The Curse of Becton Manor

by Patricia Ayling

  Although still struggling to breathe, Henry wasted no time running back to the Hall, glancing back from time to time, imagining Griffin close on his heels.

  Anne disliked sitting alone among roaring men, and ran out to find Griffin. She shouted at the enraged women.

  ‘Stop! What are you doing? This is a respectable schoolmaster!’

  ‘This “respectable schoolmaster” was strangling a young boy, for your information, Miss High and Mighty!’

  ‘Let go of him. I will see to him now.’

  The second woman waddled up to Anne.

  ‘Aren’t you the governess at the big house? Surprised you keep the company of the likes of him.’ She gestured to Griffin, straightening his body and shaking off dirt. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if it’s your own pretty neck he’s squeezing, one day.’

  The two women glared back at Griffin as they began to walk off, muttering to one another.

  Then one picked the rat up again and threw it at him. It landed right in the middle of his back. They giggled as they went off, arm in arm.

  Edward Griffin noted the look of horror and disgust on Anne’s face.

  ‘That boy accused me of poisoning the earl. He is dangerous…to us, Anne. Listen to me. I want us to be wed, but first I must make myself a worthy man, as is only proper, to give you everything I should.’

  There was a pause as he held her arms tightly by her sides and studied her response.

  ‘Our future together is at risk unless we prove that witch is to blame. I need her wretched box of medicines, to prove my innocence, and I need that papist to return my money to me. They should both meet their end: for our sakes, for our future. I cannot wed you, only to look forward to a wretched and poor existence. We are worthy of more.’

  Anne looked at the pathetic pleading figure before her, dishevelled and filthy. She didn’t really want him to touch her. He had been furious when she told him she couldn’t find his money chest, so much so that she thought he was going to strike her, and now the comments from that washer woman served to deepen her mistrust.

  For the first time, she felt afraid of the darkness in his face, the coldness in his eyes.

  She must banish thoughts of his greed and evilness. She must believe that he was a man of honour: ruthless, yes, but men with ambition always are.

  ‘I will help you, Edward. We will get your money back, one way or another. We will not be defeated.’

  She would help. He was right. She wanted the security of marriage to a wealthy man and he knew it. He wanted the box he’d carelessly left in the schoolroom; he wanted the jewelled chest and he wanted the money that was stolen from him at the inn.

  He was obsessed with the desire to see the witch and the priest hang. Perhaps after that, he would show his desire for her. It had to be done. Then they could escape to start a new life.

  Chapter Twenty

  March 1958

  Lifting the stone slab with the shrieking flapping raven disturbed my dad for the next few days. He didn’t say much, but I had a hunch that these were the kind of incidents he didn’t want to meddle with.

  I heard him talking to my mum one evening after dinner.

  ‘To hell with discovering the secrets of this damned house. It might be wiser to leave well alone, cover the hole and seal that bloody panel once and for all. What happened then, all that bloody time ago, has nothing to do with us…and furthermore, that bloody bird is insane, I’m telling you: insane!’

  He’d been excited when he saw the chalice on Christmas Eve, and he’d agreed that we would all work together to investigate the strange incidents. Now, he forbade any further digging or going into tunnels and would seal all ‘holes’ as soon as the warm weather came. I felt tethered as if bound by rope. Dad being out of work meant that he would keep a close eye on me.

  Over the next few weeks, although George came to the house, we just played board games or cards or went for walks. Some of our friends had the new television sets, but Dad had said no to us: ‘No job, no television.’ He just got tetchier and watched us closely to stop any exploring.

  One weekend in early March, Arthur brought George. Gran opened the door.

  Arthur asked to speak to Dad.

  ‘Good news, mate. There’s a job for you if you want it, working with me and Harry, who did your electrics. The company want some old mills clearing for renovation. I reckon it’s about £560 a year, but better than nothing. There might be overtime…that’s if you don’t dig up any more buried treasure in the meantime!’

  He threw his head back laughing, before adding, ‘Why don’t you come to the Old Gatehouse tonight for a few pints? Celebrate, like.’

  I saw Gran scowling and then Mum hurrying into the hall, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Oh Albert, I don’t think you should go, dear. You haven’t been out drinking in ages.’

  ‘No, I haven’t, have I? In fact, not since coming to live here. All the more reason to go, Alice.’

  I don’t think Dad wanted Arthur to think he had to do what Mum told him to do. Which was actually what did happen most of the time.

  ‘Right then,’ said Arthur. ‘See you there about seven?’

  ‘Aye, I’ll have the car. I’m just about keeping it on the road. Bread and jam on the table though.’ He gave a little excited laugh. ‘I’ll see you both there.’

  As he went upstairs, Mum said in a low voice to Gran, ‘Oh, we can run to a few drinks in a pub, especially with the find of the chalice. If what you say is right, Mum, we’ll manage all right. Not that I really want to sell it, mind.’

  *

  Dad was only a few hundred yards from home when the accident happened. We all heard the collision and ran from the house. The mangled wreck was smoking, the bonnet pointing skywards, and the side of the car had a half moon dent where it had been rammed against the tree.

  There was broken glass everywhere and Dad was slumped over the wheel, the horn loud and continual.

  ‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Mum. ‘Run down to the telephone box, Annabel, and call 999. Tom, you help me try and lift him out.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Gran. ‘He mustn’t be moved, Alice. He’s breathing but we don’t know the extent of the damage. It’s important to keep talking: he might be able to hear. He is breathing, though. Shallow, but he is breathing.’ She tried humour, ‘Just like my son-in-law to worry us! No more going to the pub for you on a Friday night!’

  Mum anxiously repeated, ‘Oh my God, Oh my God.’ Her hands cupping her cheeks.

  It wasn’t easy for the ambulance to get up the dirt track; Mum was hoping it wouldn’t get stuck in mud as it was still pouring down. She heard the siren coming closer and then saw the blue flashing light through the trees. The ambulance men worked quickly and efficiently while cursing the foul weather.

  They were able to force off the driver’s door and then, protecting his head, neck and spine carefully, lifted him out of the car and onto a stretcher. They talked to him, but again no response.

  One shone a torch into his eyes, while at the same time shouting his name. The other warned about the use of oxygen as he could smell burning.

  ‘We have to hurry, mate,’ he warned his associate. ‘We’ll give him oxygen in the ambulance.’ He turned to Mum. ‘Are you his wife?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s in good hands now, love. Come in the ambulance and sit down a bit before you collapse. We’ll need some details.’

  Mum climbed into the ambulance but looked back at her mother. ‘Look after the kids,’ was all she could say.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ a dripping Dorothy reassured her. ‘They’ll be fine and so will Albert; you’ll see.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  June 1598

  After the earl was buried, Gilbert was keen to scrutinise his brother’s accounts. He felt disturbed by what had been going on. His sister-in-law defended the schoolmaster against accusations of poisoning, and blamed the deaths of her husband and daughte
r on Kathleen Melton. But he listened to others, who were convinced Edward Griffin was guilty. He would need to go through the ledgers in detail; something was seriously amiss.

  He recalled how Griffin had been eavesdropping the day he’d discussed the accounts with his brother. He was now deeply suspicious of the arrogant young man and, being aware of Charlotte’s dark moods and desire to get her own way, he worried about the fate of the herb wife. He’d listened while she vehemently denounced Kathleen as a witch and stated her intent to alert the magistrates.

  There was relief when she went back to her sister in London, taking not only Oliver but Henry with her as his companion. She had given orders that Frances was in charge of the house. Margaret and Anne were to leave with an allowance and Ged was to look after the garden, the horses and the dogs.

  She did not know when she would return.

  Gilbert was impressed with her clarity of thought after so many years in the past, when she’d often pleaded with her husband that she was unable to cope with household affairs. Now, her absence would give him essential time to examine the situation at the manor.

  Gilbert settled down in the peace of the evening to study the accounts. He strode to the cabinet to pour himself a brandy, then hesitated, remembering the accusations of poisoning. He sniffed the top of the pitcher and shook his head. He called Frances to wash the pitcher, just in case something still lingered. This Edward Griffin had caused such grief.

  *

  On Sunday morning, the villagers were gathering outside the church in Becton’s neighbouring village. Services there, as in many others of the parish, were always well attended, especially those days, when failure to do so resulted in a shilling fine.

  As the last couple entered, the vicar saw a stranger approach. A tall, shabbily dressed, hooded man staggered to the door.

  ‘I have not seen you before, good fellow. Are you a newcomer to this village?’

  ‘Yes, vicar. I hope I am welcome?’

  ‘Of course you are welcome. You look forlorn, sir. Do you need help?’

  ‘I have lost my job and my coin. I am near to starving.’

  ‘We may be able to help you, come in. Our parish overseers will decide who will benefit, but we have little funds, you must understand. Many farmers now suffer, deprived of land now used for sheep.’ He waited while the stranger nodded before adding, ‘The Earl of Becton took on a new representative who drives a hard line. A reedy man by all accounts.’

  ‘Yes, I have heard of this atrocity.’ The man shook his head as he entered the church and sat quietly at the back of the congregation. A few heads turned to look at him.

  He listened to the sermon and, when it was over, the vicar asked those who wanted to claim from the parish poor rate to come forward. He asked the newcomer to stand. He reminded the congregation of the need to be humanitarian towards others, those new to the parish who had fallen on hard times.

  People turned again but were suspicious. No one welcomed vagrants in the village and many suffered the stocks. The vicar looked around the congregation. He did not want trouble.

  Kathleen Melton watched as the man standing at the back lowered his hood. She gasped with horror: Edward Griffin.

  He saw her and, focusing on the vicar, quickly spoke.

  ‘I thank you for your kindness. Your sermon spoke of judging and ridding the village of evil. I feel it is my duty to bring something to mind, in this holy house.’ He then paused to ensure he had everyone’s attention. ‘The Lord God does not suffer witches…in the book of Exodus. Am I right, good vicar?’

  The vicar nodded but looked worried. Griffin continued. ‘Well, good people, we have one in our midst.’ There was a gasp of horror from some in the congregation as Griffin pointed to Kathleen. ‘There she is: the herb woman. She cursed me and made me ill by the side of the road. I warn this congregation; she is a deceitful sorceress.’

  The church echoed with the murmur of shock, but what was worse for Kathleen was the sea of accusing eyes around her.

  Griffin continued: ‘It is her medicine that has caused the deaths of the Earl of Becton and his daughter Mary. Can we feel safe while this woman, who is actually a demon, is free to kill our children?’ He looked back to the vicar.

  He spotted the man who had seen him vomiting after his confrontation with Kathleen.

  ‘Ask the people, Father, for confirmation of this. What about you, man?’ He pointed to the man he had seen. ‘You came out of your house and saw that I was sick. You heard her curse me; you were there!’

  The vicar turned to the man in question. ‘You are in the house of God, my good man. You must be honest. Is this true? Did you see this man get sick after being cursed by Mistress Melton?’

  The man was very quiet but, prompted by the words of the vicar, he stood and faced the congregation. He was an honest, God-fearing man, and he looked over to Kathleen, not wanting to do her any harm. Eventually he spoke.

  ‘This woman has done me no harm, but I have to say that yes, one evening I did hear a commotion outside my house.’ He paused.

  ‘Go on, my good man,’ encouraged the vicar. ‘Did Mistress Melton curse this man?’

  The little man paused, then stuttered, ‘She did curse him, Father’. There was another pause while the congregation gasped again.

  He continued, pointing towards Griffin, ‘And this man was violently sick. She threw some seeds or something at him.’ He did not relish accusing Kathleen, a neighbour, and hung his head low rather than look in her direction.

  Kathleen looked down and felt her stomach sink. The shrewd Griffin did not let the congregation see his brief grin as he bowed his head. He lifted it quickly, looking forlorn and needy.

  All heads now turned towards Kathleen. A second man stood up and admitted that his daughter Jennet had died after she had visited the house of the herb wife.

  Kathleen shot up to her feet. ‘Jennet had been a good friend of my daughter for years and had visited Ruth often. She was already very ill on the day she came to my cottage. I did not use medicine.’

  The man angrily pointed his finger at her.

  ‘Jennet got worse and died the same night that she had been with you.’

  Kathleen, still standing but feeling unsteady on her feet, badly wanted someone to speak in her favour.

  ‘Who can speak for me? I am not a witch. I seek counsel from many physicians. I have cured many of you of sickness. What say you?’

  One woman stood.

  ‘Kathleen Melton is a good woman. She has helped me many times when I was with child. My children are all fit and well. I say she is no witch.’

  A few more women agreed but there remained tension and a sense of fear on the faces of the congregation.

  The humming sound of low whisperings sounded like a swarm of bees trapped inside the church. There were mutterings mentioning the Earl of Becton and Lady Mary. People were looking at her accusingly.

  Sitting beside Kathleen, Jack held her hand to steady her nerves.

  ‘Don’t listen to it, mother.’ Ruth was close to tears.

  Kathleen felt on trial so, as silence now descended in the church, she spoke again. ‘I am not guilty of these things. I work as a healer.’

  She paused. ‘The earl’s death is not my doing, but his.’ She shot out her arm to point at Edward Griffin. Anger now drove her. She was shouting. ‘This man poisoned the earl with belladonna. Let him be on trial.’

  There was another loud gasp. The vicar looked perplexed but quickly recovered his composure. He felt that it was his duty to calm the congregation. Looking at Edward Griffin, he began slowly to question him.

  ‘What motive would Mistress Melton have had, to interfere between you and the earl, sir?’

  Edward Griffin scowled. It did not take him long to shock the people again, ‘I took my position from a recusant priest. The very same with whom this sorceress unlawfully resides.’

  There was yet another collective gasp, with all eyes turning towards Kathleen.r />
  The vicar gulped. This was indeed exceptional.

  ‘I believe this is a matter for governance outside these walls. These accusations are of a serious nature and must be reported to the magistrate. The parish cannot judge a man or woman guilty in this, the Lord’s house.’ He turned to Griffin. ‘Witchcraft, sir, is a pagan belief. One to which I do not subscribe. Of course witches of a true nature would not be welcome in this House, but Mistress Melton has done a lot of good here.’

  There was a further general low humming inside the church, such that the walls seemed to gently vibrate.

  ‘We will all now leave peacefully. You must understand…’ He now paused to look at Kathleen, then Griffin. ‘What you have both revealed has to be reported to those of a higher position than myself.’

  The congregation departed in a babble of gossip, all turning to stare at Kathleen as they went. Kathleen fought back tears.

  These accusations had indeed aroused a public detestation. She needed desperately to speak with Father Peters.

  Edward Griffin was seen patting the shoulders of Jennet’s father, who was nodding. This had been a conspiracy. She was furious.

  Griffin was now pursuing them, shouting loudly before the congregation dispersed.

  ‘You are racing home to your indecent bond with your Catholic recusant, witch! You will hang or burn if justice is done. The Lady Charlotte is consumed with hatred for you, madam.’

  Kathleen hurried on. Once at the cottage she grabbed her jewelled herb box and wrapped it tightly in coarse cloth. Her body shaking uncontrollably, she checked the windows to see that Griffin was not there, then tied it to Jack’s back.