"Chattox carried a clay figure in her basket, I'll swear to it." After the long walk in the hot sun, my head was throbbing. When I closed my eyes, I saw blobs of light. I'd tell my family about every last thing—except the dog. That would stay hidden inside me, buried like the skull underneath the manure heap out back. "When I asked her what it was, she said she planned to eat it because she'd nothing else. She was lying, wasn't she, Gran?"
More than anything, I longed for Gran to absolve me of this. Tell me I'd done right to defend Nancy and the Holdens. But when Gran finally spoke, her voice was full of heartbreak.
"May God have mercy upon Anne Whittle."
Next morning I awoke to the racket of hooves and creaking wagon wheels, then somebody pounding on our door. I laced my kirtle and ran, my uncombed hair flying, to find Matthew Holden, his face drawn like death.
"Alizon, will you wake your gran? Our Nancy's taken ill."
Though Gran had barely recovered from the strain of her journey out to the Bulcocks', she rose from her pallet at once and bade me pack her bundle of herbs. Full determined was Gran to do everything she could, for we'd a debt to the Holdens. She'd go if it crippled her. At least this time we didn't have to walk. Matthew, bless him, had lined the wagon bed with straw and blankets to make Gran comfortable. Sat beside Matthew on the driver's plank, I fair wished the horses could gallop all the way, so worried I was for Nancy.
Once we reached Bull Hole Farm, I made Gran take a bowl of porridge and cream to keep up her strength. Blessing the sick was taxing on one as old as her. Whilst she ate, I filled the kettle and brewed the same herbs that had mended Issy Bulcock. Rushing to my friend's bedside, I touched her forehead, clammy from the low fever that left her too weak and dizzy to leave her bed.
"Here." I held the potion to her mouth. "This will make you right again."
"Alizon." She reached for my hand. "Last night I hardly slept for my nightmares. I dreamt you were in danger, darkness and stench everywhere. I tried to help you but I couldn't reach you." Her eyes glistened in fear, not for herself but for me.
"Hush now," I begged her. "Put that woman's evil out of your mind, love."
Mouthful by mouthful, I coaxed my friend to swallow the brew.
When Gran began her blessings, Nancy's parents and brother knelt round and prayed, whilst I stood there, hands folded, not daring to say the old prayers for fear of offending the Holdens who were staunch in their devotion to the new religion.
But Mistress Holden gazed up at me and said, "Please, Alizon, go on and say your Roman prayers if it will take this evil from my child."
So I dropped to my knees and chanted ten Pater Nosters, ten Aves, and the Creed. In the midst of our prayers, Gran took my friend's limp body in her arms, striving to draw the harm out of Nancy and into herself. Looking on, I wept for them both. Gran rocked the girl in her embrace till Nancy's cold sweat turned to warm dew and the colour returned to her cheeks. Then Gran went slack and grey. I caught her before she could hit the floor.
Master Holden bore Gran away to his and his wife's own four-poster and there she lay full spent beneath the embroidered counterpane. Nancy's mother brought Gran ale posset, hot broth, and bread soaked in milk and honey. Afterward, when Gran nodded off, I knew she wouldn't rise for many hours yet. We would have to stay the night.
"My husband shall sleep in Matthew's room," said Mistress Holden. "I shall sleep in the truckle bed in Nancy's chamber. But you, Alizon, shall sleep with your grandmother in the big bed."
Her hand on my arm, she showed me into the master bedroom as though I were a guest of honour. We both smiled to see Gran fast asleep, her head nestled in the plump bolster.
"She must be so proud of you." Mistress Holden rubbed my hair. "You're every inch the blesser, Alizon Device."
How it floored me to hear my dearest friend's mother calling me what I least wanted to be. Too discomfited to speak, I lowered my head. Mistress Holden kissed my brow and wished me good night.
The linens, soft and soothing against my skin, allowed me to forget her words. Such comfort—the likes of which I'd never known. The feather mattress cushioned my hip and shoulder where the bones stuck out. So this was what it was like to lie upon a proper featherbed. The embroidered canopy kept the spiders and beetles living in the thatch from dropping upon our faces in the night. So blessed quiet here, too. Jennet wriggled and squirmed and muttered in her sleep, but Gran slumbered so still that I almost feared she would never awaken. My palm on her flank, I waited to feel the rise and fall of her breath before I allowed myself to drift off.
My dreams were as comforting as the mattress. Before me I saw Nancy, restored to health. We walked along, laughing and sharing secrets. Blushing like mad, she confessed that she was sweet on Miles Nutter, Alice Nutter's eldest son and heir to Roughlee Hall. I swung Nancy round and teased her that she'd be a grand lady indeed if she married him: mistress of that manor house with its arched windows. She'd wear velvet and silk and lace, and a maidservant would dress her hair each morning. My lips to her ear, I whispered what I knew to be true: If you marry Miles Nutter, you'll have to accept the old religion. Don't you know they've a priest hidden in their very walls?
With a start, I awakened to Gran's sobbing.
"Anne," she choked. "My Anne, oh why?"
"Gran, you're only dreaming."
Still she cried out for Anne who could be none other than Chattox. How dare that witch invade my gran's dreams—but wasn't that just what she'd done to Nancy, sending her the night terrors? What bewildered me was that Nancy's nightmare had not revealed her own doom but mine, which proved how vile Chattox was. If it was me she desired to torment, could she not at least be decent enough to leave my friend alone? What game did that woman play with us, and where would any of us be without Gran's charms, the only thing mighty enough to counter Chattox's curses? Yet, in their younger days, Gran and Chattox had been as close as Nancy and I were. There was a time when Chattox had been a girl like any other—a girl no different than I was. That thought made me writhe, the linens twisting round my legs.
"Gran, wake up." I gave her shoulder a shake.
"Tibb," she raved. "The light fair blinds me. The light, how it shines. Tibb, my love, come back."
After that, she quietened down and slept in peace. Then I couldn't rest, for I was too haunted by what I'd heard: her crying out to Tibb with such longing, as though to a husband. In the depth of night I was forced to remember the black dog that had come for me, its eyes locking into mine as though summoning me away to that realm of spirits and visions where the animal would reveal its true shape, appearing, for all I knew, as a man, a lover. Chilled me to the core, that notion did. These were my grandmother's powers and this was what she wished for me.
***
In the morning I led Gran into Nancy's chamber. My friend was sat up in bed, eating porridge, just like her old self. Gran looked better, too, her skin bright and flushed as though she had indeed slept in the arms of her invisible husband, but I quickly chased such thoughts out of my mind, fair distracted by the feast of a breakfast that Mistress Holden dished up. Fried eggs, there were, black pudding and griddle cakes, tripe and onion, and the good ale that Mistress Holden saved for special occasions. Sarah Holden sat Gran in their best carved chair and after she'd eaten as much as her fickle appetite allowed, they let her doze for a spell by the fire, which they'd built high and roaring hot even though it was summer. Finally Matthew hitched up his team to take us back to Malkin Tower. Master Holden loaded the wagon with his payment to Gran: a sack of oats, a cask of cider, a side of bacon, and two laying hens.
On the journey back I mulled over my dream of Nancy marrying Miles and living at Roughlee Hall. She'd have servants to do her washing and spinning. Would she be too proud to be my friend then? In truth, there were some mean-spirited folk who said I was too lowly to share her company even now. But I reminded myself that it had been only a dream and nothing more.
As we trundled up and down the h
ills, the horses straining and flicking flies with their tails, clouds moved in to smudge the perfect blue sky. The sight cheered Matthew, for we'd had a month of drought.
"Looks like the weather's turning, eh, Mother Demdike?" He turned round in the driver's seat to look at Gran where she was nestled in the straw and cushions. "Didn't you predict we'd get rain round the full moon?"
"Weather always changes round about the full moon," Gran said. "Crops will be wanting a spot of rain." But she sounded as though she were a hundred miles away. Was she still spent from blessing Nancy, or was she brooding on Chattox and Tibb?
Clouds kept rolling in from of the west and the air hung heavier and heavier till I fancied I could cut it with a knife and eat it.
When we reached Malkin Tower, Matthew handed Gran down from the wagon.
"Now get yourself home with God's speed," she said, patting his shoulder, "before this storm breaks."
First he let his horses have a rest whilst he hauled in the oats, bacon, and cider. Then he carried the wicker cage, following me as I led the way to the chicken run. Jennet rushed out to watch as we released the hens. Up and down they raced, squawking and indignant. It had been ages since we'd had laying hens.
"Remember to save the slops for them," I told Jennet. So happy I was at the thought of fresh eggs that I dared to ruffle her hair.
"Ugh, don't touch me with your dirty chicken hands!"
Ignoring her pettishness, I ran to fetch water for the horses and wiped the sweat from their necks with a cool, wet rag. A short while later, when Matthew drove away, I was stood at the gate waving.
"Give Nancy our love!" I called out.
Jennet took her place beside me. I tried to be kind, to pretend that I was as tender-hearted as Nancy and that Jennet was one of her little nieces that loved to jump into my lap for a cuddle.
"Matthew Holden's the boy Gran saved and now he's a man with five children of his own," I told her. "Yesterday Gran mended Nancy. Our gran will be needing her rest now, all right." I couldn't keep the pride out of my voice. As much as Gran's powers terrified me, wasn't she the best charmer Pendle Forest had ever known?
Jennet threw me a sly look. "When Gran dies, you'll be the witch!"
That made me boil. "Gran was never a witch and you know it."
But Jennet had already scarpered.
13
ONE JULY DAWN Jamie and I set off for Bull Hole Farm to help with the hay harvest. Though my mood was as bright as the morning, our Jamie was in a foul humour. The day before he'd quarrelled with Mistress Towneley of Carr Hall.
"She'll rue it," he said as we walked beside Pendle Water. The birds piped and the stream gurgled, but my brother's face was clenched in vehemence.
I strove to soothe him. "Go on, tell us what she said to you, love."
Pained me like a blade in the side to see him suffer like this. Folk were too quick to mock and ill-treat him, for they saw only his affliction and lacked the grace to look beyond it to discover what a good soul he truly was.
"She called me a thief." He kicked at the loose stones in his path, sending them skittering away from his huge feet.
"Oh, Jamie."
At a loss, I was. As Gran had said, he risked enough with his poaching. If one such as Mistress Towneley had evidence of him stealing from her, he was done for. I counted to ten, trying to keep my patience, for I'd never get the truth out of Jamie if I lost my temper.
"Why would she say such a thing to you?" I took his fist in my hands, gently chafing it till his fingers loosened and threaded with mine. "Did you take something of hers without asking?"
"Only some turves of peat."
He couldn't have taken many, I thought, for peat was well heavy. Strong as Jamie was, it was nigh on impossible that he'd made off with more than was his fair reward for the digging he'd done.
"Our Jamie, if you were working for her and took some peat for yourself, all you needed do was ask her. I'll go round and talk to her."
"I was hungry, wasn't I, after digging, so I went into the kitchen. I was fair clemmed."
"Course you were. Anybody would be." But my heart sank at the thought of him seeing something in the Towneley kitchen that struck his fancy. A pewter mug or a brass candlestick.
"She sent me packing." He trembled in his outrage. "She hit me! Gave me a knock between the shoulders."
To my fright, Jamie began to weep at the injustice. Rarely had I seen him cry, but now his tears blinded him. He stumbled and would have fallen had I not held fast to his arm.
"Said folk with thieving hands had no business in her kitchen."
"Jamie!" I wiped his tears on my apron. "She made you dig all day, then never fed you?"
My hands sought the place on his broad back where Mistress Towneley had struck him, and I quaked at the thought of Jamie swinging round and hitting her back. Strong lad like him could kill a woman with one blow.
"She said I was to bide outside and wait for my dinner. Eat outside like a pig. Said I'd no business stepping in her door."
"You'll never go back there. Sarah Holden will treat you a sight better, Jamie, I promise. She'll sit you down at her table with the rest of her family and stuff you till your breeks won't fit anymore."
But Jamie wouldn't leave off brooding on Mistress Towneley. "I'll make her pay. Dandy showed me how."
"Hush," I pleaded. "Our gran wouldn't want you saying such things."
Full sullen, my brother stared off ahead. Presently he pointed.
"She comes," he said in such a voice as to make me leap out of my skin. "Her path crosses yours. There's no running away from her, our Alizon."
I spotted a golden-haired child heading our way from off in the distance. As the sun filled her halo of hair, my nape prickled, for I thought it must be some apparition—a spirit like Gran's Tibb. But when we drew closer, I saw it was only a thin girl, a few years older than our Jennet. Coming up behind her was a haggard woman in a threadbare kirtle that was near to falling off her gaunt frame. Annie Redfearn barely lifted her eyes as she dragged herself past us.
"It was a clay picture what killed our father!" my brother yelled at her.
"No," said Annie. "That's a wicked lie you're telling."
Such a sorry-looking thing she was that I wished I'd some bread to give her, even if she was Chattox's own flesh and blood. But it was all I could do to keep my brother from pummelling her.
"If there's a scalp and teeth buried at Malkin Tower," he fumed, "it's Chattox's doing. Chattox and Betty's, what died from flea bites."
Annie and her daughter fled whilst I seized Jamie round the waist to keep him from charging after them.
In truth, the sight of Annie Redfearn spooked me more than any spirit familiar could have done. I'd never seen anybody so forlorn. She wasn't like her mam, was Annie, no malice or scheming in her eyes, but a woman worn down to the bone, nothing left to her but want and despair. I could picture Annie sending her little Marie off to beg whilst she herself hid in the shadows. With her angel-bright hair, Marie Redfearn was pretty enough to fool folk into forgetting that she was a witch's granddaughter. Poor child was her family's only hope of charity. Gran had told me that Annie, in her younger days, had been a rare beauty, but it seemed a tall tale to look at her now.
Well thankful, I was, when we finally reached the gates of Bull Hole Farm.
"Our Jamie, put a smile on your face. You can smell Mistress Holden's cooking from out here!"
I teased my brother about being such a hard worker that he'd put the Holdens' hired men to shame and wouldn't it be something if Master Holden hired him. Why, then I'd always have an excuse to come round and have a natter with Nancy. Grabbing Jamie's hands, I led him in a wild jig, laughing with him till his bitterness melted away.
Nancy dashed out. "Alizon, look at me! I'm right again."
She beamed and I danced round with her, then Jamie took her hands and whirled her about, but Nancy jumped away from him when her mam came out to gawp at the pair of them. Sad
dened me, it did, to see Sarah Holden purse her lips at our Jamie.
"Nancy needs to stay quiet and build back her strength," Mistress Holden said.
My friend took my arm and drew me into the kitchen, leaving Jamie and her mother to follow.
"Mam won't let me rake hay!" Nancy lamented. "Instead she'll have me tied to the kitchen, cooking and spinning."
"Keep you out of the hot sun and harm's way," her mam said, fond but firm.
And she'd keep Nancy well away from the road, I thought, for fear of Chattox calling round again out of sheer spite. But it was hard to hold any grudge against Mistress Holden when she sat us down to thick pottage with barley dumplings, and she wasn't the least bit stingy, allowing our Jamie to wolf down five portions till even he could not swallow another spoonful. Looked so contented, my brother did, that I hoped Mistress Towneley was banished from his mind.
After thanking Mistress Holden, Jamie and I stepped out into the gleaming morning where the larks sang and reeled.
"You're a powerful-built man," I told my brother, kneading the muscles in his arms. "Make us proud, lad. Show the Holdens what you can do."
Swell with love, I did, to see him pick the biggest scythe and step into the long, waving grass. With swoop after swoop, he sliced his way through the hayfield whilst Matthew Holden and the hired men struggled to keep pace. Soon my brother's threadbare shirt ran dark with sweat and lay plastered to his chest and back, revealing the might beneath. I prayed that Matthew would see for himself what a fine hired man Jamie would make. If only my brother could find steady work with kind folk, I wouldn't have to fear for him so.
The only girl in a field of men, I didn't shirk my duties. Like the rest of them, I'd a scythe and strong arms to wield it, and I swung in time with Matthew. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him looking at me, which made my cheeks burn. Was he looking at me in that way? You are growing into a beauty, Gran had told me not two days ago, her blind eyes fixed upon my face. But Mam had warned me not to get too full of myself, for there was nothing more tiresome than a vain, simpering girl. In truth, I hadn't much of a clue how I looked since we'd no mirror. Besides, I wasn't given to flirting and had vowed never to make the same mistake as Mam had done by throwing away my honour to satisfy the lusts of some wretched man who would just toss me away afterward and call me a whore. Nothing less than true love would turn my heart.
Daughters of the Witching Hill Page 18
