Wakenhyrst

by Michelle Paver

  Ivy was going to marry Clem.

  ‘Well what did you expect?’ Maud snarled at herself in the looking-glass. ‘What man wouldn’t choose her over you?’

  In an agony of self-loathing she pictured Clem smiling down at the housemaid as he murmured the love charm: ‘Ivy, ivy, I pluck thee. In my bosom I lay thee.’ Then he would kiss her. And afterwards he would sheepishly confess that one summer’s night, Miss Maud had followed him into the fen and he’d lost his head and given her a kiss. How they would laugh about that together! Poor ugly Miss Maud, whimpering and mewing with gratitude in his arms.

  How could she have deluded herself into believing that he cared for her? Such things didn’t occur except in books. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre… They were merely stories. Stories written by plain single women consoling themselves by inventing handsome heroes who fell in love with plain single women – because in real life that didn’t happen.

  ‘Stupid!’ cried Maud, clawing the scaly skin on the back of her hand.

  She had prayed to the fen to punish Father, but instead it was the fen that was being punished. The truth was, the fen had no power. It was simply a beautiful reedy wilderness, and soon it would no longer exist.

  She ripped a patch of skin off her forearm. Good, let it bleed. She dug in her fingernails. The pain was like snow settling in her mind, turning her thoughts white.

  From The Book of Alice Pyett,

  transl. & exegesis by E.A.M. Stearne

  After this creature had been threatened with burning, she spoke no more of the Gospel. And she began to fear that what people said was true, and that she had been deceived by an evil spirit, so that all her visions and cryings came not from God, but from the Devil.

  At that time there were many disturbances in the parish. Cattle were afflicted by the murrain, and people fell ill with the ague, and were much affrighted by the thing that cries in the night. It was said that these disturbances were the work of an evil spirit, and that some person in the parish must be possessed. And many said that this creature was the one who was possessed.

  Even her eldest son said so. He related how one day she had told him sharply to desist from lechery, and how the next day he had fallen ill with the pox, so that his face became full of pustules. And he said this was proof that this creature had an evil spirit in her and had caused him to fall ill.

  To drive the Devil out of her, the people put hot irons to her head and made her stand in the river in winter, and other things that caused her much suffering. But still the troubles in the parish went on. Then this creature cried to our Lord: ‘Lord, show me that you are truly God, and not some evil spirit who has led me astray all these years. Show me that these visions and cryings are not the Devil’s gift.’

  Then Jesus came to her and said: ‘Daughter, be not afraid, for these gifts are not the Devil’s but my own. And know that those people who work against you also work against me. For your tears are to the angels as spiced and honeyed wine, and your sufferings have earned you most high reward in heaven.’

  From the Private Notebook of Edmund Stearne

  1st October

  By George, the old saying is true: God does indeed move in mysterious ways. Pyett prayed for grace and it was granted to her. I also prayed for grace, but it has taken me a while to perceive that it has been granted to me too.

  Last month I was in turmoil. First I mistakenly thought I was saved, because I’d remembered my sin; but my turmoil continued – the nightmares, the staring from the fen, the waterweed – and now I know why. Pyett has helped me see that the turmoil came from God. It was His way of telling me that I must atone for my sin.

  But how must I to atone? I’m not a Catholic, I can’t make confession; nor would God wish me to. No, the answer is subtler and more suited to my sin. It was God who put into my mind the idea of draining the fen. That is why I felt such peace the moment I decided to do it. That is why I’ve been at peace ever since.

  Draining the fen will cost a great deal of money and it will take up my time and therefore hinder my work. I’ve had to instruct my attorney to resolve the uncertainty over the boundary with North Fen, and Davies tells me that I may not expect to see the land drained before next summer. But none of this matters! My decision to drain the fen has been made: that is the point. All these obstacles are merely part of my penance.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Maud told the fen. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. Or Chatterpie. Or Maman.’

  It was a dead, windless day and the Mere was the colour of lead. The sky was as grey as tears. Maud had stopped crying. She knelt in the reeds at the water’s edge, hugging herself and rocking back and forth. She felt exhausted and fragile, as if she was made of glass.

  By next summer, all trace of the fen would be gone. No more frogs and otters and owls. No more geese flying overhead in great beating phalanxes of wings. No more shimmering reedbeds and emerald dragonflies. No more vast, wavering visitations of starlings.

  Father was at peace because he was doing penance for his sin. And how very convenient, she thought, that his penance should require no confession. No one need ever know what he had done.

  The water was shockingly cold when she plunged in her hands. She watched the blood lift from her fingers and float away. She rinsed her bloodstained handkerchief. Her courses had started unexpectedly as she was heading for the Mere. A blood sacrifice, she thought wryly. A ritual farewell to the fen.

  Something nudged her in the back and she turned to see Nellie wagging her tail. Jubal stood a few paces off, scowling at Maud. He wore his usual wrappings of grimy sacking, but he’d tied a grubby square of canvas about his shoulders to keep out the cold.

  ‘You’ve heard about the fen,’ said Maud.

  He nodded. ‘You mun’t let en do it.’

  ‘I can’t stop him, Jubal. He thinks it’s God’s will.’

  Jubal spat a stream of tobacco juice at the reeds. ‘Well, I got summat to tell you thass nought to do with God.’

  Slowly, she rose to her feet. ‘It’s about what happened when he was a boy. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  His small black eyes narrowed. ‘If I tell, you’ll stop en draining the fen.’

  ‘Jubal I can’t—’

  ‘He’ll not want folks knowing. He’ll keep it hid no matter what.’

  She licked her lips. ‘I think I know – at least, I suspect – that a woman drowned here a long time ago. That’s true, isn’t it?’

  He hesitated. ‘There wor a drownding, thass true enough. But it wun’t no woman.’

  ‘Who was it? What did Father have to do with it? Do you know what happened?’

  He squinted up at the sky. ‘Oh, I know all right,’ he muttered. ‘I wor there.’

  FATHER had had a sister who died when she was little. That was what Maman told Maud one Sunday when she’d asked about the name on the family tomb. It was the only time Maud had heard Lily mentioned and she’d soon forgotten her. She had enough dead brothers and sisters of her own.

  According to Jubal, Miss Lily had been two years younger than her brother, although you’d never have known it. Proper little tartar, she was. Once when Master Eddie hid her beetle collection she chased him round the orchard with a warming-pan till he promised to give it back.

  Master Eddie took after his mother. He loved drawing and listening to stories. Miss Lily was the image of her father, old Master Algernon. She always wanted to find out how things worked, and all about wild creatures and their ways. Master Algernon used to take them into the fen for what he called ‘nature rambles’, and it was always Miss Lily demanding to know the name of every flower and animal and bird. That sort of thing bored Master Eddie. He only cared for fairytales.

  That’s how it happened. It was the summer when Master Eddie turned twelve; Miss Lily would have been ten. It was July, and hot as hell, the smell of meadowsweet as thick as treacle, the swifts screaming overhead. The air was fairly crackling with that breathless feeling you get when it’s coming on to stor
m.

  The nature ramble was over and Master Algernon had gone back to the big house, leaving Master Eddie and Miss Lily playing in the fen. He often let them do that and they never come to no harm. Now he just told them not to stray and to be sure and be home for tea. That was the last time he saw his daughter alive.

  What he didn’t know was that Master Eddie had taken a fancy to acting out some old tale from up the Sheres about a soldier named Percy-something who rescues a princess from a dragon. At first Miss Lily had no liking for it, but Master Eddie kept on at her so in the end she said yes, provided he gave her his shut-knife with the tortoiseshell handle.

  By this time they’d fetched up at the Mere. That’s where Jubal saw them. They didn’t see him, though, he made sure of that. He was only a lad himself and he’d been set to singling beets in the fields, but instead he’d run off to the fen to go after pike. He didn’t want Master Eddie telling on him or he’d get the strap. That’s why he stayed hid.

  At first Master Eddie was scared of the Mere. ‘Stay where I can see you,’ he told his sister.

  She laughed at him. ‘Oh Eddie you’re such a coward! Ferishes don’t exist!’

  He scowled at her, but soon cheered up when he found an old rotten rowboat stuck in the reeds. ‘Pretend the Mere is the sea,’ he told his sister. ‘Pretend this boat is the rock they chain her to. In you get and I’ll tie you up.’

  ‘You first,’ she retorted. ‘You’re heavier than me, I want to be sure it doesn’t leak.’ She was no fool, was Miss Lily.

  Master Eddie made a fuss, but there was no budging her, so in he climbed and checked the boat for leaks. He said it was fine. That was his first mistake.

  He started badgering his sister to take off her clothes like the princess in the story. Miss Lily grumbled about midges, but now she was getting keen on the game too, so she told Master Eddie to turn his back and she started unbuttoning her frock. Jubal didn’t look either. He liked Miss Lily. She would have taken on something awful if she’d caught him peeping.

  Next thing he knew she was sitting in the boat with her hair hanging loose around her. Rare pretty it looked, yellow as a guinea and all crinkly from her plaits.

  After that she laid herself down in the boat and Master Eddie tied her wrists to the oar-locks with her hair ribbons, so that she’d be like the princess in the story who was chained to the rock. From where Jubal hid in the reeds, all he could see were her little pink fingers poking up. He could hear her, though, complaining about the scratch she’d got on her leg as she’d climbed in. ‘And if I get splinters it’ll be your fault,’ she warned Master Eddie. ‘And make sure you tie the boat to that stump before you push it clear of the reeds.’

  ‘Don’t be so bossy!’ he snapped. ‘Now be quiet, you’re supposed to be terrified.’

  He wanted to pretend that the oar was his spear and use it to fight the dragon, but the oar was too heavy, so off he ran to look for a stick. That’s what killed her. Either he hadn’t tied the knot aright, or else the rope was rotten through, but the next thing anyone knew, the boat was drifting out towards the middle of the Mere and Miss Lily was in a rage and shouting for help.

  Jubal made to go after her, but Master Eddie came running, so he ducked down again.

  ‘Edmund you idiot!’ Miss Lily was yelling. ‘I told you to tie it to the stump!’

  ‘I jolly well did!’ panted Master Eddie. He was doing his damnedest to reach the boat with the oar, but he only succeeded in pushing it further out. And by now the wind was coming up and it was getting on to rain.

  Master Eddie threw down the oar and stood with his hands on his hips. It was no use wading after her, she was too far out and the Mere was too deep. Besides, he couldn’t swim. None of them could.

  ‘Run and fetch someone!’ ordered Miss Lily.

  ‘I can’t!’ yelled Master Eddie. ‘They’ll see you with no clothes on and I’ll get thrashed!’

  ‘Don’t be such a muff, Eddie, that can’t be helped! Run and fetch someone right now, I’m getting cold!’

  All Jubal could see of her was her little clenched fists. But now and then the boat would rock as she twisted up and tried to bite through the ribbon round her wrists; and then he would see the top of her golden head.

  All this time Master Eddie had been standing wringing his hands at the water’s edge. Jubal made to leap to his feet and run for help, but just then Master Eddie spun round with a cry. White as a sheet he were, as if he’d seen Black Shuck himself, so Jubal panicked and ducked down again. And now Master Eddie was off like a hare up the path to the big house, and Jubal was proper relieved, for he knew it wouldn’t be long before the men came and rescued Miss Lily.

  He dursn’t shout out to her but he waited in the reeds while the sky turned black and the rain came lashing down and the boat drifted into the middle of the Mere. He grew frightened. If they found him here they’d ask what he was doing skulking in the reeds and Miss Lily out there with no clothes on. He’d be in the worst trouble in all his life. So he panicked and ran along home as fast as he could. Besides, it wouldn’t be long before Master Eddie came back and brought help.

  At that time Jubal was still living up-village. That night he got the strap for going fishing instead of singling beets and next day they set him to stone-picking in the corner field. It was only around owl’s light that he was able to make his way to the fen.

  What was his shock when he saw three men dredging the Lode with glaves.

  He asked what they was about, and they told him that Miss Lily had missed her way among the dykes and never come home. ‘We been out all night dragging the ditches,’ they said.

  At that Jubal sweated cold. ‘What about Master Eddie,’ he said, careful not to reveal what he knew. ‘Don’t he know nothing about where she is?’

  ‘That’s just it,’ said the men. ‘Seems they was playing at hide-and-seek and Miss Lily ran and hid, and Master Eddie couldn’t find her. Proper state he were in when he fetched up at the big house.’

  Jubal was in a proper state too. He thought about telling the men to go and look in the Mere – but then they’d ask how he knew, and what could he say? So instead he made shift to run away.

  He ran all the way to the Mere, and there he found no sign of Miss Lily or the boat. He searched the reeds all around, but it was no use.

  He told himself that Master Eddie was bound to lead them to the Mere. But Master Eddie never did. Master Eddie kept as quiet as the grave.

  Why didn’t Master Eddie say nothing about it? Many a bitter hour Jubal have wondered about that. He can only think that at first Master Eddie panicked, fearing that Miss Lily would tell on him about the tying up and making her take off her clothes, and he couldn’t have borne the thrashing and the shame. And maybe there did come a time when he wanted to speak, but by then it was too late.

  It was three days before they found her. Morning and night Jubal went and searched the Mere, and on the third day just after dawn he sees two men in a punt, pulling at something with boat-hooks: something grey that rolls over when they touch it. He sees a slick of fair hair floating on the surface. But that’s all he sees, for he takes to his heels and runs as fast as he can lay feet to ground. And all his days he have remembered that grey thing rolling, and that fair hair floating in the water.

  Later, he heard it newsed about that they found her clothes on the bank, and they reckoned she’d gone in for a bathe. They never found no trace of the boat. It must have sunk and been swallowed up by the mud. Jubal guessed that she must have bitten through those ribbons that tied her to the oar-locks; but if any trace of ribbons was found round her wrists, no one ever said. Or maybe the ribbons were gone. Maybe the eels ate them, as they ate her away from the inside.

  Miss Lily have been dead this thirty year and more, but all his life Jubal have blamed himself. He should have spoken out when there was still time and she could have been saved.

  The summer after she died he was set to work as boot-boy up at the big house. Bu
t Miss Lily lay uppermost in his mind, so after a twelvemonth he ran away to the fen. He’s been here ever since.

  Most people dursn’t go into the fen by night, for fear of ferishes and whatnot; but Jubal knows that’s moonshine. He knows there are worse things that haunt the fen. And in summer, at owl’s light, when the smell of meadowsweet is choking thick and the swifts are screaming in the sky, those screams get inside his head and it’s Miss Lily screaming for help. Then Jubal makes sure to have a thick plug of bacca always about him and a flask of good strong poppyhead tea, the stronger the better.

  But it’s never strong enough to stop the screaming in his head.

  From The Book of Alice Pyett,

  transl. & exegesis by E.A.M. Stearne

  This creature was greatly comforted to learn that her visions came not from the Devil, but from God. However, as the parish continued to be plagued by sickness and by the thing that cries in the night, many people still believed that she was possessed.

  So at Martinmas this creature again spoke to God in her head, and God said: Did I not assure you that these disturbances are in no wise your fault? Know that I have caused a carter of your parish to be possessed by an evil spirit, for I wish to chastise the people, as I sometimes burn their houses with lightning in order to frighten them, so that they might fear me.

  Then this creature told her husband, and he, wishing to save her from the people’s false blame, paid twelvepence for a new candlebeam in Wakenhyrst Church, and threepence to the priest for certain prayers to be said over the carter who was possessed. And after that the evil spirit plagued the parish no more.

  The next year this creature felt a great longing to go on pilgrimage for her soul’s health. Her husband gave her permission to go, so she went on pilgrimage to North Marston, then to York, Canterbury, Santiago and Rome. And she was gone many years.

  During all that time her cryings continued, so that her fellow pilgrims scorned and avoided her. But this creature welcomed her sufferings, knowing that they proved Jesus’ special love for her; and if any day came when she was not scorned or insulted, she would be very gloomy in her thoughts.