Blood and Clay (4 page)

I
’
d stopped watching where I was going
and Gran stumbled. She cuffed me round the head quicker than a jack rabbit and
it hurt my ear so bad I thought it was cut.

“
Owww! Sorry Gran.
”
I said, quick as you like. I started
to concentrate more after that.

“
What money have you brought us today Lizard? I hope you
have earned your keep.
”

I
flinched as I realized Gran was talking to me. She felt the flinch and tutted
viciously. I tried hard not to hate her but it was difficult to like someone
who treated me with nowt but scorn.

“
A shilling
”
I said. I felt bad lying; for not admitting that I had
four more shillings hidden in the clearing.

“
A shilling
”
screeched Mam, half scaring me to death.
“
Where did you get a shilling
’
from? Where did she get a shilling
’
from?
”
She stared at me then whipped her
head towards Gran then back to me.
“
Have you been thievin
’
? I thought you were too much of a
priss for thieving? Not useful like your brother.
”

“
I haven
’
t been thieving. I got it at Beggar
’
s Bend, from a rich gent from the
village. He was dressed all fine. A shilling was nothing to him
”

“
What favours did you do to get a shilling
’
Lizard? Show him some leg did ya? A
bit more?
”
whined Mam.

“
No
”
I said. I felt my face and neck heat up.
“
He was just kind. Some folk are kind.
”

At
age fifteen many of the village girls had begun courting but I
’
d never really spoken to a boy, not
if you didn
’
t figure in our James or Gabe and they didn
’
t really count.

“
Aye your Pa were kind Lizard. Kind enough to knock me up
with three screeching kids who take the food from my mouth. Kind enough to go and
die and make us poor.
”

Mam
began muttering under her breath, lost in her own anger again; anger at me and
anger at men. I didn
’
t like it when she cursed my Pa. Pa had liked a drink a bit
too much, just like James does now, but he had loved me. It weren
’
t his fault that he was dead. Mam and
Gran never let up on him, nagging and nattering; wearing him down. He didn
’
t bring much money into the house,
just a bit of field work here and there, mainly at harvest time. They didn
’
t like that didn
’
t Mam and Gran so James didn
’
t either. Always on Mam
’
s side was our James. Nettie was just
a babe when he died; too young to do remember much at all.
 
Me though; I had Pa until I was ten years old
and I loved him just as much as I love Nettie. Drunk or sober he
’
d be there every night as I went to
sleep. Every night he
’
d kiss the top of my head and tuck me snugly under the
covers. I loved that so much. He would tuck me in so tightly so that the only
movement I could make was wiggling my toes. He
’
d stay there at the end of my bed
until I fell asleep and croon songs to me.

Those
were the happiest years of my life. Mam and Gran just ignored me then. No
scolding or beatings; no nothing. Like they weren
’
t even part of my life. It wasn
’
t until later that they paid me mind.
Pa was gone, dead and no use to them anymore, and I was needed to help get
money but there was never enough. I didn
’
t know how Pa had died. Old Chattox
had something to do with it though. Old Chattox is like my Gran. The Grand-dam
of a family, a wise woman she calls herself but she
’
s nowt but a witch like our Gran.
Evil old cow she is and she and Gran hate each other. I don't know why they
blame Chattox for Pa's death. All I know is that one day my life was happy and
the next all the light and warmth was gone. When Pa died it was like someone
put out the sun.

 
“
Home
”
hissed Gran, wrenching me out of my
thoughts as she yanked her arm away from me with a strength that once again
made me doubt her need for support at all.
“
Run inside Lizard. Get the fire
started then back out with ya. We need meat yet. Check the trap for rabbits. We
don
’
t want to waste than nice shilling
’
on food for you when there is
buttered ale to be bought. The wine
’
s running dry an' all.
”

As
we started to walk up the small hill leading to the house I ran ahead. Malkin
Tower is no tower at all. In fact it
’
s little more than a barn and a
broken down old barn at that. As I got closer I could see the crumbling stone
work dappled with moss and the soggy thatched roof, worn so thin in places that
there were constant puddles of dirt stained water all over the house. I'd
always wondered why the barn held the name Malkin Tower. I always thought that
it was a name chosen by Gran for its airs n' graces and no-one dared challenge
her on it. Whatever the reason for the name here it stood. This was home.

Roger
took his hat and coat off as he arrived at his home in the village of Read. As
he entered Read Hall he bashed his riding boots against the hard boot brush he
kept on a brass stand mounted inside the doorway. Flakes of dried, crusted mud
showered over the doorstop. Roger called to his manservant to come and remove
his boots and replace them with his house shoes. Archibald Johnson, had been
with Roger for many years and knew his master
’
s needs often before Roger himself
did.

“
I have prepared the drawing room Sir
”
said Archibald, in his clipped,
monotone voice.
“
Your papers have arrived from London. The paper prepare by
King James is in there, as expected Sir. I have asked Cook to prepare you some
supper. Would you like a drink while you wait?
”

“
No thank you Johnson
”
said Roger
“
I am eager to get to my reading. Tell
Cook I will eat in the drawing room then you can all retire for the evening. I
have a lot of reading to do.
”

Johnson
nodded and drifted away in his usual silent and unobtrusive fashion which he
had spent his many years in service cultivating. He made his way to the
kitchen, warmer and brighter than the rest of the house and the only place in
Read Hall still to have a bit of the bustle and rumble of life about it. He
collapsed in an exhausted heap at the kitchen table. It had been a long day
between the many errands he had been tasked with alongside managing the house
staff.

 
“
Send his grumpiness some supper up
Elsie
”
said Johnson, allowing his King
’
s English accent to slip back into
its real local twang, as broad as the accent of his family and friends in the
nearby town of Barnoldswick.

“
What would
‘
is
‘
igh an' mighty want this evenin
’
?
”
chirped Elsie. At age twenty she had
already been in the service of Roger Nowell, magistrate and High Sheriff of
Lancashire, for five years but she doubted he even remembered her name and was
sure he wouldn
’
t recognize her if he passed her in the street.

Elsie
was not a fan of the master
’
s pious Protestant ways and the snooty way he looked at
people, as if he pitied them for not being as religious as he was; or as
wealthy. He had kindly ways. He
’
d ever been mean to Elsie. She had never been beaten, like
she knew that some staff in other wealthy houses were, and he gave her a whole
shilling every Christmas. It wasn
’
t that he was a bad man at all. It
was just that look that he gave everyone that Elsie hated, like he was so much
better than them.

“
Just some cold meats and cheese I think tonight
”
said Johnson
“
then boil the water and get the
teapot on the go. It's time we all called it a night and had something to eat
ourselves before bed. I'll call the rest of
‘
em in
”

With
a sigh and trying not to crack his back as he levered himself out of the
kitchen chair, Johnson went to gather the rest of the house staff. There were
not many in Roger
’
s service. Johnson was manservant and head of the
household, Elsie was the cook and house maid, Tilly,
“
the young
‘
un
”
, was junior housemaid and Tom the stable
hand. Once Elsie had served supper to their master she laid the table for the
staff and they talked of the day
’
s events as they dunked chunks of
heavily buttered bread in their mugs of tea.

“
No company for
‘
is highness tonight Mr Johnson?
”
chirped Elsie as they enjoyed their
supper.

“
Company? When was the last time that old grump had company?
”
said Tom as he brushed his sleeve
across his mouth to clear a buttery smear from his chin.

“
Now, now you two. You know that the Master has been
economic in his company since the Mistress died
”

Tilly
looked at Johnson with a puzzled look which Johnson caught. Young and new into
service Tilly was still inexperienced and quiet and her education was proving
tiring.

“
Economic, Tilly, means he doesn
’
t have much company over.
”
Johnson, as usual, guessed what was
causing the puzzlement and took the opportunity to teach Tilly something new.

“
Aye, economic with the money too
”
joined in Elsie, gesturing towards
the last of the bread, just a bit too hard and dwindling by the day.

In
the drawing room Roger had managed to read through his latest court papers and
the news sheets from London before his super arrived. As a prominent Protestant
in the county of Lancashire and a magistrate of the court he made it his
business to remain informed of the goings on at the palace and in Parliament.
It was less than seven years ago that Parliament King James I had become
increasingly paranoid and had begun to strengthen his links with the well known
and most zealous Protestants in each county. Lancashire was among the counties
that King James feared the most. With its Catholic stronghold it had always
been viewed as a dangerous and lawless place but even more so since it had been
discovered that several of the gunpowder plotters had been planning to
encourage an uprising in the county.

Roger
had taken a few bites of his supper before picking up the most important of his
papers. That had been an hour ago and his supper had remained untouched since
then. The paper he had been waiting for had been written several years ago but
was redistributed often as new tales of witchcraft arose across England. Less
of a paper and more of a book it had been commissioned by King James himself
after he had heard of a book called Malleus Malificarium being banned by the
Catholic Church in the fifteenth century.
 
It had been lauded, by King James, as being second in importance only to
the Bible and was called The Daemonologie.

Roger
had read and absorbed the The Daemonologie over the last hour with a passion,
despite having read it in almost identical form every time it had been issued.
It told him of the ways to spot a witch, the practices they indulged in and the
harm they did. He blushed with outrage at the descriptions of witches suckling
daemons in the form of animals. He was disgusted at the tales of their
intimacies with these animals which they called
“
familiars
”
and morally offended by the visions
painted of witches dancing naked around fires on the Sabbath day, chanting
their spells and charms so similar to the dangerous prayers said by the
Catholics that over-ran the county.