The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  “They used witchcraft to get out?”

  “They didn’t, but somebody else did.” He held up a hand to forestall the next question. “No, giving you his name would not help. You see, like me, he’s been dead these 84 years.” He smiled at their stunned faces as he raised two fingers in benediction. “God bless you all,” he said quietly. There was a flash of brilliant light, and he was gone.

  The King crossed himself twice. “By the holy virgin, he was a ghost.”

  “But a good man,” said Alice, who had been kneeling on the floor at the head of the bier.

  “Good God, woman,” the monarch exclaimed. “Art thou ghost as well?”

  “No, sire. I am Alice Nash.”

  “Alice Nash? Ah, yes, now I remember. I sent for thee, but recent events put it out of my head. Ye can expect no mercy from me.”

  “I ask for none, sire. I place myself entirely in your hands.”

  Sir Howarth coughed lightly. “Sire, Alice has fully repented. I would stake my reputation on it.”

  “Has she indeed?” The King did not sound convinced. “Alice Nash, does thou repent the devil and all his works?”

  “I do,” she replied fervently. “My innocent daughter sacrificed her life in order to save my soul. But, mortal justice requires an expiation, and I am anxious to make it. May I take a last farewell of my child?”

  “Do so,” replied James, now much moved. Alice kissed Lavinia’s marble brow, and as she did so, tears rolled down her face. James stared in astonishment. “Madam, you can weep. I see you are no longer a witch. You must go to Leeds Castle, but in consideration of your penitence, no indignity shall be shown you. You must be strictly guarded, but you shall not be taken with the other prisoners.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. Nicholas, it was her wish to be buried in the same grave as Richard. Will you see it done?”

  “I will, Auntie, I will.”

  “And so will I,” said Sir Howarth. “They will be buried at Holton. That is where they met, that is where they’ll rest.”

  “Have you any other request to make?” asked the King.

  “Yes,” said Alice, but instead of the monarch, she turned to Roger Knowles. “Do you remember the statement I made on the night of the sacrifice regarding my estate?”

  “I do.”

  “So do I,” said Nicholas. “You bequeathed everything to Lavinia.”

  Alice glanced at the bier and her daughter’s face, exquisitely beautiful in repose. ”Which is no longer possible.” She drew in a deep breath. “For being falsely imprisoned, I leave 200 acres of farming land to Master Knowles. No, Roger,” she said as he opened his mouth to protest, “tis only fair. As Master Twissleton is not likely to come this way again, rather than land, I award him £100 in compensation.” She then made several more bequests, leaving the bulk of her estate to Nicholas.

  “I will see it done,” said Sir Howarth.

  The King moved to the door, which was swiftly opened for him by Nicholas. Horace Twissleton and a group of halberdiers were standing at the foot of the steps. In their midst, and all with their hands tied behind their backs, were Davy, Elizabeth, and Catherine Ashmore. Davy and his mother looked sullen and resigned, but Catherine’s expression was one of defiance.

  “Sire, I caught her while she was trying to sneak out the gate,” said Twissleton.

  The King grunted. “On your own? I doubt that.”

  “Your Majesty.” Catherine fell awkwardly to her knees. “Thy solicitor tricked me into a confession. He has…” she paused for effect, “…used me. He said that if I didn’t tell him everything I knew he’d take my virginity. I didn’t know anything so I made things up, but he took it anyway.”

  “You lying wretch,” screamed Twissleton.

  “You’re as bad as I am,” she screamed back. “You wanted to snare Lavinia but couldn’t, so you blackmailed me into helping you. Your Majesty, you must believe me, I was only his instrument.”

  “Somebody gag her,” said Twissleton. “It’s all malice, Your Majesty, all malice.”

  “Aye, no doubt malice, but malice mixed with the truth. There will be a full investigation of course, but I fear your actions will prevent us from further favour.”

  Twissleton staggered backwards. The monarch’s pronouncement would all but end his career. “No, sire, I have…” but the King had already turned his head away. Twissleton began yelling at Catherine, and in his anger he looked slightly mad. “See what you’ve done, you bitch!”

  James addressed the officer of the guard. “Take them away. I want them conveyed to Leeds under heavy escort, tonight.” He remembered the monk’s warning. “And see that all are wearing two crucifixes, the bigger the better. I shall give ye a letter for the Earl afore ye leave.”

  ***

  After bidding the monarch ‘good night’, Sir Howarth went to procure refreshments while Nicholas headed for his bedchamber. He removed his clothes, pulled off his boots, and threw himself into a chair. Richard’s goblet was still on the table where he’d left it. Nicholas picked it up and held it to his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I should have done more to protect you.”

  “There was nothing more you could do,” said a voice. Nicholas looked up. It was Father Hewitt. “Do not berate yourself, my son. It may not seem like it now, but you have achieved a great victory.”

  “At a terrible cost.”

  “There is always a cost where war is concerned, and this is a war between good and evil.”

  “When will it end?” Even as he said it, Nicholas knew it was a stupid question, but then, his emotions were in complete disarray.

  “It won’t. Evil does not only consist of witches and warlocks. While there are ambitious, greedy, and unscrupulous men in this world, there will always be evil. But occasionally, and no doubt unwittingly, it throws up something extraordinary. In my own day, Henry VIII was a bloody tyrant, and so was Queen Mary. But look at his other daughter, Elizabeth. Yes she was vain and had her faults, but never was a monarch more devoted to her people. Ah, your father is coming, I must go.”

  “Wait.” It was another stupid question but Nicholas had to ask. “Richard and Lavinia, are they… erm… alright?”

  Father Hewitt smiled. “You can ask them yourself in about sixty years. Goodbye, Nicholas. We will not meet again.”

  Sir Howarth entered followed by Hudson, who placed two bottles and a trencher on the table. “Wine and pastries,” announced the knight. “Perfect for a late night repast, so long as you don’t mind the indigestion in the morning.”

  He was not insensitive to the situation, but simply trying to ease his son’s grief. Nicholas however, smiled weakly, not because he didn’t appreciate the jest, but because he was too busy watching Hudson. There was something about his eyes that was hauntingly familiar.

  “You can leave them,” he said as the valet made to pick up his clothes.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?”

  “No. Go to bed.”

  Sir Howarth waited until the door was closed before asking, “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Earlier today I told Richard…” Nicholas stopped. Had they only arrived that morning? It seemed like a lifetime ago. “I told him that I thought the valet was a spy, probably in the pay of Twissleton. To the best of my recollection, I’ve never met that valet before, and yet there’s something about him that seems familiar.”

  Sir Howarth held out a goblet of wine. “Drink. It’s been a long day and you’re tired and upset. By the way, I enjoyed your performance with Nancy. I wonder what happened to her.”

  Nicholas smiled as he said, “If I know Nancy, she’ll have charmed her guard and be far away by now,” and as he bit into a pastry he added silently, “Just don’t come back again, for all our sakes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  One Grave

  The King remained with Sir Roland at Stewart Tower for two more days, lapping up the hunting a
nd the carousing in order to, as he later claimed, ‘forget the tragic events’. The prisoners were conveyed to Leeds to stand trial, accompanied by Horace Twissleton, who was determined to redeem his reputation. In time, three eminent judges arrived to hear the cases, with Roger, Nicholas, and Sir Howarth, called to give evidence.

  Though the news of Richard and Lavinia’s death was communicated to Dorothy with infinite care, the shock was so great that she instantly collapsed. It subsequently took her months to recover, during which time it was discovered that she was pregnant.

  Nicholas also suffered, though outwardly, his grief was more reserved. He tried to find solace in his old pursuits of horseracing, cock fighting, and other sports, but they were never the same without his cousin. At one point, he tried to write an unbiased account of the events, but the painful memories kept getting in the way. Had he known that his record would survive for at least three centuries, he might not have left it so incomplete.

  A few days after the tragic events at Stewart Tower, gloomy weather and tear-streaked faces greeted the two coffins as they arrived at Holton churchyard. Erasmus Pope, at Nicholas’s request, conducted the service and then committed the bodies to the same grave. The epitaph on the single headstone read, ‘together in death’.

  ***

  Alice stood at the barred window and watched the gathering twilight. Condemned to die on the morrow, she knew it was the last sunset she would ever see. She cast a wistful glance towards the West, and fancied she could see Holton and Hadrian’s Folly in the distance.

  Her gaze wandered to the thirteen stakes beneath the window, and the large pile of faggots waiting to be lit. She stared at her place of execution with morbid fascination, and then a noise behind her made her turn around. She was not surprised to see him.

  “What do you want, Einyon?” she asked languidly.

  “To save you from the stake.”

  Alice raised an eyebrow. “Really? How touching. You’re wasting your time. Even if I were granted one wish, rather than saving my life, I would use it to take you into the flames with me. Now, go away and leave me in peace. My soul is not for sale.”

  Einyon shrugged. “So be it. There’s plenty more who’ll take your place,” and so saying, he vanished.

  Alice shrugged. She had nothing to live for. She prayed most of the night and fell asleep about five o'clock. She was awakened shortly thereafter by the priest who’d been providing spiritual comfort since her incarceration. He was not alone. The jailer and two guards were with him. But, instead of fear and dread, Alice was remarkably cheerful.

  “I’m ready.”

  The clergyman smiled. “You have had a happy dream perhaps? People often do when the end is nigh.”

  “I saw Richard and Lavinia in a beautiful garden. They told me not to be frightened and that I would be with them soon.”

  The priest nodded in understanding. “You have worked hard for salvation, and now you must prepare for your last trial.”

  “I am prepared. Have you seen the others?”

  “They have all refused my services.” The priest hesitated. Upon arriving at the Castle, he had been given a piece of news that he knew would upset Alice, but which in all fairness she ought to know. “Fact notwithstanding that Catherine gave evidence against her mother and brother, she has pleaded…her belly.”

  “She’s with child?” said Alice in astonishment. “Who is the father?”

  “I know not. Now, if you’re ready, we’ll… Alice? What is it?”

  Alice was standing as rigid as a statue, her face pale as death. She suddenly lurched forward and grabbed his arm, her voice urgent and pleading. “Father, promise me that no matter what happens you’ll kill that child, preferably while it’s still in the womb.”

  The priest stepped back, afraid that, now that the final moment had come, the prisoner had lost her senses. “Are ye mad, woman? The church does not murder babies, unborn or otherwise!”

  Running to the window, Alice looked at the sky and cried, “God in heaven, how can you let me die with this dreadful secret on my conscience?”

  “Come along, mistress,” said the jailer. “Nothing can save you now.”

  “No! You don’t understand, I must…” but her words were cut short by a stinging blow.

  Limp and defeated, Alice was carried outside and tied to the stake, and as the first flames licked at her ankles, her chest exploded with pain. She did not live to hear the spectators exulting in her torment, and as many later declared, the sight of thirteen people being burnt alive ‘was like hell on earth’.

  Two interested bystanders were watching from a doorway. The first was Einyon Dymock, and the second was a tall thin man in his late 40’s.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t assume one of your disguises to take a closer look.” Einyon began to count on his fingers. “Bainbridge, Twisslemead, and Hudson, that’s quite a repertoire.”

  “None of which I found appealing. I think I’ll stay as I am for a while, though perhaps not the name. Such a messy business altogether.”

  “Catherine still lives, though not for long. She’ will give birth and then burn like the others. The silly girl did not take much persuading.”

  “How did you do it?”

  “I hypnotised her into thinking that some old stones were obelisks and spun her a tale about a goddess. She was quite eager to kill Richard after that.”

  “How? I understood he died of a heart attack, and she certainly doesn’t possess any means by which to inflict it.”

  “I gave her a ring. It was imbibed with power for the purpose.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “Was that wise? Where is the ring now?”

  Einyon shrugged. “Probably still on her finger. I have little doubt that the ring will go to the flames with her, but even if it doesn’t, it’s of no use to anyone who doesn’t know how to use it. Now, we have a little unfinished business to attend too.”

  “Which is?”

  Einyon grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “To visit your double in London, though I must say it was pointless trying to convert Amius Baldwyn. He was never a likely candidate. You must always pick your mark very carefully.”

  ***

  Horace Twissleton was engrossed in a document when the two men entered unannounced. “Who are you?” he demanded, putting down a transcript of the Ashmore trials. He had been reading for days, trying to garner evidence against Nicholas Faulkner. He was tired, hungry, and irascible.

  Einyon sat down uninvited and gestured that his companion should do the same. “I thought you would like to meet a friend of mine. May I introduce… Christopher Ashmore.”

  Twissleton was in the process of rising to his feet when he gasped in horror. Christopher had momentarily changed into Twisslemead. “What trickery is this?” stammered the solicitor. “How dare you bring witchcraft into my office.” He glared at Einyon defiantly. “I shall call for assistance at once.”

  “Not if you value your life you won’t. Now, sit down you ridiculous man and listen. We have a proposal.”

  “Proposal? If it involves witchcraft I want nothing to do with it.”

  Einyon leaned forward, his eyes full of amusement. “And what if it involves a great deal of money? Would you be interested then?”

  “Just tell him,” said Christopher in a bored voice. “I have better things to occupy my time than to bandy words.”

  “Very well. Master Twissleton, Europe is an exceedingly large continent. If a man had sufficient resources, he could spend a long time exploring it. And then there’s the ‘new world’. I’m sure an enterprising man such as yourself would be most successful.”

  Twissleton understood the implication at once. “Leave my office and my exulted clients? Sir, it is an outrage.”

  “So was your seduction of my niece,” said Christopher coolly. “She is under age and with child.”

  Twissleton snorted. “Huh, so she says. This is a common female device to prolong their just desserts. I have eve
ry confidence that in time her duplicity will be exposed. More to the point, even if she is with child, I am not the father. She is such a tramp that she will give herself to any man.”

  “True,” said Einyon. “But only one man could have worshipped at her altar of hymen, and she claims it was you.”

  “That, sir, is a filthy lie.” Such was Twissleton’s indignation that he was in danger of bursting a blood vessel. He would have continued his protest had Christopher not interrupted. Privately, he had a little ‘unfinished business’ of his own, and he had never been more eager to fulfil the task.

  “Do you accept our proposal?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not! No amount of money will ever entice me to desert my appointed office. While there is breath in my body, I will never cease hunting and exposing your evil kind.”

  Einyon’s mouth curved into a cruel smile as he suddenly called out, “Imogen.” Twissleton was stupefied. The figure of a nun had appeared in the room. Einyon was still smiling as he continued, “We could just kill you, but knowing your preference for little girls…well, even a condemned man is entitled to a final pleasure. Imogen, my dear, please assume a form that will please our friend.”

  The nun promptly changed into Catherine Ashmore. Twissleton stared in horrified fascination. “But… but this is impossible!”

  Christopher stood up and straightened his clothes, of which he was inordinately vain. “We gave you a chance but you refused.” His voice suddenly became harsh. “You caused the Master no end of trouble by your pathetic ambition. Did you really think you could escape his retribution?”

  He waved a hand in the solicitor’s face, and although deprived of speech and motion, Twissleton’s other senses were highly alert. He was aware of being laid on his desk and his hose being loosened. He saw the ghost-like figure strip naked and mount his surprisingly erect member. He heard her moans and groans as she rode him like a horse. And he felt the pain as, ejaculation after ejaculation, his member refused to deflate.