The House Where It Happened

by Devlin, Martina

  Her husband was saying, “Go ’asy, Janet, you need to keep your temper bridled,” but she wasn’t listening.

  “I’m fair scundered with this,” she burst out. “Who’s thon cuddy to point the finger at our Lizzie and me? She wants to watch herself, so she does.”

  When I led her into the parlour, Janet Liston didn’t wait to be addressed. She went on the attack. “What’s she been sayin’ about me? She has no business spreadin’ filthy lies.”

  “We’re here to establish whether they be truth or lies, Mistress Liston, and if you would cooperate –”

  Whatever else Constable Blan intended to say was lost, because Mary Dunbar’s voice came back. Eyes bulging, she let out a series of piercing screams, her finger pointed at Janet Liston.

  “She’s touched in the head,” said Janet. “I’m sorry for her troubles, but it bain’t anythin’ to do with me.”

  “Liar!” screamed Mary. “Last night you boasted you’d have me turned into a pony and shod by the Devil. Then you’d ride me the length and breadth of Islandmagee till I dropped dead of exhaustion.”

  “I did no such thing – you need your gob washed out, lassie.”

  “Steady on, Ma.” Lizzie laid a hand on her arm.

  “An’ let her away with any aul’ nonsense that comes into her head? She’s on’y shamming, she would’n know the truth if it took a bite out of her.”

  Mary jumped up and spun like a top, faster and faster, squealing as she turned. “It’s those two witches doing it to me. They’re making me dizzy. I can’t stop!”

  I kept a close eye on Lizzie and her ma, whiles the mistress and others ran to Mary Dunbar’s aid. Lizzie was distressed, wringing her hands, but Janet stood grim-faced. Two deputies held Mary to stop her from turning.

  Mister Sinclair rounded on Lizzie and Janet. “Now what have you to say for yourselves? You’re bursting with corruption. Mistress Dunbar could have fallen and cracked her head open.”

  “Thon birlin’ roun’ is nothin’ to do with me nor our Lizzie. She was doin’ it herself, for attention. Shame on you, lassie. You have everybody else fooled, but I bain’t taken in be your coddin’ about. If you were mine, I’d gi’e you a lock of skelps to knock the badness out of you.”

  “Ma, mind what you say. Please.”

  “An’ let her away with her bare-faced lies? No, Lizzie. This Jezebel won’t rob us of our good names wi’out a fight.” Her dark wee eyes blazed.

  “Do you deny you have signed the Demonic Pact in your own blood?” demanded Mister Sinclair.

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Satan would have to be satisfied with an X, for I cannae write.”

  “Dinna make a mockery of it, Ma. Say no more.”

  “Ach, you fine gentlemen are terrible ’asy convinced be a titter of playactin’. But how’s this for a thought? How about if she’s the one in league with the Devil? Doin’ his biddin’ in houndin’ honest, God-fearin’ folk?”

  Robert Sinclair looked at David Arnold. Both of them looked at Brice Blan. Mister Arnold and Constable Blan let go of Mary Dunbar, taking a step back. You could have heard a feather fall.

  Mary Dunbar flung herself on the floor and banged her head against the flagstones with a clatter to make your stomach churn.

  “All the other witches are here now – they’ve got me by the hair. They say they won’t stop till they shake the brains out of me.” She thumped her head on the floor again, and the blood ran bright. The Constable caught her and pulled her to her feet, but her screeching continued.

  Above the din, Mister Sinclair called to a couple of deputies, “Take those women outside.”

  “Feel free to tell my men what to do, Mister Sinclair,” said the Constable.

  The deputies hesitated, until the Constable made an impatient gesture. His men pushed Janet and Lizzie ahead of them out of the room.

  “Take them away from this house,” moaned Mary. “They want me to join their coven. I told them I’d never submit to Satan’s wiles.”

  “Do we need to examine the man, William Cellar?” asked Brice Blan. “Does Mistress Dunbar complain of male witches?”

  “Are you tormented by warlocks, Mary Dunbar?” asked Mister Sinclair. “Do evil men appear to you?”

  “There is a man in their circle of vice. The witches called him up, but now he directs them. He is choked with malice.”

  “Who is this devil’s spawn? Identify him.”

  “Hamilton Lock.”

  The name cut the air like a curse.

  When Blan recovered, he turned to Mister Sinclair. “This is worse than I thought. Is this the first time Lock’s name has been mentioned in connection with these disturbances?”

  “Well, Constable, I must admit I feared Lock’s involvement, because of the coven using his cave.”

  “I was under the impression the cave was chosen simply because it’s out of the way.”

  “It’s that, all right, but Mistress Dunbar believes these vixens met there to call him up. There are reports of his shade being sighted in these parts.”

  “I see.” The Constable wheeled round suddenly. “Have you seen Hamilton Lock yourself, Mistress Dunbar?”

  If he hoped to startle her, he was disappointed. She was the calmest person in the room. “He came to me last night. He seeks to make a witch of me. He said the Devil wants me to make a cake using my own water – from my body, if you catch my meaning – instead of milk. Once I eat it, I’ll have the power to ill-wish whoever I choose. Prince or pauper.”

  “Depraved monster! How did you answer him?” asked Mister Arnold.

  “I told him I’d rather die. He said that could be arranged.”

  “This hell’s firebrand must be hunted down,” said Mister Sinclair.

  “I cannot give chase to a man who’s dead,” said the Constable. “That’s your responsibility, gentlemen.”

  An almighty crash came from the kitchen. Blan charged along the passageway, me at his heels. William Cellar was in a lather to match his wife’s. He had Lizzie’s stick and was banging it about the place, rattling the pot hanging above the fire and splashing boiling water about. The Constable’s men were trying to get that swinging stick off him, and not making much of a fist of it.

  “Put a stop to this ruckus!” Blan bellowed at his men, but it was Lizzie who ducked in under the weapon and wrapped her arms round her father.

  “Put it down, Da, you’re on’y makin’ things worse.”

  At first, he shaped to shake her off, but his fingers loosened on the blackthorn. She eased him onto a three-legged stool, at which point the Constable’s men rushed in and grabbed him.

  “We’re done for, so we are,” said Janet Liston.

  “Ma, houl’ your whist. That’s the kind of talk started Da off.”

  “It’s the Gospel truth. Thon lassie is too wedded to her own conceits to be turned aside now.”

  William Cellar struggled, hands pinned behind his back. “Did she denounce just you, or the both of yiz, Janet?”

  “The two of us. She throwed a turn would put the fear of God into the Angel Gabriel hisself.”

  “That’s enough. I will not tolerate a breach of the peace,” said the Constable. “You women are for Carrickfergus. My men are bringing you straight to the Mayor, to have a warrant sworn out.”

  “You cannae lock up my wife and daughter on a daft lassie’s say-so. She’s the one ought to be locked up.”

  “Enough, Da. Whist.” Lizzie laid both hands on his chest, calming him.

  As for Janet Liston, all the fight suddenly went out of her and she fell to the floor, moaning. It was said she’d seen the inside of a gaol before, and I thought maybes she knowed what she was letting herself in for. Lizzie was too busy with her father to pick her up, and in charity I should have helped her to a stool. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t move a step – I couldn’t but ask myself if her collapse was a sign of guilt at being caught for a witch.

  “Mary Dunbar is witched and somebody’
s responsible,” said Brice Blan. “Your wife did herself no favours in there. She’d do better to keep a civil tongue in her head. It’s a wonder you never taught her that, William Cellar. A man not fit to control his wife is scarcely much of a man.” A couple of deputies snorted their appreciation.

  Cellar groaned. “Janet has a habit of lettin’ fly. I’ll not deny it. Have the Mayor order her whipped. Or put her in the duckin’ stool for a scold, if he sees fit. But for God’s sake dinna bring witchcraft charges. If every woman with a temper on her was put away as a witch, the gaols would be full to bustin’. Me wife is no more a witch than she’s the Lady Mayoress. But it’s a slur there’s no washin’ off.” His eyes welled up. “As for our Lizzie, she’s good as gold – not one soul on Islandmagee has a cross word to say about her. I swear it afore God and man. She doesnae have a bad bone in her body.”

  “Well, somebody’s tormenting Mistress Dunbar – she’s covered in cuts and bruises. And you wouldn’t be the first man to believe a woman’s lies, Cellar. You har’ly expect your wife to tell you when she’s off to hear a Black Mass, do you?” His laugh was a cruel sound, and his deputies grunted along with him.

  At that, Cellar made a barrel of his chest, ready to take on Blan and all his men, but two of them held him by the arms.

  Blan tapped his front with the handle of his riding crop. “I’ve no time to argue the toss with you, man. Your wife and daughter are bound for gaol, whether you like it or not. And you’ll join them, William Cellar, unless you settle the head. You’re like a bullock that smells blood.”

  “We need you on the outside, Da, sendin’ word to anyone fit to help us. I’ll look out for Ma and she’ll look out for me. We’ll say our prayers and trust to God. He’ll never desert us.”

  The whiles Lizzie was talking, I wrapped some bread and meat in a cloth because prisoners were fed neither well nor regularly. Whether or not she’d been fooling with things she shouldn’t, I didn’t want Lizzie Cellar to starve. Forbye that, it was me coaxed the two of them to come and face Mary Dunbar, and look where it landed them.

  When I pushed the food into Lizzie’s hands, Janet Liston said, “You want to watch yourself, Ellen Hill.”

  “Why?”

  “Thon one might take it into her head to point the finger at you.”

  “I’ve done nothin’ wrong.”

  “Nor have we. It makes no odds when push comes to shove. She’s a holy terror. She can see the power she has – there’s no stoppin’ her now.”

  The Constable ordered mother and daughter taken away by four of his deputies, and said he was going back to question Mary Dunbar for more names.

  When the kitchen was empty, Peggy came stumbling out of the larder where she had hidden away. She looked shaken, and I led her to the fireside nook to rest herself.

  “The master is neglectin’ us,” she complained.

  “Sure, Peggy, he doesn’t know how things stand. The mistress seems loath to tell him, more fool her.”

  “He ought to be with his family. Ach, I’d give him a piece of my mind if I had him in front of me. Gaddin’ about like that.”

  “Never mind our master. Have you spoken to Mistress Haltridge about sendin’ the wee’ans away? I don’t like them bein’ in this house.”

  She shook her head, feeling in her pocket for her clay pipe. I picked it up off the floor, where she must have dropped it fleeing from William Cellar.

  She managed a toothless grin. “We need to see about the rooster. He’s naw been the same since this witch handlin’ started up – he’s gone off his food. Imagine if Mister Haltridge came back to find the rooster dead. The master bought the bird hisself, in Carrickfergus. He’d take it sore if he was gone. We need to tempt our laddie with a few morsels. Pet him and make a fuss of him. Roosters are no different to men, when all’s said and done.”

  “You know a lot about men, Peggy, for one that was never wed.”

  “I see no ring on your finger e’ther, lassie. Men bain’t hard to ken. It’s women you can never get the right of – they be the ones hidin’ secrets.”

  I blushed to remember the honeyed words my master spoke to me, as he slid his arm round my waist and coaxed me to surrender to him. But I held my nerve and answered Peggy. “Everybody has secrets.”

  “Do they?”

  “Aye, Peggy. I daresay you have your fair share.” I was only chancing my arm but she backed off. “Anyhow,” I went on, “it’s not just folk that hold on to secrets. Houses keep them too.”

  Peggy blew out a sigh that ended in a whistle. “Aye, you have the right of it. Some houses are inclined that way. They have a hidden side to them.” She pursed her lips, searching for words. “But houses are on’y built on land, when all’s said and done. They rise up on the land, and they can sink back into it. Men come and go. So do houses. But the land is still there. Land is there before and there after.”

  “Peggy, you were there when it happened. When the master’s father pulled down the Stone to build this house. Was anythin’ found under it?”

  “There was nothin’ found.”

  “I’ve been turnin’ it over in me mind. I thought it must a been a pagan grave.”

  “No, there was no bones.”

  I dropped my voice. “Could it a been somethin’ belongin’ to their priests, that they used in heathen rituals?”

  “No, nothin’ like that. But that doesnae mean it was empty under the Stone.”

  “What, then?”

  “There was clay under it. The earth of Islandmagee.”

  “The earth of Islandmagee lies under every blessed house on this island, Peggy.”

  “But this corner of land is special. Why else would the Stone be raised over it? Why else would it be a place where heathen fellows gathered? Why else would a man like Hamilton Lock feel the way he did about it? He was bad, but he wasnae stupid. He knowed there was power to this place. If it took weeks to tumble the Stone and smash it to pieces, you can be sure it took twice as long to stand it there in the first place. No two ways about it, the Stone had a purpose. It was set up for a reason.”

  “How do you know? There’s rocks and cairns all over Islandmagee.”

  “I saw the Stone, that’s how I ken. It rocked, so it did.”

  “What do you mean it rocked? Would it not fall over?”

  “No, it was cunningly done. Whatever way it was set down, it used to wobble back and forth, the way a cradle rocks. Not all the time. But if you looked at it for a while, it would. I saw it with me own eyes. ’Twas no accident – there was no wind doin’ it. The rockin’ happened as a warnin’ to folk. It put the fear of God in me, watchin’.” She took her pipe out of her mouth and pointed it at me. “It was to let folk know this part of Islandmagee is different to the rest.”

  “Different, how?”

  “A thin place, folk whispered. Back when I come here first as a lassie.”

  “I never heared tell of a thin place.”

  “Them’s spots where we be closer to the other world – an’ the other world is closer to us. It’s my belief the Stone was set up for to show that. As a signpost, you might say. An’ that’s why Hamilton Lock was drawn to the Stone.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I gawked at her, and it put her on the back foot.

  She coloured. “I’m sayin’ no more. I dinna want them ministers accusin’ me of truck with things no Christian soul should have dealin’s with. And you’ll keep your trap shut too, if you have the sense you were born with.”

  Chapter 10

  A bell rang, and I wasn’t a bit sorry. I wanted her to tell me what she knowed, but Peggy’s talk of thin places made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

  In the parlour, I was told to show Brice Blan out. He was standing over Mary Dunbar, looking none too pleased.

  “It’s disappointing you can only furnish descriptions or half a name here and there, as regards these other witches, but I’ll waste no time in following up on them.”

  As I held t
he front door open for the Constable, he spoke to me. “Has Hamilton Lock shown himself to you?”

  “Heaven forbid! I could’n stay in this house if he did.”

  “Your mistress says the same.” He scratched his neck. “I can gaol highwaymen, murderers, even witches. I cannot gaol dead men.”

  Rather than take their leave with him, the two ministers decided prayer was called for, with everyone in the household ordered to join in. There was no choice except to submit, and the ministers raised their voices to heaven over Mary Dunbar.

  While they prayed themselves hoarse, I turned over Peggy’s words. If the Stone had been the doorway to a thin place, then Knowehead House must be that doorway now. But something had to unlock it. I remembered Mary Dunbar’s story about Lock’s skull being used to call him up. Was his skull the key? I had no peace to think, with each man of God bent on outdoing the other, self-important voices filling the air.