The Pendle Curse

by Catherine Cavendish

  I screamed so hard, it became one earsplitting wail.

  “Rich! Help me…”

  The vision dissolved. Someone shook me, fingers pressing hard into my shoulders.

  “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

  If I opened my eyes, who would I see?

  “Laura, you’re safe now. I’m here.”

  I’d called for Rich, but as I struggled with myself, I knew the voice and it wasn’t his.

  I opened my eyes. “Martin? What happened to me?”

  My legs threatened to buckle and he steadied me. We were back in the field. Exactly where I’d been when I slipped into that alternate reality. A light drizzle began to fall.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s get back to your car before you’re soaked to the skin.”

  He put his arm around me and helped me back to where I’d parked my car in the usual layby.

  “I asked Virginia to bring me up here,” he said. “Good job I did.”

  I unlocked the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, grateful that I felt steadier now. Martin slid into the front passenger seat and smiled at me.

  “Are you all right to drive?” he asked.

  “I think so. How did you know I was here?”

  “Virginia saw you. She called me to say she’d seen you drive past, and when I asked her which way you were going, I guessed you’d come here.”

  “What did you see when you got here?”

  “You standing in the field, looking bewildered. Lost.”

  “Nothing else?”

  He shook his head.

  “I was so sure I’d gone back there. To 1612.”

  “Then I’m sure you did.” He slipped his arms around me and kissed me, and this time I gave myself up to his warmth. His breath tasted fresh and clean and his arms tightened around me. I closed my eyes.

  No! I pulled away.

  “What is it?” Again his eyes probed into mine.

  “I’m so sorry, Martin. It’s just so soon…after Rich.”

  I’d never told him, had I? How could he possibly understand?

  He stroked my forehead, and despite myself, my eyes closed. The warmth of his touch soothed me.

  “You must have loved him very much. To lose someone we care so much about…” He sighed. “It’s a torment like no other. But everything will be all right. You’ll see.”

  I think that was the moment I started to fall in love with him.

  Back at the Feathers, I tackled George. “Your family’s related to Roger Nowell who arrested the Pendle witches, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” He handed me a glass of white wine over the bar.

  I took the glass and handed him the money. “Do you know if any of them suffered any tragedies over the years? I mean the sort that cause people to start wondering what’s going on? Unexplained deaths. Something like that?”

  He looked stunned for a moment—as if I’d asked him his least favorite question. But the smile soon returned, even if it did look forced. “The Pendle Curse, you mean? Some people have said the witches uttered a curse with their dying breaths that all those who had brought them to their fate would suffer and die. No, they evidently weren’t as powerful as they thought they were, because nothing like that has happened. Just the usual sadness and tragedies that most families have to put up with over the generations. Of course, we’re a pretty far-flung lot these days. I’m sure I have relations I don’t even know about. Like most people I suppose.”

  I thanked him and went over to my usual table by the window. George’s words had seemed genuine enough, but I had a nagging feeling that he’d left something out.

  The door opened. Martin.

  An angry voice rang out from behind the bar. George Nowell advanced towards him. “I thought I told you never to come into this pub again.”

  Martin put up his hand. “It’s all right, George. I’m not staying, but I need to talk to Laura.”

  “If she’s got any sense she’ll tell you to go to hell. Or back to it more like.”

  This drew some sharp intakes of breath from around the bar. All eyes were on the two men. Some even flinched. What did George mean, “back to hell”? And, by his current expression, he looked as if he wished he could unsay it.

  I followed Martin outside. Excited chatter started up behind us. He led me to a nearby low wall and we sat.

  “I wanted to see if you were all right now,” Martin said.

  “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I mean, all these strange visions or whatever they are. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. And what you said the other day about reincarnation… I wish I understood. I wish I didn’t feel so confused about everything.”

  He took my hand, and his words perplexed me even more. “Destiny means that there are things we know now and things that will be revealed at the proper time. I really believe this. I also believe there’s something in Virginia’s timeslip theory. There are definite energies in that field. Especially where I found you. Did you know there was a strange haze around you, just before I got to you?”

  “Haze?”

  “Yes. A sort of shimmering. I didn’t want to say anything at the time because you were in such a state already. I could see you, but as if you weren’t really there. The closer I got, the clearer you became, until, when I reached you, there you were. Whole, real.”

  He leaned closer to me now, took my hands and lifted me to my feet.

  His arms wrapped around me and he pressed me close to him. A wave of desire coursed through me, and this time I gave myself up to it. Tasted him. Savored him. Wanted him. All thoughts of Rich faded into the background. The man I was now sure I loved was here in my arms.

  I became aware of someone watching us. Virginia. She seemed annoyed. The expression only lingered for a second before it vanished, replaced with a smile. But I knew what I’d seen. Virginia? Jealous? His own sister?

  “Hello, you two. I think it might be a good idea if you came up to Barrowbrooke Farm, Laura. You can tell me what went on in the field today and why you decided to come back.” The voice seemed as friendly as usual, but more went on behind those eyes. Despite that, I accepted Virginia’s invitation, and the three of us climbed the hill together. In silence.

  Back at the guesthouse, Virginia led the way to the residents’ lounge. Empty as usual.

  I accepted a glass of white wine and answered her questions about what had happened in the field. Then Virginia asked the one question I knew I would have to lie about.

  “Why are you staying at the Feathers and not here? I thought you were comfortable with us.”

  She didn’t seem angry, but I really didn’t know what lay behind that question. Perhaps a feeling of hurt or maybe something else. I improvised. “I felt embarrassed about all the trouble I’d caused you and thought I should stay somewhere else.”

  Virginia touched my arm. “Don’t be silly. You’re welcome here any time. Isn’t she, Martin?”

  Martin smiled behind steepled fingers. “I hope she knows that now.”

  George had been waiting for me. I let myself into the residents-only side entrance, which led straight into a small reception area, and there he stood. Unsmiling.

  “Could I have a word, please?”

  “Of course.” I followed him back into the main bar, empty after closing time. A few lights remained on, and George indicated a table near the bar. I declined his offer of a drink and sat down.

  He helped himself to a double Scotch and joined me.

  “It’s about Martin Davies,” he said.

  “Yes. I didn’t understand what you meant when you said something about him going back to hell?”

  George took another swig. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you. There are things you don’t know about that farm and about those who live there. A
nd from what I’ve seen tonight, it’s about time you did.”

  What next? I waited. George seemed to be struggling with what he needed to tell me. He took another deep swig and went to the bar, refilled his glass and returned.

  “Okay. Where to start, that’s the problem. But, here goes. I’ve lived around here all my life, and my family goes back generations, as you know. There are many legends around here. Well, in the circumstances, I suppose it would be odd if there weren’t. But that place—Barrowbrooke Farm—has had more than its fair share of tragedy. Every few years, someone dies there, and not in a natural way, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t. How do you mean, ‘not in a natural way’?”

  George squirmed in his seat. “Put it this way. What would you say if I told you that a young woman, probably similar age to yourself, who had just got married to the man she’d loved since childhood, was found hanging in that house twenty years ago?”

  I put my hands over my mouth. “Oh, that’s awful. Did you know her?”

  A tear fell from the corner of his eye. He nodded. “I never talk about it. You’re the first person I’ve told for years. She was my sister, Rachel. She and her husband were so happy, but they went to live in that damned house, and they hadn’t been there six weeks before he told me she’d changed. Become sort of distant. One day, he heard her talking to someone in their bedroom and a male voice answered. But when he opened the door to confront them, only she was there. He flung open cupboards, looked under the bed, checked the windows were locked. And, all the while, she laughed. Laughed like a demon, he said. And then he came home from work to find her hanging in their bedroom. Even worse than that, she was wearing her wedding dress.”

  Tears pricked my eyes. “I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for you all.”

  Tears streamed down George’s face. He reached in his jacket pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose before continuing. “They found a note she’d written but I’ve never been convinced she committed suicide.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Just ‘I can’t go on. I’m sorry.’ Then her signature.”

  “It was her writing though?”

  George nodded. “But I still say she didn’t kill herself.”

  “You mean you think someone else did it?”

  He nodded. “I believe whatever is in that house murdered her.”

  My mouth went dry. “Oh my God!”

  “I know it sounds crazy, but I shall go to my grave believing that. You do know that place is haunted, don’t you?”

  “Virginia told me. I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention. I’ve always been skeptical about such things in the past.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Stay much longer around there and you’ll be in no doubt. It’s had that reputation for as long as I can remember. My mother used to warn me not to go and play there when I was a child. It lay derelict for a time, until my sister and her husband bought it and did it up. Nothing’s been done to it since, either. Since they arrived, they don’t seem to have spent a penny on it.”

  I remembered the immaculate guesthouse. What was he talking about? Then I remembered our earlier conversation. Things must really have changed since he’d last been up there. “Oh, I think they’ve done a lot. They must have. The outside is freshly painted and the inside has been redecorated very recently. They must have worked hard and quickly, I suppose.”

  George coughed. “What was it about Martin that you wanted to talk to me about?”

  His expression darkened. “That man,” he muttered. “He’s the reason my daughter left home. Broke her heart, he did. And she miscarried his baby. Probably as well though, poor little mite. Nature has its own way of sorting out things that shouldn’t come to pass, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m sorry. You’ve lost me again.”

  George sighed. “You should keep away from that man, Laura. He’s no good. There’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but he’s not right. And neither is that so-called sister of his.”

  “So-called? Virginia is his sister.”

  “Really? Well, if she is, then they’re both unnatural, that’s all I can say. Carrying on like that. Disgusting.”

  He drained his glass and stood up. “I’m turning in now. Be careful, that’s all. He broke Charlotte’s heart and he can break yours too.”

  “But George, you can’t leave it like this. I’ve got so many questions.”

  He put his hand over mine. “Why not pack your bags and go home? Now or tomorrow morning. But don’t stay here any longer. I know you’ll regret it if you do. Now, please, I need to lock up. It’s late.”

  Later, as I lay in bed, unable to sleep, I thought back over George’s words and my mind drifted to Martin. An image of his face flew into my mind. He had been nothing but kind and considerate to me. And I couldn’t deny the electricity between us. Virginia insisted I shouldn’t listen to George. That he had a grudge and would stop at nothing to vent it. From what I’d seen, she was right. He would stop at nothing to hurt the man he blamed for his daughter’s distress.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Evil witch. You brought us all to this.” Anne Whittle spat out the words.

  A gob of phlegm from Alizon’s grandmother only just missed her. “You bewitched my son-in-law and made a clay image of Robert Nutter and of his wife, the Mistress Anne.”

  “You have no proof of that.”

  As she sat next to her grandmother in the cart, Alizon shuddered at the sound of her laughter. It came from the depths of hell, as did her voice.

  “Old Chattox, they call you, because your wits have gone and your mouth never ceases to move, though all you spout is nonsense and lies. I have told Master Nowell what he needs to know. I saw you and your daughter making the images, and I know you bewitched Master Moore’s drink and cursed his infant son, so that they both took of a fever and perished.”

  “Why you—” Anne Redferne lunged forward, but her bonds were too tight and she fell back. Alizon glared at her.

  “You would do well not to threaten my grandmother,” she said.

  Anne Redferne stared at her long and hard. The guards chuckled.

  “The cackling of witches and whores,” one of them said.

  “Aye, sir,” Anne Redferne said. She pointed at Alizon and her grandmother. “These two know all about whores and witches. They are so themselves.”

  Alizon cried inwardly to her spirit to come to her aid. She caught Anne Redferne’s look. Could the woman know what she was doing? Had she put up the barrier between her family and the spirits that did their bidding? Surely she couldn’t be powerful enough. Such a feat exceeded the considerable powers she herself possessed. Exceeded even her grandmother’s, who had been rendered as powerless as she had.

  Alizon looked away. If she avoided eye contact, maybe it would help. She pushed with all her might at the invisible wall that had appeared in her mind. But, where once had been a portal, now there was none. Just smooth, black granite.

  Lancaster Prison lay within the fortifications of the city’s ancient castle. Alizon stared up at the towering walls and fear clutched her belly. Bile rose up into her throat and she choked it back. The cart rumbled through the massive stone gateway, and as the gate closed behind them, she wondered if she would ever see her home again.

  Her thoughts flew to James. Where was he at this moment? She had blamed him for so long, yet now she faced real danger, she would give anything to feel safe in his arms.

  When she thought of the wasted months they could have been together, anger struck her. Surely Grandmother had been right. The baby within her had been unnatural. She knew that now. Even with her inexperience of such matters, she knew no human infant should have been able to kick like that—to react to its surroundings with
such force—at such an early stage in its development, and no human child would have been ready to be born at five months. But to throw it onto the fire…

  Maybe James had been right and they should have let her go through the birth and see the monster that came from her belly. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel such remorse and loss.

  And then there were the dreams. How she missed them. The nights she left her body and flew through the cool night air, the breeze ruffling her hair and caressing her body, clothed in just a thin shift.

  On and on she flew. Over treetops and down into valleys. The full moon clear and bright and voices whispering in her ear. She could never make out what they said, but they were spirit voices. Her protectors, who kept her safe from her enemies. Safe from harm. Where were they now? Now when she really needed them?

  A sudden jolt brought reality flooding back. The cart had stopped before a strong iron gate, barring a stone archway in a tower that stretched up so high, Alizon had to crane her neck.

  “Get out.” One of the guards grabbed hold of Alizon’s grandmother.

  Alizon lashed out at him. “Unhand her! I will help her out. She cannot see.”

  The guards laughed. The one she had remonstrated with sneered. “You have spirit, girl. Let’s see how long you keep it. Not many have much left once they have spent a month in the Well.”

  She helped her grandmother down and glared at him. But, deep within her, that new enemy—fear—reasserted itself. She mustn’t let him see it.

  When the four women were on the ground, one of the guards produced a large key ring and inserted one of the massive keys into the iron padlock that secured the heavy gate. As they were ushered forward, the fetid stench of human feces and urine assaulted Alizon’s nostrils. It seemed to be coming from behind the gate, and her throat clenched at the realization that this was where they were bound for.

  She could see nothing beyond the gate. Just blackness, as if she stared into a bottomless pit.