The Vanishing Witch (39 page)

Robert closed his eyes, shuddering at the memory of his son’s bloated body, dragged from the water. ‘You were . . . fond of Jan, I know. The shock of his death, it . . .’

She shook her head, glancing fearfully out of the open door. Then she leaped to her feet, pushed past him and dragged it shut, plunging them into darkness. The only
light came from the deep, ruby glow of the embers in the oven. She drew so close to Robert that he could smell her sour breath. For an insane moment he thought she would attempt to kiss him. Alarmed, he tried to back away, but succeeded only in knocking over a pile of pots.

‘Did Tenney speak to you?’ she whispered urgently. ‘Did he tell you what Godwin told him about Widow Catlin and Leonia?’

Robert was bewildered. ‘Godwin? I know no one by that name. Beata, we need to decide what’s to be done with you. You’ve given good service to my family, but—’

‘You must listen, Master Robert. Leonia is enchanting Adam. It’s already begun.’

A fond smile crossed Robert’s lips. ‘Leonia has the gift of enchanting everyone. It’s good if she can coax young Adam into better humour.’

‘It isn’t good
at all! Adam is no more than a nestling, but Leonia, she’s a woman. She can seduce—’

‘No!’ Robert’s face flushed with indignation. ‘She’s just a child.’ Even as he uttered the words he knew deep down that they weren’t quite true, but that only made him the more annoyed.

He tried to remember that Beata was sick and attempted to keep the anger from his voice. ‘If Leonia is kind to Adam, it’s because
she’s a tender, motherly girl and naturally feels pity for the boy, that’s all. But, of course, if you have proof otherwise, you’d better tell me at once.’

‘I do have proof,’ Beata gabbled, then turned her head, staring wildly at the wall, as if she were addressing someone Robert couldn’t see. ‘I will speak, I will . . . You can’t stop me! All three of them—’ She broke off with a strangled cry,
her hands clutching at her throat, then fell to the floor, her back arching, jerking violently.

Robert ran to the door, flung it wide and shouted for help. He glanced around and, seeing a beaker of small ale on the table, he snatched it up and dashed the liquid into her face, but still she convulsed. Tenney came running across the yard, closely followed by Diot.

‘Look at her! It’s as plain as
a pig’s arse, she has the falling sickness,’ Diot announced triumphantly. She hurried back towards the house as if she couldn’t wait to apprise her mistress of every detail.

Beata’s jerking gradually subsided and she lay still, as white as a shroud. Robert strode across the yard, beckoning Tenney to follow. He kept his voice low, not wanting to distress Beata and bring on another attack.

‘When
Beata has recovered sufficiently to be moved, put her in the cart and take her to the infirmary at the convent of St Mary Magdalene. Give them this for her admission.’ He fumbled in his purse and brought out a gold coin, which he handed to Tenney. ‘If they can make her well, they may take her in as a lay servant but tell them she cannot return here. If she should be overcome near a fire or on the
stairs, she could kill herself. The nuns will know to set her to work where she risks least harm, in the gardens, perhaps.’

Tenney tried to thrust the coin back at Robert. ‘Master Robert, it’s not the falling sickness, I’m sure of it. It’s grief over Mistress Edith and Jan, and now she’s fretting herself sick over you and young Adam. If she could but sleep without dreaming . . . I’ll ask the
nuns if they have a potion to help her. I know if she could just rest—’

‘There is no sleep without dreams,’ Robert told him firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Tenney. I know you’re fond of her, but I cannot have the curse of the falling sickness in my house. I’m master of the Guild of Merchants. With business already as bad as it is, if this should become known, I’d be ruined. No one would trade with me for
fear of it and then I’d have to part with you and Diot too. Besides, it’s not just the sickness. It’s her insane accusations – poisoned wine and skulls! Beata herself admitted that her aunt had run mad. I fear she’s afflicted with the same tainted blood, and what if she should attack Catlin or Leonia? I’d never forgive myself.’

But Tenney would not give up easily. ‘Please don’t shut her away,
Master Robert. I’ll ask her to wed me. I’ve been meaning to for years, but never got around to it. We could rent one of your cottages. I’d keep her out of harm’s way. I know she’s not the fairest lass in the cabbage patch, but I’m not the best-looking man either and she’s a good soul. She doesn’t deserve to be walled up.’

‘No one who has the falling sickness can marry. The Church forbids it and
I forbid it,’ Robert said. ‘She’ll have a good life in the nunnery, plenty of women to gossip with and people to care for her. You will take her to Magdalene’s this morning, Tenney. I’ll not be dissuaded from this.’

He turned away towards the house, but for the first time in his life, Tenney laid hold of his master’s arm and pulled him back. Robert stared at him, as if he, too, had run mad.

‘Beg pardon, Master Robert, but Beata was right. There’s something I have to tell you. Maybe if I’d come straight out with it and told you soon as I got home, she wouldn’t . . . It’s like this. I got talking to a man—’

Tenney froze, staring at something over Robert’s shoulder. A look of fear passed across his face. He quickly averted his eyes, and strode back to the kitchen. Alarmed, Robert turned
to see what had frightened him, but saw nothing untoward, only little Leonia standing in the open doorway, her lips parted in her usual beguiling smile.

If a man or woman is sick, take the water that has been used to wash them and fling it on the track outside. The first living creature, human or animal, to pass over the wet ground shall take the illness upon themselves and the sufferer will recover.

I rushed at the door of the infirmary as soon as it opened, but Sister Ursula and the two lay sisters who flanked her were on their
guard. Afore I even reached the door, they’d grabbed my arms. I yelped as their fingers dug again into the bruises they’d already made. They steered me back to the little bed. The twenty or so patients in the long chamber watched me warily as if they thought I might start screaming or biting, like they did.

My bed, like the others, was enclosed on three sides by high wooden panels. There was
even a fourth panel, which could be bolted to the remaining side, like a cupboard door, to lock the patient inside for hours, as I knew only too well.

The lay sisters were spiteful cats, especially when the nuns weren’t around. They were always grumbling about the filthy work they were forced to do because they were low-born or bastards, while the daughters of wealthy families had dowries to
buy their way into an easy life at the convent. The lay sisters dared not complain to the nuns so they took it out on us. It was no good appealing to them, but a nun would surely listen to reason.

‘Sister Ursula, please, I must speak with Master Robert. I’m so afeared for him. He doesn’t know how wicked she is. She’ll destroy him and poor little Adam, else send them mad. They’re both such innocents.
I have to warn him.’

‘I am quite certain,’ Sister Ursula said sternly, ‘that a wealthy merchant like your master is far from innocent in the matter of women and more than capable of dealing with any female who has designs on him.’

‘But he isn’t,’ I protested. ‘You must let me out. I have to talk to him, tell what we’ve learned, for Tenney’s too afeared to do it. I swear I’ll not linger, not
if he doesn’t want me there. I’ll go as soon as I’ve made him understand.’

The two lay sisters smirked, as if I had told a bawdy joke. ‘You’ll not be going anywhere, will she, Sister?’ one said. ‘In here for life, that’s right, isn’t it?’

‘That will do,’ Sister Ursula snapped. ‘Amice has soiled herself again. She needs her bed linen changing.’ She nodded towards an ancient, toothless woman,
who huddled naked on the edge of the bed, rocking and whimpering to herself.

‘Wh-what did they mean, for life?’ I said, panic rising.

Sister Ursula wouldn’t look at me, but occupied herself with trying to draw the sheet up around me as if I was a bairn she was tucking up for the night.

‘Some of the sick we can cure,’ she said, ‘but others will always be in need of our care. It’s rare that those
with the falling sickness are completely cured, though we pray daily for miracles, and if it is God’s will—’

I tried to struggle out of the bed again. ‘But I don’t have the falling sickness. I’ve not fallen into a fit once since I came here, you know that. It’s the girl. She casts the evil eye. She makes me see things, sends demons to torment my sleep. When I’m away from her I’m well, but if
she’s near, she strikes me dumb, so I can’t name her.’

‘Then you’ll be safe in here, won’t you?’ Sister Ursula said, as if I was a simpleton who needed to be calmed. ‘Whoever you fancy is trying to harm you can’t reach you in here, not while you’re surrounded by the protection of the blessed St Mary. And, besides, where else could you go? You should be giving thanks daily to the Holy Virgin that
your master found you a place here. For you’ve no work and no family. What would become of you if we cast you out? You’d become a beggar or a harlot.’

‘Not much danger of her becoming a whore with that face, Sister,’ one of the lay women called over. ‘You want to think yourself lucky, Pock-head. At least you spent half your life outside. Old Amice has been in here since she were a girl, and she’ll
die in here, won’t you, you filthy old gammer? And not before time.’

‘No!’ I scrambled out of bed, shoved Sister Ursula aside and fled to the door. ‘I’m not sick. I’ll not be kept in here. It’s that witch who should be locked up.’

I pushed against the door with all my strength, pounding on the wood and twisting the iron handle, but it wouldn’t yield. Even as I tried to smash my way out, the
two lay sisters grabbed me again. They glanced back, waiting for instructions from Sister Ursula, who came hurrying up.

‘She needs a bath to calm her,’ Sister Ursula said.

My legs buckled beneath me. ‘No, please, not that again,’ I moaned. ‘I’ll be quiet. I’ll sit still, I promise. Please!’

It took four of them in the end to drag me into the small, windowless chamber, and force me, naked, into
the deep wooden tub filled with cold water drawn from one of the many dark wells. I fought them every inch of the way, bruising myself as I struggled and kicked, scraping my arms on the wood. I thought I was strong from years of hard work, but the lay sisters were stronger and they forced me down. One held my head in the lock of her arm until the two halves of the wooden lid of the tub were bolted
around my neck, sealing me into the icy water, leaving only my head poking out of the top.

Two of the women took turns pouring water from a jug over my face to cool my brain, till I thought I would suffocate. I screamed, choked and swore at them, beating my fists against the wood, trying to break free, but they continued until finally I sat still, defeated and sobbing. I couldn’t win. I couldn’t
fight them.

They left me, locked in the freezing water, numb with cold and fear.

‘There’s nothing to fret about. With the lid fastened around your neck, you can’t drown even if you wanted to. You’ll come to no harm,’ they said. ‘What’s there to be afraid of? You’re safe here.’

They closed the door and left me, shivering, alone in the darkness – alone, that is, until the eels came swimming out
of the thick green water.

If June be sunny, harvest comes early, but a leak in June sets all in tune.

If a spell is cast over a flock of chickens causing them to sicken, or the cows’ milk to dry up, then roast alive a bird from that flock or bury a calf from the herd alive and the spell shall be broken.

Gunter crouched in the punt and leaned over the river, dashing handfuls of cool water over his sweating face. He and Hankin had carried a load of timber downriver to
Kirkstead. It was needed as scaffolding for the repair work at the abbey. It wasn’t a great distance, but the loading and unloading had been time-consuming and hard. The river was low, and heaving the heavy poles and planks upwards onto the bank had not been easy. The lay brothers sent to fetch the wood from the jetty had been an idle and insolent pair, who’d made it plain they did not regard it
as their responsibility to lift so much as a splinter until the cargo was on dry land. So Gunter and little Hankin had been forced to unload the wood between them while the lay brothers sat on the back of their wagon, swigging ale and watching them work.

Gunter had been hoping the abbey would have a load to send down to Boston or back up to Lincoln, but the lay brothers’ wagon had arrived empty
and he knew that so late in the afternoon there was little chance of obtaining another cargo elsewhere. So, he’d decided to draw breath and eat a bite or two before punting back upstream.

He shifted his weight back into the centre of the boat, frowning as the boy grabbed the edge of the punt when it rocked with his motion. It pained him to see Hankin so afraid of the water that he’d once treated
as a second skin. This time last year, if they’d stopped to eat in the heat of the day, the lad would have torn off his clothes and dived over the side before Gunter had even settled himself down, plunging and rolling in the water, like a young otter, for the sheer pleasure of it. But since his near-drowning in the Braytheforde, the boy was as anxious as a minnow in a pool of pike when he was
anywhere near the river.

Gunter tried to tell himself it was as well that the scare had made him understand the danger and respect the river. Like most boys his age, Hankin had treated the water with a careless indifference, certain he was invincible. Gunter told Nonie it would do the boy no harm to learn that the river could turn from friend to enemy in a heartbeat, but he could not convince
himself of that.

Hankin had been ill with a fever for nearly two weeks after the ducking. The water had got into his lungs and he coughed it up day and night. Nonie had made warming poultices to lay on his chest and given him a decoction of herb of grace to drink, which she’d picked from their own small vegetable patch. A neighbour had offered some precious syrup of marsh poppy to ease the pains
of his fever and help him to sleep but he’d woken screaming and flailing as if he were still under the green water, trying to reach the air. Sometimes Gunter had the same dreams. A man with a blanched face and sightless eyes had a hand round his throat and was dragging him down into the cold, dark depths.