The Witch’s Daughter

by Paula Brackston

  ‘My daughter was close to death,’ said Anne. ‘I had already watched my first and last-born die. I had buried my own husband. What sort of mother would I be to do nothing if it were within my power to save my last remaining child? Death had her in his clutches, and I pulled her from his grasp, that is all.’

  Kilpeck frowned at her. ‘Do you say you brought her back from the dead? Had she departed this life when you effected your cure?’

  ‘I know not how deeply into that pit of endless night she had fallen, only that I was able to raise her up again.’

  There were further gasps of shock around the room.

  Reverend Burdock paled. ‘You would have us believe you raised your daughter from the dead? Do you claim to perform miracles now?’

  Anne smiled softly, a look of resignation on her face. ‘Our Lord’s work you call miracles; mine you say is magic.’

  ‘Blasphemy!’ cried Widow Digby.

  ‘You go too far, Anne Hawksmith!’ The reverend could not conceal his fury. Anne was unmoved by it.

  ‘Why, Reverend Burdock, you have on the window of your church Christ raising Lazarus. Would you have cried “Witchery!” at Our Lord?’

  At this, the room collapsed into turmoil. There were shouts and curses from the gallery, which Councillor Wilkins’s gavel failed to silence. The reverend was unable to stay still in his seat. Court officials and two constables were forced to restrain the crowd from pushing forward. Bess feared they were to be swept away by the furious mob. She looked at her mother anew. Why had she spoken so boldly? Why had she made no attempt to conceal the facts or at least to make light of them, to throw herself on the mercy of the magistrates? The more Bess stared at her mother, the less she recognized her. She seemed so calm, so resolved, and in no way disturbed or terrified, as Bess was, by the frenzy of the crowd nor the possible consequences of her words.

  At last, order was restored. Nathaniel Kilpeck waited for complete quiet before making his pronouncement.

  ‘I am satisfied that there is substance to the accusations of maleficia. I therefore decree that Anne Hawksmith’s body be searched for known signs that she be a witch and that she be returned to her house and there watched for two days and nights. I will accept further testimonies should they be forthcoming, and a trial will be held in this court five days from now.’ He finished speaking and rose quickly from his seat. As Anne was bundled out of the side door down to the cells below, the members of the bench filed out. Bess’s heart filled with fear at the sight of her mother being taken from her.

  ‘Mother!’ she called out, but the door had slammed shut behind the last constable.

  * * *

  Bess was not to learn until some time later what her mother had endured at the hands of the searchers. Ordinarily such work was undertaken by local midwives, but clearly in this instance someone else had to be found. Isabel Pritchard, a woman of dubious integrity, was brought in from Dorchester to perform the task. Anne was stripped and strapped to a table with leather cinches. Under the scrutiny of Councillor Wilkins and Nathaniel Kilpeck, Mistress Pritchard inspected every inch of Anne’s flesh. After some time, she announced the discovery of two dark moles, which she proceeded to prick to see if they would produce blood. They did not. Kilpeck was not satisfied with Pritchard’s efforts and undertook to search Anne’s body himself. No part, however private or immodest, was left unprobed. At last he found, deep between her legs, what appeared to be a small, flat teat. Kilpeck had the recorder note this down in detail, saying it appeared to him to have been recently suckled.

  From there, Anne was taken back to her farm. Bess had been told that the watching would take place in Anne’s home, where familiars and imps would be more likely to present themselves. Old Mary, having no real home of her own, was to be watched there also. The furniture was pushed to one side, with Anne and Mary tightly bound to chairs in the center of the room. To the sides were placed other more comfortable seating, upon which sat the official watchers. These were Isabel Pritchard, no doubt happy to accept a fee for further services; Councillor Wilkins; Reverend Burdock; and the witchfinder. A constable was placed at the door. Bess was permitted to stay, but it was made clear any interference on her part would result in her being thrown out.

  After much fuss and settling in, the watchers fell silent. Bess found a space in a shadowy corner where she was able to see her mother’s face clearly, as the light from the fire and the carefully positioned candles fell upon it. She was at a loss to understand what was expected to happen. Did anyone really believe that curious creatures and small spirits would visit her mother? It was beyond comprehension that someone of sound sense, such as Councillor Wilkins, could truly believe he was about to witness such things. He had known her mother all her life. He had seen her attend church regularly, as had the reverend. And yet now, here they were, sitting in the silent room, waiting for unearthly beings to appear. Old Mary looked close to fainting. Her lips moved ceaselessly, as if she were praying, and her eyes appeared to have lost their focus. Anne, by contrast, sat straight and still, impassive and serene. Bess marveled at her composure and forbearance.

  The hours passed, notable only for their emptiness. There was no weather to speak of and no conversation, so that the only sounds to be heard were the gentle hiss and spit of the fire and the occasional screech of an owl behind the house. After two more hours, these sounds were increased by the ragged noise of Councillor Wilkins’s snoring. Bess shifted stiffly, knowing herself to be in no danger of falling asleep, even though she was exhausted by the anxiety of the past few days. The candles burned low, suggesting dawn would soon put an end to the ridiculous night. Then, quietly at first but quickly gaining volume, sounds could be heard. Scratching sounds. Kilpeck stiffened in his chair. The reverend frowned and looked about him. The scratching noises continued and seemed to be coming from the door to the dairy. Just as Bess was convincing herself it was nothing more than a hungry mouse, the sounds changed to banging and the door could be seen to rattle in its frame.

  ‘Lord save us!’ whispered Mistress Pritchard.

  All in the room kept their eyes fixed on the door. Even Councillor Wilkins was shaken from his slumbers by the racket.

  Now the banging was accompanied by strange squeals and yelps. Reverend Burdock started to pray. Councillor Wilkins moved to stand up, but Kilpeck put out a hand to stop him.

  ‘Do not move!’ he instructed.

  The yelps grew louder. They were unlike any sounds Bess had heard in her life before, somewhere between the yapping of puppies and the babbling of babies. Old Mary whimpered and strained against the ropes that bound her to her chair. Her eyes widened as the wooden latch on the dairy door began to lift, seemingly of its own accord. Through it all, Anne did not move.

  Bess found herself holding her breath as the door slowly swung open. At first, she could see nothing, then low, undulating shapes slipped out from the darkness of the other room and slithered into the light. Now Bess’s breath left her in a gasp of horror. The creatures were clearly not born of any animal on God’s earth. There were four in total, all roughly the size of badgers, but their bodies were twisty and sinuous like over-large weasels. Their coats appeared to consist in part of coarse fur but also of toad-like skin. Their eyes were rheumy and dull, and saliva drooled from their slack, toothless mouths. The aberrations crept forward, their stomachs low to the floor, still making their eerie sounds. Old Mary began to shriek and soon Mistress Pritchard joined in.

  Councillor Wilkins would be restrained no longer and leaped from his chair. Reverend Burdock had stopped mid-prayer to stare, appalled, as the creatures circled the room before finding Anne. At the sight of her they began to squeal with glee. They flung themselves onto her lap and about her neck, licking her face and snuffling into her hair. Bess thought she would be sick, but still her mother did not move: nor did she give any outward sign of horror or revulsion. Indeed, it seemed to Bess that she was not at all surprised at what was happening, rather that she had
expected it. Could it be that she knew these abominations? That they were indeed her imps? Her familiars? Bess’s head reeled as she tried to take in what she was seeing. Old Mary had quite lost her wits and was screaming madly, twisting desperately in her chair to try to get away from the creatures. To get away from Anne.

  Kilpeck stood up and drew his sword. His constable was about to leave his post at the door, but the witchfinder signaled for him to stay where he was.

  ‘Hold fast your position!’ he cried. ‘Let no living thing quit this room.’ He raised his sword and brought it slicing down upon one of the animals at Anne’s feet, cutting off one of its legs. It squealed horribly, a ghastly sound which did not stop even when a second blow severed its head from its body. Both halves continued to writhe and wriggle. Reverend Burdock vomited copiously. Mistress Pritchard swooned onto the floor. Councillor Wilkins, having no sword, took up a stool and began to beat wildly at the creatures as they darted about the room. Bess put her hands over her ears to shut out the dreadful sounds, unable to take her eyes off her mother. One of the imps sought refuge beneath Anne’s skirts.

  ‘See! See how the foul creatures cleave to their mistress! These are the spawn of the devil! This woman is no sister of Eve; she is a vile instrument of Satan!’ He raised his sword above his head and Bess saw that he meant to bring it down upon her mother.

  ‘No! No!’ she cried, flinging herself forward. She threw her arms around her mother, ignoring the fleeing imps, covering her mother’s body with her own. ‘No!’ she screamed up at Kilpeck, locking eyes with him. For a moment, his sword wavered, suspended, threatening to end the lives of both Anne and Bess with one mighty blow. In that moment, the imps fled. In the blink of an eye, they were gone, and with them the noise and chaos they had caused. Bess held Kilpeck’s gaze, challenging him, knowing, as he knew, that he had no right to take her life. Slowly, with great effort, he harmlessly lowered his sword. Isabel Pritchard sat on the floor weeping. Reverend Burdock began to pray once more. As a steaming pool appeared beneath Old Mary’s chair, the sour stink of hot urine filled the air.

  7

  Word quickly spread through the village of the events of that night. By the time Anne and Old Mary were brought from the cells to stand before the magistrates a second time, there was not a space to be found in the courtroom, and the constables had difficulty keeping order. Councillor Wilkins hammered long and loud to obtain silence. Old Mary had recovered her wits sufficiently only to emit a babbling confession. It seemed she had given up all hope of being spared but clung to the hope that her soul might yet be saved. Her testimony on top of that of Goodwife Wainwright and Widow Digby would have been enough to condemn both the accused. After what the watchers had seen, such evidence was hardly necessary.

  Bess was dazed from lack of sleep and from fear. Fear that she was losing her mind. Fear that her mother was beyond saving. And fear of what power it was that had sent those creatures to her mother. What did it mean? What had her mother become? Was this the price she would not speak of? The price she must pay for Gideon helping her to save Bess’s life?

  Nathaniel Kilpeck held up his hand for silence. At last, when all the restless onlookers had been stilled, he began to speak, his reedy voice betraying an otherwise well-concealed excitement.

  ‘We have heard testimonies from the witnesses, both godly women of good standing in this parish. We have listened to the confession of Mary, who stands before us, an admitted witch.’

  A hiss of hatred and agitation came from the public gallery.

  ‘Last night, I myself, along with others here present, did witness the unholy spectacle of four loathsome imps coming to suckle at the privy parts of this blatant, dangerous witch before me!’ At this, he pointed a trembling hand at Anne. The crowd gasped and stamped and shouted. The witchfinder waited for quiet before continuing. ‘Such were the horrors and so strong the evidence that I sent word to the high court and pleaded the case for immediate and swift action. I can tell you now that I have received notification that it will not be necessary to wait for the quarter sessions or to transport these … women to the court at Dorchester. I have been empowered to pronounce a verdict on the evidence collected and to pass sentence here in this place and on this very day, such is the nature of their crimes.’ A cheer went up. Kilpeck forced his voice to be heard above the crowd, not waiting for them to settle this time. ‘Mary, midwife of this parish, we have heard your confession and accepted your plea of guilty. May God be merciful upon your soul. Anne Hawksmith, you have heard the charges brought against you. You have been searched and found to bear the marks of the devil and the wherewithal for suckling your familiars. I myself have witnessed Satan visit you in the form of these vile imps. All present there saw them delight in your company. Have you anything to say in your defense?’

  At last, silence returned to the courtroom. Every ear strained to hear what Anne would say, every neck craned for a clearer view of the devil’s bride who had lived undetected in their midst for so many years. Bess began to tremble. Anne took a moment to gaze about her as if studying the faces of those who had come to witness her condemnation. When her eyes met Bess’s she smiled weakly, then turned her attention back to the magistrates.

  ‘There is nothing I can say that will soften hearts of stone,’ she said.

  ‘Do you still claim innocence? After all that we have seen?’ Kilpeck asked.

  ‘I am innocent of the charges made against me by Widow Digby and Goody Wainwright, yes. I have harmed no one.’

  ‘The charges of maleficia are but one aspect of this trial. Witchery itself is a capital crime, this you must know.’

  Anne said nothing.

  Reverend Burdock leaned forward on the bench, hands clasped.

  ‘For the love of God, woman, and to save your soul from certain damnation, will you not confess and plead for the mercy of this court and of Our Lord?’

  Anne looked at him levelly. ‘I have nothing more to ask of God,’ she said.

  The reverend recoiled as if she had struck him, ‘How can you have come to this wretched, godless state, woman?’

  ‘Not woman—witch!’ came the cry from the room, so that soon a chant had been taken up. ‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’

  Wilkins banged his gavel in vain. Only Kilpeck getting to his feet finally restored order.

  ‘Midwife Mary, Anne Hawksmith, you have both been found guilty of the charges of maleficia, in particular with regard to the Wainwright children and Widow Smith, and in general that you do follow the practice of witchery. It is the sentence of this court that you be taken from this place at sunrise, two days from this date, and that you be hanged until you be dead.’

  The court descended into chaos. Bess heard the sound of her own screaming and thought she would lose her mind in that moment. She tried to push forward, to reach her mother, arms outstretched, but it was hopeless. She felt dangerous madness welling up inside her but could not see what to do. Despite the force within her reaching almost unmanageable levels, she could see no way it could be employed to save her mother. The crowd shouted and jeered fit to riot, so that Kilpeck gestured to the constables to remove the convicted women while his men held back the increasingly wild villagers. Bess was jolted and jostled by the mob so that she managed only one last, brief glimpse of her mother as she was led away.

  * * *

  Batchcombe Hall was a fine example of the craftsmanship of its day. Its glowing red bricks and gleaming timbers declared its owner to be a man of substance. The front door itself had much to say—wax-smooth wood told of wealth and strength; intricate iron hinges demanded to be noticed for their beauty rather than function; the muscular lock suggested this was in fact a fortress, as did the seven dozen black studs protruding from the wide wooden boards. It was to this door that Bess came early on the day following her mother’s trial. She left Whisper to snatch at the abundant grass beside the drive and took a steadying breath before mounting the steps. She had thought long and hard about seeking Wi
lliam’s help. She was far from certain that there was anything he could do, but she had no one else to turn to. She had no choice. Having made up her mind, she had then to decide at which door she would present herself. She was uncomfortable at the thought of arriving at the front of the great house. She had never set foot inside such a place. Would she even be admitted? And yet, she was neither a servant nor a tradesman. Nor did she care for the notion of slipping into William’s home unannounced through the back door. There was something furtive about such an action. Her situation was grave, but whatever the court had decided regarding her mother she refused to feel shame. No, she would go to the front door and ask for William. This was no time for delicate manners.

  She lifted the heavy iron knocker and banged hard four times. After a worryingly long wait, she heard footsteps and the door was opened. A neat woman with sharp features and tiny hands cocked her head at the sight of the unexpected caller.

  ‘What business have you here?’ she asked.

  Bess inwardly bridled at the speed with which this woman had summed her up as having no possibility of being a friend of the Goulds.

  ‘I wish to speak to Master William Gould.’

  ‘Master William is engaged at present. On what matter did you wish to speak with him?’

  ‘A matter of a personal nature.’

  The woman remained motionless for a moment, as if considering whether or not this was sufficient reason to disturb her master.

  Bess went on. ‘It is a matter of some urgency,’ she added, then, seeing no weakening in the guardian’s resolve, ‘I would consider it a great kindness if you would inform Master William I am here.’

  Without a word the woman disappeared back into the house, shutting the door behind her. Bess stood staring at the impregnable barrier, wondering if she had been dismissed. She waited, a knot tightening somewhere beneath her breastbone. At last the door opened again, and this time William came hurrying forward. He took her hand and led her inside.