Trailing the Hunter

by Heidi Eljarbo

  He held out a piece of paper. “I’ve written an important statement about witches and how to catch them. Read this thoroughly and use the teachings in your sermons. You will be hallowed by doing so, and your family will be fed and merry.”

  Herr Salve grunted and snagged the document out of Angus’s hand.

  Angus bared his gums and patted Salve’s shoulder. “Good man. I look forward to hearing your sermon on Sunday then.”

  The witch-finder’s boorish behavior was belittling. Herr Salve watched them leave then turned around and kneeled by the altar. He was a man of God.

  ✽✽✽

  “Well, that went well,” Angus said.

  The bailiff nodded. “Yes, it did. I need to get back to my office now. You will remember the visit to Steen Estate tomorrow?”

  “I am looking forward to it.” Angus was thrilled to be invited to a gentlewoman’s estate. He had come far from the impoverished, rat-infested room he’d grown up in. Abigael Steen was a lady of great elegance and integrity.

  “My days are full, Winther. This evening, we take another witch into custody. The folks in Berg will soon be safer than they have been for a long time, and I will make sure they can walk the streets without having to worry about troll women lurking about.”

  The bailiff nodded. “You are a decent man, Hill. Your methods are crude, but I see now that you care for the villagers.”

  Angus was tired, but now that his work had advanced, he hoped to save enough funds to retire to a more sophisticated lifestyle in the next few years. If someone deserved a better life, it would be him.

  ✽✽✽

  The sun hung low in the evening sky when Siren returned from a short walk. The meadow across the road from the cottage was filled with wildflowers. She had stood in the field, eyes closed, listening to crickets in the grass and birds in the nearby trees.

  In her hand she held sprigs of purple willowherb, cow parsley, and daisies. Hassel was sleeping, snuggly cradled in a cloth tied around her bosom. She was about to unwrap the cloth and put the babe down on her bed when the door flew open. Two men in guards’ clothing barged in. The bouquet sailed to the floor, immediately trampled on by one of the men.

  Siren took several steps back until she was up against the wall. Her mouth went dry, and her hands started shaking. Why had she not been more careful? There was a witch-finder in the village, still, she had openly sold her potions. She had paid Clara’s warning words no heed. Clutching Hassel to her chest, she gasped. Her son was in danger.

  “Clara Dahl will be back at any moment,” she said, breathing hard.

  “No, she will not,” a guard with close-set eyes and a scraggly beard

  said. “We waited until she left.”

  The other guard walked about the room, grabbed things off the shelves, rummaged through the cupboards, and threw the items onto the floor. He flicked his long bangs away from his face. “What are we looking for, Anders?”

  “The witch-finder said to look for any proof that she’s a witch. Think about the stories we have heard.” He turned to Siren and asked, “Do you have a broom?”

  She leaped forward, grabbed the pan sitting by the fireplace, and held it up in a threatening manner. “Leave this instant, or I will scream. I have friends who will come running through that door…strong friends.”

  “Hah. You are on your own, witch.”

  “A witch is never on her own.” Oh, no. She closed her eyes a moment, aghast at her slip of the tongue. Why did she always speak in haste? If the stupid guards had caught her words, no doubt, they’d think she’d just made a confession. She lowered her arm and bowed her head. Humility and a calm voice were a safer approach. “Not that I would know.”

  Anders grabbed the iron pan out of her hand and flung it across the room.

  How could she talk her way out of this? She knew too well how nonsensical words came out of her mouth when her temper got the better of her. This was even worse. Clara had been right to want to keep Siren’s way of life private. But Siren had not listened and had never taken advice. She cursed herself now for the stubbornness that so often got her into trouble. Now she had Hassel in her life, and she would do anything to keep him safe. The thought of something happening to her son pierced her soul with fear.

  The noise woke up Hassel. Siren loosened the cloth around the baby and rocked him gently to comfort him. The men had found the trays under her bed.

  “Put those down. Those are my personal things, and you have no right—”

  “I am tired of your outbursts.” Anders tore a corner off the curtain and crammed it into Siren’s mouth. “If you remove that, I’ll beat you.”

  “Is this something to take back?” The long-haired guard held the small black book in the air. “I don’t know how to read, but it has symbols and drawings in it, too.”

  Siren shook her head and whimpered.

  “Give it here.” Anders grabbed the book and turned the pages. “The witch clearly does not want us to have this. Hopefully, Angus Hill can use this as proof. Let’s go.”

  Siren clutched her son to her chest when the guards grabbed her. She kicked their shins and tried to wiggle out of their painful grip.

  Anders punched her face, and she cried out in pain. Warm blood dripped from her nose.

  “Calm down,” the guard growled, “or I will take that child away from you.”

  To protect the baby, she let them pull her along—out the door and onto the back of a wagon outside the gate. Anders wound a piece of rope around her feet but let her hold Hassel. She expected they were taking her to the village hall, but what awaited her there?

  When the horse and wagon rolled down Market Street, passing a few villagers who were out and about, Siren waved at them to get their attention. Some she recognized as customers—people she had sold potions to—but they stared for a few moments and then quickly looked the other way.

  If only Clara’s friend Peter or that gentleman from Ivershall were around. She looked down at Hassel’s little, round cheeks. She would never let anyone take him away. Never. She would rather die.

  ✽✽✽

  Angus waited by the entrance to the village hall when the sentries returned with Siren and the little boy. He had not gone with the men this time—he could not bear the idea of seeing Clara’s anguish when her assistant was brutally taken away.

  The woman sat in the back of the open wagon, clutching her child. Angus took one look at her and shut his mind to her pleading eyes.

  “I see you have taken precautions,” he said to the men. “Her feet are bound. That is good. And she has a cloth stuffed in her mouth. Excellent. I am tired of listening to witches’ screams. Their pleas and apologies are unnecessary noise in my ears.”

  He stared at the accused, at her one black eye and the bruises on her arms. “This witch struggled.” He grinned. “That’s quite normal. They are feisty creatures.”

  Angus then flipped his hand. “Take her inside and put her in the cell with the other witches. I do not have time for her now. Testing this witch will have to wait until I have dealt with the other ones.”

  The witch held on to her child as if nothing else mattered. “Evil seed,” Angus muttered. He checked to see if anything was left in the wagon. “Did you find anything else? A broom, perhaps? A familiar, like a cat or a dog? Was she in possession of anything out of the ordinary?”

  The guard shook his head. “She had plenty of small flasks and herbs.”

  “Typical. They all have that.”

  “Oh, but there was one thing. I found this. I dunno what it says, but it looked important.” The guard pulled a small black book out of his pocket.

  Angus jerked his head back. Both arms shot forward, and he waved his hands. “Give it here, you imbecile. Hurry.”

  With his fingertips Angus carefully opened the small book and flipped the pages. “Ah, this is evidence enough,” he mumbled with his face in the book. “Testing this witch is redundant, but we will still do it. Good folks
enjoy a fine testing.”

  He lifted his head and stared into the guard’s eyes. “And more than that, good folks deserve it. There’s nothing more frightening than having a witch in the neighborhood.” He held up the book. “I will take care of this.”

  He tipped his head and scowled. A bairn in a prison cell was always extra trouble. “Give her a double ration of bread and water for the next couple of days. She needs suckle for the child.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The guard was about to leave when Angus grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

  “Did you see Clara Dahl there? Was she about when you picked up the witch?”“No, sir. We waited until she’d left like you asked us to. Only the witch and her bairn were there.”

  A grin pulled the corners of his mouth. He lifted his chest and took a deep, satisfied breath. He was doing good deeds today, and Clara would be grateful when she found out he had saved her from having a witch in her home.

  CHAPTER 17

  ✽✽✽

  AT STEEN ESTATE, Abigael sat in the living room, her feet resting on a footstool in front of her chair. Life was good, and her belly was great with child, which gave her another excuse to command her maid to wait on her.

  A thought struck her like light that flows into a room when the thick curtains are pulled open in the morning. I’ve never been close to anyone. Randi had been her companion since Abigael arrived at Steen Estate, but they never had intimate conversations. The maid’s personal life was, most likely, dreary and dull. What difference did it make? Randi was just a servant. Abigael, on the other hand, had extraordinary news. With her mouth full of cake, she called out, “Randi.”

  In an instant, her maid came into the room and curtsied.

  “Ah, there you are. Come to my room with me.” Abigael winked at her. “I have something I want to share with you.” She’d waited so long to tell someone. Randi would be the first person to hear Abigael’s plan.

  “Hurry.” Abigael giggled and turned her head to make sure Randi was right behind her up the stairs.

  After they passed Mr. Steen’s room, Abigael whispered, “Do you remember I told you a while back I had found a solution to a problem? Well, I am ready to tell you what it is.” She put a finger on her smiling lips. “But it’s a secret.”

  Behind closed doors in her room, Abigael raised the hem of her gown and removed a padding the size of a large cushion.

  Randi slapped her hands against her cheeks and gasped. “You are not with child?”

  Abigael cackled. “I have worn this for a while, waiting for the opportunity to become a mother. It’s my turn. This time, I will be a mother.”

  “But you are not expecting.”

  Abigael’s mood changed in an instant. What a dimwitted girl. She stepped close to her maid and hissed. “Say nothing of this. I will make your life miserable if you breathe a word about it. I will lock you up, not pay your salary, and I will pester your family.” She straightened her back and laughed. “You should see your face, Randi. Your eyes are almost popping out of your skull.”

  The thought of a baby in her arms softened her behavior once again. A child of her own would change everything, and she would be truly merry for the first time in her life. She danced around the room then stopped suddenly. “I have been so patient, but now I’ve found her.”

  Randi still looked flabbergasted.

  “Come now, Randi. Close your ignorant mouth.”

  “Found who?” Randi managed to say, her eyes bulging.

  “The woman who recently gave birth to my future son, you dimwit.”

  “Who is it?”

  Abigael lifted a hand and pointed a finger in Randi’s face. “Now that you don’t need to know. What I want from you is support when my time comes.” She lifted the padding. “When this child is born…” She paused to giggle. “Then you will act as midwife, and you will let everyone know I have delivered a healthy infant.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, you don’t have to, Randi. Let me worry about this. I must have that child. We have a nursery, and everything is ready and waiting. We need a wet nurse, and I will leave that up to you to find a trustworthy woman in the village to feed the infant. And as far as authenticity, my husband, members of this household, as well as the villagers, all think I am with child. Even my uncle is convinced I am pregnant.”

  “But you don’t know who the father is. What shade of hair will this child have? What about his eyes?”

  “At this point, I don’t care. I must be a mother, and I know how to make it happen. Besides, the woman I have found is blonde—like myself. And she is young and can have other children.”

  “It could be an illegitimate child.”

  “Enough. Hold your tongue. I warn you. Now, leave me, and go and do…whatever you do.”

  Randi hesitated in the doorway and asked quietly, “Have you done this before?”

  “Oh, you mean the padding. Yes, thrice. But I have not been able to find an expecting mother who could give me her child…not until the other day. The other times, I had only to remove the pillow and let everyone believe I’d had another miscarriage. It was simple, really.”

  “It won’t be simple for the child’s mother.”

  Pretending not to hear Randi’s last comment, Abigael pushed the maid out of the room. She combed her hair, pinched her cheeks, and changed her gown. After making certain the padding was tucked securely under her clothes, she walked downstairs. Everything was going according to her plan.

  ✽✽✽

  Abigael stood on the front steps as Angus Hill and her uncle arrived an hour later. She had picked out a rust-colored maternity gown that flowed and shimmered in purplish hues as she moved about. A sheer white scarf was tucked into the collar, matching the color of the three-quarter-length sleeves of her chemise. A mild summer breeze played with the blonde curls that hung gracefully on her shoulders.

  Uncle Winther had enough knowledge of the English language that she had specifically invited the witch-finder without his interpreter. Abigael knew a few phrases but found it difficult to pronounce the odd-sounding words. She had traveled some but never outside the country border. Stays in neighboring towns were stimulating enough, especially after several hours spent in a carriage on rutted and uneven roads. Everywhere people spoke the same. Why could the witch-finder not learn her fine tongue, which surely must be an essential language in the world?

  Her uncle climbed the stairs first, followed by the witch-finder who held onto the railing and supported each step with his walking stick.

  “Hello Uncle.” Abigael lifted her chin and smiled graciously, inviting her uncle to kiss her cheek.

  “How are you today, my dear?”

  “Thank you. I’m healthy.” Abigael turned to her other guest. “And welcome, Angus Hill.” She put her hand on her chest. “I am stolt…proud…to witness the work you are doing here in Berg.”

  The witch-finder’s mouth pulled into a thin, straight line, so wide his eyes squinted. “I am not here to gather compliments but to rescue the inhabitants of this area. Yet, I am honored. That someone appreciates my work makes this grievous effort bearable.”

  “Please come in. My footman will take your hat.” Abigael waited for them to enter and then showed the two men into the parlor.

  Mr. Hill entered first, his head held high as he gazed around the room. “Exquisite. You have decorated nicely.” He pointed at a painted portrait above the open fireplace. “Is that Mr. Steen, your husband? Why is he not here to receive me?”

  “Indisposed.” She moved the witch-finder right along toward the sitting area. She certainly did not need her husband to interfere in her plans. With a gracious hand movement, she swung around. “This house was his wedding gift for Mr. Steen’s first wife, but the property has been here for ages. Before this manor was built, there was a convent where we have our rose garden today. Parts of the foundation are still intact. See, right there?” She pointed out the window then thre
w her head back and laughed. “Can you imagine little monks running around out there?”

  The witch-finder turned to look at her, his expression serious and stern.

  “Oh, I’m sure they were wholesome Christians,” she added. “I just love imagining how people used to live, you know, before I was born.”

  Her uncle appeared to be in an equally sober mood.

  Abigael slowly sat down on a large chair with soft cushions. “Please sit,” she beckoned.

  Her uncle and Mr. Hill took their seats on the settee on the opposite side of the table.

  The fluttering feeling in Abigael’s stomach was both thrilling and uncomfortable. So much was at stake. The only thing that mattered now was that she would soon be a mother. Silly words escaped her lips, somewhat uncontrollable, but she could not seem to stop her chattering. “The weather has been unpredictable lately, don’t you agree? Would you like some tea?” She batted her eyelashes.

  Gazing around at the interior, the witch-finder nodded when she offered him a cup of tea. The man was disgusting, not at all like Christian. Still, she needed to get his attention in any way she could.

  The men probably did not have time to answer with her babbling on. She crossed her legs then uncrossed them again and tried to calm down enough to wave to a servant. Refreshments were brought on a tray. Abigael poured herself. What would Angus Hill say next?

  The witch-finder took a small sip. “This tastes sweet. In my country, China drink is often bitter.”

  Abigael nodded. “Honning. Excuse me, I mean honey. The flavor of this tea is delicious when you add some sweetness. I could add honey to any meal.” She giggled again.

  Her uncle shifted in his seat. “This tea was brought here from Holland. The East India Company collects tea and other goods from far corners of the world. A merchant brings us wares we cannot grow here in the north.”

  The witch-finder held up the cup “Excellent, and these cups are from Holland, too?”

  Smiling at the witch-finder was becoming tedious. “No, they are imported from France. My husband has had many wares brought here…cups, oil lamps, furniture…” Abigael fiddled with her necklace. So many questions. Patience was not a virtue she possessed.