The House Where It Happened

by Devlin, Martina

  It was smoky inside the cottage, from the straw they were burning instead of wood or turf, and my eyes started watering. The hole in the roof they had for a chimney didn’t do much of a job. I was reared in a two-room cabin with earth floors like theirs, but it’s no hardship to grow accustomed to better. At least their table was scrubbed white, and they were mannerly enough, forcing me to take a mug of buttermilk and an oatmeal square. Though I sat looking at the food, wondering if the buttermilk could be a potion to make my hair fall out, or hives pop up on my skin.

  “Eat, lassie,” said Janet Liston, and it sounded like an order so I bit in.

  By and by, I came to the point. “I daresay you’ve heared about our troubles at Knowehead.”

  “It’s been a hard knock for yiz. Aul’ Mistress Haltridge no sooner wrapped in her windin’ sheet, and now this,” said Janet.

  “Whist, ma,” said Lizzie. “Dinna speak of the dead.”

  “I’m on’y saying, is all. Is it true her ghost walks through the house every night, groanin’ from the weight of her sins?”

  “Aul’ Mistress Haltridge never knowingly committed a sin in her life.” Janet Liston wouldn’t belittle her whiles I had breath in my body. I calmed myself, and went on, “The troubles concern a relative of the young mistress’s, lately arrived on the island. Mary Dunbar is her name, and she’s plagued by witches.”

  “So I hear,” said Janet Liston. “Can the kirk do nothin’ for her?”

  “Mister Sinclair is tryin’ his best, but she swears there’s a parcel of witches forever at her. One of them’s been handed in to the Constable. But the witchin’ has’n eased off, and the young lady says there’s a coven out for her blood.”

  The women let out a couple of squawks, though they were content enough to settle down for a blether, little suspecting what else I had to tell them. My knees were knocking: it was a dry bargain I made in agreeing to this errand. But there was no handy way to put it over – I better just spit it out. “Mary Dunbar says a mother and daughter are in the coven. The Constable is above in Knowehead now. He thinks it might be the pair of yiz.”

  Janet Liston’s rage blew up at once. She lifted the pitcher of milk and hopped it off the hearthstone, where it broke into pieces and splashed milk everywhere. The oaths that came out of her gob would have shamed a sailor.

  Her daughter did nothing showy, but I could see Lizzie Cellar was shaken. It was hard not to pity her. “What do you think we should do?” she asked, when Janet’s fury eased.

  “Come to Knowehead House and meet Mary Dunbar. If she’s mistaken, tell her so.”

  “The skitter o’ hell. Jus’ wait till I get me hands on her, I’ll gi’e her plenty to be afeared of!”

  “Ach, settle your head, Ma – losin’ your temper is no help to us.” Lizzie appealed to me. “Would it be safe for us to do that?”

  “It’s like this, Lizzie. E’ther go see her willin’, an’ make the best of it, or Brice Blan will bring yiz in. The young lady’s sore afflicted, and it’s agreed witchcraft is the cause.”

  “Witchcraft’s a bad business to be named along of – nobody ever comes out of it well,” said Lizzie, voice shaky. She was sore afraid, and I didn’t blame her. There was no answer I could make. She looked me in the eye. “Folk’ll say there’s no smoke without fire.”

  I nodded. I was scared myself – and sorry to see her dragged into this, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “There’s no power on earth can make me go and stand in front of thon wee hoor. I’ll have to be hauled there by me hair!” shouted Janet.

  “Think it over,” I told Lizzie. “You’ll have to face her, one way or the other, now she’s named you. Mary Dunbar’s a nice enough person, our own age, give or take. Act humble with her. She might take pity, and say yiz bain’t the ones a-witchin’ her.”

  The door slammed open and William Cellar came thundering in, demanding to know what all the caterwauling was about. He was a gulpin, known to have a temper the equal of his wife’s, so I took to my heels, not wanting to get on the wrong side of it. I was no way up the road when Lizzie Cellar came hirpling after, calling for me to slow down. It wasn’t her fault she had a scold for a ma. I liked her, so I did.

  “Me da says you have the right of it. We should talk to Mary Dunbar and tell her we’ve done nothin’ wrong. Me conscience is clear, and so is Ma’s. I know she carries on, but her bark is worse’n her bite. Me and Da, we’ll bring her to her senses. We’ll be along to Knowehead House shortly. I’m keen for to get this cleared up. It’s a mistake, is all. Innocence will act as our shield . . . won’t it, Ellen?”

  She reached out her hand to me, and I squeezed it. “I hope so, Lizzie. Sure I know you would’n hurt a soul. I mind right well when we were wee’ans, you would’n step on a flower for fear of harmin’ it.”

  “This is a test of our Christian faith, so it is. The minister was on’y after saying, last Sabbath in the meetin’-house, that we must all be God’s obedient subjects and place ourselves under the protection of His divine will. He’ll never see us wronged.”

  I was relieved. I didn’t like to fail in my mission. Not that I was getting above myself, and I certainly didn’t expect any thanks. But Lizzie might not be the loser by facing her accuser. Maybes the minister and the Constable would see she didn’t have it in her to try her hand at witchery. And if she kept her ma on a tight leash, it was possible she’d be let off too. You couldn’t be sure of the outcome, mind you. No two ways about it, it was a risk.

  * * *

  Back at Knowehead House, I had to elbow through the Constable’s men, all of them beef to the heels. Our yard was like a market square. Their horse dung was steaming all over the place, making everything look clatty. “Gi’e us a kiss,” and “Any chance of a wee drap?” they called after me, but I never let on I heard them.

  Mister Sinclair had pitched up, and was deep in conversation with Brice Blan. If you ask me, the preacher couldn’t bear to keep away from our household. Sure wasn’t he cock of the walk here, quoting the Bible and laying down the law? Mister Sinclair had a companion with him, another minister by the name of David Arnold. He was the Church of Ireland curate, come to lend his support. Mister Sinclair would have sent word to him: he had to keep in with the established Church. They took a dim view of us Dissenters doing things under our own say-so.

  Smartly turned out, was Mister Arnold – or the Reverend Arnold, I daresay he’d prefer to be called. You have to laugh at the airs and graces in other Churches. Plain mister is good enough for our ministers. Be that as it may, the linen at this Mister Arnold’s throat was snow-white, his shoe-buckles shone, and there was not a single speck of stoor on his black frock coat. Some woman was attentive to him, for here was a sleek man and no mistake. He put me in mind of a sea-pig. And there was Mister Sinclair, looking like he hadn’t changed his linen in weeks.

  The minute the mistress caught sight of me, she ordered me to fill the baskets beside each fireplace. We were going through a lot of turf these days – it was spring outdoors, but indoors the house never felt colder. No chance of resting my bones for a bit, after footing it all the way to McCrea’s Brae and back.

  Constable Blan was quick to ask how my errand went. I was pleased to be able to report that Lizzie Cellar and her mother Janet Liston were coming to the house by and by. I kept my eyes down and stayed modest, so nobody should think I was claiming any credit. Not much chance of that round Mister Sinclair.

  In he jumps, with his clabbery boots. “What does ‘by and by’ mean? In an hour? Two? Are we to wait round on their pleasure indefinitely?”

  “I took it to mean as soon as they can, sir.”

  “I trust they ken it’s not a social call.”

  “They understand that well enough. Nobody takes it lightly, bein’ named a witch.” I forgot myself and was tart, and he spotted it.

  “I would’n go feeling sorry for witches, lassie. Save your pity – if that’s what it be. I trust it’s not something more si
nister.” He turned to Mister Arnold. “If you ask me, these women take us for dunderheads. For all we know, they could be communing with Lucifer while we await their convenience.” The other minister looked grave.

  “Are these women friends of yours?” Brice Blan asked me, picking up on the sly suggestion put out by the minister.

  “I tould you I knowed them, sir, and indeed everybody knows everybody on Islandmagee, sir. I would’n condemn a body afore hearin’ what they have to say in their defence.”

  “Well said,” came from Mister Arnold.

  I wasn’t expecting support from that quarter, and Mister Sinclair looked quare and put out about it.

  Brice Blan tapped at his teeth with a thumbnail. Those teeth were as crooked as a country lane – no wonder he rarely smiled. “An hour here or there is immaterial. The plaintiff is resting. We might as well leave her be for a while. I want her refreshed, so she can concentrate on bringing to mind the names of the other witches.”

  I was let go about my business and headed off to the turf stack by the piggery. Noah kept it piled high, and always made sure there were sticks for kindling. “Nobody said I was to put a ring through their noses, and lead them along behind me,” I muttered, feeling hard done by. One of the Constable’s men carried the blocks for me, which soothed my temper.

  As I took the load at the kitchen door, he set his boot on the doorstep. “We were sent to search Lock’s Cave again while you were gone.”

  “Oh aye? Find anythin’?”

  “Ach, them fellows that looked it over before tramped here, there and everywhere. You could tell folk were about the place lately, but it could just as well a been the searchers. Blan gave the minister a right touch about it.”

  I laughed at the thought of Mister Sinclair being put in his box. When I did, the deputy leaned forward to whisper in my ear.

  “Is it true the witches brewed a soup with earth taken from the grave of Mistress Haltridge? And used it at a Black Sabbath to summon her up?”

  I slammed the door in his face.

  But it wasn’t so easy to slam the door on rumours. The longer this went on, the more outlandish they were growing. And tell you no lie, they put the wind up me – because there’s often some truth in a rumour, no matter how far-fetched.

  * * *

  I was in the yard with Jamesey and Sarah, letting them help me to fetch water from the well, when I spied Lizzie and Janet crossing through the fields, along with William Cellar. They were still a fair way off. I waved, before telling Jamesey to run into the parlour and tell the Constable.

  “Are they friends of yours?” Sarah asked.

  I thought about Saint Peter, denying Christ three times, but still I could not bring myself to own them as friends. It wouldn’t be safe. “Never mind your questions. When your brother comes back, the two of you are to go and play in the barn. At least you’ll be dry – rain’s brewin’ in that there sky, and I don’t want you catchin’ your death of cold.”

  “But there’s nothing to do in the barn, Ellen.”

  “I know, chicken. But it’s better for you to play there than in your chamber.” Who could tell what they might hear, under the same roof as Mary Dunbar and the two she had denounced as witches? I searched my head for a game. “How about if you bring your babby-doll, and Jamesey brings some of his soldiers, and your babby can get wed to one of the soldiers?”

  “Jamesey will never play that game.”

  “Tell him I said he must. Hurry up, there’s a good girl.”

  The young master arrived back, white-faced.

  “What’s the matter, Jamesey?”

  “Cousin Mary is . . .”

  “Is what?”

  “Nothing. I wish she’d go home!”

  I dropped the water and made for the parlour, where the company was occupied with Mary Dunbar.

  She was sweating and trembling. “They’re coming, the devils are on their way.” The closer the trio came to Knowehead, the more agitated she grew. How she knowed is beyond me, because they couldn’t be spotted from the parlour.

  I went back to get the water, only to find the family standing outside the back door. They hadn’t crossed the threshold, although I left the door ajar in my hurry. I signalled them to come in, but still they hesitated. Lizzie was leaning on a blackthorn stick, while Cellar must have had a bucket of water poured over him before he set off, from the state of his hair plastered to his head. Mind you, he looked a fair sight more respectable than earlier. All three were barefoot. I never knowed shoon, myself, till I came to Kilcoan More, when I was told I had to wear them, working for a gentleman’s family.

  “Best get this over with,” I encouraged them, seeing how the big house overawed them.

  Lizzie stepped into the kitchen, followed by her da, and finally her ma. I took a quick peek into the yard, and was satisfied to see the young master and missie skipping towards the barn.

  Peggy looked the threesome over from tip to toe. “Witchcraft is a dangerous invention of Satan’s,” she said.

  “It is, aye,” said William Cellar.

  “See yiz steer clear of witches. They’ll bring nothin’ but harm on your heads.”

  Lizzie rubbed at her leg through her skirts. I daresay the walk took it out of her. I knowed the longer they delayed, the worse would be Mary Dunbar’s convulsions, so I urged the women straight up to the parlour, and told William Cellar to take a seat beside Peggy. Lizzie leaned her stick in a corner, not wanting to look like a cripple in front of the fancy folk.

  By the time they stood in front of her, Mary Dunbar was tossing her head fit to snap her neck, and tugging at her fingers as though to tear them off. So much for my hopes of Lizzie and her ma reaching her before the attack got out of hand. The sight of them set her shrieking like a banshee. “Keep them away from me! Hold the witches back!”

  Mister Sinclair took charge. “We’ll do this one at a time. Leave the lass here, and take her mother outside.”

  The Constable gurned at having his men ordered about, but he nodded, and two of them did as the minister bid. Lizzie bobbed an awkward curtsey to the room and waited. She had a waterfall of sleek hair, as smooth as a horse’s hide, which her bonnet didn’t manage to cover entirely, and she put you in mind of a fawn, with her timid, wide-eyed manner. This graceful picture fell apart as soon as she walked, leaning forward and swinging her leg in a half-circle. But she looked like the last woman on Islandmagee to be in league with Old Nick. Even Mary Dunbar was silenced.

  “Is this one of your persecutors?” asked Mister Sinclair.

  Mary put her head on one side, her mouth opening and closing. Nothing came out.

  “She could be under a spell,” said the minister. “Witches have been known to freeze the tongues of their victims.”

  “What have you to say for yourself, Elizabeth Cellar?” asked the Constable. “Have you silenced this unfortunate lady?”

  “No, sir. I would’n know how. Nor would I want to, even if I did. I never seen her before – the young lady’s a stranger to me. I have no cause to ill-wish her.”

  Mister Sinclair turned back to Mary Dunbar. “Answer, in the name of Christ our Redeemer. Is she one of those you name as witches? Is her name written in that hideous book kept by Satan which contains the names of all his disciples?”

  No response.

  Mister Arnold spoke up, his manner less bossy. “Let us hear more from the accused. Can you recite the Ten Commandments?” he asked Lizzie.

  “I never learned all of them sir, just to be obedient, an’ do as my elders and betters said. I know there’s on’y the one true God, who gave His life so we might be saved, an’ we have to love one another for His sake. Forbye that, we have to keep holy the Sabbath day.”

  “It would be preferable if you knew them all, but ’tis a good answer. Still, there’s a difference between theory and practice. Now, I’m going to put a question to you, and I want you to answer in all honesty. If the answer is yes, we will help to wrest you from yo
ur malign influences. Do not be afraid of telling the truth. Elizabeth Cellar, do you worship a false god?”

  “No, sir. I pray on’y to the Lord Jesus. I ask Him now to stand beside me and let yiz see I’ve always tried to be a good girl, and with the help of His tender mercy I trust I always will.”

  Her simple faith struck home with Mister Arnold. But Mister Sinclair didn’t impress too handy. “Women are unchaste and false by nature,” he said.

  “Well, sir, I dinna deny we’re weak and inclined for to stumble. But the Bible tells us the seed of the woman shall bruise the head of the serpent,” said Lizzie.

  “Genesis 3:15.” Mister Arnold’s eyes gleamed.

  This gave Lizzie the courage to address Mary Dunbar. “Mistress, I dinna ken what ails you, but I’ll say a prayer for you when I kneel down the-night.”

  Mary Dunbar still said nothing, and even Mister Sinclair challenged Lizzie no further.

  “I believe we should see the other woman now,” said Brice Blan. He flicked his riding crop at me, and I went out for Janet Liston. I found her back in the kitchen.

  Maybes it was the Constable’s men guarding the door – or maybes it was the waiting. But she had worked herself into a state, scarlet in the face. It was a pity Lizzie hadn’t been on hand to keep her calm.