Daughters of the Witching Hill (26 page)

Next morning Jamie headed to the Duckworths' to do what work they could give him. I'd planned on calling upon Nancy to see how she fared, but Mam told me to go to Carr Hall instead.

"Alizon," she said, "could you not see if you can make sense of what happened between our Jamie and Mistress Towneley?"

I understood her meaning. The Towneleys were an important family and not one we wished to cross. If Mistress Towneley had truly accused Jamie of theft, we'd best make our own amends if that could keep her from reporting him to the Magistrate. So off I went, my guts tied in knots, wondering what manner of welcome I could expect from the woman who had clouted my brother. Carr Hall wasn't that far—less than three miles—but by the time I reached that fine stone house with its windows of diamond-paned glass, I was breathing heavy, girding myself for what was to come.

Place looked deserted, which took me by surprise till I remembered it was market day in Colne. Perhaps I'd have to come back another time, but as long as I was here, I might as well give the door a knock and see if anyone was at home. Well nervous, I was, fair expecting Mistress Towneley to be simmering mad at the sight of me. But when she opened the door, she looked surprised, as if she'd been expecting someone else only to have me turn up.

"Why Alizon Device," she said. "What brings you here?"

"I've come to ask if you'd any work for me," I blurted, having no clue what else to say. I could hardly ask her outright about Jamie without easing into some other subject first.

Seemed to hesitate did Mistress Towneley. Not at all happy to let me in, but still loathe to turn me away and risk folk gossiping that she was a mean-hearted one.

"Well, there's wool to card," she said at last, leading me into her clean-swept kitchen, almost as grand as the one in Roughlee Hall. She'd an oak dresser laden with polished copper and pewter, and a hearth big enough for roasting an ox upon a spit.

A handsome woman, Mistress Towneley was, with curling brown hair and blue eyes. The gentle swell beneath her skirts told me that she was in the early months of pregnancy. One look at her small frame and tiny white hands made me doubt Jamie's tale, for I couldn't begin to picture this woman smacking my brother between the shoulder blades. I'd be shocked if she could reach so high, for my brother would tower over her. Neither was she stingy as he'd made her out to be, for she brought out half a loaf of wheaten bread, some ham, and a jug of cider and told me to help myself before she set me to work with the carding.

She seemed decent enough, but the red rims of her eyes and the over-quick way she trod the slate floor, kicking up the rushes, told me something was eating her, and I could only wonder if it had anything to do with our Jamie. My stomach drew tight as a drum. The bread and ham I gnawed on stuck in my throat and my hunger died.

So I went to the great heap of wool in the corner, sat myself upon a stool, and began to card. Soon my fingers were slick with lanolin. On the other end of the great kitchen, Mistress Towneley could not settle but paced back and forth, glancing out the window. Once or twice she sat down to her embroidery frame, but just as fast she leapt up and gazed out again. A blood red mist seemed to hang in the air, and I began to wonder if Mistress Towneley and I were both bewitched.

A spell later came the clip-clop of hooves and the stable boy's shout. Shuddering with each breath, Mistress Towneley made to open the door, so full of anxious expectation that I could only think she was receiving an adulterous lover. That would explain why she'd been so reluctant to invite me in.

But her guest was none other than Alice Nutter. Seeing her, I called out in greeting, for she had always been kind to my family at Malkin Tower. Now, though, she hardly nodded in my direction. Mistress Towneley whispered something in her ear. With a swish of linen and new wool, both of them retreated to another room. I heard the door behind them close, heard them mounting a stairway on the other side of the plastered wall. They'd some privy matter to discuss, not for my ears, and I knew, dead certain, they wouldn't be speaking of light-hearted things. Some foul business was afoot. What lay at the root of Mistress Towneley's strange humours? If it had anything to do with Jamie, I had to know.

They were in some upper chamber, most likely behind a locked door, so there was no way I could eavesdrop proper. But as I was sat there, I heard ghostly voices coming down the chimney of that great hearth. For Jamie's sake I laid down the carding brush and tiptoed across the rushes to stand beneath the hearth's hood. Then I pricked my ears and listened. The great chimney must have opened up to a smaller hearth in that upper room.

First came Mistress Towneley's voice, higher and more girlish-sounding than Alice Nutter's. "We warned him to be careful, but it was no use."

My knees buckled, for I thought she spoke about Jamie. She'd warned him and then he'd stolen from her, making off with something much dearer than a few turves of peat. I thought of her dresser with the pewter and copper winking and tempting our Jamie, who was too simple to resist. Oh, why hadn't he told me the truth? How could I get us out of this fix?

"Will they come for him?" Alice Nutter asked. "Arrest him?"

Cramming my knuckles between my teeth, I thought I would die right there in Mistress Towneley's kitchen.

"Alice, they already have. He's in Lancaster Gaol."

I held my breath, not believing what I heard.

"When did you find out?" Alice Nutter asked.

"My Henry came back from Parbold with the news yesterday. Today he rode for Lancaster to bring Edward some warm clothes and blankets. God knows, he'll need them there."

"A brave man, your husband," Alice Nutter said. "He puts himself at risk."

"May God rid us of this cursed King." Mistress Towneley began to weep. "He won't be satisfied until he's murdered us all!"

So flummoxed I was. I'd no inkling who this Edward could be or where Parbold was—certainly nowhere near Pendle Forest. I hadn't the faintest notion what they were on about, only that it had nowt to do with Jamie. By all rights I should have crept away then and listened no more, yet I was pinned to that spot in my wonderment and shock, for I'd never heard the gentry speaking so fearful before, as though they were powerless as any common beggar.

"What of the priest?" Alice Nutter asked.

"By God's grace, he escaped. But Edward ... now they know he harboured a Jesuit."

It fell into place then. The Towneleys, like Alice Nutter's family at Roughlee, clung to the old religion. Everyone knew what happened to priests and those who sheltered them, like this Edward of Parbold must have done. Like Alice Nutter herself did. With a start I remembered the day when, as a five-year-old child, I'd followed her and Gran into that secret recess where her pale young priest dwelt in the gloom. Was the same man still there, or had he moved on and had another Jesuit missionary come to take his place? I'd no business listening to any of this, for it made me a witness to high treason. But I could not draw away.

"My Henry was there at Lawrence Bailey's execution." Mistress Towneley still wept. "Said it was the most ungodly spectacle he'd ever seen. They sliced him right open."

Alice Nutter said something in a voice too low for me to make out.

"But how can you go on like this?" Mistress Towneley asked her. "You know what could happen to you."

Mistress Alice was a widow, the head of her household, and if it wasn't her they executed for hiding the priest, then it would be her eldest son, Miles. Even if they spared her, the sight of her son being drawn and quartered would destroy her.

"Sometimes I fancy there's a noose around my neck," Alice Nutter said. "And it draws tighter each day." Those words of hers raised my flesh as much as any of Gran's talk of spirits ever had.

I left Carr Hall feeling even more wretched than I had upon leaving the Holdens' the day before. In such a maddle, I was, my head fair bursting from the burden of what I'd heard. Such secrets I carried, dangerous enough to get Alice Nutter strung up on the gibbet.

But there was no respite in store for me. When I reached Malkin Tower, what did I see but our Jamie hunched by the west wall. Filling a hole with earth, he was, then stamping it down into place.

"Our Jamie! Are you burying something?"

He shot me such a look over his shoulder, as though I'd caught him up to no good, and then he legged it off and away like a hare.

Such a humming filled my ears—a panic that made me long to run away, too. Instead I made myself dig up the dirt with the spade Jamie'd left behind till I'd uncovered a bit of sacking. I knelt down, pulled the bundle out of the dirt. Upon opening it, I let out such a scream that the birds scattered from the trees. Our Jamie had buried a clay poppet, shaped to a woman's form. What dark business did he meddle in—was this his way of getting even with Mistress Towneley?

I'd no idea what to do. If I tried to destroy this thing, Mistress Towneley, or whoever Jamie had modelled it after, might come to harm. I couldn't burn it or crush it or crumble it. Most I could do was hide it away where Jamie could never find it and ask Gran to do a counterspell. But before I could rise to my feet, I sensed someone stood there watching. Quailing, I looked up to see our Jennet's pinched white face.

"You're a witch. You made Nancy sick."

"Shut it, you witless thing! I didn't make this, our Jamie—" I broke off, not knowing if I could trust that cold Puritan's daughter.

"Jamie means to hurt someone," she said, so full of herself that it was all I could do not to take her over my knee and paddle her till she was blistered. "Terrible wicked, he is. He'll go straight to hell."

"Jamie never harmed a soul. None of us here ever did." But there I was, holding my brother's clay picture in my hand.

"What will you do with it?" Jennet's chilly eyes narrowed to slits.

"Ask Gran to set it right. Keep your mouth shut about this, mind. If you say a word to anybody, I'll birch you and that's a promise." With my free hand, I grasped her wrist and squeezed till she went red in the face and muttered her promise. Only then did I let her go.

"You'll have to fetch Gran," she sniffed, rubbing her smarting wrist. "She's sat on that rock under the thorn tree. I led her out so it's your turn to bring her back." At that, my sister stamped off.

I wrapped the clay doll back in its sacking, and then, looking twice round me, hid it in the hollow of an oak tree, high and out of Jennet's reach, before setting off to get Gran.

From twenty paces away I saw her, her face uplifted. A nimbus of golden light shone about her, bathing her skin. Before me I saw a vision of how she must have looked as a young woman, full beautiful and not blind, for her moist, yearning eyes gazed up at her lover, her Tibb, and though I could not see him, I knew she did. I knew him to be there. Rapt as Gran herself, I stared, unable to look away. Gran spoke to him, her lips moving whilst she listened to his replies. Such awe filled me, and for a spell I fair forgot about Jamie's clay poppet, about Mistress Towneley and Alice Nutter's plight. I'd only eyes for that astounding woman who was my gran.

Such powers! To think that her blood ran in my veins. In the days of the old religion, folk would have called her a saint for her gift of healing. They would have called Tibb her angel. But then I had to admit that wasn't true. Tibb was no angel. Whatever he was saying saddened her, for her eyes clouded and slowly the glow round her faded till I only saw my old gran with her wrinkled skin, alone and weeping.

Hitching up my skirts, I ran to her.

"Our Alizon, an ill wind blows."

"I know it," I said, about to tell her of Jamie's misdeed, and then I found I could not, fearing that such knowledge would break her. Besides, Jamie was only simple and I truly believed he'd no idea of the woe he could wreak.

"Gran," I said instead, "I fear Mistress Towneley is in danger. Can you say a blessing for her? I saw Chattox this day." How I trembled at my lie, wondering if Gran would see right through me. "I saw her with a clay figure in her basket, and this time I was bold and wrested it from her. She wished ill on Mistress Towneley for refusing her alms. If I gave you the clay picture, could you undo the harm?"

I held my breath, waiting, whilst she rubbed the tears from her eyes. If this talk of Chattox distressed her so, how much more despairing would she be if she knew that Jamie was the culprit?

"I've never known Mistress Towneley to refuse alms," she said at last. "Poor Chattox is off her head." She gripped my arm and heaved herself off the boulder.

My arm round her middle, I guided her down the track and back home, getting her settled upon her stool before I sprinted out the door to fetch the clay doll. My hand reached into the tree hollow where I'd left it. But it wasn't there. Jamie must have seen me hiding it, for it was well gone.

Gran murmured her charms and blessing whilst I prayed for Mistress Towneley till my knees ached. As for Jamie, whenever he so much as saw me step toward him, he turned tail and fled. When he had to come in to eat, he closed his ears to me.

"Mistress Towneley means you no ill," I told him, standing over his pallet whilst he lay there pretending to sleep. "She's troubles enough of her own. Our Jamie, please. What about your immortal soul?"

"My soul belongs to Jesus Christ," he said, his eyes squeezed shut. "I gave only part of my soul to Dandy."