The Familiars
Page 28
‘Father, will you duel with me? Nicholas fights like a baby,’ said Richard, thrusting his brother’s toy at his father. He took after me, with coal-black hair and serious dark eyes.
‘He is a baby,’ I said, smiling at Nicholas, who was as different from his older brother as I was from Richard. He had his father’s warm gold hair and grey eyes.
‘I will when I’m back, so don’t splinter them before then.’
Richard pressed a sword into each of his sons’ arms and wandered over to me. He looked distracted.
‘What’s the matter?’ I said, briefly looking up from my sewing.
‘The king is touring the north.’
I stared at him. ‘When?’
‘Next month.’
‘And does he plan to stay here? He is not welcome.’
‘Thankfully not, although to refuse him would be treason. I’m glad the tour is not next year when I am sheriff, because he almost certainly would. But he does plan to lodge at Barton.’
‘At Barton? Why?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. He is staying at Hoghton Tower before that, and Barton is halfway between there and Lancaster.’
‘But it’s empty.’
‘The king does not concern himself with inconveniences.’
I put down Nicholas’ stocking.
‘We would have to furnish it, and hire servants … It will bankrupt us. The king travels with a party of a hundred or more.’
‘It’s the king,’ Richard said simply. ‘I am no more happy about it than you.’
‘That house,’ I muttered. ‘It’s like a curse.’
Richard ignored my remark. I knew he kept Judith and their bastard somewhere in Yorkshire now, but I had no interest in where. As long as she was out of sight, and I had my boys and my home, I could quite easily ignore the whole thing. Richard nodded at my list on the table.
‘You know what ambergris is, don’t you? Whale vomit.’
‘Richard!’
I batted him away and he darted out of my reach, straight into the sticky grasp of his sons, who pawed at his legs and again begged him to play.
‘Enough! I am going hunting and if you do not let go of me this instant I am using both of you as bait.’
He picked Nicholas up by the ankles and tipped him upside down. He shrieked and squealed, helpless with laughter, as his brother pretended to jab him with the sword, crying, ‘Die! Die!’
Puck, who was used to their noise but declined to participate in his old age, watched lazily from the carpet. Sometimes they forced him to take part in their japes, but today he was spared.
‘Why are boys so loud and badly behaved?’ I asked. ‘Why could I not have had two lovely daughters to sit and sew with me?’
Nicholas collapsed to the floor, breathless and giggling.
‘Father, take me hunting with you!’ Richard demanded, pulling at his father’s cloak.
‘Not until you are older.’
‘What do we say to Father when he goes on a hunt?’
‘Don’t kill the foxes!’ they both cried, each trying to be the louder.
I smiled, and Richard sighed in a playful way.
‘Even though they kill the hares and rabbits, and make it much harder work for my birds, I think your mother would turn the musket to me if I came home with a fox pelt.’
I nodded sternly and smiled, but I was troubled by the news he brought.
I woke before dawn, leaving Richard snoring gently. The bag I’d packed the night before I’d hidden under the bed, and I swept it up silently and went to dress, arriving at the stables at first light. The morning was clear and fine, with a bright sun and a slight chill. One of the apprentices appeared in a doorway at the sound of hooves in the stable yard, and was startled to see me.
‘I am going to spend the day with Mistress Towneley,’ I told him as he blinked sleepily, reminding me of my own boys. ‘Please tell the master to expect me back by nightfall.’
The road was deserted, and I made a good start. By the time I arrived a few hours later, my thighs were aching, my corse was digging into my stomach, and I was drenched with sweat. I hadn’t ridden this far in years, and felt it in every muscle. When I got down, I leant against the horse for a moment, its coat hot and gleaming under the midday sun. I tied it to a tree out of sight, and trudged the last few hundred yards with the string of the bag digging into my wet palm.
I fumbled inside it for the key, and unlocked the door. The last time I was here it had been night-time, with shadows dancing everywhere, but now its mystery was gone. It was just an old, dusty, empty house. The final few pieces of furniture stood listless, and I went to the old cabinet in the hall that had been my father’s, running my hands over its grooves and edges. But I could not take it, or anything else, so I patted it as though it was a pet, and moved on.
I looked in every room and opened every cupboard. No doubt the servants would have been through them after Judith left, taking candle stubs and needles and broken vases, as well as every scrap of food. I wanted to avoid the parlour, where I’d been taken away from my dolls to meet my first husband, but I went in and appraised it swiftly. There was the fireplace in front of which Mr Molyneux had sat, but with no furniture it was merely an empty room. I saved my chamber for last. There was just one bed frame in there – mine. My mother’s had been moved to a different room. I thought of her sleeping near me every night; I had thought it torture, but now knew it to be something quite different.
I went to the window and looked out at the waving trees, and the farmland stretching flat behind them. It was a beautiful summer’s day, with barely any wind. I made sure all the doors were open before I went back downstairs to the great hall, where I had met Judith five years before. It was as though the ghost of her was here, watching me as I went to the large windows overlooking the front of the grounds. The curtains were still there, thick with dust, no doubt too high and heavy for whoever had cleared the house to get down. There was no chair to rest on, no table to set down my things. I knelt on the cold stone floor beneath the window, and the sunlight streamed in and bathed my face. I lifted it up to feel the warmth, closing my eyes.
Then I set to work. I took the little silver tinderbox from my velvet bag and opened it, and bunched the charred cloth in the bottom to air it. I was pleased to see my hands were steady. I took out the flint and the steel and began striking them together. In the empty room, the clinks rang as loudly as they did in a blacksmith’s workshop. After half a minute of effort, a spark caught the scraps in the tinderbox, and I leant in to blow it gently into a flame. Fearful of it going out, I held a splinter to it, and when it had caught, put it to the bottom of the curtain. Flames bloomed immediately on the dry, dusty fabric, and I cheered silently as fire licked the bottom of the scarlet threads, rising like damp. There were no mattresses, no firewood in the house – I had counted on this working, and it was. I sat and watched it for a minute, and by the time I stood up the curtain was half-covered in flames. I thought of the time my skirts had caught in Joseph Gray’s house, and I stepped backwards and gathered up my things, shutting the front door behind me and locking it.
The king could not stay in a house that had burnt to the ground.
I stood on the front lawn for a long time, watching the front room swell with flickering light that was hard to see in sunlight, but would be magnificent at night. The wainscoted walls caught easily, and when the windows were black with smoke and I felt sure the fire was powerful and furious enough to attack the rest of Barton, I turned to go home.
Someone had been watching me. I jumped, startled, as a movement caught my eye at the edge of the trees. A stunning red fox fixed me with its wide amber eyes and placed a hesitant paw on the grass. We stared at one another, and time stood still. The fire raged on behind me, and my breath caught in my throat. Then I blinked, and it was gone.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
If it takes a village to raise a child, it certainly takes a hamlet to raise a book. To sta
rt with, thank you Juliet – friend first, agent second – for making my dream come true and holding my hand through all of it. In no particular order, the following people deserve my utmost gratitude: Katie Brown, Francesca Russell, Felicity Jethwa, Becky Short, Felicity White, Kate Hilsen, Claire Frost, Catriona Innes, Cyan Turan, Ed Wood, Lauren Hadden, Beth Underdown, Rosie Short and John Short. Thank you for your sharp eyes, bright ideas and enthusiasm. There aren’t the words to tell my editor Sophie Orme and all at Bonnier Zaffre how thrilled I am that The Familiars found its home with you. I knew you were The One as soon as I met you, and you’ve made the whole process a joy. I am grateful to Rachel Pollitt at Gawthorpe Hall for answering my questions and Robert Poole for modernising Thomas Potts’ account of the trials. Last but not least, thank you to my parents Eileen and Stuart and brother Sam for your endless support and love, and Andy for being my No.1 cheerleader in life. You’re always there when I need you, and I always will.
A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
The inspiration for The Familiars came when I visited Gawthorpe Hall in Padiham, Lancashire, and noticed Pendle Hill out of one of the bedroom windows. I grew up in the area and the hill is synonymous with the folklore of the Pendle witches. That’s when the idea came to me of writing a novel about the events of 1612, told from the point of view of a young gentry woman living at Gawthorpe. I began to research the history of the house and the Shuttleworth family, and found out that the mistress at that time was a 17-year-old woman named Fleetwood, and my story sprang to life.
The more I found out about the Pendle witches the more intrigued I was. Lots of them were neighbours. All of them were said to have familiar spirits – some of them shape-shifting. One claimed to have met the devil. Many of them admitted to witchcraft. They knew the penalty was execution, so why would they admit their guilt?
The Familiars is an attempt to answer my own questions, and while it’s a work of fiction, most of the characters were real people and the book is based on the historical timeline. I hope it’s made you want to know more about the Pendle witches as well as Alice and Fleetwood.
If you’d like to receive more information about The Familiars, you might be interested in joining my Readers’ Club. Don’t worry – it doesn’t commit you to anything, there’s no catch, and I won’t pass your details on to any third parties. You’ll receive updates from me about my books, including offers, publication news and even the occasional treat! You can unsubscribe at any time. To register, all you have to do is visit www.thefamiliarsbook.com.
Another way of reaching out to me is via Twitter @Stacey_Halls. I hope to hear from you soon, and that you continue to read and enjoy my books.
Thank you for your support,
Stacey
HISTORICAL NOTE
Fleetwood and Richard Shuttleworth, Alice Gray, Roger Nowell, the Device family and many other characters in the novel were real people, but The Familiars is a work of fiction. Fleetwood Shuttleworth (born 1595) was mistress at Gawthorpe during the witch trials, and had her first child in 1612, but there is nothing in history to connect her with Alice. However, her husband Richard was present at the assizes – at which Alice Gray and the other ten Pendle witches stood trial in August 1612 – possibly because it generated so much interest at the time. Very little is known about Alice Gray other than from Thomas Potts’ account of the trial, The Wonderfull Discoverie of Witches in the Countie of Lancaster. For some unknown reason, Alice’s transcript is not recorded in Potts’ book. Why she was the only one of the Pendle witches to be acquitted remains a mystery.
READING GROUP QUESTIONS
1. Women were disproportionately targeted as part of the witch hunts of the period. Why do you think this was?
2. Alice and Fleetwood are from very different backgrounds, but their lives have many similarities. Discuss what they have in common – is one ‘better off’ than the other?
3. The familiar spirits in the book are ambiguous. Do you believe they played a real part in the story or were the imaginings of suspicion? And why is Puck never considered to be one, when he shows supposed signs of being a familiar, such as sucking his mistress’ blood and attacking on demand?
4. Fleetwood did not tell anybody about the abuse she suffered as a child because she feared nobody would believe her, yet she is mistrustful of Jennet Device, who is a child herself. Do you think she should have had more sympathy with Jennet?
5. Roger’s pursuit of the Pendle witches evolves from a display of authority to a sinister obsession, like ‘collecting cards at a table’. Do you think he truly thought them to be witches or something else was at play?
6. Fleetwood’s relationship with Mary is complicated, but typical of a teenager and her mother. Was Mary justified in keeping her silence, and might Fleetwood have been a little hard on her?
7. Richard is not an archetypal romantic hero, nor is he a villain. But is he more of one than the other?
8. Do you think Alice was a witch?
First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Zaffre
This ebook edition published in 2019 by
ZAFFRE
80-81 Wimpole St, London, W1G 9RE
www.zaffrebooks.co.uk
Copyright © Stacey Halls, 2018
Cover design by Alexandra Allden
Cover illustration © Lucy Rose Cartwright
Title calligraphy © Patrick Knowles
The moral right of Stacey Halls to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978–1–78576–612–1
Hardback ISBN: 978–1–78576–611–4
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Zaffre is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK
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