Daughters of the Witching Hill (22 page)

Children of the sun, the Bull Hole Holdens were, whilst I was a child of the moon. They lived with the warm light a-glow on their faces whilst I dwelled in the shadows. When they left the haven of their home to walk abroad through Pendle Forest, nobody whispered rumours about them. They were spotless.

But envy was a sin, so I tried to put such thoughts out of my mind. Truly it was enough for me to bask in Nancy's friendship and her mother's hospitality. If I spent enough hours at Bull Hole Farm, I could almost believe I was as blessed as Nancy.

Late in the afternoon Nancy kissed me goodbye, and Mistress Holden sent me home with a basket stuffed with bread, cheese, and cake. Even Jennet would smile to see me bringing home such bounty. I was walking past Moss End Farm with nary an evil thought in my mind when a stone whizzed past my face. Spun round, I did then, to see eleven-year-old Isobel Bulcock sat upon the gate and grinning like one of Chattox's imps.

"Witchblood! You've the witchblood! Your granny's nowt but a blind old witch!" The pudding-faced brat swung her grubby bare feet back and forth. "Devil stole her eyes away."

"Shut it, you," I said, turning square to face her.

"Your mam's a whore!" Issy said, growing ever bolder.

Behind the gate a few other children ducked and giggled, daring Issy on.

"Your brother's an idiot. He eats dirt, he's so dim."

God forgive me, but I'd inherited my mam's quick temper. Setting my basket down, I stalked toward Issy. The nearer I drew, the paler Issy became. Her cruel smile vanished and the other children's jeering died. When I was close enough for my breath to hit her face, Issy's mouth hung in a frightened O as though she longed to scream but had lost her voice.

"Mind your tongue, you devil's spawn," I told her, quiet and chill. "If ever I hear you gabbing on about my family like that again, I'll give you something to cry about, our Issy."

Then I turned, picked up my basket, and strode off homeward, my head held high as though I were leading the procession Gran had spoken of in my dream.

Though I did my best to appear calm on the outside, I was seething.
Whores and witches.
That was what Baldwin called us. To think I'd hear those words from young Issy. Her father, Henry Bulcock, was Uncle Kit's old friend, and Jane Bulcock, her mother, had always been good to my family. If our friends' children could spew such awful rubbish, I fair wondered what our enemies were saying about us.

When I reached the gate of Malkin Tower, my heart lightened to see our Jamie stood there, beaming and proud, holding up a dead hare by its hind legs. God's teeth, my brother had been poaching again. Though I'd no business encouraging him in such lawlessness, I couldn't help but smile to see him so happy. When times were hard, our Jamie always found a way to put meat on our table. Even if he was simple, he did his best for us.

Two days passed in peace. Of an early morning I went to Bull Hole Farm, passing by Moss End, but Issy didn't show herself. On the third day, when I reached home of an overcast evening, tired but cheerful from my hours with Nancy, Gran seized me by my wrists soon as I stepped in.

"Henry Bulcock came by today. He says you bewitched his Issy."

First I could only laugh, but Gran was dead earnest, her face as long as my arm.

"By Our Lady, I never cursed that spoilt chit!" My face burned at the unfairness of the accusation. "What a little liar, that Issy. Gave her the devil, I did, on account of her goading me first, but nowt more. Now I wish I
had
bewitched her. Might at least shut her up."

"Never say such a thing, even in jest," Gran begged me.

Then I saw how truly frightened she was. Had it come down to this, that an eleven-year-old could condemn a person for witchcraft after trading a few heated words?

"Course I didn't bewitch her," I said to Gran. "I haven't the powers."

"Only Gran and me can curse and bless," our Jamie broke in. "We've familiars but you haven't."

So my brother now claimed to be a cunning man with a familiar spirit like Gran's Tibb? A right mess he would get us in if he went round announcing that to folk.

"Don't butt in where you've no business," Gran said to Jamie. "Go on outside. Alizon and I must talk in private."

"Talk in private with Jennet around?" I pointed at my sister who gawped from her perch in the corner as though she wanted to commit our every word to memory so she could blab it about Colne Market.

"Alizon will get the powers by and by," Jamie declared in a voice loud enough to be heard in Yorkshire. "She'll meet her black dog."

"What black dog, you daft thing?" In the whirl of confusion, I couldn't help but raise my voice. "Have you all gone mad?"

"Enough!" Gran's fist slammed down upon the table. A rare thing, it was, for her to lose her temper with us, but when it happened, we quietened down right quick.

Mam grabbed Jamie and Jennet and dragged them out the door, leaving me and Gran alone.

"Now tell me, what did you say to Isobel Bulcock?" Gran fixed me with her sightless eyes as though she could peer into the very depths of my soul.

Full contrite, I took her hand. "In truth, she spoke ill of you and Mam. Said you were a witch and Mam a whore. I told her to shut her wicked gob or she'd be sorry for it."

Gran winced as though a spasm were passing through her.

"Alizon." She drew me close. "Bless you, you're true to your own. But you must learn to mind your tongue. Tomorrow we'll both go to Moss End. You'll apologise to Isobel, and I'll do my all to bring that child back to good health."

I
NEVER WISHED
to curse or harm anybody, much less a child, even one so irksome as Issy Bulcock. When I saw her, lying upon her bed, her cheeks pale as mushrooms, I longed to cut out my tongue for fear of speaking so harsh to a soul ever again. Such a state she was in, her skin covered in a cold sweat that made her smock stick to her bony chest, that I near believed I
had
bewitched her. But that could never be. Such powers were Gran's, not mine.

Full calm, Gran stroked Issy's brow, and when she proclaimed that the child would soon mend, we knew it to be God's truth. Issy's parents, and John, her brother, fair wept in relief, as did I. But Gran was not one to allow me to kneel there snivelling like a wet thing when I could be useful. So she bade me fill the kettle, hang it upon the hob, and take the herbs from her bundle. Alehoof, I brewed for Issy, along with dittany, black horehound, and archangel wort. Whilst they steeped, Gran chanted over the child and I prayed to the Mother of God, for hadn't Gran taught me the forbidden prayers, word for word. Five Pater Nosters, five Aves, and the Creed, recited whilst picturing deep inside my heart the Five Wounds of Christ—this could heal a child. This and Gran's physick.

I heard a dog howl from far away as if it were baying at the moon, though it was midday. Always made me tremble and cross myself, that dog's yowling did, for what could it be but Gran's familiar, the font of her magic. Even Jane Bulcock heard it and went a shade whiter as if she were close to fainting, so I took her arm and led her to a stool.

"Peace," I whispered. "Gran's mending your lass."

What would any of us do, I wondered, when Gran died, as she surely must, being nearly four-score years. For all Jamie's boasting the evening before, it was plain to see he'd no grand future as a cunning man. As for our Jennet, she seemed to turn up her nose at any dealings with the cunning craft. True Puritan's daughter, she was.

I remembered the dream I'd had of Gran fitting the garland upon my head. Her hopes of carrying on the family business fell upon me, but I could only disappoint, for I was unworthy of such a calling. I'd not felt so much as a flimmer of magic stirring inside me, no promise of the wondrous force Gran wielded. Most I could do was guide her on her errands now that she was blind and defend her good name with my fists if need be, should any dare speak ill of her. As for my own prospects, I'd be content enough to find regular work to keep us fed, and one day I'd love to marry and have little ones of my own, but ones less bothersome than Jennet, God willing. To be honest, none of the lads round these parts ever turned my head. Still the world was a big enough place, or so I'd been told, and one day I hoped to meet my true love, the one who would set my heart a-light. When I passed the time with Nancy, the two of us bent over our carding or mending, we'd put our heads close and whisper of the sweethearts we'd yet to meet.

Right then, as if harking to my own privy thoughts, Gran hooked me with her filmy eyes and cracked a grin as if to tell me she'd something well different in store for me. "Come, Alizon, love, bring that brew."

My hands were steadier than hers, so it was I who stirred the cup till it was lukewarm, then tipped it gentle into Issy's mouth. God knew I was no wisewoman like Gran, but this at least I could do.

***

Hours later Gran and I made our cumbersome way homeward, clambering up the breast of a hill. Her breath was ragged and raw. Every sixth step, we stopped and bided a spell, and I did my best to bear up her weight. Any other woman of her years would have stayed home, but folk had need of Gran so to them she would go for as long as she still had strength to set one foot in front of the other. At least our bellies were bursting-full, for Jane Bulcock had the mind to feed us on fricassee chicken, oatbread, and apple fritters. My head was fair floating from her strong beer, which left me light on my feet and made me wish I'd the powers to spirit Gran through the air so that her toes never touched the earth. The thoughts running through my head sounded mad as Jamie's talk. How he loved to go on about foals that sailed through the sky and carried folk on their backs.

Whilst I helped Gran up the rough track, she leaned close. "Alizon, love, when you're next on your own—say you're cutting across the hills to Nancy's tomorrow. Well, it may happen that an animal crosses your path."

My skin went fevered hot when she turned to me with those milky eyes. I wanted to clap my hands over my ears.

"A cat," she said, "or a spotted bitch, or a hare might appear. Even a young man might show himself to you."

Those last words of hers made me hoot in spite of myself. "A young man showing himself to me! Gran, listen to yourself." I'd make any silly jest to turn our talk to other things.

But Gran's eyes still pinned me so I could scarce look away.

"He might take the form of a lad," she went on, ever patient, "but be no lad of flesh and blood. Or he might first appear as a lad, then change into a dog or a cat." She squeezed my hand. "Don't fear it, love. Let it come to you. Never dread such things, for there's power to be found there."

"Familiar spirits aren't for the likes of me," I told her.

How I wished I was Anthony Holden's daughter—just a girl, of whom only ordinary things could be expected. Not one who carried the witchblood inside her. But even my inmost thoughts weren't secret as far as Gran was concerned.

"You'll never be ordinary, our Alizon." The love and the pride blazing on her face were enough to undo me. "I saw you praying for that Bulcock child and a rare light was shining all about you."

Anybody could pray, I wanted to tell her. Didn't mean I was anything special. But then she cradled my cheek with one roughened hand, silencing my protest.

"You've the powers inside you. They lie still for the time being, but one day they'll awaken." She smiled.

I walked on, my arm entwined with hers, only now I felt like the feeble one, her firmness supporting me. We'd reached the crest of the hill when she came to a halt and raised one palm as if to feel which way the wind was blowing.

"Listen," she murmured.

What I'd taken for the pounding of my own heart proved to be hoofbeats striking the earth, raising a cloud of dust. Coming back to my senses, I drew Gran off the track. Who would come riding this lonely way so late?

Up the hill swept four horsemen, but my eyes lighted upon the lead rider astride his blood bay stallion. Well younger than Gran, that gentleman was, but older than my mam I reckoned. Nevertheless, he was a spectacle to behold, his face still handsome with a neat beard coming to a point over his strong chin, which was the sign of an unwavering character. He'd high leather boots with flashing spurs, lace at his cuffs and collar, and a fine tall hat. A marvel that the hat had stuck fast to his head with the galloping over uneven ground. When he saw me and Gran, he reined in his stallion, slowing to a walk. Even then, his horse lifted each hoof high and proud.

There we were, Gran and I, stood before this gentleman. Right civil, he nodded his head and looked me full in the face.

Gran grasped my elbow. "Who is it?"

With her powers, how could she not know? "The Magistrate," I whispered. Course I'd seen him before at Colne Market, but never up close like this.

"Where are the pair of you heading?" he asked. Sat there upon his great stallion, it was as though he spoke from the top of Pendle Hill. "Rather late for two females to be out and about."

Gran's hand on my arm went slick and cold, leaving me to wonder why she should be so nervous. He was the Magistrate, not some ruffian come to worry us. What's more, he was now High Sheriff of all the county, or so I'd heard.