by T J Podger
The Last Witch of North Berwick House
T J Podger
Copyright © 2019 by Tracie Podger writing as T J Podger
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Agnes Sampson was a real woman back in the day of James VI and accused of being a witch in North Berwick. That is a fact. I’ve used her name and location and the ‘story’ around her demise to create this novella. Please remember, this is fiction. However, check out Agnes and what happened to her, it’s an interesting read!
If you would like to read more of my novels, you’ll find them under my full name, Tracie Podger, and mostly exclusive to Amazon.
However, you can hop straight to a nice little short read, The Freedom Diamond here —>
mybook.to/TheFreedomDiamond
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Writing as Tracie Podger…
Chapter One
1951
“I think it’s safe to say your client is certifiably mad,” Dr. Matthews said, as he and Jacob stared through a glass window into a bare room.
Jacob Wellbeing had been set the task to defend Adrian Carter, who was presently rocking in a corner of a padded cell, whilst waiting for a verdict in a murder charge to be delivered. Jacob believed he had successfully claimed insanity and after all the evidence had been presented, it would be a surprise if the jury decided otherwise. The guy was clearly nuts. Jacob and Dr. Matthews could hear the mumbles and the reciting of what Adrian had done. There was no doubt he had murdered, but his account of it was baffling.
It had all started with the purchase of what was to be a forever home…
One year earlier
As soon as Adrian had returned home from work, his wife, Agnes, presented him with details of a house she’d found for sale. She was excited by the prospect of the ‘doer-upper,’ as the agent had called it. The couple had been searching for a year or so for their forever home, deciding it either needed to be built from scratch or a renovation project.
“Look!” she said excitedly, as she thrust the document into his hands.
She helped him out of his coat to speed the process. Adrian laughed and kissed his wife on the cheek. She was always so exuberant, particularly with a project.
Agnes was a schoolteacher of primary-aged children in the village they lived, but she also had a desire to move to somewhere more remote and run a school for local children, who couldn’t access mainstream education. She had researched and acquired many qualifications since this idea had sprung to mind. Adrian was an author; he admitted as long as he had access to a typewriter, telephone, and a post office, he could probably work anywhere. So the task to find the remote location had fallen to Agnes.
All through dinner Agnes gushed over the merits of the house and showed her calculations to prove it was affordable. She told Adrian there was a part of the house perfectly liveable while they undertook the work. Her excitement had finally started to affect Adrian. He slid his dinner plate to one side and studied the calculations more. Agnes had certainly been thorough. The only issue Adrian had was the project would take the majority of their savings, and that was assuming they’d get the mortgage in the first place. A flutter of irritation washed over him when he discovered Agnes had gone ahead and spoken to their financial advisor already.
“So it’s a done deal, really?” he asked, placing the paperwork on the kitchen table.
“No, you have to agree as well. I’d never do this without you being fully on board,” Agnes said. She had a way of being able to do the doe-eyed face that had Adrian falling at her feet. He laughed and shook his head.
Adrian earned well from his books, but it was Agnes who had the inheritance that would likely be used up with the renovation work. She also proceeded to tell him that she thought it a great idea to rent out their existing property, rather than selling it. Although Adrian agreed wholeheartedly, the fact she had, in one day and without any form of discussion, made those decisions niggled at him. Still, selling the small cottage they currently lived in was madness in the climate of then.
Adrian began to read back through the estate agent’s document. North Berwick House most certainly was an impressive building, and although in a huge state of disrepair, he could see past the broken lintels and windowpanes, the crumbling turret, to the majesty of past times. He could picture parties in the grand hall with floor-to-ceiling doors that would lead to the terrace. One could stand with a flute of champagne in the summer months and watch the sun set. He started to nod along to his thoughts and Agnes, witnessing his growing appreciation of the find, clapped her hands.
One week later, Adrian and Agnes packed up the car and started the long journey to North Berwick House. Sitting on the rear seat was a wicker basket with food Agnes had prepared for the drive. She refused to eat from one of the many abysmal service stations they’d pass on the way. Secretly, Adrian was pleased with this thrifty part of Agnes. He’d never been comfortable with Agnes’ money. When her aunt had died, leaving her only surviving relative a substantial sum and changing Agnes, it had taken all of Adrian’s strength not to start divorce proceedings. Her grip on the purse strings was slowing stripping him of his masculinity, so he believed. Each month Agnes worked her way through their joint bank account to ensure Adrian was paying his share of the household bills. He’d often grit his teeth instead of reminding his wife that, all the while she had been in training, he’d financially supported them both. Still, it didn’t do to argue on such a long journey in the confines of a car.
Adrian was thankful when Agnes dozed; it meant he could change the car radio channel to something more of his liking. The Home Service was for people twice their age and he began to think on the change that had come about where Agnes was concerned.
Perhaps it was coincidental but it happened when her elderly aunt had died. Being the only relative, they were very close and Adrian appreciated the extended period of grief that Agnes suffered. She’d spent days upon days sitting with her aunt Agnes, whom she had been named after, and then, after her death, it had been a struggle to persuade Agnes to return home. Instead, she’d sat and moped, as Adrian described it, in the chair her aunt had died in. Eventually, the intervention of a doctor had her finally returning home so the house could be packed up and sold.
Adrian glanced over as Agnes slept. Her eyeballs moved rapidly under her lids and her lips moved as she whispered in her sleep. She’d been doing that since her aunt’s death and Adrian had never managed to make out the words. It seemed a foreign language to him and, of course, Agnes never remembered. The mumbling each evening had often kept Adrian awake and had affected his writing; such was his tiredness. He had vowed to speak to the doctor with regard to administering some sleeping tablets; he hadn’t at that point, gotten around to it, but made a mental note to do so as soon as they returned.
They continued the journey peacefully with Agnes still asleep and Adrian nodding along to a song on the Light Programme.
Chapter Two
“Oh, my Lord,” Agnes whispered as they approached a rambling building. Had the sky been grey and not the bright sunshine it was, they could have been
teleported to Transylvania.
Ahead of them was North Berwick House. The estate agent’s details had been a little…very…outdated, and where they had gotten the image from, Adrian was desperate to know. In fact, rambling was probably understated.
A gentleman in a tweed suit stood beside a shiny car. He smiled as they came to a halt and walked over. He opened the passenger door and held out a hand; Adrian bristled.
“Welcome to North Berwick House,” he said, dramatically waving his hand in the direction of the monstrosity.
“I love it already,” Agnes gushed, and all Adrian could do was to stare open-mouthed and wide-eyed at her.
Adrian was left to follow on behind when Patrick Stewart, as he’d introduced himself to Agnes, led her to the wooden front door. Adrian reluctantly admitted it was an impressive piece of ornately carved wood, if not a little spooky, with its gargoyles or whatever one would call a grotesque face carved into wood.
Once inside the hall, Adrian could hear Agnes take in a sharp breath. He followed her gaze and looked up at an expanse of ceiling, a huge crystal chandelier hung on a chain and was covered in dust and dirt. Agnes could see the beauty, Adrian only the effort it would take to remove and clean it. A sweeping staircase stood in front of them, and to both sides were doors.
“Shall we start here?” Patrick asked, holding out a hand to invite Agnes to walk through the door before him. A great salesman trick, of course. As soon as she did she, yet again, gasped at the beauty of the library.
Adrian, although he had to force his way past them, was also captivated. It wasn’t necessarily the room with the bare bookshelves that he could imagine filled with his literature, it was those floor-to-ceiling doors that led to a stone terrace. His vision of standing there with a champagne flute and watching the sun set came to mind. He shivered, though. A breeze wafted around him and he pulled his jacket tighter around his body.
“Agnes, are you cold? Shall I get your coat?” he asked.
“Oh no, I’m pleasantly warm. In fact…” She began to remove her woollen cardigan.
For someone who was perpetually chilled, walking in a T-shirt around a house that both Patrick and Adrian wore a coat in seemed very odd to Adrian. He frowned at her but she clearly missed the expression. Her mouth formed a permanent smile that stretched and caused her cheeks to plump. It was nice to see such a smile after months and months of sadness. Adrian was loath to be the cause of that smile slipping. He kept quiet about his unease in the property.
There was just something that caused the hairs on Adrian’s neck to stand on end. Something that gave those involuntary shivers every now and again. Whether it was the slight chill or the whispers that swirled around his head, which he had to believe were imaginary, he wasn’t sure. He shook his head. He’d been listening to his wife whispering each evening and the sound was stuck in his head, he made himself believe. That, or there were gaps around the windows and the wind was whistling through.
They walked from room to room, and as much as he was impressed with the building and could see the potential, his enthusiasm couldn’t match his wife’s. She gushed and beamed, she clapped her hands, and excitedly detailed what she would do to each room. Patrick’s smile got broader at the thought of the dilapidated building finally being sold and him earning a big fat cheque of commission.
In addition to the two living rooms, the library, a study Agnes believed would be the perfect office for Adrian, a formal dining room, there was the kitchen with an informal seating area. In the corner sat a huge range and old copper pots and pans hung from a metal rack above it. Agnes ran her hand over the pots and the chimes reminded him of church bells.
He knew the outcome before they’d finished their tour of the downstairs, let alone after viewing the cellar and the upstairs. Agnes was sold, Adrian wasn’t. He quietly slipped outside, leaving Agnes and Patrick to make their way through the upstairs. Adrian walked to the end of the stone terrace and down some steps. An expanse of lawn and woodland lay ahead of him but he could also glimpse water. He headed towards a rather large lake. Instead of thinking of boating or swimming, or picnics on the bank, all he could think about were midges in the summer months. A wooden structure caught his attention. It was just two long pieces of wood that jutted out into the lake and had rotted so much over the years. He wondered if they’d formed a small jetty at one point and thought it might be nice to reconstruct. For the first time he saw some potential, jumping off the jetty into the cool water on a hot summer’s day seemed a nice way to enjoy the lake. He strolled back.
As he neared the terrace, he looked up and saw Agnes in the window, except she wasn’t smiling at that point. He sighed, no doubt she was cross he hadn’t followed her and Patrick upstairs. He shook his head, it was time to have words with his wife, he thought. He felt he needed to remind her he was an equal partner in their relationship. He walked through the library and up the stairs. When he found Agnes she wasn’t in the room he’d spotted her in, but she was laughing and smiling so he paid no notice of the fact she had been grumpy.
“Oh, Adrian, come and look,” she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him to a smaller room. It was the room he’d thought he’d spotted her in. In one corner sat an antique oak crib with a rocker beside it.
“Look, a nursery,” she said. It was the first time that she’d shown any inclination for children. He nodded and smiled; perhaps she was feeling broody at last.
Adrian had wanted children as soon as they’d married. Aunt Agnes had persuaded her niece to concentrate on her career first. Children could come after.
“Perhaps, Patrick, you could give us a moment to wander around ourselves?” Adrian asked. He wanted to speak to his wife without the agent on their heels.
Patrick bowed his head and left the room.
“Agnes, this house is in way more disrepair than stated. I know you love it, but we need to think seriously about whether this is too much for us.”
“Oh, please don’t be negative, Adrian. Patrick has said he knows plenty of builders who could come and help. I’ve always dreamt of a house like this. I can even show you my drawings. As a child, I drew this house, Adrian.”
Her voice rose in desperation and initially, Adrian was taken aback. It was unlike Agnes to be so impulsive and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t want the house, he didn’t like it, it spooked him a little, but more importantly, on first glance he could see it would be a money pit. He was convinced Agnes’ inheritance would be swallowed up twice over.
“I know what you’re thinking. We can draw some capital from our cottage to add to my money.” He noticed the subtle emphasis when she informed him that it was her money.
“Agnes! I don’t know what has gotten into you of late. This house is a monstrosity. Miles away from anywhere, a logistical nightmare for any building contractor, have you lost your mind?”
Agnes gasped at his sharp words; she covered her mouth with her shaking hand. Tears brimmed in her eyes and Adrian felt a total shit for his sharp tone. He walked towards her and wrapped his arms around her. She settled into his embrace.
“I’m sorry for my tone, my darling. I’m just very concerned that you are seeing this through rose-tinted glasses.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. But I honestly don’t feel the same way as you do about this property. It feels warm and homely, and I can just see what an amazing investment this could be. Think about it, when we come to sell, we’ll triple our investment, I’m sure.”
Adrian wasn’t as convinced and was stumped as to how to move forwards. It seemed Agnes was dead set on buying the house. He hated to disappoint her and, as she kept reminding him, it was her money and he felt he hadn’t the control over what she did with it. He took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
“Okay. Okay, Agnes. It’s your money to spend as you wish, but I have to put my foot down at taking capital from the cottage. That is our pension and a fall back if this all goes wrong. I’m not risking that at all.”
> It was as firm as he could be in the circumstances. Agnes squealed in delight. She planted kisses all over his face until he was laughing with her. She took his hand and raced to tell Patrick the good news. She wanted to put in an offer on the property.
Two months later, the deal had been done and Agnes and Adrian found themselves to be the new owners of North Berwick House.
Agnes wanted to move immediately, but she had a job and she needed to see out her contract. She’d all but begged Adrian to go ahead of her and get started. He was midway through a book that needed to be sent to his agent, but he packed up his typewriter, notes, and stacks of paper, knowing he’d not get any locally, and headed from their home in Yorkshire to Scotland. It had been decided he would stay in a local pub that offered B&B until all the utilities had been reconnected. Agnes had wanted him to liaise with builders, he could do that better than her, they both decided. Agnes would stay behind and finish her term at the school. She would pack up all their personal items in the cottage and arrange for a removal company to store their furniture. She had it in her mind to instruct the agent to lease it fully furnished if she could find the necessary items in second-hand stores. Adrian had begun to lose all interest at that point. However, as much as Adrian didn’t want that time apart, he did relish a little room above a pub to complete his manuscript in peace.
He was packed up with plenty of refreshments for the journey, some cleaning materials, he hadn’t been entirely sure what Agnes expected him to do with those, a spare kettle and tea, milk, and a couple of mugs, in case the builders would like tea she had said. Adrian didn’t bother to explain that it would be a while before anyone actually started work on the property. Between Agnes and Patrick they had arranged for some builders to attend with Adrian and prepare quotations for the renovation. It pleased Adrian to know he’d been thought worthy enough to be involved. He’d be sure to let Patrick know he was more than capable of showing builders around, he wouldn’t need to also be present.
