Witch! The Alison Balfour Story

by Adrien Leduc

unlatched it, and pulled it open.

  “Thomas Paplay?”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  Henry shouldered his way past the young man, at the head of two courtiers who Thomas recognized, but whose names he did not know. “I have information,” the chamberlain continued, glancing at June, his eye’s affixing themselves to her bare shoulders for a moment before returning to Thomas, “that you may be involved in the plot to murder our Earl, Patrick Stewart.”

  Thomas’ face fell. This was why Henry had come? Henry, a man whose methods of torture and interrogation tactics had become the objects of local legend? Thomas gulped.

  Henry eyed him with a curious stare. “Have you nothing to say for yourself? Are you admitting guilt with your silence?”

  Thomas shook his head with violent force. “No! Absolutely not!”

  June had appeared from seemingly nowhere and she now stood firmly beside her husband. “Guilty of trying to murder the earl!? My husband!? You must be joking!”

  Henry pursed his lips and looked past them at the two courtiers to whom he now gave a nod. At his nod, the pair began ransacking the room, throwing open cupboards and emptying drawers.

  “What is the meaning of this?” asked Thomas, attempting to remain polite and deferential to this man who had been known to cut out the tongues of those he perceived had been rude to him. “Why am I being accused? I’ve done nothing. I swear it in the name of the Lord.”

  The noise generated by the two courtiers ransacking the Paplay’s chambers had by now woken young Isabelle who began to wail and whine.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” June hissed, clearly undeterred by Henry’s reputation. She went for Isabelle and took the baby into her arms.

  Henry watched her for a moment, his eyes scanning her face, and he in disbelief at her lack of fear.

  “Sir, we found this.”

  All eyes turned to look at the more gangly of the two courtiers. In his right hand, pressed between thumb and index finger, was a vial.

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Bring it here.” He was examining it under the light of a lantern in the next moment and ordering the two courtiers to shackle Thomas in the moment immediately after.

  “But...but...this is madness!” cried Thomas as the two courtiers seized him by the arms and placed shackles over his wrists.

  The more portly of the two courtiers locked the shackles using a key tied to a cord which hung around his neck while the other tied a gag around Henry’s mouth.

  “What is happening!? June demanded (with much more force). “You can’t just take him! He’s done nothing wrong!”

  As she stared into the face of Henry, her expression went from angry to pleading to angry again.

  “Oh, but I can take him...and I will. Do you see this here?” He held out the vial.

  June shrugged, the baby on her shoulder whimpering softly. “That doesn’t even belong to us.”

  Clasping his pudgy hand around the vial, Henry nodded, as would a priest hearing a confession from one of his flock. “This vial contains a liquid which resembles adder’s venom. In other words, this is not a vial of perfume.”

  “It’s not ours!” June roared.

  Henry ignored her as though she were a child throwing a tantrum, continuing in his calm demeanour. “As I said, the liquid remaining in this vial – meaning some of it was presumably used – resembles adder’s venom. I shall test it on one of the cats to confirm. At any rate, your husband is now under arrest and charged with conspiracy to murder Earl Patrick Stewart.

  ‘No! Please!”

  “Whether,” he continued, “your husband has acted alone, “or whether there are others involved, we shall soon find out.”

  “No! Please!”

  “Take him away,” Henry spat.

  Thomas’s eyes were pleading as he stared after his wife, the two courtiers dragging him from the apartment. June ran for him, but Henry grabbed her by the hair and held her fast. “You’ll stay here and mind your baby if you know what’s good for you.” And with that, he threw her sideways and exited the apartment, taking care to slam the door behind him.

  SCENE 10 – THE BALFOUR’S AT HOME

  Meanwhile at the Balfour household... Alison is cooking at the stove, William is outside gathering eggs and doing his other chores. Abraham sits in his chair while Anna fiddles with the green onions her mother has cut up to go with breakfast.

  “Anna, would you stop that, please. It’s not polite to play with the food we’re about to eat.”

  The girl stopped and wiped her hands of the green onions (which caused the pieces to bounce around and roll off the wooden cutting board). “I’m bored.”

  “Go and help your brother with the chores.”

  “I’m too little to do chores, mum.”

  Abraham, seated in his chair by the fire, let out a mighty chuckle. “Too little for chores? By Joseph. If you had been a child in my day, you’d be already toiling in the fields.”

  “But she wasn’t born in your day,” said Alison with some irritation. “Things were undoubtedly more difficult back then.”

  “What’s that?”

  Alison turned so that she faced the back of Abraham’s chair. “I said,” she began, more loudly this time, “things were more difficult back then.”

  Abraham nodded, his expression nostalgic. “Aye, that they were. That they were indeed.”

  “Here you are,” said Alison, setting a mug of warm milk down before her daughter. “Don’t let it get cold.”

  “My father had me working with him in the fields by the time I was our Anna’s age. Yep. It toughened me up too.”

  Alison rolled her eyes as she brought a mug of warm milk to her husband. “Well, be grateful then. There’s no need for her to be working in the fields. Not in this day and age. I’d rather have her join the convent.”

  Abraham smiled as he took a sip of milk. “That’s always a possibility.”

  Alison made a sound as she returned to the stove. “Not if I can help it though. The way the church goes on about all their good works. Have you seen the food wasted by the clergy? Have you seen the dinners they eat?”

  Abraham sighed. “Aye...aye, I have.”

  “What’s a clergy, mum?”

  “People of the church, dear. The priests and deacons.”

  Anna looked perplexed. “Why’re they called a clergy?”

  “I don’t know, Anna. Because. That’s why. Go outside and help your brother gather eggs. Lilly’s been laying twice a day lately.”

  Anna nodded and slid off her chair, her tongue pressed against the outside of her lip in concentration.

  “There’s a good girl,” said Alison encouragingly, fixing her daughter’s hair with two fingers as she passed by.

  “I smell tomatoes,” said Abraham.

  Alison smiled. “I’ve lots of preserves to use over the next few months.”

  “Aye. It was a good season. I haven’t seen a year like this since I was a young man.”

  “All those centuries ago,” Alison quipped with a cheeky smile.

  “Eh?” Abraham’s tone was humorous as he could tell she’d made one of her usual remarks.

  “I said, all those centuries ago.”

  Abraham chuckled. “Aye, aye, I’m an old man, I know.” He turned in his chair. “But I made out quite well now, didn’t I?”

  “Aye you did. And don’t ye forget it!” Alison snapped with good humour, smiling as she pointed her soup ladle at the man.

  “I’m going outside to help William,” Anna announced.

  “Okay, have fun. Be good.”

  “I will,” said the little girl with a sigh.

  Alison smiled as she watched her young daughter fumble with the door latch. She managed to unlatch it after some difficulty and she disappeared outside, pulling the door shut behind her – once, twice, and three times before it finally shut fully.

  Abraham let out a sigh and looked out the window to his right, the window that looked out
onto the front yard.

  “What are they doing?” asked Alison with intense curiousity. Now that Anna was seven and William was ten, they were clashing more often and she wanted to make sure she nipped any conflict in the bud.

  “William is showing Anna an egg...now she’s trying to take it from him...and he’s just pushed her over.”

  While Abraham seemed to find the moment amusing, Alison most certainly did not.

  “Right then!”

  “Don’t be too hard on the boy, Alison...” Abraham muttered as he watched his wife wrench the door open.

  “He’s got to know he can’t be pushing his sister around like that. He’ll grow up to be a man who beats his wife.”

  Abraham had nothing to say to this and he nodded as he watched her head outside. He could hear her yelling, though he couldn’t make out the words. Her tone softened after a time and he watched as she seemed to change the energy of the situation. She was huddled together with the two, bent down so that she was Anna’s height. William had to bend slightly so that he too could be in the huddle. Alison appeared to be showing the two the egg and then she pointed to three hens grouped together a short distance away. He was always amazed at her ability to calm a situation. She was never one to become hysterical. At least she’d never had cause to become hysterical. But he admired the patience and tolerance and kindness she showed to the many people who visited, all wanting and needing something different. She was mindful and tactful in her questioning so that she did not offend her visitors. This meant that, while initially they may have arrived on their doorstep with fear and anger or feeling helpless or sad, she was able to extract all the information she needed to make a proper diagnosis. While on