“What we need is to assess the damage to this young lady’s face,” snapped Frazer.
I ran to the kitchen to fetch hot water and a rag, hoping her eyes hadn’t been injured. What had come over the owl? He was like part of the family. My master was always commending him as a better mouser than any cat, and said he kept the bats down. I used to leave out bits of meat for him.
When I returned, the mistress had managed to soothe Mary Dunbar, but the blood was already drying on her face and her hair was sticking to it.
“You’d best send out for some special salve, mistress. Nothin’ of mine can treat scars,” said Peggy McGregor.
She spoke quietly, but the young lady overheard the words and let out a bleat. “Is my face ruined?”
“A woman’s fortune is her virtue, not her face,” said the minister.
“For the love of God, let it rest,” Frazer Bell fairly snarled at him.
“Hush, Mistress Mary, hush,” I said. “There bain’t a mark on you. You’re as bonny as the day you come among us.”
I was no physician – I couldn’t tell how well the tears in her skin would heal. But she caught me by the hand, spilling water over the counterpane.
“Do you promise?”
“Aye, mistress. I promise you’ll be as good as new in a day or two.”
“I’m taking a musket to that owl.” Hugh Donaldson clattered downstairs. But he was back almost at once, reporting that the bird was lying at the foot of the tree, stone-dead. “You must have hit him a mighty crack with the hairbrush, Bell,” he said.
“I had no choice.”
“Aye, you did rightly.”
Bob Holmes scratched his head. “It’s not like an owl to go on the attack for no reason.”
I took away the dirty water, jerking my head at Peggy to follow me. “Have you none of that oil you make from the leaves of white lilies?”
“Thon’s for scalds.”
“Would it not start the healin’ on her face? Just till we look about somethin’ better?”
“If it doesnae help her it willnae harm her. I’ll see about some. She needs to rest, mind you. ’Tis the best cure of all.”
“How can she do that with half of Islandmagee in her bedchamber, Peggy?”
“Aye, but she cannae be left on her lone.”
When I returned, Mary Dunbar had her eyes closed. She was a gory sight, poor lady, with all the bloody marks on her face. I should have liked to pull the curtains round her bed, to give her some privacy, but I daresay it was better for her own sake to stay in plain sight.
Robert Sinclair and the mistress were in a huddle, and whatever she was saying left the minister dumbfounded. The mistress could tell he wasn’t best pleased, and whispered some more, trying to persuade him round to her way of thinking. She might just as well have tried to move the Gobbins.
“I forbid it,” he said then loudly. “As your minister I absolutely, categorically forbid it. Prayer is what’s needed here. Not charms. I want to hear no more about it. It’s the sort of folly that leads folk to forsake the Creator of Life and follow the Author of Destruction. Now, Donaldson and Holmes, come you with me. I need to consult with you.”
The three of them left the room, and as soon as they were gone the mistress darted forward. She leaned over Mary Dunbar and wound a long piece of tape three times round her neck, dropping the ends inside her shift, out of sight.
“What are you doing, Mistress Isabel?” asked Frazer Bell.
“Hush, don’t give me away. A well-wisher paid me a visit. She tells me this has never been known to fail.”
The minister and elders came back and tried to get some praying under way, but it put the young lady in a lather.
“I’ve seen saner wretches in the lunatic asylum,” Hugh Donaldson whispered to Frazer, whose forehead creased at the words. Donaldson seemed to relish the scene. Easy for him, with a quiet household to go home to – doubtless, he was thinking how his family would hang on his every word, with such a tale to relate.
When she recovered her wits, the young lady complained of a pain in her side. The mistress moved her shimmy to investigate. The tape she had put round her cousin’s neck was tied at the waist now, knotted nine times. Eight double knots and a single one. Where each knot pressed against her, a blister was raised on Mary Dunbar’s skin.
“What have I done to you, Mary?”
Mister Sinclair pushed in for a look, and his face flared purple. “I forbade you to use this charm. ‘None can serve two masters.’ Matthew 6:24. Magic arts can heal no infirmity – this is merely the snare used by Baal to entangle mankind.”
“I meant no harm.” The mistress wrung her hands together.
“Charms and amulets are idle trifles without the power to heal. They have their origin in Satan.” Spittle landed on her sleeve. “Where did you come by this Romish superstition?”
“It’s just something I heard about.”
“Someone must have told you about it, mistress. I insist on you identifying the wolf in sheep’s clothing leading you astray.”
“I can’t remember. Just that it was a counter-charm – a papish priest passed it on.”
“Show me this atrocious object.”
The mistress unknotted the tape. “These are some words from the first chapter of St John’s Gospel on it. It dissolves away witchcraft.”
“I order this piece of deception burnt. As I told you before, your young relative will be healed by the twin powers of faith and prayer.”
“Prayers are no help to her, Mister Sinclair. She writhes in agony when she hears them.”
“It is not Mistress Dunbar in torment, but the demons inside her. Any kind of magic, even self-styled white magic, is sinful. You cannot go to the Devil for help against the Devil. ’Tis a grievous mistake. Your defiance disappoints me. This tape is going straight in the fire. By rights, I should make you do it, Mistress Haltridge, but I can see you’re not to be trusted. Don’t think you’ve heard the last of this, mistress.”
A wail from Mary Dunbar saved the mistress from shaping an answer.
“They’re coming at me, seven of them, all at once! They say I’m for it now, after landing Becky Carson in gaol. Can you see them? They’re flying past the casement, riding on the back of a big grey goose apiece. They’re on their way in to me.”
“Mary, the casement is shut tight. No one can get in,” said Mistress Haltridge.
“They can creep through a mousehole, they can slide in by a crack. Shutters can’t keep them out. Any minute now and they’ll be on top of me.” She tore at her injured face with her nails, breaking the skin again, and I reached for her hands to try and stop her, but was batted away.
Hugh Donaldson and Frazer Bell managed to take a hand each and hold it out from her body, whiles she twisted and gnawed at her lips.
“I thought the problem was solved by having that Carson woman gaoled,” said Mister Sinclair, “but I see I was over-hopeful. A malevolent force has put down roots on Islandmagee. Hacking at them is insufficient – we must dig them up.” He had a hoak round under his wig, scratching at his scalp. “This is proof of a witches’ coven on the island. Such power over another soul can only be the result of a foul brood conspiring together – group witchcraft.”
“But I thought Lock’s Cave was being watched,” said Hugh Donaldson. “How are the witches able to meet?”
“They must have a second lair. We’ll have to mount a search for it. The Constable must send some deputies to help us. But whether there’s one witch or an army of them, I’m ready to buckle on the Breastplate of Righteousness in the Lord’s cause. I’ll start by disposing of this trumpery.”
He held out the tape, his face like thunder, and it made me think of how he was with Ruth Graham. Merciless. Heaping the lion’s share of the blame on her. I couldn’t see him going to Ruth’s da and telling him to stop taking lumps out of her, either. He’d probably reach him a bigger stick. And Fanny Orr was putting all the guilt on Ruth as well, when
she knowed what a goat her Sammy was. Something got into me then.
When Mister Sinclair went downstairs to burn the Romish tape, I made an excuse about needing to dry off his coat that got vomit on it earlier, and chased after him.
“I know who gi’e the mistress thon charm.”
“Well? Speak up. ’Tis your Christian duty.”
“It was Mistress Orr, sir.”
“Was it indeed? After all I’ve done for her. I’ll be having words with Mistress Orr the next time I see her. I’m not one bit pleased to see she has not shaken off her old influences.”
Fanny Orr used to be a papist, afore Sammy Orr put his eye on her. She turned for the marriage, and for the sake of his few acres. Dirt poor, her people were. The mistress showed signs of being interested in the old religion as well.
When the minister returned, Mistress Haltridge was eager to make amends. “Mister Sinclair, my cousin tells us the Carson creature has no more power over her since the elders took her to the Constable. We should see about bringing her other persecutors to justice.”
“Aye,” said Donaldson. “A witch left at large can molest as she chooses. But it’s a known fact a witch in captivity can do no harm.”
“The perpetrators should certainly be taken into custody,” said the minister. “Mistress Dunbar, do you recognize the women afflicting you?”
She quivered. “I could pick out each and every one of them in a fair-day crowd.”
“Will you help us find them? Can you name them?”
“They threatened to kill me if I revealed their names.”
“You must be brave. You have a Christian obligation to point out these witches. Can you describe them, at least?”
“I’ll try.” She counted on her fingers. “Their ringleader goes by the name of Mistress Anne.”
“Imagine such a vile creature sharin’ a name with our queen,” said Donaldson.
“What does she look like? Where does she live?” asked the minister.
Near-hand, I could feel Peggy moving uneasily. Bad enough to hear the old mistress’s name bandied about. But what if her face was put to the name? The family would never recover from the shame.
“Mistress Anne prevents me from giving her away,” said Mary. “She doesn’t take kindly to your intervention, Mister Sinclair. She threatens to have your likeness made, and roast it like a lark, and says you’ll roast likewise. She boasts she can never be caught, no matter how hard we chase her, because she’ll turn herself into a hare and run away.”
The minister held his Bible close. “This Mistress Anne cannot elude God’s justice.”
Bob Holmes cleared his throat. “Is it not strange these so-called witches should allow the lassie the liberty of her tongue to denounce them?”
Mary Dunbar shrank away, but the minister flashed into anger. “Do you question this young person’s suffering? You saw for yourself how she’s afflicted.”
“Aye, I saw plenty. But do we drag every goodwife on Islandmagee before a cuddy just now landed in among us, on her say-so alone?”
“Godly women have nothing to fear by coming here.”
“Still and all, the lassie may be mistaken.”
“Mistress Dunbar is a stranger to this parish. How could she supply us with names unless she heard them used during one of their profane meetings?”
“Not wantin’ to cast any doubt on her, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat. And more than one way to latch onto a name. It’s not fittin’ for dacent folk to be tainted with such things. ‘Do not plot harm against your neighbour, who lives trustfully near you. Do not accuse a man for no reason, when he has done you no harm.’ Proverbs 3:29.”
The minister arranged and rearranged his wig as Holmes went on.
“Forbye, Mister Sinclair, why are you so quick to hand over these women to the civil authorities? Becky Carson’s in Carrickfergus already, and she might rot there afore anythin’ comes of it. Mister Bell riz the same point, but got short shrift from you. However, I’ve been studyin’ on it, and to my mind he talked sense. Surely, as a man of God, you’d want to wrangle with sinners yourself and rescue them from the Devil’s clutches? If he’s usin’ them, they deserve help as much as any strayin’ childer of God. We must instruct them on the path to salvation, and regain them for the Lord. But we cannae do it so handy if we shove them in a dungeon.”
Bob Holmes was a man with a wee bush of a beard – odd as two left feet, some said, because he would never eat flesh, though he loved his pipe. But he was held to be a sound judge of cattle, and people oftentimes went to him for advice when they were buying stock. His words swayed the minister.
“I need to seek guidance from some brother clergymen in this matter,” said Mister Sinclair.
Mary Dunbar’s eyes rolled back in her head, showing only the whites. “They’re here now!” she screeched. “They’ve brought a wild dog with them. Sweet Jesus, it looks like a wolf.”
“I thought all the wolves were hunted out of Ireland,” said Hugh Donaldson, from behind his hand. “There has’n been a pelt presented for the trophy fee this past lock of years.”
“It’s slabbering over me, I can feel its fangs on my flesh. Oh God, oh God, it means to make a meal of me!”
It was too much for the mistress, who ran from the chamber. Frazer Bell nudged me to go after her. Peggy came too, mumbling about something that couldn’t be put off any longer, and squeezed past me, making for the stairs. I knocked on the mistress’s bedchamber and was sent packing. I hadn’t gone half a dozen paces when she opened the door and beckoned me back.
“It was unChristian to snap at you the way I did,” she said. “You’re a good girl, Ellen Hill. My nerves are in shreds from this. Bank down the fires to keep them going overnight, and see to it there are plenty of candles in all the rooms. No need to go back into my cousin’s bedchamber.” She patted my arm. Maybes she thought she was saving me from a spectacle she had no taste for herself. “I’ll join the minister and elders as soon as I bathe my temples. It’s not seemly to leave her there with only men.”
I went along the passageway, pausing for a listen outside Mary Dunbar’s door. In case I was needed – not to eavesdrop. The wild dog, or the wolf, or whatever she thought was attacking her, seemed to have gone. Smoke drifted out from under the door, and I guessed it was Bob Holmes sucking on his pipe.
The minister must have been smarting over Holmes’ challenge. “Time can be better employed than by messing about with a stinking tobacco pipe,” he said. “I used tobacco in my youth, and was bewitched by it. But I left it off because I saw it was another snare of Lucifer’s to persuade men to waste time.”
“Each to their own. Everybody has their own way of puttin’ in time,” said Bob Holmes.
The mistress’s door opened, and I hurried down to the kitchen, to find Peggy standing on a chair, hanging a flint stone with a hole in it from a nail above the back lintel. She was none too secure, but I knowed better than to offer to trade places. Instead, I took hold of the chair back to steady her. The stone was one you’d find down by the lough shore, or maybes over by Brown’s Bay. They were called elf stones – folk used them to keep witches away.
“The bairns should be sent to their grandparents in Belfast, Peggy. This house is no place for them. I’m worried about them, so I am.”
She footered with the stone, making sure it would hold. “The mistress would never part with them.”
“She needs to be tould.”
“What are you lookin’ at me for?”
“She’ll listen to you afore she listens to me.”
“She’ll heed ne’ther one of us. If them chicks was’n sent away when their granny was ill, they’ll not be sent away now.”
“Their da was mos’ly here to watch over them when their granny lay dyin’, but he’s a long way from home this time. The bairns need to be taken somewhere they’ll be safe.”
“It’s a mortal pity the master has to be away. He has a way of keepin’ a cork in
things.”
“He could’n keep a cork in this, Peggy. It was bad enough when the aul’ mistress lay dyin’. But it’s different this time. It’s stronger. And it’s happenin’ quicker. It’s like a horse without a rider. There’s no tellin’ which way it’ll go.”
She came down off the chair, ignoring my outstretched hand. “You’re a fly one, so you are. I see you suggestin’ things to the mistress. Makin’ her lean on you. Mind you dinna bite off more’n you can chew.”
I was taken aback. Me and Peggy, we always rubbed along well together. I tried to ease her workload in the house, out of respect for her years, though I never expected anything by way of thanks. But I thought she was grateful, in her own way. Why was she suddenly turning on me? I stuck my hands into my apron pocket, rooting for a fancy hairpin of my ma’s I kept there. Whenever I felt far from home and on unsure ground, it comforted me. I could understand it if Peggy was jealous of the favour my master showed me, but her jibe about making up to his lady was a puzzle.
After all our years yoked together, I was saddened to see her take against me. But careless words at such a touchy time could be dangerous – I needed to remind her we were all at risk here, and had to stand together.
The House Where It Happened Page 14
