Witch-Hunt

by Margit Sandemo

  At first, Charlotte stared blankly at the items. It was as though her brain had stopped working. Gently her hand touched the shawl. So many thoughts rushed through her head. Her throat felt dry. Then the blood rushed to her face, only to drain away almost at once. She heard her own rasping breaths when she snatched back her hand from the cloth as if it had been on fire. The room had started to spin before her eyes and she felt the unknown woman’s arms supporting her, leading her towards the bed. Then everything went black.

  Chapter 4

  When Charlotte Meiden stirred and came to her senses again, she found she was looking straight into those blue, anxious eyes. ‘You – you … ’ she stuttered. Then she sat up with a start, looking wildly again at the shawl and the brocade blanket. ‘No, I know nothing of these things. Now be gone and take them with you before I call for help!’

  ‘Mistress Charlotte, this is important,’ pleaded Silje. ‘You must hear what I have to say, because I know that you recognise them.’

  The genteel lady’s thin lips formed a contemptuous smile while her eyes, small and a little too close together for her to be beautiful, showed great fear. ‘So you are here only to demand ransom! You want nothing more than money to buy your silence! And what is the price of this silence?’

  ‘No!’ Silje was appalled. She was not accustomed to people questioning her honour. ‘I told Your Grace that I mean you no harm.’

  ‘You seek to take advantage of another woman’s misfortune – is that not harm enough? How were you able to find me?’

  Charlotte had managed to get to her feet and now stood facing Silje, her expression one of infinite distaste. But shock and alarm had left her face a pallid grey colour.

  ‘Your crest is embroidered on the linen cloth. I have known who you are for many years, but never had cause to trouble you. Not until now. For I see no other way open to me. A hateful man once tried to steal these things, because he had learned that there were letters embroidered on them. He would have found out who you were and extorted money from you. But luckily my husband stopped him and your name was never made known. Many times I have thought about you, Mistress Charlotte, and how difficult everything must have been. Then when I saw you I was sure that it was your child. I could tell straight away.’

  The Baron’s daughter fixed Silje with a questioning gaze as she lowered herself into the chair beside the table, her legs still unable to carry her.

  ‘We have met once before,’ Silje continued. ‘You don’t remember?’

  Charlotte Meiden pursed her lips, opened them, but no sound emerged. There was a vague expression on her pear-shaped face as she tried to search her memory. Why, yes! Those innocent blue eyes? There was a long silence, then she replied hesitantly, ‘Yes ... Just inside the city gates – on the very night. You were carrying a little girl in your arms. You were so terribly young and looked so cold. You spoke to me.’

  ‘Yes, I did. Please believe me, Mistress Charlotte, when I say that I have never thought badly of you. I realised that despair must have driven you to do what you did in spite of yourself. I found the little pot of milk .

  Charlotte was drowning in reawakened memories: the finality of what she had done; the freezing night; the hunger and loneliness the little mite must have suffered. And she was too late – too weak and cowardly – too late, too late! For a long time she sat slumped in the chair, her hands resting in her lap, and tears ran unchecked down her cheeks while she sobbed uncontrollably.

  ‘You should never have come,’ she managed to say at last, still choking back her tears. ‘You should not have brought all this back to me. I do not have the strength to go through it all again! To have taken the life of one’s own … Oh! Why did you come here? No good will ever come of this!’

  ‘I could do nothing else,’ said Silje softly. ‘We have done all we could to make sure that the children would be well cared for. Now they are in distress and will suffer more and more until they are so weak they die of hunger and exhaustion. Your little boy as well.’

  At that moment it seemed as if everything – time, the air itself – stood still and listened while Charlotte stared blankly at the pattern on a gilded leather wall-hanging. The heavy silence seemed to last for an eternity. Finally she turned slowly and faced Silje, who was starting to worry about how unwell she looked. ‘You mean – my child – is alive?’

  ‘Of course! I happened upon him not long after I had passed you and took him with me. I could not have left him there.’ Silje’s voice was almost apologetic. ‘It was so cold and he was crying so pitifully. You must believe me when I say that I should never have troubled you if the child had died. I could never have been that heartless.’

  Slender fingers reached out in desperation to grasp Silje’s arm. ‘A boy?’

  ‘A fine young boy,’ smiled Silje. ‘He will soon be five years old. But of course you know that. He is called Dag – Dag Christian. ”Christian” after your initials on the blanket.’

  The sound of Charlotte’s sobbing subsided and she sniffed and snuffled breathlessly, wiping her tears. ‘Oh, dear God,’ she breathed. ‘ I can hardly believe what you are saying. Thank you – thank you for what you have done?

  In the tense silence that followed, there was a sharp knock at the door of the anteroom.

  ‘Charlotte!’ called the stern voice of the Baroness. ‘Are you all right?’

  The young gentlewoman looked up in sudden panic, her eyes still red with tears. ‘Oh, no! That’s my mother!’ she whispered and ran from the bedchamber.

  The door handle was rattling loudly as her mother pushed against it. ‘Charlotte! Charlotte, what is going on in there.’

  ‘Nothing at all, mother. We are merely in conversation.’

  ‘I see. But all this time? You sound strange – may I come in?’

  ‘Presently, mother dear. I shall soon come downstairs. Be good enough to wait down there.’

  The woman was heard walking away, grumbling loudly as she did so. Charlotte now bolted the inner door, turned and stood resting her back against it, letting out a shuddering sigh of relief.

  ‘Is it true,’ her voice faltered, ‘that my child is alive – is that true? A little boy – Dag, you say? Why did you name him ”Dag”?’

  ‘Because I found him in darkness. I sought to preserve him from all the evil forces of the night. Besides, it was the little girl who led me to him. For my part I believed him to be a ”myling”.’

  Charlotte nodded. He would most certainly have become just such a lost soul if this woman had not …

  ‘I would gladly have run away. but for the little girl. A short time earlier I had come across her beside the body of her dead mother. In truth, it was she who saved the infants life, not I. We have also taken care of her since then.’

  ‘I remember now that I thought you looked very young to have a daughter so old,’ reflected Charlotte absent-mindedly. ‘Tell me, is he handsome?’

  Silje gave her a wry smile. ‘He takes after you. Mistress.’

  Charlotte pulled a face and with great self-irony declared. ‘The poor child!’

  Silje’s face lit up. So this distinguished lady had a sense of humour! Their eyes met for a moment, and both knew in that instant that they were kindred spirits, united by a shared secret.

  ‘He is a very line lad,’ Silje told her warmly. ‘He is blond, and has a thin noble face. He is good-natured, although perhaps at times a little particular and fussy. And very intelligent!’

  Charlotte had been daydreaming, reflecting inwardly and a rare smile was lighting up her face. Suddenly she remembered something and stepped quickly across to where Silje stood, grasping her arm. ‘You said he is in distress?’

  ‘All our children are suffering,’ Silje told her solemnly. ‘There is no future for us any more, Mistress Charlotte. A few days ago we were overtaken by disaster. After that my husband injured his foot and … ’ In spite of herself she could not go on and subsided into tears. Perhaps the release of the pent-up tension, th
e stress that had been building up all day, was to blame.

  Charlotte watched her feebly, unable to help. She, who had been fussed over since birth, had no idea how to comfort others. It was, quite simply, something she had never had to do. ‘Oh, there, there!’ she said awkwardly. ‘Sit down, please. Forgive me if I sound cold and offhand. That is not the real me, but you do understand that one must be careful with commoners, don’t you? We are Danes and nobles – not always welcomed by everyone in your country. The past five years have left their mark on me too. You must believe me – I have not had one minute of happiness in all that time. Such things make one bitter and distraught.’ She paused. ‘How many children do you have?’

  ‘Three,’ muttered Silje, pulling herself together with a great effort. ‘The boy and the girl, who are our foundlings, and a little daughter of our own. She is three years old.’

  ‘And you are carrying another?’ said Charlotte in a conspiratorial whisper.

  ‘But how did you know? Oh, of course, it is something women always know.’

  ‘I see it by your skin – the way the light shines through it. Now, something must be done! I must see him. Where is he?’

  ‘South of Trondheim in a sickly hovel that was once a forester’s shelter. We were hounded out of our home and are being followed. We have no food and my husband cannot walk. I could think of nothing other than to come to you, Mistress Charlotte.’

  Once more Charlotte took her by the arm. Silje could smell the sweet perfume she wore.

  ‘I am grateful that you did! You have brought me new life. Now, I will bring him here and raise him myself. Of course I must, when he is … ’

  Silje’s expression turned to dark sorrow and despair.

  ‘Well, he is my child,’ Charlotte tried to say, but the words were left unspoken. ‘Oh, dear,’ Charlotte’s mind had begun to piece things together. Softly she continued, ‘Oh, dear me. This could become difficult. This could become very difficult.’

  ‘Truly,’ whispered Silje.

  Charlotte had regained her composure. ‘And clearly my father would never, never permit such a thing. You do not know him, but he would cast me into the gutter in the blink of an eye!’

  ‘But a grandchild?’ countered Silje.

  ‘He has many grandchildren already. He barely sees them when they visit, but demands that they remain in another room and make not a sound – and those are the ones born in wedlock!’

  ‘So you had reason to forsake the child?’

  ‘Yes. I know I was thoughtless and a coward, but I could think of no other way. I foresaw none of the consequences. Dear Silje – may I call you ”Silje”? I have to ponder on this. I shall not fail my son a second time, be sure of that. Nor shall I fail you – you who have cared for him all these years. But I must have time. I will also want to hear your story in full, that I can better know what to do.’

  Charlotte seemed reinvigorated and there was a sparkle in her eye that pleased Silje.

  ‘Your mother, then,’ enquired Silje tentatively. ‘Ought she to hear of this?’

  Charlotte considered this for a long time. ‘I do not know. In truth, I know my mother hardly at all. For the moment let us say that you will return once I have had time to contrive a plan.’

  When Charlotte saw Silje’s troubled expression, she put both her elbows on the table where she sat and dejectedly rested her head in her hands. ‘No, that’s no good. You have nowhere to go while you wait, and time is of the essence, you say?’

  ‘It is. I shared out the last of the food this morning.’

  ‘Oh, dear God! Thinking is beyond me! This has all been too much. I want to see him – to tell him that I regret so much what I did. Ask his forgiveness. Yet none of that is possible!’

  ‘I, too, have little to offer,’ said Silje. ‘When I set off to come here it was without expectation. I was forced by circumstances alone …’ She paused. ‘But, Mistress Charlotte, do you know what I think? I believe your mother will understand.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Perhaps not straight away, but if a daughter of mine had suffered as much as you, I should do all in my power to help her. Without doubt I would be shocked. Yes, and would likely rebuke her, but above all I would want to help her. I think that an older woman’s advice can help to resolve our plight. Is your father at home?’

  ‘No, he is journeying about the district and will not return for many days.’ Under her breath Charlotte said, ‘Thank God.’ It was not meant for Silje’s ears.

  Silje stood waiting, saying nothing. The sounds of the street could be heard distantly, muffled by the heavy velvet drapes hanging at the tall windows. Sellers were calling out their wares and horses whinnying.

  ‘All right,’ declared Charlotte. ‘I must be strong. I have been a coward for far too long. I shall go and fetch my mother – and ask for some refreshments to be brought. Has it been long since you ate last?’

  ‘Last evening – a crust.’

  ‘What’s that you say? I shall have food sent up at once. It is better that we remain here where the servants cannot eavesdrop.’ She stood contemplating for a moment or two, then, to no one in particular, asked, ‘Should I deny my own son? A second time? No! No, in God’s name, not this time!’

  Then resolutely, but more than a little fearfully, she walked over to the door.

  ‘Perhaps you should speak privately with your mother,’ suggested Silje.

  ‘No, you must be here or my nerve will weaken. Besides, you must tell us everything that has taken place these past five years! I know nothing at all about you – I will go to talk to her now.’

  Silje stood patiently at the window after Charlotte had left the room. She was surprised to find that her hands were shaking, although perhaps it was only to be expected. She gazed with interest at a small sewing-table standing against the wall beside the window. It was beautifully delicate, with narrow turned legs and inlaid with fine veneers. The room was perfect, exquisite in every last detail. She let her hands play across the gilded-leather tapestries, wondering instinctively how they were made, and admired the lustrous fabrics on the four-poster bed.

  To think that she and Tengel could be so proud of their tiny glazed mosaic – a window for which they didn’t even have a wall! And yet, perhaps its beauty meant more to them than all this excess of elegance did to Charlotte.

  From outside the door Silje suddenly heard voices coming closer and she strained her ears to listen. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? Leaving a beggar alone in your room! How much do you think she will make off with?’

  ‘Don’t worry, mother.’

  ‘What is all this nonsense anyway, Charlotte?’ demanded the Baroness. ‘I swear I haven’t seen you so excited in many years. You are acting like a mysterious fool.’

  As they entered the room, Silje curtseyed to the two ladies once more, very conscious of her shamefully tattered dress that had nothing in common with the genteel fashions they wore. ‘I have told them to bring food for the three of us,’ Charlotte said quickly ‘Please be seated at the table.’

  They sat down. Charlotte swallowed visibly. Her face was ghostly pale except for two bright crimson spots on her cheeks. ‘Mother, I have something to say that will shock you greatly, but I beg you to listen with understanding.’

  ‘Whatever have you been doing now? And whatever is this? This shawl has been missing for ages!’

  The Baroness scrutinized Silje, trying to work out whether there was some way that she could have stolen it. Was she trying to salve her guilty conscience by returning it? However such a small matter would not warrant all this fuss. Everyone knew that peasants stole like greedy magpies.

  Charlotte’s nervousness was plain to see. Her whole body was shivering, but her eyes still held the earlier sparkle of determination and eagerness. These past years, during which she had yearned to turn back the clock, telling herself that she would gladly have suffered the shame and indignity of keeping her child, had not been in vain.
r />   ‘Well!’ The Baroness was impatient. ‘What do you have to say that will disturb me so?’

  ‘Mother – can you recall how, about five years since, my demeanour was very strange?’

  ‘How will I ever forget such a commotion? You have never shown a sign of happiness since that day.’

  ‘Until today, Mama! Now I shall tell you what happened.’

  Casting a glance towards Silje, the Baroness asked, ‘And does it concern this ”lady”?’

  ‘It was she who thought it best to reveal everything to you. She believed that we needed a mother’s wisdom and guidance.’

  ‘So pray tell all!’

  Charlotte drew a deep, deep breath. ‘I bore a child, Mama.’

  Her mother stared at her. ‘Hmm! This is no time for jesting. Tell me what was so important.’

  ‘It is true, Mama.’

  ‘Don’t be so foolish! I would have noticed something. Indeed, you were here all the time!’

  ‘But it is the truth. Nobody realised – nobody! I chose my attire to conceal the condition. And I was uncommonly slender then. I corseted myself tightly.’

  ‘No, Charlotte, I will not be persuaded of this – that my daughter ... What about the chambermaid, she must have ...?’

  ‘My chambermaid was as witless as a goose. I deceived her throughout and I clothed myself.’

  ‘Do you mean to sit there and ask me to take all this seriously, Charlotte?’

  ‘Indeed I do!’ Charlotte’s eyes shone and she was very frightened. She would not let her resolve slip. Yet she was amazed that, now she was confessing all, her story was not believed! ‘I gave birth to the infant in the hayloft, wrapped it in these clothes and placed it out in the forest. Later I sorely regretted what I had done and suffered one outburst of frenzy after another. I have been deeply miserable ever since. You remember that I wanted to enter the sisterhood?’

  Baroness Meiden sat open-mouthed and motionless in her chair. ‘I refuse to believe a single word!’ she said tightly.