Ghosts of Yorkshire

by Karen Perkins

‘Thee’s frit of me too?’

  ‘Not of thee! For thee! By heck, lass, thee can be dense sometimes!’

  I said nowt. I had no idea what words to use.

  ‘That young man of thine went straight from here to Richard Ramsgill yestern – thee knew he’d been defying Ramsgill to aid thee, don’t thee?’

  I nodded, smiling to myself. I had loved that he had gone against Richard’s wishes.

  ‘Well, Ramsgill didn’t want to know at first, sent him on his way.’

  I smiled again.

  ‘Will thee stop grinning, lass! This is serious! Stockdale had whole church up in arms this morning – including Ramsgills, all of ’em. Nobody can talk about owt else.’

  I stopped smiling and stared at her.

  ‘Aye, and they’re there still, talking and crying. No one’s left the place, only me, and I don’t like it, lass, I really don’t like it.’

  Something caught my eye and I got up and walked to the window.

  ‘They’ve left now,’ I said.

  ‘Eh?’

  In answer I nodded at the window and Mary joined me.

  ‘By heck,’ she said.

  It looked like the whole village had come; Ramsgills leading the way, looking grim – even Richard.

  The villagers behind carried lit torches in the fog, and the sound of their voices singing about Christ chilled me. I spotted the curate up in the front, leading the hymn. I gritted my teeth.

  I glanced round. There were no way out by the front door – if I ran that way, they’d soon be on me. I barred the door instead, then the window, and looked for something to use as a weapon.

  I threw a handful of dried rosemary on to the fire for protection and uttered a quick prayer, then picked up the poker and turned to face the room.

  Chapter 57 - Jennet

  The door rattled. ‘Open up!’

  ‘Thomas Ramsgill,’ Mary said to me. I nodded; I knew his voice well enough to recognise it.

  ‘Jennet Scot, open this door, or we’ll break it down!’

  I did not move.

  ‘Lass, the window!’ Mary pointed. Smoke curled around the wooden shutter.

  ‘No!’ I screamed, dropped the poker and grabbed a bucket half full of water and threw it at the wood of both front windows. I picked up the full bucket and soaked the door, then poured water at the base in case they tried to shove a burning stick through the gap at the bottom.

  ‘What’s thee saying, lass?’

  I glanced up and gritted my teeth. I had been praying to Mam to protect me and turn the villagers away, but had not realised I had been speaking aloud. Even Mary might mistake my words for a curse. ‘The Lord’s Prayer,’ I said. I could tell she did not believe me.

  The door shuddered. Mary grabbed my arm, and I almost screamed. They were trying to break it down. Another hymn started up outside as whoever it were threw himself against the door again.

  I shook Mary off, and hurried over to the few herbs I had been able to salvage from the garden, and which hung from the chimney breast – it were the best place for them to dry out, which increased their potency. I made my selection and threw them in the pestle and mortar as the door shuddered again.

  Muttering an incantation as I ground – bugger what Mary thought now – I walked over to the door, then scattered the mixture at the wood.

  ‘What’s thee doing, lass?’ Mary had backed away from the door – and me.

  ‘It’s a protection spell – ’twill help door stand firm,’ I replied, too scared to lie now, then screamed as the shutters of both windows crashed open. Two men hoisted themselves through the gaps before I could react further – Peter Stockdale and Matthew Hornwright.

  Peter grabbed my arm and I stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘What’s thee doing?’

  ‘Stopping thee before thee hurts any bugger else.’

  ‘Peter, I ain’t hurt nobody!’

  Matthew unbarred the door then threw it wide open and Peter said, ‘Tell it to them!’

  I tried to pull away from him, but he did not loosen his grip. I threw the rest of the herbs into his face and he swore, then slapped me.

  ‘Thee’ll regret this day, Peter Stockdale! Thee’ll rue the day thee betrayed me, thee mark me words!’

  He slapped me again and shook me, and I realised he were afraid. I laughed.

  ‘Jennet, no! Thee’s only making things worse!’

  I stared at Mary. ‘There is no worse than this!’ I told her, then turned my attention back to Peter, but other arms grabbed me and my hands were pulled roughly together and bound.

  I screeched and tried to pull myself free, but could not break the bonds.

  ‘Calm down, Jennet. This’ll go easier for thee if thee’s calm,’ Richard Ramsgill said.

  I turned to face him and his brothers.

  ‘How is this going to go easier for me?’ I asked, nodding at the door. Dusk were falling and all I could see were flame from the torches; all I could hear were voices raised in the praise of Jesus as my neighbours surrounded my house and watched my humiliation and fear.

  Richard Ramsgill did not answer, but looked away.

  Thomas grabbed my arm and pulled me through the door.

  ‘Thomas Ramsgill! What’s thee doing? Where’s thee taking her? She’s done nowt!’ Mary shouted.

  ‘The moors,’ Thomas replied, not looking at either Mary or myself. ‘She cursed young Rob to his death. We’ve had enough. She loves the moors so much, we’re taking her to them.’

  I felt cold inside and planted my feet on the ground. I would not help them by walking. Thomas pulled me and I fell. I cursed, unable to break my fall.

  ‘She’s going to turn into a wolf!’ someone cried.

  ‘Stop her! Stop her curses and witchcraft! Don’t let her go now!’

  I recognised the voices and shouted the names out, grinning at the terrified screams.

  I were pulled to my feet, still spitting names of people I had once counted as friends – Susan Gill, Marjory Wainwright, the Granges, the Smiths, Fullers, Weavers – until a slap stunned me into silence. I stared into Richard’s face and shook my head, trying to tell him that I had done nowt, but his expression were cold. He did not care.

  Chapter 58 - Jennet

  Richard and Thomas dragged me to the lane and heaved me on to a waiting cart.

  ‘Walk on,’ the driver said to the horse, and I froze in panic. That were Digger’s voice. They had me on the back of the gravedigger’s cart.

  I scrabbled to sit up as the cart jerked forward. ‘Stop! I ain’t done nowt! I didn’t do it!’

  Nobody answered; just carried on singing:

  ‘Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

  Praise Him, all creatures here below;

  Praise Him above, ye heav’nly host;

  Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.’

  ‘Richard, Thomas, please! He had an accident, that’s all! I didn’t hurt him!’

  ‘Liar!’ Margaret Ramsgill shouted and pushed her way to the cart. ‘You killed him, Witch, with your curses and ill wishing!’ She spat at me. ‘You killed my baby!’

  ‘Come on, Margaret, don’t fret theesen. She’ll pay for what she did to our Rob.’ Big Robert Ramsgill took his wife by the shoulders, glanced up and threw his own spittle in my direction.

  They walked beside the cart in grim silence, Rob’s sister Jayne between them, and would not look at me further. I glanced at Big Robert as he tried to keep up; he stared straight ahead. There were no point trying to convince him of my innocence. My eyes drifted to Jayne. She stared at me, her gaze unwavering and full of hate. If anyone were a witch here, it were her.

  ‘Curate! Curate! Thee’s a Christian man – thee can’t let them do this!’

  He glared at me and raised his finger to point. ‘Thee let Devil in, lass, only the Lord can help thee now.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ I screeched. Why would they not listen? How can I make them see? I grabbed the side of the cart as best I
could as we turned on to the path over the moors to try and stop myself being thrown around with its jolting. I spotted Peter in the gloom, carrying a torch and singing at the top of his beautiful voice. I had used to love hearing him sing at church; now he were singing for my destruction.

  Then I glimpsed another figure trying to push through the crowd.

  ‘Mary! Mary help me! Please, Mary!’

  The look she gave me were so worried, so despairing, that my voice dried up. I watched her catch up to Big Robert Ramsgill and plead with him. He shook her off so violently she nearly fell. I bowed my head and let the tears fall. ‘Mam, help me,’ I whispered.

  *

  The cart jerked to a halt, and I glanced up. It were full dark now, but I knew these moors so well, I could see exactly where we were by the flickering light of a hundred torches. There were only one place on’t moors with a single oak tree amongst heather. Hanging Moor.

  Thomas and Richard climbed on to the cart and pulled me to my feet.

  ‘Stop this, please stop! She’s nowt but a young lass! Don’t do this!’

  I tried to smile at Mary, my sole defender in this mob.

  ‘Aye, young she may be, but she’s dangerous, and we’re all in danger if she lives.’

  I glared at Peter Stockdale.

  ‘Aye,’ a chorus of voices rang out.

  ‘She’s not dangerous, thee daft beggars!’ Mary were angry now. ‘She’s had an hard life, losing her pa and mam the way she did. If anyone’s dangerous, it’s him!’ She pointed at Richard Ramsgill. ‘Taking advantage of a young lass in trouble, it’s shameful.’

  ‘She bewitched me, caused me to come to her,’ Richard protested with an anxious look at Elizabeth.

  ‘Oh ballocks! She did nowt of sort! She came to thy notice, thee fancied a bit of what she had, then thee threw her down when she fell into trouble for it. Thee’s only Devil here!’

  ‘Enough!’ Thomas roared.

  ‘Not nearly enough!’ Mary shouted back. ‘And what about rest of thee? Standing by like good Christian neighbours? Watching it all, gossiping and shunning poor lass! That’s Devil’s work an’all, not Lord’s!’

  ‘How dare thee! She barely came to church, holed hersen up in that house and roamed moors alone every night! She cursed hersen by letting in Devil and brought a curse down on whole valley!’

  ‘Aye! She cursed Ramsgill and his flock drowned!’

  ‘Of course she cursed Ramsgill!’ Mary shouted back. ‘Who amongst thee wouldn’t have? He’d got her with child, threw her over and her babbies died! We all curse in grief – she weren’t to blame for them sheep drowning!’

  ‘Babbies?’ Richard asked.

  ‘Aye, babbies – twins – born dead, no thanks to thee!’

  ‘So that’s why she gave hersen to Devil – revenge!’

  ‘No!’ Mary screamed in frustration.

  ‘Shut thy mouth, thee awd carlin! She killed my brother! Why’s thee defending her?’ The mob cheered Jayne.

  ‘Come on, Missus, there’s nowt to be done here.’ John Farmer put his arm around her shoulders and tried to pull her away. He did not look at me. I understood he had to protect his wife. In this mood, the villagers would likely turn on Mary too.

  ‘Enough of this! We all know facts,’ Thomas shouted and everyone else silenced.

  ‘Her curses have been heard and come to pass. We know she turns hersen into a wolf to worry our sheep – it only appeared after she’d lost child.’

  ‘Children,’ I said, quietly. He ignored me.

  ‘And I myself heard her curse Little Rob, God rest his soul. There’s no doubt in my mind she’s a witch.’

  ‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’ the crowd of my neighbours and one-time friends chanted. I had no hope.

  ‘Aye! That’s right! Witch!’ I screamed. Nowt could save me now, but I could hurt them as much as I could before they killed me. ‘And how many of thee’s drunk my potions? Whispered my spells? How can thee be sure they were to heal, or for love? Which of thee men can be sure thy woman ain’t snuck a “love potion” in thy ale?’ I glanced round at them, in triumph. ‘Everyone here’s cursed by my hands!’

  Richard and Thomas dragged me further back on the bed of the cart so that I were closer to the tree. I looked up at the branch above me, then at Richard as he let me go. I pulled against Thomas, but he had me in a firm grip. Richard bent and picked up a coil of rope.

  ‘And the Ramsgills carry the heaviest curse of all.’ I spat the words out. ‘All of thee bar one will be dead within a year.’

  Richard threw one end of the rope over the branch.

  ‘Only one son of Richard’s will live.’

  ‘Shut up, shut her up!’ someone, Elizabeth I think, screamed from the crowd.

  ‘Every generation, only one son will live, to carry on Ramsgill loss.’

  Big Robert grabbed the other end of the rope and Peter Stockdale helped him secure it around the tree trunk.

  ‘The Ramsgill name will bring nowt but death and grief!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Richard slapped me.

  I glared at him, then at the rest of the villagers. They stood in horrified silence.

  ‘This whole valley will suffer!’ I could hear my voice, shrill and panic-stricken, but I did not care – it were my only weapon, once again. ‘I call down a plague on thee – on to thy flocks and on to thy families! I call floods to sweep away thy homes, I call—’ I gagged when a noose were shoved over my head and pulled tight against my neck.

  ‘Thee’ll regret this.’ I did not know if anyone could hear me. Richard tested the knot, then spat in my face.

  ‘Thee were not worth all this trouble, Devil’s whore! Burn in Hell!’

  The Ramsgills jumped down from the cart and left me standing alone. Hands bound before me; neck bound to the tree.

  ‘Curse thee all ...’

  The cart jolted beneath my feet and were gone. The rope jerked tight against my neck and I could no longer breathe. I kicked out, searching for somewhere to prop my feet, but found nowt but air.

  I could feel the rope biting into my flesh, the tiny bit of air I could get into my throat rasping against it. My head swelled like moss put to soak. Surely my skull would burst through my skin. My eyes met Jayne’s and she looked away from my gaze. No matter now, she would be joining me soon – one way or another.

  Something grabbed my leg and pulled, increasing the pressure on my throat. Mary. She could only do one thing for me now, and hurry this up.

  I gasped, but could not take in any air. I tried to scream, but could make no sound. Darkness closed in – a total darkness now, no torches to light my way. I succumbed to it, my last thought a promise to bring my curses to pass. I would destroy this valley. I would destroy the Ramsgills.

  Chapter 59 - Emma

  24th February 2013

  I threw the notebook and quill on to the table in horror. No wonder Jennet was filled with enough hate to sustain her for two hundred and thirty years. I stared out of the window at the reservoir that covered the homes of the people who had hanged her, and shivered. Then had another thought, could I verify if her other curses had come to pass?

  Old Ma Ramsgill’s journal was on the desk and I fetched it, then sat down again. I had been writing so much that I hadn’t read it when Mark first showed it to me; only glanced at the family tree, then taken it back as an excuse to see him – finding Kathy instead.

  Half an hour later, I had my answer and I sat back and stared at Jennet’s notebook. In 1780, after their sheep had been devastated by sheep scab, half the village, and all the Ramsgill’s bar Richard’s son, had died of typhus. It had taken her two years, but Jennet had killed them with her curse.

  I put my hand on my belly. What if these babies are Ramsgills? Will they die young? Or live to know nothing but loss? An image of Alex and Hannah Ramsgill flashed into my mind. What of them? I picked up the notebook and crossed to the desk and computer. I needed to type up the manuscript as quickly as possible. What if writing
her story isn’t enough? I needed to get the book out there so people could read it.

  *

  Exhausted, I picked up the phone.

  ‘Kathy? It’s done.’

  ‘Jennet’s book?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank God.’ She blew out a big sigh into the phone and I winced. ‘Can I read it?’

  ‘Yes of course, I’ll print a copy off. Would you mind popping down, though? I’m so exhausted I’m not sure I can make it to your house, even in the car.’

  Kathy was full of concern. ‘You all right? You sound, well ...’ she tailed off.

  ‘Just tired. I’ve been up all night typing the manuscript up.’

  ‘Well, now that it’s done, life should get back to normal.’

  ‘God, I hope so.’ I tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

  ‘I’ll have to send Mark down. I’m up to my elbows in bread dough. If I leave it now, it’ll be ruined.’

  ‘Oh, ok,’ I said, feeling awkward. I didn’t want to see Mark, especially not with Dave away. But if Kathy trusted us …

  ‘Are you sure?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Well, you know.’ Silence again.

  ‘Yes. Let’s hope this is it now and she can rest in peace.’

  ‘Amen to that!’ I said, put the phone down then pushed myself up to go upstairs and start the printer going again.

  *

  The doorbell rang as I was on my way back down, and I opened it to Mark.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Come through, there’s a copy on the kitchen table.’

  ‘Have you printed it off already?’

  ‘Yes, this is the first copy. Take it, I’m printing another off for myself.’

  I staggered and grabbed the table.

  ‘Emma! Are you all right? Let me help you.’ Mark grabbed my arm then put an arm around my waist and led me to a chair. ‘Sit down. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m ok, just tired. I’ve been up all night typing, and, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve eaten anything since yesterday lunch.’