The Curse of Becton Manor

by Patricia Ayling

‘Aye, but you may be wrong about her death not affecting us.’ She moved closer to Kathleen and looked around as if suspecting eavesdroppers.

  ‘Some educated men say it is the mercury and lead in her face powders and lip colour. They say she has been using more of late, layer upon layer to disguise her ageing years.’

  Kathleen looked perturbed. ‘Nay, the queen has used the face mixture for years.’

  ‘Aye, but there is a physician who is saying the poison in the powders dulls the wits. If this be true, we must not allow Lady Mary to use it anymore. If she became ill, Kathleen, thy would be to blame.’

  Kathleen looked concerned, until footsteps startled both women. A tall shape appeared in the room.

  ‘Forgive me…the door was ajar, hast thou not felt a draft here?’ Edward Griffin’s sardonic grin was foreboding, Kathleen thought, as she watched him glance from her to Anne.

  Anne became flustered. ‘How long hast thou been here, sir?’

  There was a hint of a smile on his face. Kathleen thought Anne was afraid of him. She suddenly stood stiff and fiddled with her hands as if she shouldn’t be there with her friend. Kathleen was angered by Griffin’s delight that, should Lady Mary become ill, her own livelihood would be threatened.

  Neither dared ask what he might have overheard. Kathleen was sure he had heard them discussing the concern of the lead face powders. The man would have most likely heard every word, he was that kind of man. She watched him walk over to her box, cursing that it had been left in a prominent place.

  ‘What a beautiful specimen! Where did you get this from, Mistress Kathleen?’ He came close and examined the precious stones.

  ‘I have had it a long time.’ Kathleen broke his concentration, stepping to face him with a steely glare. ‘Why are you here, sir?’

  ‘Why do most people visit a herb wife? I have constant headaches and have been told you are good at what you do.’

  Kathleen felt her stomach churn in this man’s company. She thought perhaps Anne was right: there should be no more ceruse. She didn’t want to cure him of anything, only to harm him before he harmed her. She knew he would slander her in no time if she gave him nothing, so she gave some opium juice and some feverfew.

  ‘Go back to your house, sir. You can sleep early this evening. Keep your windows open.’

  Griffin half smiled again as he thanked her.

  He turned to offer Anne his arm in readiness to leave. He looked at Kathleen as she was about to close the door behind them, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘I am to return if I feel no better?’

  Kathleen tried hard not to say ‘never’ but calmly replied, ‘If you feel better, sir in the morning, you need not visit me again. This one treatment can be free, sir.’

  He nodded before adding, ‘The boys’ old tutor…Father Peters, isn’t it? You remember him I’m sure. I have unfinished business with him. Do you know where he resides?’

  Kathleen tried again to keep calm. ‘No, sir, I have not seen him since you replaced him.’

  Griffin did not seem convinced. ‘Hmm… Well I am sorry, madam, to have disturbed you. Forgive me but you look in need of medicine yourself, so heavy with woe. No doubt you have much on your mind. I will find the priest, don’t worry about that. One further thing. Methinks, madam, you should hide that beautiful box of yours lest it be stolen. So many jewels…’tis a mystery how you have come to own such a fine specimen. Adieu madam.’

  At that, he patted Anne’s arm and escorted her from the cottage. Anne frowned as she quickly glanced over her shoulder at Kathleen. Griffin’s demeanour was so dominant over Anne. He was the one using witchery. She was totally controlled. Kathleen took a deep breath. She did not welcome his interest in the box or his meddling in her affairs. She closed the door and realised she was close to tears. There were many questions in her head. Could it be true? If the powders were dangerous, she was in trouble, but that devious, malevolent man was up to something.

  Chapter Thirteen

  October 1957

  The incident in the tunnel had been alarming for George but at least he didn’t vomit any more, thank God. Of course, he had to go home in my clothes. How we managed to evade my mum’s beady eyes on us when his dad turned up, I’ll never know. I had nicked her perfume bottle to spray a bit in the front bedroom and swung the window wide open. Towels and my clothes went into a garden sack. I would have to wash them when she was out again.

  After George had left, Annabel asked when he was coming again.

  ‘Maybe next Saturday.’

  She looked thoughtful. ‘It will be difficult. Gran’s coming to stay and she’ll be in that room.’

  I groaned.

  On the Sunday afternoon, I told my parents about the detention the following Friday evening. This, as I should have expected, required a whole explanation with bells and whistles.

  ‘I told you, for the umpteenth time, there are boys who pick on George for being small. We just had a fight, that’s all.’

  I had stormed outside, frustrated, and picked up Dad’s spade. I had dug like mad near the summer house, chucking dirt everywhere; it was a good way of banishing anxiety.

  I dug deep until I saw something shiny. The tin cup; the very same goblet with a worn away inscription that the raven grabbed from my hand. I’d forgotten all about it. I gave a cursory glance in the air before stuffing it into my trouser pocket. No sooner had I done so, when that bloody bird launched himself at me, screeching. I covered my face with one arm while trying to strike it with the other and run back to the house at the same time. He continually heckled me but my fear was turning into rage and, just before I reached the door, my elbow connected with his body so he screeched even louder but flew higher, allowing my swift escape. Once inside, the door firmly shut, it was me who was hyperventilating like George did. I hated that bloody raven.

  *

  By the Friday afternoon, in detention, I noticed that George put on new spectacles to replace the ones he’d lost in the tunnel. I commented that they looked fine.

  ‘I still had to have thick lens and frames, NHS rules or something.’

  ‘If you can see okay, George, don’t worry.’

  ‘Yeah. Mum wasn’t pleased when I told her I dropped the old ones in a field, right into some cow dung, then trod on them.’

  ‘Cow dung? Ha! What an excuse. I’ve still got to wash your clothes when Mum can’t see me. What did she say about wearing my clothes, by the way?’

  ‘She didn’t see. I’ve got them for you at home. I’ll bring them to your house.’

  ‘Hmm. My gran is coming to stay apparently and she’ll be sleeping in the front bedroom. Don’t know when she’s coming though.’

  George smiled, ‘It doesn’t matter. We found the passageway but we don’t have to come back that way, into her room. How long is she staying?’

  ‘Dunno. But hey, I’ve got something to show you. It’s that cup I told you about.’ I pulled the cup, still crusted with dry earth, from my bag. I began to rub at it with my thumb.

  ‘What, the one the bird stole from you? Let’s look at the words. Ooh, hardly clear but we could read the Latin and translate it.’

  ‘Quiet!’ yelled Mr Stephens as he entered the room to supervise the detention. ‘Two hundred lines this evening.’ There was a collective groan before we put our heads down to write two hundred boring lines:

  I must not fight on school grounds but think of other means to solve problems.

  What a load of tosh.

  ‘What did you have in your hand, Tom Winchett?’ Mr Stephens was striding towards us.

  ‘Nothing sir.’

  ‘Yes you did.’ He kept coming. ‘It’s there sticking out of your satchel.’ He tutted. ‘Let me see it.’

  I handed it to him.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ He was bent over me, waiting for my answer when George leapt into babble mode.

  ‘Tom’s house is haunted, sir, and there’s whisperings in Latin, well I think it may be Latin. The
re’s a tall dark ghost, who Tom thinks is a priest from Tudor times. That goblet is just part of hidden treasure, buried since the Elizabethan period—his house has a priest hole…and…there’s a secret tunnel, right under the house…and….’

  I turned around to see Mike Thompson and his two cronies watching us from the back of the classroom. Damn. I started coughing uncontrollably and nudged George, accidentally on purpose. He saw my annoyed nod towards Thompson, big ears straining to know more.

  Knowing what George could be like, Mr Stephens ignored him, but not before he examined the goblet.

  ‘Hmm…quite a specimen.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Not that I believe a word of your adventure story. Nevertheless, it sounds like a very good plot…this secret tunnel…but another time.’ He seemed to be embarrassed as he awkwardly dismissed us ‘Now, carry on with your work or there’ll be another detention next week.’

  Thompson would be sniffing around for details.

  At the end of detention, he blocked my exit from the room. ‘Where’s this tunnel then, and all that treasure, eh?’

  ‘Ha, you know George. You mean you actually believed him? You clot. Go and read Alice in Wonderland if you want to know about life under the ground. Now get out of the way.’ I heaved into his shoulder so he lost his balance, falling into the door.

  George quickly scurried past him, but Mike grabbed hold of his blazer. ‘Was all that fibs, you little squirt?’

  ‘Yes, idiot.’ He tutted. ‘Some people are so gullible, it’s pathetic.’ George shook him off and caught me up.

  ‘That was close,’ I said. ‘You really are going to have to learn to keep your gob shut.’

  *

  The next day, George was dropped off at my house and we waited impatiently for Mum and Dad to go shopping in Chesterfield.

  As the old car drove away, we shouted for Annabel. She had persisted about snitching if we didn’t let her go with us, so I had changed my mind. This could be fun.

  ‘Yes, I’m ready for your silly game.’ She was confident and happy to go second, between us.

  I turned to George, ‘Take off your trousers, George; better if we don’t wear any this time. When he looked embarrassed and glanced in Annabel’s direction I added, ‘She won’t look at anything.’

  I turned to her, ‘Look the other way!’ She did as she was told. Then it was her turn to be embarrassed as I demanded that she take off her skirt.

  ‘What? Just be in my blouse and knickers?’

  This time George spluttered.

  ‘I told you… There’s water down there, drying a pair of knickers is easier than trousers or skirts. Take it off and we’ll put them all under the bed, just in case Mum comes in. This is no time to get all girlie!’

  I gave them each a long scarf. ‘Tie this around your waists. We need to tuck the torches into something when we climb down. It will make it easier, especially for you, Annabel. And no shoes.’

  ‘Huh!’

  George decided to leave his new spectacles behind, ‘It’ll all be blurred so you two will have to guide me.’

  Annabel still sounded confident. ‘Don’t worry, George. I’ll keep my eye on you.’

  I just knew her confidence wouldn’t last. For a start, I could tell all this preparation was making her nervous. She giggled incessantly and fidgeted. She was afraid, all right.

  She gaped at the chasm, then hesitated before turning round so that she could make the slow descent. ‘Where are the struts? You said there were little stumps or struts or something, a kind of ladder?’

  I’d just gone down ahead of her but now I was aware of the panic in her voice just above me.

  ‘You have to feel for them. There’s one just to your left…that’s it, now use your hand to hold on to the one on the right and lower your right leg.’

  She was so hesitant. If she fell, we’d be in big trouble. Her heavy panting showed how nervous she was. I tutted as she almost completely lost her footing half way down.

  At that precise moment, I regretted bringing her.

  ‘That’s not the worst one. Get a good hold, the last stump is broken so take more care.’

  Any calmness she had started with had gone. ‘What?’ she yelled, almost in tears. ‘I can’t hear you properly and I think I’ve cut my toe.’

  I watched her without repeating my warning. She was so jittery; any more instructions would completely break her nerve. I really didn’t think she was listening.

  I felt such relief when she landed at the bottom, giddy with nervous energy.

  ‘See, I did it. A piece of cake…just one small cut on my little toe, that’s all.’

  George, as ever, was polite. ‘Yeah, you did really well.’

  I bit my tongue.

  She surveyed the water. ‘Oh, this isn’t that bad. I could have kept my skirt on. it stinks though.’

  George and I grinned at one another, our faces strangely shadowy in the torchlight.

  ‘C’mon, then.’ I said.

  ‘Oh God, it smells foul and it’s cold. ‘

  ‘Annabel, stop moaning. We told you it stinks.’ What does she expect an underground tunnel to be? A fairy grotto?

  It wasn’t long before we reached what I thought was an old chamber, the deep part. By this time, Annabel had re-gained some confidence and waded past us. I was about to warn her about the much deeper bit when she disappeared under the surface, just like George had last time.

  ‘No!’ we yelled simultaneously.

  Too late. In a panic, she surfaced, gulping for air.

  ‘Can’t…’ she gulped again, extending her neck.

  Her hair plastered to her face, she resembled a deep sea monster, mouth pursed tightly and cheeks bulging to keep out the foul water. Then she spat out, ‘Can’t… swim!’ before she went under again.

  ‘What? You had swimming lessons!’ I yelled.

  ‘She can’t hear you. We’ll have to grab her and pull her to the side.’

  It was easier with two of us pulling her. She panicked as she saw something dangling from her sodden hair. ‘Urrgh, what’s that? There’s a rat on my head!’

  ‘Just a weed, silly.’ I picked it off. ‘You stay here and hold on to this ledge.’

  ‘You can’t leave me here!’ Annabel pleaded, gasping for air and shaking frantically.

  ‘You can’t swim, so what else are you going to do?’

  George was more sympathetic. ‘It’s only a few yards before it gets shallow. We can pull her through it.’

  ‘I might drown, I might drown, no!’

  ‘Shut up!’ I was furious. ‘Okay. Grab one arm and I’ll take the other.’ I snapped at George, and then shouted at her, ‘Keep your head high above the water and try kicking out your legs behind you. Didn’t you listen when you had lessons in the swimming baths?’

  She had no choice but to do as I said as we dragged her forward through the water, until she yelled, ‘Ouch, my legs. I’ve hit some hard rocks, oh no.’

  ‘At least you can’t drown now. Shut up!’

  It was the bit where we had to crawl like crabs and she bubbled again, her snotty nose disgusting. ‘Oh, what do I have to do now?’

  As we breathed again, I had another ‘go’ at her. ‘Just crawl. Why didn’t you swim back there? You had swimming lessons, didn’t you?’

  She was still gasping for breath and looked hurt. ‘I didn’t finish them. I was ill, remember, and never got the certificate.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I didn’t believe all this!’

  George interrupted, ‘Leave it now, the pair of you. We’ve got to move on.’ We were so busy arguing; we hardly noticed how dark it had become.

  George’s head was a mere outline as he said, quizzically, ‘I don’t remember it being this dark, Tom.’

  Of course, that spooked Annabel.

  ‘Oh I’m frightened. I want to go back.’ She was about to burst into tears. I had to be harsh.

  ‘Shut up,’ I
yelled. ‘You wanted to do this, remember.’

  She stifled her sobs, while George reassured her. ‘It doesn’t last.’

  Annabel yelled again, ‘I want to go back… Now!’

  ‘Get hold of her waist, George and help her. I’m going on a bit further.’ Annabel was getting on my nerves.

  ‘Oh, God, what is that? I can’t stand it, something is tickling my leg, argh!’ Annabel shrieked.

  ‘Just keep going!’

  ‘It must be a rat. They carry disease. Oh my God, hurry.’

  ‘Or it might be an adder.’ I couldn’t resist one last jibe. ‘I’ll catch you up; just want to go a bit further.’

  ‘Argh…quick, quick.’ Annabel was causing frantic echoes; ‘quick…quick…quick…’

  George wanted to wait for me, ‘Hurry up Tom. We’ll wait at the foot of the ladder.’

  Feeling a bit under pressure, I crawled along the stones and lapping water until I spotted three stone steps on the right hand side of a wide vault. The steps were obviously once a way out into the garden. It was hard to judge the distance but I had a wild guess it would open out near the old shed.

  The water became a bit deeper nearer the steps and it was then that I stubbed my toe on something really hard. Shining my torchlight downwards and putting my hand in the water, I pulled up a metal box with a decorated top, an elongated cross of what appeared to be gemstones. As I examined it, someone tall bent closely right over me, blocking my torchlight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  February 1598

  The Earl of Becton and Lady Charlotte finally returned from London at the end of January. Queen Elizabeth had welcomed them at Court for festivities up until the twelfth night, but many had noticed her weariness and melancholy. Some courtiers wondered if her condition had anything to do with the lead-based make-up: rumours of the physician’s theories were spreading fast.

  After the earl and his wife had returned to Charlotte’s sister’s house, however, they were notified by a messenger that Queen Elizabeth had made a good recovery from whatever had ailed her. The physician’s claims had been ignored and his beliefs about ceruse being poisonous were deemed to be plain nonsense. Her illness was nothing to do with the painting of her face.