Jean nodded.
The female officer spoke. “Would you like someone with you? One of these two ladies perhaps?”
Jean shook her head and managed a wobbly smile to Liz and I. “I’ll be all right now. Thank you both for all your help.”
She looked far from all right, but we did as Jean requested. After I closed the door behind us, I said, “If anyone had told me George Nowell would commit suicide tonight, I would never have believed them.”
Liz shook her head as we walked slowly back to our rooms. “Me neither. He seemed such a level-headed chap. Mind you, I did see him talking to a couple of strange biddies earlier. He seemed a bit upset.”
I stopped outside my room. “Really?”
Liz nodded. “I got the impression they’d given him some bad news. No idea what though.” She yawned. “I’m away to my bed now, though whether any of us will sleep again tonight is doubtful to say the least.”
“True. Good night then.”
I lay on my bed, aware of the first rays of dawn poking through the curtains. I couldn’t get back to sleep. The same thoughts rattled around my brain. Why had George done it? And why did I keep thinking the two women had been involved in some way?
“I’m coming up there. I’m worried about you, Laura, and I need to see for myself that you’re okay. The inspection’s over and I can take a long weekend.”
“Honestly, Dawn, I’m fine. But it would be good to see you. I’ll introduce you to Martin.”
I clicked off my phone a few minutes later, having said I’d find her a room in one of the guesthouses nearby. Not Barrowbrooke Farm, of course. And I didn’t want to bother Jean. The poor woman had enough to contend with, and besides, apart from me, she had canceled her other bookings for the rest of the summer.
My mind drifted to Martin. Jean didn’t seem to share her husband’s hatred of him, so he could come into the bar, but I noticed how the locals kept their distance, and I felt their dislike visited on me too. Guilt by association, I supposed.
I dressed for dinner and went down the stairs into the bar. Martin had already arrived and was sipping a pint of beer at my usual table. He smiled as he saw me. I joined him, aware of the usual sets of eyes boring into my back.
Martin stood as I reached the table. He planted a light kiss on my lips, went to the bar and returned with a large glass of white wine for me and another pint for himself.
He stroked my hand. “Do I make you happy?”
I nodded.
He smiled. “I could make you even happier.”
I knew he could, but… “Don’t think I’m not tempted. I’m really sorry, I just want it to be right. I never thought I’d feel anything for a man ever again after Rich died, so this has all come as a bit of a surprise. I need to know that what I feel isn’t a result of pure loneliness. Does that make any sense?”
“Perfect sense. As long as you know that I’m here. And you’re worth waiting for.”
Emotions soared within me and I felt tears at the back of my eyes. This man had such a terrible reputation. Was this part of his seduction plan? Or did he really care for me? My own horribly mixed feelings only added to my dilemma. One minute I wanted Martin so badly, I ached with longing. The next minute, all the deep feelings for Rich flooded back and I still yearned to be with him—however impossible that might be.
Then there were the gossips. We were the main subject of whispered conversation at the bar, and I needed to get away from the prying eyes and chattering tongues.
I took a large gulp of wine. “They’re worse than a load of old women,” I said. “Could we go out to the beer garden? The atmosphere in here is getting to me.”
“Come on.” He picked up our drinks, and a minute later we were outside in the sunshine. We found an empty table. A dozen or so people stood around, drinking and smoking. They looked like tourists and ignored us.
I sighed. “That’s better. You know, that’s the only thing I hate about small communities. Everyone has an opinion about everyone else’s business, and it’s usually at their expense too.”
Martin laughed. “True.”
“It doesn’t seem to bother you, what people think of you.”
He shrugged. “Why should it? It’s up to them. If they want to judge me, let them. I’ve had it all my life.”
I realized I didn’t know anything about his life. Certainly not enough to build a relationship on. Come to that, he knew nothing about mine either. Other than where I lived. Time to put that right. “What did you do before you came here?”
He paused, his glass halfway to his lips. Then he took a swig of the beer before replying. “Not a great deal actually. Painted. Studied.”
“Have you ever traveled abroad?”
He shook his head. “Always stayed in this country.”
“That’s quite unusual these days, isn’t it? Did you never want to see other countries or bask in the sun on a Spanish beach?”
He smiled and shook his head. “This is my home,” he said. “I don’t stray too far from it. Never have.”
“So you were born around here?”
“Yes.”
“What did you study?” I stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m asking too many questions. I just feel I want to get to know you, and I know so little about you.”
“Ask whatever you like. I studied history mainly. I could tell you a lot about the Pendle witches. Stories that would make that lovely straight hair of yours curl like a corkscrew.”
I did a mock double take. “Anything but that. I had enough trouble when Mum used to put my hair in rollers when I was a child. I’d end up looking as if I’d stuck my finger in an electric socket. And, God, did it hurt when she brushed it out.” I shuddered at the memory.
He reached over and touched my hair. “Like silk. I’d love to stroke it. All night long.”
“Martin, please don’t.” He had to understand.
“Okay,” he said, with no trace of anger in his voice. “But you can’t blame me for trying. Take it as a compliment.”
“Oh, I will.”
I sat on the bed in Dawn’s room while she unpacked.
“Martin’s dying to meet you. He’s joining us for dinner tonight at the Italian up the road. I’ll drive so you can have a drink.”
“Does Martin drive?”
“He doesn’t have a license,” I said. “He told me the other day. He can drive but he never actually got around to taking his test, so he won’t if anyone else is in the car. He says he can take risks with his own life, but it’s not fair to take risks with other people’s.”
Dawn paused with a dress in her hand and shock on her face. “But he’s doing that whether he’s on his own or not. What about all the other road users? Or don’t they count?” She hung up the dress, almost breaking the coat hanger in the process. “If he has an accident and you let him drive your car, knowing he didn’t have a license, that makes you an accessory or something. You’ll be in court too, mark my words. Not to mention the guilt you’ll have to live with.”
“Dawn. We never argue, but you’ve only been here five minutes and we’re doing just that.”
Dawn stopped her unpacking. “I’m sorry. Just a bit tired I suppose. It’s been quite a term one way and another. Quite a year actually.”
“I know. And my problems haven’t helped.”
“I didn’t say that. And I didn’t mean that either.”
“You’re my best friend. I don’t want to fall out with you.”
“Especially not over a man!” Dawn laughed.
Thankfully, this dissolved the odd tension between us and Dawn carried on unpacking.
“You haven’t done the dirty deed yet?”
I shook my head. “It’s all happened so fast. I mean, a few days ago, I was still hearing Rich’s voice in my head. I even imagined I heard him in the same room, speaking
to me. I never thought I’d ever want anyone else. But now, out of the blue, Martin’s in my life, and I want to be sure we’re together for the right reasons. He’s like a magnet, drawing me to him. I have to be sure it’s not just lust—or loneliness. And he does come with a certain reputation.”
Dawn frowned. “Then you’re right to handle with care. It’s still early days for you.”
“I know. I’m being careful and there’s still a part of me that worries about moving on. Rich was the love of my life. But when I’m with Martin, I feel so…I don’t know…wrapped up in him, I suppose. I want him, and who wouldn’t want that body? But it’s more than that. Every time I see him, I just want to hold him forever and never let him go. When I’m not with him, the feeling’s different. That’s the bit I’m really not sure about, because that’s when I start thinking about Rich again and all we meant to each other.”
Dawn closed the wardrobe, and something about the set lips and lack of a smile disturbed me. This wasn’t like Dawn. If she had something to say, she usually just came straight out with it. I suppose I could have just asked, but maybe I didn’t want to hear the answer, so I said nothing
“We’d better get going so I can see what all the fuss is about. He must really be something to have made such an impact.”
I hesitated for a second but she stuck a smile on her face. I wished it had been spontaneous.
Despite my uncertainty about Dawn’s true feelings, everything went well—until I went to the ladies’ and came back to find an atmosphere tougher than two-day-old pizza crust.
“What’s happened?” I looked from one stony face to the other.
“Nothing.” Dawn gave another forced smile. “I’m feeling really tired. Do you mind if I call a taxi and go back? No need for you two to spoil your evening.”
What had brought that on? Martin seemed fine, but Dawn’s hand shook as she lifted her wineglass. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t let her go back alone.
“I wouldn’t dream of letting you do that. If Martin’s happy, I’ll drive us back now.”
“Fine with me,” he said.
None of us spoke a word on the short drive back, but once I pulled up outside Dawn’s guesthouse, she shot out of the backseat of the car, dragging the seatbelt with her. I called after her, but she said good night, waved and was gone.
“What happened between you two?” I asked.
“Nothing that I know of,” he said.
“I must go to her. I’m sorry, but she’s been through a lot with me and I know something’s wrong.”
He leaned over to me. “I know you must.” He kissed me long and hard and with a passion that set a huge part of me longing to make love with him. I didn’t know how much longer I could resist, but tonight I succeeded. Dawn needed me.
Martin got the message. “I can walk back. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “Bring Dawn up to the farm. Around ten? We’ll have coffee.”
“She can meet Virginia and Jerry.”
“Yes. Maybe.”
Dawn wiped her eyes as she opened the door to me.
“What on earth happened?” I said.
“I’m going home tomorrow and I think you should come with me.”
“What? You’ve only just got here.”
“Look, something happened when you went to the bathroom. Martin. He said…” She faltered.
“Martin said what?”
Dawn shook her head.
“Dawn, you’ve got to tell me. It has to be something serious or you wouldn’t be doing this.”
“Oh God, I need a drink.”
“We can go out for one if you like. The pubs are still open.”
She shook her head. “No. I have to get this over with now. You’re going to think I’m crazy, by the way. You don’t believe in the supernatural, do you?”
I sighed. “A couple of weeks ago I would have said I was a complete skeptic, but after what I’ve experienced recently, I don’t know anymore.”
Dawn nodded. “Something strange is happening to me. It started as soon as I got here. Like something…” I could tell she was searching for the right words. “I feel—different—somehow. I can’t explain it. Things have happened to you, haven’t they? Things you can’t explain.”
I nodded.
“George Nowell’s death. It wasn’t suicide, you know. It was murder. They killed him.”
Why wasn’t I surprised? “Who?”
Dawn shrugged. “The witches. They’re here. All around you. And if you don’t leave now, it’ll be your turn next.”
Chapter Twenty
Good Friday, April 10, 1612
James greeted the plump, well-dressed lady from Roughlee Hall. “Mistress Nutter. It has been a long time.”
“Good day to you, James. Not so long I think.”
James took her hand and brushed his lips against her white kid glove.
“Is there news of your grandmother and your sister?”
The smile, which had begun at the corners of his mouth, died. He let go of her hand. “They are in a stinking, infested hellhole, put there by Chattox and her scheming daughter.”
“I heard the son of that peddler, John Law, had a hand in your sister’s incarceration.”
“And he shall pay for it,” James said. “But come and meet our friends. We will talk of how justice might be done and vengeance wrought on those who would destroy us.”
He led Alice Nutter around to the back of Malkin Tower. In the brilliant spring sunshine, children played happily on the grass—all except Jennet, who sat apart from the rest. The child took in everything. She switched her attention to James and he looked away, disconcerted by what he read in her eyes. The malevolence he expected from her, but today something else glinted behind that icy gaze. Something he couldn’t comprehend but which disturbed him far more.
In the hilly field, a gathering of twenty or so adults feasted on mutton from the sheep he had stolen two days ago from a local farmer, John Hargreaves. James scowled. He and that interfering brother of his had ordered him off their land—and called Alizon a whore witch. They had accused him of stealing a lamb, but he had taken nothing from them that day, so he came back and took a sheep instead. His scowl turned into a smile. “Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb”, the saying went. Although if James had anything to do with it, he would hang for neither now that the Hargreaves brothers were no longer alive to accuse him.
Today, his friends and neighbors enjoyed their mutton. They drank ale, and laughter rang out. The first fine day of the year gave cause for celebration enough, but James had brought them all there for another purpose. Now that Alice had arrived, he could reveal it to them. But first he must introduce her to any she did not already know and reacquaint her with old friends. In his task today, he had drawn on anyone his mother could remember from their past. Anyone with special powers who would join them in fighting a common enemy.
“Mistress Alice Nutter has come from Roughlee,” he said. “Most of you will know her, I think.” He pointed to each in turn. “My mother, Mistress Device; Mistress Hewitt; Mistress Bulcock and her son, John; my uncle, Master Howgate, and his wife, Mistress Hay…” At each name, Alice Nutter smiled and acknowledged greetings. Finally, James came to the last. The woman he had thought not to see again. “Mistress Janet Preston from Gisburn.”
“You have done well to find so many of us with special gifts and to gather us all together so quickly,” Alice Nutter said. “Your grandmother would be proud of you. Does she know of this Sabbat?”
James shook his head. “She is ailing, and I do not believe she will see out this month if she is not taken from there.”
“And your sister? How does she fare in that dreadful place?”
James raised his eyes skyward. “I have bribed those sorry guards to leave her be. They would have her, even stinking as she is f
rom that cesspit, but I have warned each of them of what will happen to them if they touch one hair of her head.”
“But surely that is to court danger for yourself. They could accuse you of witchcraft and you would be thrown in there with them.”
“I know, Mistress, but what more can I do? I am helpless while my grandmother and sister are at the mercy of those who would do them such terrible harm.”
Alice patted his arm. “But now you are not alone. Now you have us all, and there is strength in our number.”
At her words, James’s heart lifted a little. “I truly hope so, Mistress.”
He turned to the assembled. “We must go inside and make preparation for our work tonight.”
One by one, the guests made their way into Malkin Tower. Jennet brought up the rear, dragging her feet. As he stepped over the threshold, James felt her eyes burn into his back.
Into his mind flashed an image. The vision that somehow crossed the barriers of time. The woman with long, blonde hair and strange clothes. Standing, staring at him. It meant something important. One day he would know. But not now. The image vanished and he shook himself. He must concentrate. Serious work lay to be done.
Once inside, he closed the door. So many bodies in such a small space made for a tight squeeze, so the children were banished into the bedrooms, and James shut the door separating them from the main room. Still, the gloomy room was crammed, with no space for anyone to sit down.
They crowded around the table as James’s mother, standing at the fire with her back towards them, began the ritual. She chanted under her breath as she tossed herbs, plants and all manner of ingredients into the cauldron, which bubbled and hissed, giving off sulfurous odors and, on occasions, a puff of thick, black smoke that sent the crowd reaching for rags to wipe their streaming eyes.
If their work were not so secret, the ritual would have been conducted outside, but even though his God-fearing neighbors were away at the church, James still felt wary of Master Nowell’s spies. They had already drawn enough attention to themselves by gathering so many together.
His mother passed him a goblet. The time had come to draw on the spirits.
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