist a smug smile. “On the contrary, you have no evidence that either Richard or I were involved. In fact, there’s only your word for it, and you’re such a loathsome fellow that nobody will believe you. It’s my word against yours. Who do you think the authorities will believe?” He turned to Crouch and whispered, “Lead the horse away for a moment, I need to speak to Bainbridge alone.” He waited until they were out of earshot before continuing, “Bainbridge, tell my father to arrest and hold Elizabeth Ashmore for questioning. I should be at the abbey by nightfall and will explain then. If he needs to find me beforehand, I’ll be doing the rounds collecting rents and then at Foxbury Chase. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Do you want an escort?”

  “No. He is bound. Even if he caused the horse to bolt, he won’t get very far without doing himself a serious injury.”

  “True, but even so, be on your highest guard, and under no circumstances loosen his bonds, not even to piss. You may as well wait for me at the abbey and we will return here tomorrow.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Nicholas watched as Bainbridge mounted a horse and took hold of the other bridle. Suddenly, Davy turned in the saddle and shouted, “Do not trust this man. He is not who he claims to be. If you set me free, I shall reveal all.”

  “I suppose he’s a warlock,” rejoined Nicholas, laughing. “You are caught, Davy, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” and shaking his head at the man’s audacity, Nicholas entered the house.

  He climbed the richly carved oak staircase, and traversed a gallery communicating with private apartments. Upon reaching the far end, he produced a key and unlocked a door. He entered a spacious but little- used chamber. It was hung with faded tapestries and contained a large, rather gloomy bed. Locking the door behind him, he went to a corner, raised a tapestry, and pressed a knot in the panelling.

  “It’s me,” he said quietly as a secret door swung open.

  Alice Nash was a shadow of her former self. Her features and figure were now so attenuated that she looked little more than a skeleton. Her once elegant fingers were long and thin, her cheeks hollow and pale, her eyes lustreless and sunken, and her hair, once luxuriant and jet-black, streaked with grey.

  “I have been reading the bible,” she said, holding it up. “Listen to this, and judge if I do not comply. 'There shall not be found among you any one that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer, for all that do these things are an abomination unto the Lord’. In Exodus, the law is expressly laid down thus, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’.” Alice put down the book. “I have practised witchcraft, consulted with spirits, and committed other abominations. There is no hope for me. By divine command I must perish, and mortal justice must carry out the decree.”

  “You berate yourself too much,” said Nicholas, who in truth, since rescuing her from the convoy and her subsequent conversion to Christianity, found her pious intensity rather nauseating. “However you have sinned, you have made amends by the depth and sincerity of your repentance. You hardly sleep, you barely eat. If you continue like this, you will not need to deliver yourself to justice, for your account with this world will be speedily settled.”

  “I cannot, by any act of penitence or contrition, expiate my offences. I must reconcile myself to my just doom. Oh, Nicholas, you do not know the temptations I am exposed to in this chamber, the distractions, the inconceivable terrors that assail me.”

  Nicholas sighed. The morning was slipping away and there was much to do. “You once placed yourself in fearful jeopardy, but seeing your penitence, Satan will relinquish his claim to your soul.”

  Alice shook her head. “No he won’t. He will contest the point to the last, and it is only at the end that all will be decided,” and as the last word was uttered, the room was filled with low mocking laughter. “Did you hear that?” demanded Alice in a terrified voice. “It is Einyon. He is ev
er on the watch.”

  Nicholas scrutinised his Aunt. Was she mad? He had heard nothing. “Alice, please listen to me. Something has happened. Davy Ashmore was caught this morning, and he made it very clear to me that he knew it was Richard and I who attacked the convoy, though he claimed he didn’t know your whereabouts. I’m not sure I believe him on that point, so for your safety, you should be moved to another hiding place.”

  “Then you should deliver me to justice at once.”

  “You know I’m resolved on that point. For Lavinia’s sake, if not for your own, I will save you. After the wedding, you will be smuggled to France. Between us, Richard and I have relatives stretching from Calais to Marseilles, and there are literally hundreds of convents in-between.”

  “And the devil will follow me,” said Alice quietly. “How could I possibly go to a convent knowing what is to come? No, Nicholas, justice must decide my fate.”

  “Enough!” Nicholas had finally lost patience. “Stop thinking of yourself and think of Lavinia. If you go running to the stake she will never marry Richard, and their happiness is as dear to me as my own. Moreover, Lavinia’s reputation will be irreparably damaged. She will be ridiculed and possibly harmed. If you do not follow my advice, you will destroy her forever. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not,” said Alice wretchedly. She took a deep breath. “Have you seen her of late? Is she well and happy?”

  “I’ll be seeing her this afternoon,” replied Nicholas evasively, knowing full well that Lavinia was fretting. “For her sake, you must go to another place, and tonight. If you are discovered here it could prove fatal to us all.”

  Alice dropped her head. “Alright, Nicholas, I will do as you say. But where can I go?”

  “There is one place of absolute security, and you only need stay there until after the wedding – Barkham Manor.”

  Alice stared at him dumbfounded. “My home? Are you mad? That’s the first place they’ll look for me.”

  “Not so. First of all, it’s already been searched, and secondly, it’s the last place they’d expect you to return to. I will assign one or two loyal servants and dismiss the rest. I will put it about that my father has ordered the place locked-up to prevent looting, which is half way to the truth.”

  Alice thought for a moment and then said, “Yes, I see your wisdom. I will go.”

  “So long as you keep out of sight, you will be as safe there as here.” Nicholas smiled reassuringly. “I will arrange to have you taken out at midnight. Unfortunately, I have already committed myself to sleeping at the abbey tonight, but I’m sure Crouch will do it. He believes you innocent.”

  Alice kissed his cheek. There were tears in her eyes as she said sincerely, “Thank you, and please, give Lavinia my love. Tell her that I am constantly thinking of her, and that I will do nothing to imperil her happiness.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Wedding Eve

  It was two weeks later, and Lady Faulkner had taken charge of the wedding arrangements. There had been no question as to the location and the size of the guest list, even though Richard and Lavinia had preferred a small and intimate ceremony. The flowers had been ordered, the feast discussed, and seamstresses were stitching new doublets and gowns.

  Richard and Dorothy were strolling along the river behind the abbey. It had been another glorious summer day, and as the sun slipped below the horizon, the dying rays turned the leaves of the trees bronze.

  Holton was also looking its best. There had been no ‘unusual’ activity for several weeks, so that the apprehension and distrust that had previously imbibed the residents, had waned to such an extent, that all wanted to be part of the forthcoming celebration. Much of the hitherto suspicion attached to Lavinia had also laxed, and a steady stream of wedding gifts, from simple posies to offers of service, had been arriving for the past week.

  “For a man who’s about to be married,” said Dorothy, gazing at her brother’s melancholy face, “you don’t look very happy.”

  “Of course I am.”

  Dorothy gently squeezed his hand. “Nicholas told me earlier that he’d tried to rally your spirits, that he had endeavoured to convince you that all would be well, but you were such a sour-puss that he gave up. You know you have always been able to talk to me about anything, so please, tell me what ails you.”

  Richard sighed heavily. Dorothy had spoken truly. If he couldn’t share his thoughts with her, then he couldn’t tell anyone. “I can’t help feeling that something will go wrong, and no, it’s not wedding jitters. Lavinia is in such an unenviable position that by marrying her, I may be doing more harm than good.”

  “Nonsense. Davy Ashmore and his vile mother are still locked in the dungeon, and while I admit I now feel a strong aversion to Aunt Alice, for I do not believe the sincerity of her repentance, Lavinia would be in disgrace if her mother was executed.”

  Whilst he appreciated her opinion, Richard was not altogether convinced. The plan to smuggle Alice to France after the wedding, should have been enough to settle his troubled mind. And yet it had not. Somewhat distractedly, he listened to the lowing of cattle and the cawing of rooks in the distance, and envied their uncomplicated existence.

  Dorothy watched him anxiously for a few minutes and then said, “If you don’t smile you’ll make me weep. I will not allow you to indulge in gloomy ideas. If I thought Alice was the sole cause of your unhappiness, I would deliver her to justice this instant. What is an old witch compared with two young handsome people who are just dying to love each other?”

  “Dorothy, restrain your tongue,” said Richard sharply. “You forget Alice wishes to expiate her offences at the stake, and it is only out of consideration for Lavinia and our forthcoming marriage that she remains in concealment.”

  “It is galling that your fate should be linked to hers.”

  “It cannot be helped, and in spite of your opinion, Alice’s repentance is sincere. I wanted her to have some spiritual comfort, but for the time being at least, Nicholas will not permit it. I cannot argue the point because his reasoning is sound. No churchman would screen her from justice when he became aware, as he must by her confessions, of the nature and magnitude of her crimes. It seems that, no matter what she does or which way she turns, she is damned.”

  “Undoubtedly,” rejoined Dorothy, “but in all fairness, she is nothing compared to Catherine. She is so spiteful and evil that she would become a second Mistress Dymock if she could.”

  ***

  At the mention of her name, Catherine stepped further back behind the tree. She had been listening and watching for such a moment, for she had a gift of her own to deliver. Retrieving the long sharp pin hidden in her hair, she was about to stab a wax figure of Richard when someone spoke.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Catherine squinted between the trees. “Who’s there?”

  “If you stab the wrong spot,” said Einyon, making himself visible, “or push the pin too deep, you’ll kill him instantly.”

  Catherine immediately recognised the crooked and scarred face. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”

  “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

  “I don’t have any friends except Davy, and he’s locked-up in the abbey.” Catherine was suddenly wary. “How do you know about the pins?”

  “I know lots of things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as your entire family history and that you hate Lavinia.”

  Catherine waved a hand dismissively. Who did this foolish man think he was? “What you say is hardly a secret.”

  “Perhaps not, but I doubt many people know what you did to Horace Twissleton the night before he returned to London.”

  “How do you know about that?” she snapped, her expression a mixture of interest and alarm.

  “I told you, I know lots of things.”

  “Who are you? I don’t think we were properly introduced.”

  “My name is Einyon Dymock.”


  “Horseshit!” Catherine clamped a hand over her mouth, not out of embarrassment, but because she’d spoken too loudly. She lowered both her hand and her voice. “You’re too young to be Einyon, and besides, he’s supposed to be dead.”

  The warlock looked at her steadily. “What an impertinent wench you are. I was about to thank you for the compliment but I don’t think I’ll bother. That I am Einyon Dymock, father of Margaret Dymock, your grandmother, is beyond doubt. That I am dead is a matter of perspective.”

  Catherine’s tone was incredulous. “Are you saying that you’re my great grandfather?”

  “Men like me don’t have relatives, just victims, but if you want to think of me that way, then yes, I’m your great grandfather.”

  Catherine felt a tingle of excitement as she said, “And you’re also a warlock. A true, fully fledged, powerful warlock.” She suddenly gripped his arm and said in a rush, “Will you teach me? Teach me everything you know. Teach me how to travel through the air and to cast lasting spells. I’m a quick learner, I promise you. I can’t pay you of course, but I can cook your meals and clean your house in return.”

  “Desist, child,” he said curtly, and not altogether playfully, slapped her hand away. “The first thing you need to learn is patience. Say it fifty times a night for the next week. There, that’s your first lesson.”

  “What friggin’ use is that? I want to be like you, all conquering, all knowing.”

  “And you think such knowledge can be obtained in say, a month?” Einyon paused. He had told Alice the night of the covenant that Catherine was being saved for another purpose. All he had to do now, was persuade her to fulfil it. He pointed to the large white stones on the other side of the river. “Do you know the legend?”

  Catherine rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t in these parts.”

  “Take my hand and look into my eyes.”

  “Why?”