Blood and Clay

by Dulcinea Norton-Smith

  “When did you see him last?”

  “P’raps a week back, hollering and banging at our door. Angry like. Maddened he was. Scared the poor kiddies he did. Not fair. Big man like that scaring my kiddies.”

  As she spoke in her rapid high pitched manner, Elizabeth simpered as she gave a glance to Alizon and the girl. Roger was in no doubt that this was not a genuine show of affection. The woman looked spiteful and incapable of love. He noticed that the children had naturally kept their distance, as if used to blending into the background and staying out of reach.

  “Why would he be shouting at you Widow Device? What did you do to him to make him so angry?”

  “I ha'nt done nothing. He can’t blame me for nothing he can’t.”

  “She’s lying’ Mr Nowell Sir. Look at them shifty eyes. Want me to show her the strap?”

  “No it’s ok Hargreaves. I’m not done yet.”

  Roger’s voice remained calm and pleasant but all that knew him would have noticed the slight threat in the undertone. He did not suffer fools gladly and was known through the County, even to poor unfortunates such as the Device’s, as an iron fist in a velvet glove.

  “Mrs Device. Is it true that in October just one year back in the month of October you worked in Mr Baldwin’s mill?”

  “Aye”

  “And that you left on bad terms; with an argument.”

  “It weren’t my fault. It was him who done it. He’s no good man. All his ‘igh and mightiness an’ he won’t even pay for an honest day’s work.”

  “So you felt he owed you wages”

  “Aye he did an’ he never paid me and still ‘ant paid ter this day.”

  At this Elizabeth spat on the floor, the big lump of phlegm filled spit landing just short of Hargreaves’ boot.

  “Mind your manners you bloody bitch” said Hargreaves with a disgusted look on his face. Roger did not chastise him when he gave the woman a slap on the back of the head with his strap, which sent her, for the second time in their visit, onto the floor in a whimpering pile.

  “Alright Device. We will talk to your mother now.”

  Hargreaves gestured to the older woman with his strap. Unlike her daughter, Demdike did not look nervous and gave the Constable a malicious, squinted smile. Elizabeth crawled back to her stool and sat down again, rocking back and forth as the questioning of her mother began.

  “Now you answer Mr Nowell’s questions and don’t be messing him around or there’ll be plenty o’ strap left for you”

  “Surely you wouldn’t beat an old lady like me Sir. An old widow just caring for her widowed daughter and them poor fatherless young ‘uns”

  “They don’t look too well cared for to me Mrs Southerns. Perhaps you should be spending more money on food and clothes and less on buttered ale” said Roger as he gestured with his head towards the two tankards on the floor. They were both half full despite it being a little before noon and the only food in sight was a small piece of cheese, spotted with green and white fur and half nibbled, though by a small child or a mouse it was impossible to tell.

  “They get what they deserve. Nothing more nothing less. Life’s tough in this forest Mr Nowell. For those that don’t have money an’ big houses. They get what we can give and they should be grateful for the roof o’er their licey little heads.”

  Roger raised his eyebrow at Demdike. It hadn’t taken long for that caring facade to slip and show her true colours; malice and spite. The forest of Pendle would be well rid of her and her like.

  “Demdike, did you visit the land of Richard Baldwin with your granddaughter Alizon Device to ask for your daughter’s wages which you believed to be unpaid?”

  “Aye”

  “What happened when you visited Richard Baldwin’s farm.”

  “He chased us off, waving his stick at us and threatening to beat us half to death. Me a poor old woman and my poor little gran’daughter. Big man ought ta be ashamed. He said we weren’t to go on his land again.”

  “So you cursed him.”

  “No. Weren’t me. I don’t put curses on people. Just help em is all. P’raps it were that Old Chattox cow. She’s surely a witch that one. Murderer too. You want to talk to her if there are ill winds in the air.”

  “Madam Mrs Chattox has not been accused of this crime. You have. Did you or did you not put a curse on Richard Baldwin and his kin which led to little Emma’s death.”

  “Weren’t me Sir. There isn't no-one who can say it were me. That poor, poor girl and that Baldwin man suffering an all. Terrible that is Sir, just terrible.” Demdike’s mouth turned up in a barely disguised sneer.

  “Take her outside Hargreaves, and her snivelling wretch of a daughter too. Have at ‘em with the strap. Twenty lashes each may loosen their tongues.”

  “Would be my pleasure Mr Nowell Sir” said the Constable as he grabbed one arm of each woman and dragged them out of the house, not slowing to make sure that they made it through the door frame clear of bumps and bruises.

  The air soon rang with the crack, slap of the leather strap and the cries of the women. Roger turned to the two girls and smiled at them gently. He nodded towards a stool and Alizon went to sit on it. The other girl stood close to her and twisted a piece of Alizon’s hair nervously until it formed a knot and made Alizon wince before she gently removed the girl’s hand and placing it in between her own. Roger perched precariously against the kitchen table, testing it first before lowering his full weight onto it.

  “Should I call you Alizon or Lizzie?” Roger’s voice had now taken on a gentle, less formal tone. Alizon looked down in shame.

  “Alizon Sir.”

  “Do not think me a fool Alizon. It has not come as a surprise to me to see you here, though it seems that you were surprised to see me.”

  “Yes Sir. Sorry Mr Nowell Sir, for lying. I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

  “So you know that lying is wrong?”

  Roger was surprised at this; that a girl brought up in the lap of the Devil and surrounded by malcontent could know the difference between right and wrong. It all but confirmed his suspicions that she was not tainted with the same wickedness as her family

  “Yes Sir, I won’t lie again. Not ever.”

  “Now Alizon I need to ask you a few questions. Is that ok?”

  Alizon looked at Roger nervously. A battle played itself on her face. A battle, between betraying her family and pleasing Roger. The latter obviously won.

  “That’s ok Sir. I won’t lie to you. Not ever again. You can ask me what you will.”

  Throughout this exchange the sound of slaps from outside had begun to slow down and finally stopped. The younger girl had begun to look less scared of Roger and had let go of Alizon’s hand.

  “Tell me little one, are you the fair faced one they call Jennet?”

  The girl nodded and smiled a dazzling smile, eager to be noticed and to please.

  “Well Jennet, I need to talk to your sister. Would you go outside to my Constable and tell him that he can take you and your mother and grandmother down to the river to sit awhile. I will call for him when I have finished.”

  Jennet looked to Alizon, unsure of what to do. When Alizon nodded, she gave Roger another dazzling smile and skipped out of the house, happy that all of the drama was over and she had been chosen for such an important job. Once she had left Roger turned back to Alizon.

  “Tell me Alizon, do you believe in God?”

  “Of course Sir.” Alizon said quietly then looked with nervousness towards the door. Roger followed her gaze then gave a nod.

  “Ah, but your family don’t know.”

  Alizon nodded.

  “So your family, do they believe in God?”

  “I don’t rightly know Sir. I think they do. They believe in the other one more though.”

  “The other one? You mean the Devil?”

  “Yes” said Alizon looking down in embarrassment.”

  “Alizon does the Devil do their bidding? Do the
y seek to cause others harm?”

  “Maybe, I don’t know Sir. They don’t tell me much; they think I am too young.”

  “Are you too young Alizon? Too young for beliefs?”

  “I don’t know. I am fifteen, almost sixteen. I believe in God Sir so maybe I am old enough.”

  “Do you believe in the Devil Alizon?”

  “Yes maybe I do for it’s not God that lives in my Mam and Gran’s hearts.”

  “Alizon, were you with your Grandmother on the day that she visited Richard Baldwin’s farm?”

  “Aye sir I was. She don’t walk far without me to guide her, cos of her eyes.”

  “What happened when you got to the farm?”

  “We went as far as the gate to the farm Sir and then Mr Baldwin came out to us.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He asked why we were there. He ignored me and just talked to Gran. She said we’d come to get the money he owed my Mam.”

  “And what did Mr Baldwin say to you then?”

  “He said that he didn’t owe Mam any money. That she was a work shy ….” Alizon stopped speaking and looked at her feet once more. Again the look of embarrassment crossed her face.

  “What Alizon? You can tell me. I won’t judge you for just repeating a word you heard.”

  “He said that my Mam was a work shy whore and a whore o’ the Devil at that and that he weren’t going to pay her no monies.”

  “Well a gentleman shouldn’t talk like that in front of a lady. Not even in front of one such as your Grandmother. I am sorry for that Alizon. What happened next?”

  “Gran said that he would be sorry talking about her kin like that. Mr Baldwin shouted some bad words at her and said we were to get off his land and never go back or we’d be sorry. He waved his sheeping stick at us and tried to hit me with it so we left. We haven’t ever been back since.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Roger stopped the questioning and leant back against the table again. During the chat he had been leaning closer and closer in and the strain was now causing his aging bones to complain. Fifty years old and suffering from the aches and pains of age, Roger nevertheless felt in the prime of his life. This situation vexed him however. He had no doubt that Demdike had caused the death of Emma Baldwin yet Alizon said that they had left the Baldwin farm and not returned and Roger believed her. As Roger stood in thought Alizon stared at his face, a nervous look in her eyes. Roger wrinkled his nose. In the first time of quiet since entering the house his nose had had time to notice the musty, mildew tinged air again. If he could put a name to the smell it would be “filth”. He looked around at the pools of muddy earth where the roof had dripped in water. Cat faeces littered the floor. How could those harridans let the poor children live in this pit?

  As they sat in silence he heard the not too distant voice of Hargreaves as he brought the women back up the hill, chastising them for the state of their land as he came. Just a minute or two until they reached the house, Roger reckoned. Suddenly a thought hit him. As Alizon stared him in the eye it seemed that the thought he had had been sent directly from her.

  “Alizon what did your Grandmother do after you left the farm?”

  “We came back here. It was nightfall by then. She told me to leave her outside to sit awhile so I came into the house to look after Jennet. I put Jennet to bed in our room then I heard Grandma calling so I went and helped her inside.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes Sir”

  “Then two days later Emma was struck ill and almost a year to the day was dead” said Roger, almost to himself.

  There had not been a straight answer here. Not the fullness of what he wanted to hear, but a start and the threads had begun to weave together, giving Roger the beginnings of an idea about how this family of witches worked. Not enough to arrest any of them but enough to assure him that they needed to be watched, and carefully.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What’s up with you Lizzie? You’ve said nowt for the past half hour.” Gabe flicked a piece of grass that he had been chewing on at me.

  I picked it off my knee and flicked it to the ground. We had been sitting at Beggar’s Bend for half an hour now and for the first time since we had met, five years ago, I had been unable to think of anything to say to Gabe. We had always had it so easy. We talked about everything; hopes fears, acting like stupid five year olds. Why had it all suddenly become so difficult for me?

  “There’s nowt wrong. Stop your fussing Gabe. Just thinking’ is all.”

  “That’s a lie and you know it Liz. Don’t lie to me. I can see when there is something wrong. Know every part of your mind I do.”

  Gabe moved round to sit in front of me and put his fingers under my chin, tilting my face upwards. I tried to keep looking down but when it started to give me a headache I looked to the side instead, squinting down the road. I still had money left from the leather purse so I had no need to beg but being here was better than being at home and it meant I could see Gabe. Now that wasn’t feeling like such a good idea.

  “Look at me Lizzie. What’s up?” Gabe lowered his head and moved it to the side a little to try and catch my eye.

  My eyes flitted to his before I could stop them and once our eyes met I was stuck. I knew in the very core of me the colour of Gabe’s eyes. My knowledge of every part of his face pulsed through my blood but now it all seemed so unfamiliar and new. The June sun, hot and bright, glinted in his eyes, making the pale green an almost transparent shimmer. I could see each freckle, far more of them than in the winter months, and each small hair growing from his jaw-line, making a slight shadow fall across muscles in his face that I couldn’t remember having seen before. His face was so close that his breath on my face was comforting and creamy like a mug of warmed milk. Yet I didn’t feel soothed. Every nerve in my body seemed to jangle.

  Gabe nudged my chin and laughed. “See Lizzie, not so hard to look me in the eye is it? Now what’s making you so troubled heh?”

  Gabe leant back on his elbow again and I took a deep breath. I hadn’t even realised that I had been holding it.

  “How’s Jane?”

  “Jane?”

  “Jane Nutter?”

  “Oh!” Gabe looked surprised. “I don’t know. Good I think. I don’t really talk to her.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. Why would I? Too busy working; Mr Nutter works me hard. Got to earn my wages.”

  Gabe was still looking at me, brow wrinkled.

  “I thought you were courting.”

  “Ha!” Gabe fell backwards and lay on the grass laughing until tears sprung from his eyes.

  I glared at him, feeling stupid and confused.

  “There only one lass for me Lizzie and it isn’t Jane Nutter. She’s very pretty an all but she don’t half know it. Get a spot o’dirt on her and she goes running to her Mam in a tizz.”

  “Well I hope your other girl ‘isn’t so prissy then Gabe; not with you bein’ so perfect and everything.”

  I spat the words out, confusion making me mean. I thought Jane was the only girl he could be courting but I realised now that I hardly ever saw him. There could be a whole bunch of girls he saw in the village. I really did know nothing about him. I stood up quickly and stomped away, heading for home.

  “Lizzie, Lizzie come back. I didn’t mean to laugh”

  I couldn’t turn around, my eyes were blurred with tears that I didn’t want Gabe to see. Tears I couldn’t even understand.

  Chapter Twelve

  The scent of sweet clover, wild garlic and morning dew filled the air and wood pigeons cooed, unseen but ever present in the trees of the forest of Pendle. I could hear my feet crunching on the stones of the road and the rhythmic scrunch, scrunch made me calm. I neared Beggar’s Bend and smiled as I felt the warm, smooth shilling in my pocket, the last of the money given to me by Roger Nowell months earlier. I’d spent it slowly over the months and now, with fruit, veg and meat more abundant in the woods,
I was able to spend the last of it on thread, pins and fabric to make a summer shift dress for Nettie as a birthday surprise.

  Following Roger’s visit to Malkin Tower I’d felt unsure about what to do with the money. At first the knowledge that Roger must have known who I was all along had made me feel foolish and guilty for the lies which he must have known as such. The uncertainty about what he was going to do to my family had further made me avoid thinking about the money. I considered giving the money back but he’d already set off on his horse by the time I had decided to go and get the money from the clearing and I didn’t know where he lived. I reached the bend just in time to see Alistair McCarren approach from the opposite direction. His old pony plodded slowly along as it pulled a cart on which he perched. Behind him were swathes of fabric. There was nothing delicate or fancy but there was an abundance of hard wearing cloth. They were mostly in basic blocks of earth and neutral colours but some with more fanciful prints. It was these in which I was interested. As I reached the bend I was happy to see that Alistair had stopped for a while to sip on a small flask of water and let his horse graze on the grass. The sun glinted of his silver white hair and he sprinkled some of the water from his flask into his hand before holding it out for his horse to drink.