The Familiars

by Stacey Halls

  Her face was quite delicate, and not ugly. Her small upturned nose was spattered with freckles, and her eyelashes were long and gray. “Which rooms would you like to see?”

  She shrugged, and in her raspy, broad accent said, “How many are there?”

  “Do you know, I’ve never thought about it. I don’t know. Perhaps we could count? Though there are many more for the servants, and I don’t think we should disturb them. How many rooms are in your house?”

  She stared at me. “One.”

  “Oh. Well, then. Let’s see.” I showed her around the ground floor—the dining room, the buttery and servants’ working rooms where the study was. In the great hall, I pointed up to the gallery and told her how minstrels and players sometimes came to perform, and we would watch from below. She paced around mostly in silence, occasionally asking who was in a portrait or why we needed swords. The mermaids and mystical figures in the dining room appeared to fascinate her, and she examined each one with her hands behind her back, like a miniature Roger. Then we went to the outbuildings: the great barn, which I told her was one of the largest in the county, and the stables and farm offices. Sure enough, as we walked past the stable doors in the yard, and the stable boys and apprentices nodded and wished us good day, I saw the gray mare with the white triangle on her nose and black tip on her ear chewing hay languidly in her stall. I gave her a pat, and wished she could tell me where she had been.

  “Are you enjoying staying at Read Hall?” I asked as we returned to the house. Jennet wanted to see upstairs, and after a moment’s hesitation I agreed.

  She shrugged again. “It is not as big as this house.”

  “But Roger and Katherine keep a lovely home. I’m sure they are looking after you well.” I wondered how Roger could keep her one way and her family another, taking responsibility for one and disposing of the rest.

  Jennet had turned on the stair to face me. “Can I live here instead?” she asked. She left one hand on the banister, like a little lady of the court.

  I opened and closed my mouth a few times, disarmed by her forthrightness. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You are a guest of Roger’s.”

  Her stare was so intense she could have frozen blood, giving me the oddest feeling that I had said the wrong thing, and would regret it later. Then she turned on her heel and continued her climb up to the top of the house.

  After her request, I was embarrassed to show her all the empty bedrooms, made for guests that never stayed. “Sometimes my mother comes to visit,” I lied. “And Richard’s family, who live in York. He has lots of brothers and sisters, and I have none.” We were back at the staircase now.

  “Who is that?” She was pointing at the Barton family portrait.

  “That’s my mother and me.”

  “Why do you have a bird on your hand?”

  “That was my pet, Samuel. He didn’t live for very long. I kept him in a cage in my room.”

  “Why does your mother have no bird?”

  “She did not have a pet.”

  “My mother has a dog.” I thought of the ugly woman Elizabeth Device, who I’d seen in Hagg Wood with Alice, and the brown dog that had slipped past me, and what Roger had said about her familiar spirit. Surely it was nonsense—I’d seen the mongrel with my own eyes and there’d been nothing devilish about it. But she had turned to me when it passed her... My skin pricked at the memory of her eyes.

  “What is its name?” I asked.

  “Ball.”

  “That’s a strange name for a dog. Do you have a dog?”

  “No, mine hasn’t shown itself yet.”

  What a strange child she was. “I have a large dog named Puck. He is somewhere in the house,” I said.

  “Does he talk to you?”

  “No, but we understand each other.”

  Jennet nodded. “My sister has one, too. And my grandma has a boy.”

  “A boy? You mean a son?”

  “No, a boy. His name is Fancie. He wears a coat that is brown and black and sometimes he comes to our house and they go for a walk.”

  “Oh, you mean a dog.”

  “No. He is a boy. She’s known him twenty years and he’s never grown up.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at her. “Have you told Roger all this?”

  “Oh, yes. He is very interested in my family.”

  We stood in an awkward silence, looking at my portrait, then Jennet mounted the last of the stairs and I showed her the long gallery. It was a bright day, and the floor had just been polished, so the windows reflected onto the wood like the sky in a lake. I felt that Jennet was growing bored with her tour, though her gaze continued to rove over every cupboard, every chair, as though she was a merchant assessing it for sale. “What’s that room?” She pointed once we were back in the tower staircase.

  “That’s my bedroom.”

  “Can we go in?”

  I laughed nervously. “Not today.”

  “Is someone in there?”

  “No.”

  After a pause, she nodded and began her ladylike descent. My palms were slicked with sweat, and my heart had begun beating a pattern in my chest. Did she know Alice if Alice knew her mother? It would probably have been harmless to introduce them, but I did not want to ambush Alice, because I had a peculiar feeling that Jennet Device was dangerous, and I could not say why. How ridiculous that sounded, though—she was a child.

  I took her into the hall and she scampered over to Roger like a granddaughter. He and Richard were sitting on either side of the table with papers spread between them, and Roger was pouring the dregs of a jug of wine into his cup.

  “Did you enjoy your tour, little one?” he asked. Jennet nodded. “Fleetwood, you are looking better every day.” I smiled and nodded. “Richard,” he went on. “Might I trouble you for a mouthful of something before I begin the journey to Lancaster? Is there any of that chicken pie your cook makes going spare? I wouldn’t turn down a crust of that. Would we, now?” He winked at Jennet, who was standing behind his chair like an attentive servant.

  “Fleetwood, would you mind asking the kitchen?” Richard asked.

  “Of course.” I curtsied and went back through the house, feeling chilly even though almost all the fires were lit. The kitchen was a part of the house I rarely visited. Along the length of it was a long, low table covered at intervals with flour and pots. Baskets of vegetables stood on the floor and the open range glowed and threw warmth around the room. Waste Not Want Not was spelled in stone letters the size of a forearm above it, a reminder left by Uncle Lawrence. A rabbit hung framed in the window, swinging gently. The kitchen staff regarded me in the way I’d grown used to: a quick glance, then away.

  “Barbara?” I called to the large-framed woman at the table brushing pies with egg yolk. She had not noticed me enter, and my voice was so small in the clangs and clatters of the room, one of the younger servants had to call her. I passed on Roger’s request, and she went off to the larder to fetch some things to wrap in a parcel. As usual, the kitchen was busy with purpose, and I watched various servants roll and chop and brew.

  As she handed me a warm folded cloth stacked with cold pies and meats, I lingered for a moment, then said, “Thank you for carrying out my instructions with the herbs so well. The butter is delicious and the chamomile milk sends me straight to sleep.”

  A smile swept her red face. “You are most welcome, Mistress. I am glad to see your cheeks fattening. We are almost finished with the stock you gave me, so I can ask James to order more?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I will have my midwife bring more.”

  I thanked her and turned to go, but she said, “Mistress? Is it true the witch child is at Gawthorpe today?”

  “If you mean Jennet Device, she is a guest of Roger Nowell’s.”

  A few of the servants nearby had their ears p
ricked.

  “I have no mind to look at her,” Barbara went on. “They say she is the Devil’s daughter.”

  “I am sure there is no truth in that.”

  “I’m sure Mistress knows what she is doing opening the door to such folk, but I hope she doesn’t bring a curse to this house. Just this morning the milk began to turn. Fresh from the farm, it was.”

  Wishing to end the conversation, I nodded and turned, but Barbara called me back at the door, her voice raised. “That midwife of yours,” she said. “Where’s she from?”

  Impatient now, I replied, “Colne.”

  Barbara’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I ain’t never seen her before, and my sister’s a midwife. You might have asked down here if any of us had someone to recommend.”

  “Yes, well, it was Alice’s idea to introduce the herbs to my diet, and they are working very well.” The tips of my ears were hot, and I felt a blush creeping up my neck. Did servants usually question their mistress’s employment decisions? Did they advise on whom to invite into the house? “Thank you for this.”

  I tripped on the way out, no doubt creating a stifled ripple of laughter in my wake. By the time I reached the hall, I was flustered and irritated, my goodwill toward the household soured once again. The two men were standing now, clearing the papers between them. Jennet was crouched at the fireplace, looking up into its corners—she could stand comfortably in there, like I could in the fireplace at Barton when I was her age.

  “This is the list for Nick Bannister,” Roger said, separating a sealed document from the sheaf in front of him. He tossed it onto the table. “I have a copy at Read, but as I’m away he will call here to collect it.” Richard nodded, sliding it toward himself and tucking it into his waistcoat. “Don’t get too close to that fire, Jennet. Fire is for stew pots and heretics, not children.”

  “And witches?” the child asked.

  “In His Majesty’s homeland they are thrown on the fire. I am of the opinion that England should follow in Scotland’s lead, but unfortunately the penalty here is the rope. Perhaps His Majesty can still be persuaded to change his mind. Now, we must be on our way to Lancaster.”

  She shot up. “To see Ma?”

  Roger glanced at me, indicating I hand him his parcel of food, and I crossed the room. “Your mother is still at the inn where they don’t allow children. Thank you, Fleetwood.”

  “What about Alizon? And Grandma?”

  “They are there, too. You will see them before long, in a grand room in a castle with lots of important people who will ask you questions about them. And you remember what to say, don’t you? Everything we talked about?” She nodded, unfolding the cloth to sneak her hand in and pinch a piece of pie. “This one has a belly bigger than her eyes. Well, we’ll be on our way.”

  Richard saw them out, and I watched Jennet follow them into the passage, quick and soundless as a shadow.

  Alice was sitting quietly by the window in my chamber, looking out at the hills. “Sorry I kept you in here so long,” I said, closing the door behind me. “I hope I’ve not kept you from your work at the alehouse?”

  She shook her head. “I start later on. Did I hear a child’s voice?”

  I licked my lips, deciding. “My friend Roger Nowell brought a child named Jennet Device. Her family is awaiting trial at Lancaster, accused of witchcraft.” I watched her face for a flicker of recognition, but none came—her face was blank and smooth. I waited a beat, then said, “Do you know them?”

  She stood, brushing down her skirts and tucking the chair back against the wall. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

  * * *

  I’d lost count of the nights Richard had slept in the room beside mine, so much that waking up alone was beginning to feel normal. Thanks to the lavender tincture on my pillow, I hadn’t had The Nightmare, and my hair had stopped falling out at such an alarming rate. I found Richard eating breakfast in the dining room, and took my seat opposite him, accepting a roll and some honey and breaking it into pieces.

  “Richard,” I said once the servants had left the room. “I have been feeling much better lately. Might you consider moving back to our chamber?”

  He read his correspondence for a moment or two longer, then looked up. “What was that?”

  “I said I am feeling much better, and I wish you would join me in our chamber. I haven’t been ill in almost a fortnight.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  When he continued reading and chewing and it became clear he would not respond to the other part of my statement, I remembered what had bothered me that morning. “I can’t find my ruby necklace, the one you gave me when we had been married a year.”

  Now I had his attention, and he folded the letter he was reading and tucked it beneath his plate. “Oh? Where do you keep it?”

  “In the cupboard in the wardrobe. I looked for it last night and again this morning and seem to have misplaced it. I can’t remember when I last wore it.”

  His gray eyes were thoughtful. “Your midwife spends a lot of time up there, does she not?”

  “She does, but she would not have taken it.”

  “Would she not?” he asked lightly. “Does she have plenty of her own?”

  I ripped my bread roll into tiny pieces and put one into my mouth. “I know she would not. I trust her.”

  “You seem to trust her much more easily than Miss Fawnbrake.”

  I did not reply. I had no doubt Richard had not taken kindly to Alice because she was direct and indifferent, and did not have an interest in smiling and indulging him like the other female servants.

  “I will go and look again,” I said, pushing my plate away and leaving before he could protest, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of doubt that plucked at my thoughts like a needle. I turned my room upside down that morning, and looked in all the guest rooms and cupboards that I had keys to. Although my most precious jewelry was locked away, I kept the keys in a vase on the mantelpiece in the wardrobe—not the most discreet of hiding places. The rest of my jewelry was as it should be—my favorite opal rings, the velvet and pearl choker, the emerald drop earrings given to me by my mother on my thirteenth birthday.

  Hot and bothered, I went downstairs to ask the chambermaids if they had seen it recently, when I heard a commotion. At the last turn of the staircase, I almost bumped into Richard flying toward me, looking thunderous. “Have you found it?” he demanded.

  “No, I...”

  “That necklace was my father’s sister’s,” he fumed. “He gave it to me when she died. It’s an insult to his memory. It belongs in the family.”

  “I’m sorry,” I faltered, but he shook his head. That’s when I noticed the servants flocking out of doorways and passages toward the hall, throwing us nervous glances.

  “Come with me, we will put an end to this.” He took my hand and pulled me in the same direction, and I was alarmed to find the entire household gathered beneath the high ceiling: fifteen or twenty people, and one I was not expecting.

  “Alice!” She glanced over at me, and her face was anxious. In her hands she had a parcel tied with string: more herbs, as she had promised to bring when I told her the kitchen was low. There were high spots of color on her cheeks, and her golden hair fell more untidily than usual around her face, as though she had hurried here.

  Richard had left my side, and was climbing the narrow stairs up to the minstrels’ gallery. Clearly he was about to make an announcement. “My wife has informed me a precious ruby necklace has gone missing,” he declared. “This is the first time anything like this has happened at Gawthorpe, and I am loath to suggest one—or some—of you might know its whereabouts, because you are a loyal staff.” As I watched him speak, sweat pricking at my armpits, I felt several pairs of eyes on me. “There is every possibility it has been misplaced, but Mistress Shuttleworth has assured me sh
e has checked every usual place. Now, that necklace was given to my father,” he went on, his tone melting from stern to appealing, which always made the servants melt in turn. “It is very important to me that we find it. I will ask the chambermaids to carry out a thorough sweep of the rooms, and everyone else their usual habitats. This time tomorrow I would like it placed in my hands. I will ask no questions when it is.”

  A few of the servants straightened in approval—he’d even called the stable boys and carter in, I realized. Why not the farm apprentices, too? I thought in exasperation. Then I noticed someone had raised a hand: Sarah, one of the bolder chambermaids, who liked to bask under Richard’s warm light. And who, I’m sure, took delight in the fact he was sleeping alone, and possibly even imagined going to him in her stockinged feet at night.

  “Sarah?” Richard nodded, indicating she speak.

  “I’m sure you know those of us who’ve worked here such a long time would bring anything we found to you or the mistress straightway,” she said. “So maybe you should look at those who haven’t worked here so long.”

  A ripple of interest broke across the room—half surprise, half amusement at her brazenness.

  “What makes you say that, Sarah? Might you know something you wish to share?” Richard’s tone was inviting. I imagined them alone together, then pushed the thought away. He was a good businessman, skilled at getting the deal he wanted. Nothing more.

  I glanced at Alice, who was shifting her weight on her feet. She was not looking at Richard, but directly at Sarah, and the tops of her ears were red. “All I’m saying is,” Sarah chattered on in her girlish, broad accent. “It might not be a coincidence that someone new starts working here and two minutes later the Mistress’s jewelry goes missing.” The two or three young girls standing next to her were shining with barely concealed glee.

  “The saucy baggage!” muttered an older voice from over my shoulder.