The Familiars

by Halls, Stacey

  ‘Hmmmza-tch. Seeurst me nnnnn kamme.’

  I watched him speak from one side of his mouth, trying to understand, but it was hopeless. His blue eye was fixed on me, willing me to comprehend. When I didn’t, he dropped his gaze sadly and seemed to hunch even further. I covered his nerveless hand with mine. He looked at my rings, the gold and rubies and emeralds fastened around my fingers.

  ‘Mr Law, do you know Alice Gray? Nod if you do.’

  His chin went down into his neck, then up again.

  ‘Do you think she is a witch?’

  His face went off in the opposite direction, then back towards me, and again.

  ‘Would you be prepared to say that at the assizes? Are you going to the trial?’

  His head did not move; his eye roved wildly.

  ‘Have you been invited to speak at the trial?’

  He nodded, or what I understood to be a nod. If only he’d regained his speech, he could speak freely for the others’ innocence.

  ‘Do you think Alizon Device is a witch?’

  He nodded, then shook his head. He looked greatly pained, and his searching blue eye filled with tears that spilt on to his face. His right hand moved as though to wipe them, but only got so far as his chest. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and did it for him. Poor John Law was a living puppet; he would be carried in as proof of what had happened, then carried out again, unable to use his own voice. Alizon Device could have walked away and none of this might have happened, had she not turned up day after day at the Queen’s Arms and admitted her own guilt. No wonder her family wanted to change the story: it was her story. This man had none.

  I sat a while longer with John and we watched the women outside, bending over tubs and brushing sweat from their foreheads. The sun was high, and their work was hot. They were not afraid of their skin browning; they had no choice. On a day like today I would be riding by the river under the cover of trees or even sitting by the window like an ornament, no more useful than John Law. An almighty crash sounded from another room, and Liz began scolding someone.

  ‘Jennie!’ I heard her shout.

  One of the women in the yard looked towards the house, holding her hand over her eyes. It was the young girl who had answered the door, but really she was not much younger than me. I watched her walk back into the house, the smell of lye coming with her. I thought of her life here, with infants to play with and a mother whose lap she could rest her head on at night while her father read them a passage from the Bible.

  There was banging at the door to the street, and shortly afterwards Jennie came through to tell me the boy I’d paid to mind my horse had to be getting home. I rose stiffly and thanked John Law, and went to thank Liz too, who was feeding a child with a spoon in the hallway, crouched on the floor.

  ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you,’ I said, having to step around her.

  ‘Not at all. I hope you aren’t too disappointed. John wishes he could talk, I know he does. We all do.’

  ‘Will he or your husband be at the trial in a few weeks’ time?’

  She looked up distractedly.

  ‘What trial?’

  ‘The assizes at Lancaster, where the witches are on trial.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Abraham did mention something about that. I will speak to him.’

  ‘Good day to you, Mrs Law.’

  I stepped out of the dark and dingy house into the bright street, where at least there was a breeze. Sweat ringed my armpits and sat above my lip. I was no closer to anything; I felt as though I was walking around the centre of it all in ever-widening circles, gaining nothing. And with little Jennet sitting high in her tower at Read Hall spinning stories, she was tying the family’s nooses one by one. But she was a child.

  I could not see a way out of it for Alice. John Law did not think she was a witch but could not clearly say it; her own father was indifferent to her fate; and her landlord cared only about his business. Who else was to speak for her, then? I thought hard all the way home, but I felt like I was staring at a wall.

  By the time I arrived back in the stable yard at Gawthorpe, I was as exhausted as if I’d been carrying a sack of bricks. But there was an idea burning in my mind like a tiny ember. I just needed to give it enough space to catch alight.

  CHAPTER 20

  Richard was away again when I got home, gone to Preston, which I assumed meant Barton as it was the nearest town. He left no note, and I wondered if he was angry with me; then I remembered that I had every right to still be angry with him, but somehow anger was difficult to summon. At least while he was away I did not have to be discreet about my ‘wild ways’, as he called them. Before all this, he had indulged and even admired my lone wanderings, my propensity to leave the house tidy and arrive back muddy and wet. Could he not see that those pursuits were girlish, and now they had purpose? I went to the study and took ink, a quill and paper to my chamber.

  The next morning, the sky was a bright blue and there were no clouds. I collected the two letters from my desk and tucked them into my jacket. Overnight my fingers had swollen, and there was a funny feeling in my chest, as though inside it was being pulled taut like a sheet. I ignored the persistent thought that these could be the symptoms of the sun setting on my earthly life: that the next one was drawing ever closer. Perhaps death was right behind me, stepping with me, moving in my shadow, and at any moment it would gather me in its cloak. I summoned my nerve, glanced at Prudence and Justice, and went downstairs.

  Katherine Nowell answered the door, her eyes wide with concern.

  ‘Fleetwood? Back so soon? Do come in.’

  I leant on the door frame with one hand; with the other I cradled my stomach.

  ‘Katherine, please … I need help. My child … I am in pain. I need my midwife.’

  ‘You are alone? Where is Richard? Fleetwood, you are full-bellied, you should not be riding now, surely.’

  There was fear in her voice, and she helped me into the house. I gave another groan.

  ‘Where is the pain?’

  ‘It started yesterday. I tried to ignore it but … It’s not time yet, Katherine, it’s too early.’

  ‘How badly does it hurt? Does it come in shocks?’

  ‘No, it’s constant.’

  I let her guide me to the great hall, where she had been embroidering a cushion. There were pins and thimbles and lengths of thread strewn over the draw-leaf table, and I thought of Malkin Tower, and how all Alizon Device wanted was some pins. Katherine helped me into a chair.

  ‘Should I call the physick? A doctor?’

  ‘No. I need my midwife, Katherine. Ever since Alice was put in gaol I have got worse. I felt fine until she was arrested. Roger said he would try and get her out, but I need her now with me at Gawthorpe. I asked him if she could stay with us until the trial – I will not let her go anywhere, you have my word and Richard’s. Please, ask Roger.’

  This I said through laboured breaths, and Katherine handed me a cup of ale brought by a discreet servant. Compared to the life and chaos of the Law house, here it was as quiet and restrained as Gawthorpe. Roger’s father frowned sternly down at me from his portrait.

  ‘Roger is away – I forget where. Oh, Fleetwood, I am so worried. Tell me, what can I do?’

  ‘I need Alice,’ I said weakly. ‘I need to get her out of gaol. Only she can cure me; she knows the herbs, and the right tinctures.’

  ‘Perhaps the apothecary could help in the meantime? I will have our man ride out for him.’

  ‘No. I need Alice. Only she can help me. Only Alice. There is no time to write to Roger, or to the castle – I must go myself so she can help me.’

  ‘No, you should go home – but not until you have rested here. I will make up a room for you and I will tell Roger when he gets home that Alice should be released for your health.’

  I thought of being shut up in one of Roger’s chambers. It would be little better than the gaol at Lancaster: he might lock me in and throw away the key.

&n
bsp; ‘Katherine, do you think you can persuade him to let her out?’ I asked feebly.

  Her eyes were wide with compassion, her lined face grave. She cast around helplessly for some words of comfort.

  ‘I had an excellent midwife from Liverpool, but this was many years ago, I would not know how to reach her …’

  ‘No, it has to be Alice.’

  She wrung her hands together.

  ‘Fleetwood, I … She is a prisoner of His Majesty, I don’t see how …’

  ‘Just until the trial,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I am worried my life is in danger.’

  For the first time there was fear in my voice, because for once I was telling the truth.

  ‘But the woman is on trial for witchcraft. The penalty for that is death; she will not be allowed to roam free before the trial. She will disappear!’

  I knew suddenly that we were being watched, and not by one of the painted faces around the hall. I looked towards the doorway and saw a pair of wide pale eyes staring back. Jennet Device did not look away, and her gaze was full of judgement beyond her years. I knew it was ridiculous to be frightened by a child, but there was something very strange about her. After all, she had stolen my necklace, and how without being noticed? I would not have wanted her staying in my house, gliding soundlessly over the floorboards, appearing in doorways like a ghost.

  ‘Katherine, might you have your man check on my horse? I quite abandoned him on the doorstep in my haste to reach you; I hope he has not wandered off.’

  Katherine leapt up, hurrying from the room in her effort to help. With her gone, Jennet slipped inside and went over to the fireplace, kneeling in front of one of the stiff-backed oak chairs. She appeared to be carrying some scraps of cloth, and began arranging them on the seat. Unable to disguise my curiosity, I stood and went towards her.

  ‘What are those, Jennet?’

  I noticed they were knotted in such a way they resembled human bodies – a large knot at the top for a head, with more knots and lengths between to represent arms and legs. I had seen these poppets before in church, stuffed into the fists of infants to hush their crying. Having seen her house, I felt certain Jennet was not a child who had grown up with toys.

  ‘Who gave you those?’ I asked. ‘Was it Roger?’

  ‘I made ’em,’ she rasped in her scratchy little voice.

  ‘And you’ve stuffed them too, how clever. What with?’

  ‘Mutton’s wool.’

  I felt certain she had only brought them in here to show them to me, like a cat bringing a mouse to its master. I looked at her thin, shapeless dress; unhappiness and neglect in every line of her. Because of this child, my friend was rotting in a place that light never reached, and was facing her death at the rope. Because of this child, so many others were in there with her. I wanted to grab her bony shoulders and shake her so hard her teeth rattled and her eyes rolled. I wanted to scream at her to take back every word, every lie she had told with her sharp little tongue. I could barely look at her. I went back to the chair.

  Jennet was whispering something, and the sound of it made the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

  ‘What are you saying?’ I demanded, so sharply she turned in surprise and regarded me with those wide, contemptuous eyes.

  ‘A prayer to get drink,’ she replied, the picture of innocence.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Crucifixus hoc signum vitam Eternam. Amen.’

  I stared at her, piecing the vocabulary together. My Latin was poor because I had no attention for reading. Something about a cross, and eternal life? I wondered where she had learnt it, because the words were pure popery. Had she said them in front of Roger? And if so, were the Devices in gaol only because they were Catholic? But it made no sense – half the families in Pendle were. Roger knew that, and as long as they presented themselves at church each week and kept their eyes to the ground, he gave them no trouble.

  Jennet came towards me and took the empty pewter cup at my elbow. She held it to the imagined lips of her poppets so they could drink.

  ‘Where did you learn that, Jennet?’

  ‘My grandmother,’ she lisped.

  ‘You say that and she brings you a drink?’

  ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Drink is brought.’

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘In a very strange manner.’

  Everything she said was so peculiar. Had I been this precocious as a child? Almost certainly not. But something about the way she had corrected me made a distant memory stir, and then it came to me. Dead rabbits; Alice crouching over them.

  I did not kill them. They were killed.

  What was the reason for their careful distinction? Perhaps a different approach was needed with Jennet. As Richard had said about his birds, loyalty was earned, not demanded. I remembered too Roger’s threat: that Jennet might be encouraged to ‘remember’ others present at her home. The idea was too grave to consider.

  ‘Jennet?’ I glanced at the doorway. ‘I think you may know my friend. Alice Gray?’

  She stayed hunched over her poppets. Her lank, colourless hair spilt down her back from beneath her cap. She did not reply, and neatened her cloth figures, brushing imaginary dust off them.

  ‘Do you know her, Jennet?’

  She lifted her shoulders: an acquiesce.

  ‘You do know her?’ I leant forwards. ‘Do you think you might have got it wrong about her being at your house that day, at Malkin Tower?’

  ‘James stole a sheep for us to eat,’ she said, pointing at one of her toys. They leant drunkenly on one another. She pointed at another. ‘Mother told him to.’

  I licked my lips.

  ‘Do you remember Alice being at your house? Is she a friend of your mother’s, or had you not seen her before?’

  At that moment I heard feet on the flags, and Katherine appeared bearing a tray.

  ‘More ale. Are you recovered, Fleetwood?’

  I sat back, disappointed, and eyed the child in front of me. Jennet was smiling, and when I realised what about, a chill saturated me, creeping over my flesh.

  ‘Drink is brought,’ she said happily, and turned back to her toys.

  ‘Jennet, will you leave us?’ Katherine asked in a strained voice.

  The child gave her a look, and swept up her toys in an armful, sending the pewter cup clattering to the floor. She did not pick it up, and glided silently from the room. Katherine sighed deeply, and I noticed properly the lines around her mouth, the dull exhaustion in her eyes.

  ‘How much longer will she stay with you?’ I asked gently.

  Katherine shook her head.

  ‘Roger cannot tell.’

  ‘Surely it is his decision?’

  ‘While she is here she is … useful to him. So I suppose when she stops being useful.’

  Her bluntness took me aback. Katherine sat back and sighed, reaching for her cup and drinking thirstily.

  When she had finished she wiped her mouth and said, ‘I cannot tell you how glad I will be when the assizes leave and all this will be over.’

  ‘But how can you wish haste on the sacrifice of innocent lives?’

  ‘Innocent?’ Katherine was bewildered. ‘Fleetwood, neither you nor I can make judgement on that.’

  ‘Do we not have eyes and ears like our husbands, and the men who will condemn them?’

  ‘You speak as though you know the outcome already.’

  ‘But I do, everyone does! In history when have witches ever been treated with leniency? Katherine, we must do something.’

  Katherine gave a pleasant little chuckle that made me want to slap her.

  ‘Fleetwood, your head is full of fancies. You speak as if we are in a play, all with a part to act. You and I have no role in the king’s justice; we support our husbands.’

  ‘We cannot stand by and let this happen!’ I cried. ‘We must do something!’

  ‘Fleetwood, please,’ Katherine coaxed. ‘You will exert yourself and cause harm
to yourself and your child. May I speak frankly with you?’ It was unexpected, and all I could do was nod. ‘Richard loves you very much. He is very fond of you. The pair of you are lucky to be companions in marriage, not like most of our kind.’

  Briefly I wondered if she knew about Judith, or if Roger would have kept that from her, too.

  ‘You must concentrate on raising a family, and being a wife. People talk, you see, Fleetwood. And I know we are out of the way here as gentry folk. We are far from large cities, we have a certain privacy in this corner of the land, but that does not mean we can behave without propriety.’

  I shifted in my seat, the silence of the hall ringing in my ears. I waited for Katherine to wet her lips before going on.

  ‘You are very young, and very earnest, and endearing. You are mistress of the finest house around. This child will make your life so full, and rich, and happy. You must take care to involve yourself in the right things, like the family and the home, and not be so upset by things that you have no agency over.’

  I felt as though she had crushed me like a carriage wheel. My words died in my throat, were lost in my sinking heart.

  ‘I want to help my friend,’ was all I could say without choking. ‘Or she will die. And I will die with her.’

  The realisation was lapping at my edges again – the knowledge that without Alice, I may as well have a rope tied too. She had promised to save me, and I had promised to save her, and the chances of those things happening were now so small they had almost vanished from significance. I realised I was thinking in days now. When I tried to picture what my child might look like, and me holding it in my arms, I could not. Neither could I picture my life in five, ten, twenty years’ time. The date of the summer assizes loomed, and my life as I knew it was contained in these short weeks.

  ‘There is nothing I can do, Fleetwood.’ Katherine’s voice was gentle. ‘Roger will not release her. She is on trial for murder by witchcraft – a crime punishable by death.’

  ‘Roger has it wrong. She has been cheated, by almost everyone in her life. I cannot let her down like the others. You must come with me to the castle, and plead for her release. You are Roger’s wife – you must have some authority.’