The Pendle Curse

by Catherine Cavendish

  She forced her eyes open so that she could stare at him, defiance seeping from every pore of her body. She drew satisfaction from seeing him look away, so he wouldn’t have to see the hatred and contempt in her gaze.

  The guards held her firm as he forced himself into her. It hurt like a dagger piercing her womb as he thrust back and forth, but not for long. After a couple of agonizing minutes, he let out a gasp and wrenched himself out of her.

  “Take her away. We will see if a little branding might produce the desired result. Believe me, Mistress, I will be the last man to empty his seed in you if you do not do my bidding.”

  The force of his words struck her and she knew she flinched. He saw it. She could read the satisfaction in his eyes as the guards dragged her up and led her away, while she tried to cover herself.

  The room lay below ground. Cold stone walls seeped water. An array of pokers, branding irons, chains and spikes spoke of untold horrors done in the name of justice, and a large fire blazed in a far corner. Next to it stood a bull-headed giant of a man. Blackened sweat glistened on his bare arms as he thrust an array of evil-looking irons into the hungry flames.

  The guards hoisted Alizon up onto a large wooden slab and bound her, spread-eagled.

  “Shall we have her? Before she loses her looks.” One guard started to unfasten his uniform.

  “Master Covell would not deny us. He has had his fill of her already.”

  This time she closed her eyes as they removed the ruined clothing from her body and grabbed her breasts, biting them as, one after the other, they forced their way into her unwilling body. She barely felt the pain or the humiliation, but found she could will herself into another world. It hadn’t become clear to her yet, but it helped to take her away from the violation they inflicted on her body.

  The last one stepped back as the door creaked open and the face of Thomas Covell loomed over her.

  “I see my guards have enjoyed themselves at your expense, Mistress.” Again that cruel smile, which she met with defiance. “Now, I will give you one more chance. Do you accuse Anne Whittle of the crimes as stated in Master Nowell’s document?”

  “Only if you will ensure I am not accused of striking down John Law.”

  Behind her, she heard sizzling and felt burning heat near her shoulder.

  Thomas Covell looked in its direction and nodded.

  The smell of scorching flesh hit her nostrils a split second before she realized it was her own. Agonizing shards of pain set every nerve at war. Her screams pierced the air.

  “Now, Mistress. Will you agree? Or shall Master Brooke here start slicing off your paps?”

  She wanted to hold off—to make him agree—but what would be the point? She would die if the accusation against her held, but she would die on this very table if she refused to accuse her family’s enemy. She didn’t trust him, but her desire to live burned stronger.

  The bull-headed man stood over her with an evil-looking knife in his hand. Her shoulder screamed pain, and she knew she had come to the end of her defiance.

  The cry she gave seemed to come from far away. A mist descended. Someone else used her voice. “Yes. I will do it.”

  Master Brooke moved away. Thomas Covell smiled and her bonds were untied.

  “The document shall be prepared. A woman will come, dress your wounds and bring you clean clothing. Then you shall return to your grandmother.”

  Her eyes opened wide. It would be impossible to tell Grandmother what she had done, and now she would also have to share that stinking hole with the woman she had almost certainly sent to the gallows.

  With all her heart she prayed she wouldn’t be joining her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, I was enjoying a cup of coffee with Martin and Virginia at Barrowbrooke Farm. I’d just agreed to stay for lunch when a knock rattled the kitchen door. Virginia exchanged a questioning glance with Martin and went to open it. She went out and shut it behind her, but not before I’d seen Lillian and Ella standing outside.

  When Virginia returned alone a few minutes later, she was smiling. “Tell you what: while I’m getting the lunch, why don’t you two catch some rays? It’s such a beautiful day.”

  Martin laid his hand on my arm and a little thrill shot through me. “Come on, there’s something I’d like you to see.”

  He led the way down an old stone-flagged path, which scythed through a neatly mown lawn. Further along, flower borders with pink, yellow, red and white roses, snapdragons, Sweet William and pansies provided vivid splashes of color. Another border overflowed with plants I didn’t recognize. One had large dark leaves and tiny purple flowers. Another looked similar to the sort of leaves I’d seen on potato plants, but again with small purple flowers. I caught a faint whiff of something resembling tobacco.

  Martin saw me sniff the air. “You’re going past a mandrake plant,” he said.

  “What’s the other one?”

  “Deadly nightshade.”

  “Oh.” Strange plants to be growing in a flower border. But then, why not? A weed was, after all, only a plant you didn’t want. Some people found willow herb attractive. Others pulled them up by the armful.

  “Is it true that mandrakes squeal when you pull them out of the ground?” I said.

  Martin laughed and shook his head. “I have no idea. Want to have a go and find out?”

  I eyed the sturdy-looking plant. “Er, no, I think I’ll pass this time.”

  “I leave the garden to Virginia. She knows what she’s doing. I don’t think she’s started on that border yet, so I don’t doubt the mandrakes will be squealing and squawking before too long.”

  We had arrived at a hut in the middle of the copse. A small clearing circled it, overhung by a dense mass of intertwined branches from sycamore, ash and beech trees. I couldn’t even see the garden we’d just walked down. The bright sun barely penetrated through the foliage, and the peace and coolness of the place drifted over me. But under this tranquility lurked something I didn’t like. A feeling of menace, of something just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to leap out and scare the hell out of me. A crazy feeling. Irrational. But so very real. The temperature plummeted and I shivered.

  “Is it too cold for you?” Martin asked. “It’ll be warmer inside.”

  He turned the handle of the wooden door, which creaked and unwillingly juddered open.

  “People don’t come down here too often,” he said. “I come when I want some peace and quiet.”

  Two small windows, framed by bright red-and-white check curtains, provided the only natural light in the hut. Four wooden dining chairs surrounded a small square table. A settee, old but in good condition, had been positioned at the far end of the room. Inexplicably, the atmosphere hung heavy, mingling with an unpleasant moldy smell, like rotten wood.

  Martin moved in front of me. Suddenly nothing mattered but being there with him. I barely noticed the door creak open as I buried myself in him, smelling the clean, warm aroma of his body. His lips found mine. I returned his kisses with increasing fire, feeling a surge inside me. All thoughts of Rich vanished, as if they had never been there.

  Martin cried out, “No!”

  I screamed. Behind him, shadows writhed and swirled. Inhuman, indistinct shadows enveloped him. Ripped him off me. One of them touched me. Slimy, greasy and stinking of rotten eggs. I screamed again. “Martin!”

  He let out a roar of pain and anger. “Leave me be.” But they dragged him away.

  The door swung open by itself. The amorphous shapes dragged him outside. The door slammed shut and they left me alone, a shaking, cringing heap on the floor.

  I crawled behind the settee. What were those things? What were they doing to him? Minutes ticked by but I dared not move. Then I heard something. I caught my breath. Footsteps outside. Oh, sweet Jesus, they were back. But shadow
s don’t have footsteps…

  The door handle turned. Virginia came in and I could have kissed her. “Oh, thank God you’re here. Did you see them? Is Martin all right?”

  Virginia helped me up. “You look as if you’ve seen the devil himself. Whatever’s happened?”

  “Please can we get out of here?”

  “Of course.”

  Virginia had to support me out of the shed and all the way back to the house. I sat in the kitchen and she handed me a brandy, but I could hardly hold the glass.

  “I’ve never been so terrified in all my life,” I said. “They took Martin. These…shadows.” I stopped. “Where is he? Is he all right?”

  “Yes, yes, he’s fine. He’s gone out for some wine.”

  What? “Didn’t he tell you what happened?”

  “He said you were tired and decided to have a lie down.”

  Before I could say anything, Martin pushed open the kitchen door, a case of wine in his hands.

  I gave a cry. “Martin, thank God you’re all right. Tell Virginia what happened. The shadows…” My voice tailed off as I saw Martin’s incredulous expression.

  “I’m sorry, Laura. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You said you wanted to stay there quietly and have a lie down on the settee, because you were so tired. I said I’d leave you in peace and come and get you when lunch was ready.”

  “I beat you to it because you’d gone to get the wine,” Virginia said.

  I looked from one to the other. Had I said I was tired? Could it really only have been a particularly vivid dream? So real it had sent me scurrying behind the settee for safety? I couldn’t remember anything except those terrible shadows dragging Martin away.

  I said nothing. Martin handed me a glass of wine. “You’ll feel better after this.”

  I ate lunch in a blur of confusion. Nothing was as it seemed. Later, in the garden, I sat and closed my eyes as the warmth of the sun soothed my fears, so that the morning’s events seemed lost in a dream. Unreal. I’d fallen asleep and dreamed it all. Just like they said.

  When I woke up, the sun still shone, but somehow I’d left the garden and was sitting on a fallen tree trunk in the now-familiar field, with Malkin Tower a little distance away. The season had moved on to summer. I should have felt scared, but didn’t. I felt calm, and when I looked down at my feet, I saw that I now looked like everyone else here. White linen blouse over a coarse, brown woolen skirt that hung down to my ankles. Feet shod in black leather shoes of poor quality, showing signs of long wear and much repairing.

  I made my way towards Malkin Tower. But, as I reached the door, I hesitated. What now? Should I knock? Walk in?

  The door opened. Demdike’s daughter—it had to be her— stared at me with a sullen expression.

  “You had better come in. Mother is waiting for you. They’re all waiting for you.”

  Without a word, I followed her into the room. Its dimness contrasted sharply with the brilliant daylight outside.

  Crowded around the empty table were the old woman I knew had to be Demdike, nine other women and two men. Demdike’s daughter joined them. Now they were thirteen.

  The old woman spread a clean, black cloth over the table and began to chant. The others joined in. I didn’t understand the words. Their chanting grew louder until my mind swam in waves of the droning sound, losing myself, drifting away.

  Hands guided me to the table, lifted me up and laid me down on it. Gentle but firm hands. I didn’t resist. What would be the point?

  The old woman leaned over me. I could smell her foul breath from the decayed, rotting teeth and gums.

  “It is nearly time, child. Soon it will be over.”

  I woke with a start. Back in the garden. Alone. I looked around. No sign of Virginia or Martin. I glanced at my watch and realized I could only have slept for a few minutes.

  I looked down at my jeans, half expecting to see the old woolen skirt I’d been wearing.

  Crazy, I told myself. But just another vivid dream. Then why did it feel so real?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement in the trees at the bottom of the garden. Virginia appeared and, to my dismay, she was accompanied by Lillian and Ella.

  I heard a rustling behind me. Virginia broke into a smile. “Jerry! I didn’t know you were coming home today.”

  The two women carried on walking to the house, nodding briefly to the newcomer and drifting past me as if I didn’t exist.

  My attention was directed towards a tall, attractive man with blond hair who nodded to me, swept Virginia into his arms and twirled her round. “Thought I’d surprise you,” he said.

  “Oh, you did. You did.” Virginia giggled like a young girl. “Laura, this is my husband, Jerry. Jerry, this is Laura, who was staying with us until recently. We hope she’ll stay with us again too, but at the moment she’s at the Feathers.”

  “Oh, that will never do. Never do at all.” His hand waited to shake mine.

  I stood and obliged. He gripped my hand in a firm, dry handshake. Jerry Majewski looked like a man used to getting whatever he wanted, and I wished he wouldn’t look at me like that. Hardly appropriate for a married man in love with his wife. I had a sudden urge to leave.

  “Thank you for lunch,” I said, “but I’d better get going. You have a lot to catch up on.” Judging by the way Jerry’s hand traveled up and down Virginia’s spine, I guessed which direction the catching up would take, within minutes of me leaving. “Tell Martin I said bye.”

  Back at the Feathers, I was surprised to see Lillian and Ella in the bar, each with a small glass of red wine in front of them. This time, instead of ignoring me, they both nodded, but didn’t crack even the glimmer of a smile. It didn’t bother me. The less I had to do with those two, the better.

  I found George on the customer side of the bar. Off duty by the looks of the pint of Guinness in front of him.

  “Hello, George,” I said.

  He looked up. “What? Oh, hello, Laura. I was miles away.”

  I leaned closer to him. “I see you have two more refugees from Barrowbrooke.”

  “Yes. So it would appear.”

  The set of his jaw told me he wasn’t at all happy to welcome these new customers but I said nothing, collected my glass of white wine from the barmaid and went to sit at my usual table. Away from Lillian and Ella, leaving George to his thoughts. However troubled they might be.

  I sipped my drink and stared out of the window. On such a fine day, there were plenty of people going up and down the hill. The bar gradually filled up, although many customers bought drinks and then took them outside into the beer garden. The noise of chatter and laughter steadily grew. A sea of bodies now separated me from the bar and I couldn’t see George or the two women anymore.

  I decided on a refill and asked the couple at the next table to keep my seat free. I squeezed my way to the bar. George had gone, and as I peered between the bodies, I saw that the two women had left as well.

  After dinner, I went upstairs to my room and watched some inane rubbish on TV before turning in. I fell asleep almost immediately. But not for long. A piercing scream woke me. I sat bolt upright. Footsteps thundered down the corridor outside my room.

  A woman screamed. “He’s dead. My God, he’s dead. Help me!”

  I made it to the door in seconds.

  George’s wife, Jean. Sobbing in the arms of a female guest. A male guest sped down the corridor. As he rushed past me, he shouted. “Call 999. Police. Ambulance. Mr. Nowell has hanged himself in his room.”

  I dashed back into the room and grabbed my phone. Emergency services wanted details I didn’t know, so I handed it to the male guest.

  I helped the other woman steer the sobbing Jean up the corridor and introduced myself.

  “I’m Liz,” the woman said as we sat Jean down on the edge of her
bed. The poor woman’s eyes gazed wildly around. Liz shook her head. “She really needs a brandy, but the bar will be locked and alarmed by now. Do you think you could make her a cup of tea while I try to calm her down?”

  I went over to the hospitality tray. As I set about making the drink, Jean was chattering and shaking.

  “I went to my friend’s house. We watched a daft old film. George doesn’t like them, so we get together now and again and… I was late because we got chatting and…I knew there was something wrong. George always waits up for me. It was dark in the living room. I called to him… I went into the bedroom and…” A fresh wave of sobs racked her body.

  Liz comforted her and I set down the cup of tea on the bedside table next to her. George had seemed a little distant earlier, down in the bar, but nothing to indicate he had something like this on his mind. I wanted to ask if Jean had any idea why he might have done it, but no way would I add to this woman’s grief. No doubt the police would do plenty of that when they arrived.

  The door opened, and the male guest I now took to be Liz’s husband came in, ashen faced. “The ambulance and the police have both arrived.”

  Jean took a deep breath and blew her nose. Liz helped her stand, then exchanged helpless looks with me. In silence, the three of us followed Liz’s husband out of the room.

  Two paramedics were bending over George’s lifeless body. Above him, a length of rope hung from an ancient hook in the ceiling. I cringed. He’d died just like his sister.

  One of the paramedics had a notebook in his hand and didn’t need anyone to tell him which one was the widow.

  “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Nowell. There was nothing we could do.”

  Tears streamed down Jean’s face. “I know. Thank you for trying.”

  “Mrs. Nowell, I’m sorry to do this, but we have to ask you some questions.” This came from a young male police officer in plain clothes, accompanied by a female colleague in uniform.