The Secret of Isobel Key

by Jen McConnel

  Lou looked at Tammy, and swallowed. “That does sound an awful lot like Salem, with children sending people to their deaths. How did his parents let him get away with that?”

  Tammy shrugged and kept reading. “The trials took place over the months of April and May in the year of our lord 1697. All in all, seven witches were strangled and then burned on Gallows Green.” Feeling queasy, Lou rose from her spot beside Tammy. She drew a few deep gulps of air, and moved back to the place where she had spread out her materials. Brian had stayed silent during the latest recitation of facts, but he looked up when Lou was back at the table across from him.

  “It’s an awful lot of sadness for one day, Louisa. Do you want us to be stopping now?” His eyes were full of concern and kindness, and Lou desperately wanted to leave the dark basement and the records of all those poor people behind her, but she stubbornly shook her head. There was some reason she was here, looking at these records, and she was determined to figure out why. Brian sighed, then nodded once and looked down again to the papers in front of him.

  Lou kept flipping through the stack of ancient papers, not quite sure what it was that she was looking for, only half listening to the reports Tammy continued to make whenever she came across a case which piqued her interest, and sneaking glances across the table at Brian. Lou had gotten better at tuning out her best friend’s words, but occasionally details from the cases would slip through, and she would shudder in revulsion.

  She was starting to feel disgruntled and foolish for coming all the way across the country to do research on a topic she wasn’t even sure she wanted to know more about, and her eyes stung from the strain of reading old records in dim light. Lou was ready to just give up and take Brian up on his earlier offer to leave when something made her eyes linger on the court record in her hand.

  There wasn’t much information. No one was named as victim, no one was named as accuser, only the date, the name of the woman, the name of her judges, and the location were recorded. It was not unlike countless other pages that Lou had already skimmed and then discarded, yet something kept her from laying the record of the trial of Isobel Key to the side.

  She lifted up her pencil, which had lain unused beside her during the entire morning, and jotted down the sparse details in her little black notebook. Accused: Isobel Key, arrested in January of 1667. Trial date: January 8th, 1667. Location: St. Andrews. Commissioner: George Nairn. There was no other information on the page: no record of a confession, no statement of crimes of the accused, no other witches named, and no mention of any sentence.

  “What are you writing down?” She looked up, startled to see that Brian had come around the table and was standing at her side. Warmth radiated off his skin, and she resisted the urge to lean toward him.

  Silently, she showed him the document, and the notes she had taken. Tammy stood up, stretched like a cat, and walked to Lou’s other side.

  “There’s hardly anything there! Come on, Lou, if you want to pick a case, pick one of the cool ones with possession or fairies. Don’t pick a case that was cold before the trial!” Shaking her head, she turned away dismissively. There was no logical reason for her interest in this particular case, but something compelled Lou. Still, she wasn’t about to try to give voice to her intuition, not to her skeptical best friend. Brian rescued her by glancing at his watch.

  “Well, lassies, we’ve been down here four hours now, and it’s high time we had us a meal. Let’s box everything up and if you want, we can come back tomorrow for more research.”

  “What are we going to do the rest of the afternoon?” Lou’s question was plaintive; she really wanted to skip lunch and just keep working. Something about Isobel Key was important, Lou knew, but whatever it was, Lou needed more time to figure it out.

  “Well, I had planned to hunt up an economics professor,” Tammy made a face as Brian said this, but he laughed and continued, “an economic history professor, actually. He’s quite a local character, and supposedly he’ll be the best living resource I can find for information on ancient Scottish traditions and holidays. If anyone can help me get prepared for the Halloween tours, it’ll be him.” He paused, looking directly at Lou. “Would you like to come along with me?”

  Tammy answered without even looking at Brian, unaware that his invitation had not been directed at both girls. “Thanks, but I’d rather wander around St. Andrews and see what kind of shops there are here. I need a break from sightseeing, and shopping’s my favorite way to feel like a local. Coming with me, Lou?”

  Lou glanced at her best friend, then back at Brian, biting her lip in concentration. “Actually, the professor sounds kind of fun, in a strange way. I’d like to go with you, if that’s all right.”

  Brian smiled at her and nodded as he turned toward the stairs, and Tammy watched his retreating form.

  “Well, if I see anything that you’d want, I’ll pick it up for you so your day won’t be a total waste!” Tammy spoke loudly, but raised her eyebrows at Lou and whispered, “Research or man?” Lou blushed and glanced at the stairs after Brian, which was all the answer Tammy needed. She shrugged dramatically, but she was smiling. “Well, I can’t always win!” She squeezed Lou’s hand and whispered, “I want to know everything that happens!” In a louder voice, she called to Brian, “I don’t think I’m going to worry about food just now. I want to get a jump on my shopping, but you two go ahead. I’ll see you both back at the hostel.”

  Lou smiled at her gratefully, and as they parted ways she reflected that Tammy was an amazing person. True, her best friend was loud and oblivious sometimes, but she’d practically gift-wrapped the handsome Scot. Now if only Lou had the first idea of what to do with him! Hurrying up behind Brian, she pulled out her camera and discreetly snapped a shot of him. When he turned to smile at her, Lou fiddled with the lens, nervous to be alone with him. Just in case Brian thought she was some kind of crazy stalker, she turned and shot three images of the picturesque street outside the archives.

  “Come on,” he said, “the professor is expecting me in an hour. His house isn’t far from here, so we have time to grab a bite.”

  “Just a sec,” Lou called, lining up another shot of the street. “I just want to get it perfect.” She shifted the camera at the last second, capturing Brian’s strong profile. Her heart fluttered as she followed him up the cobblestone street.

  1662

  A few years passed by pleasantly before Isobel heard that her sister was again with child. She was surprised to hear it, for Margaret had taken so long in conceiving her first that Isobel feared her womb was not strong enough to bear many children. Upon hearing the news she immediately made the trek into town to speak with her sister.

  Little Nan was now a solemn child of five by this time, not much given to talking, but she seemed to remember her earlier affection for Isobel, and happily sat on her lap for the entire visit. When Isobel offered herbs to her sister again, Margaret looked nervous. She confessed that Alexander had found the tea shortly after Nan was born, and had made her promise not to take such potions again. When Isobel pushed, Margaret shook her head quietly, and the matter was closed. Despite Isobel’s position as elder sister, Margaret’s marriage had gradually given her the confidence to defy all except her husband.

  Isobel waited in consternation throughout her sister’s second pregnancy. Margaret looked pale and wane, without any of the glow that she had shown when carrying Nan. The doctor, who had lingered after the child’s birth and hung his shingle in town, clearly intending to set up practice, assured Margaret that she was well enough, but he insisted on bleeding her to help remove the toxins that were giving her the appearance of ill health. Had Isobel known about that, she would have braved the sour doctor and even her frightening brother-in-law to protect her sister from such crude medical treatment. But Isobel did not know about the doctor’s methods; she only knew that each time she saw her sister, she looked more like a ghost than a woman of flesh and blood.

  Isobel wrot
e frantically in her journal, comparing her sister’s first pregnancy with her second. Seeing the symptoms in print helped give her the distance she needed to really think. There in her herbal, it ceased to be a matter about family and it became a clinical matter of medicine.

  She mixed herbs long into the night, working on three different concoctions that her skills and her intuition told her would help a woman in Margaret’s position. One was the color of sickly grass, the second was muddy, and the third was almost milk white. Satisfied with her work, Isobel surveyed the messy kitchen. After she had re-hung the strands of dried herbs and put away the rest of her ingredients, she paused, looking at the three medicines. With a heavy heart, Isobel dumped the concoctions outside the door of her cottage. Margaret’s care was not in her hands, and no amount of wishing or working would change that. Perhaps, if she had been allowed to tend her sister, tragedy could have been averted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Now, Louisa, I want to warn you, the professor is quite a character.” Brian spoke as they climbed a steep street overlooking the coastline. Lou was panting, trying to keep up with him.

  “It seems like everyone in Scotland is a bit of a character.”

  Brian chuckled. “True enough. But some are more characters than others. Professor MacDonald, well, he’s a bit of a legend hereabouts. He tends to teach his classes in a rather creative getup, and I wouldn’t be the least surprised if that’s what he wears when he’s home for the evening, too.”

  Lou didn’t have a chance to ask Brian to explain what a “creative getup” might entail, because they had reached the professor’s door. Brian reached over, his arm brushing against her shoulder, and he twisted the old doorbell. Lou shivered as he pulled his hand back, wishing he had a reason to keep his arm near her. Licking her lips, Lou glanced at the blue painted door in front of her and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Why are so many of the doors blue?”

  “To keep out the fey folk, lassie.” A gravelly voice answered her question, and Lou stifled a squeak. The door in front of them was standing open, and framed in the doorway was the most bizarre looking man Lou had ever seen. No taller than her shoulder, his hunched torso made him appear even shorter, and the cane he leaned on seemed ridiculously large and bulky for such a small man. It wasn’t his size that startled Lou, however, but his garb; the man wore a faded brown leather bomber jacket, a full kilt, and tall black leather combat boots. She blinked at him owlishly, not sure what to say; despite his age, he looked a lot like the punk kids back in Boston, loitering at Kenmore Square with their cigarettes. Brian came to her rescue, putting out his hand and introducing himself.

  “Professor MacDonald? I’m Brian, the lad who phoned this morning.” The professor pumped Brian’s hand with vigor, and his shriveled face broke into a beaming smile.

  “Ah, yes, the lad what’s interested in the fey and wee beasties of our land. And the lass is--?”

  “Interested in witches.” Lou blurted out without thinking. The professor’s eyebrows shot up quizzically, and she could feel her cheeks heating up. Brian looked at her, amused. “I mean,” she fumbled, “I’ve been doing research all morning about the different witch trials in Scotland, and I’m interested in the people.”

  “The victims.” The professor spoke matter-of-factly, and his calm voice put Lou at ease. “Well, come in then, the both of you, and we’ll see what information I can be providing.”

  “My name is Louisa--Lou.” She hurriedly tried to smooth over her awkward first impression, but the professor simply nodded.

  He ushered them through the blue door, which, Lou was surprised to see, did not lead directly into the house, but instead into a small, walled garden, hidden from the street. The walls were taller than a story and from the street gave the illusion of the front of a house, making the garden feel secure and private. She recognized basil, marjoram, and some kind of mint, but there were many other plants that she couldn’t name. Everything was small, however, and she assumed that the garden was mostly populated with herbs.

  “What a charming garden!” She exclaimed as their host led them to the door of his house. He glanced over his shoulder as if seeing the yard around him for the first time.

  “Aye, that ‘tis. More useful than charming, though, lass. It’s a pottage garden, full of herbs for every kind of illness. Folk healing, they call it, but I call it useful!” He banged his gnarled walking stick on the stone path to emphasize his point, and Lou assured him that she often took herbs in her tea when she felt a cold coming on. He looked her up and down, grunted once, then opened the door and led them into his home.

  The entryway was narrow, with a low ceiling and dark paneled walls. Brian had to stoop to avoid cracking his head, but Lou and the professor were able to stand comfortably enough in the dim hallway. Their host plunged into the depths of the house, moving fast despite his cane. Lou didn’t want to suddenly find herself lost in this strange house, so she hurried to keep up with the professor’s surprisingly spry pace. Brian followed behind, and Lou glanced over her shoulder at him. His eyes met hers and then flicked away, and Lou wondered if he might have been checking her out. She watched Brian for a moment, and noticed faint red blotches on his neck and face. Was he blushing? Self-consciously, she followed the professor.

  The hallway opened on a cozy sitting room, and it was there the professor stopped and turned toward his guests. “Have a seat, then, have a seat. Will you take tea with me this e’en?” They nodded, and Lou eyed the small sofa, fantasizing about the chance to sit so close to Brian, but he settled himself into a large red leather chair close to the empty fireplace. Disappointed, Lou took a seat on the worn loveseat, slipped her shoes off, and curled her feet up underneath her. Something about the professor’s house put her at ease, but she was still acutely aware of Brian watching her from across the room. Nervous, she tugged on the sleeves of her sweater.

  The professor came back into the room, carrying a tray filled with delicate china; he didn’t seem like the kind of man who’d have a full tea service, but Lou realized that the professor was full of surprises. He set the tea down on the ottoman in the center of the room and settled himself with a sigh into the twin of the chair Brian was seated in. After a moment, Lou leaned forward to pour her tea from the gold-trimmed pot.

  “Dear, would you be kind enough to pour a cup for me and hand it here? No milk or sugar, lass.” The professor’s voice broke the stillness that had descended and Lou jumped a bit, rattling the cup against the saucer she was holding. What was wrong with her? One moment she was relaxed and the next she was jumping out of her skin. Luckily, she hadn’t spilled anything, and she handed the professor the cup filled to the brim.

  Brian helped himself to a cup of tea, and Lou noticed that he was not stingy in his use of both sugar and cream. She smiled into her cup, wondering if Brian realized how cute he was when his large hands gripped the dainty china. He looked like he was a guest at a child’s tea party, and for a moment, Lou was captivated by a fantasy of Brian, sitting on a tiny plastic chair across from a little girl with curly red hair as she played with a sparkly wand. He would probably be great with kids. He looked up as if he’d heard her thoughts, and Lou quickly looked away.

  The three settled back into their seats, contentedly sipping the strong brown liquid, and for a few moments, no one spoke. Finally, Lou broke the silence.

  “That’s an unusual walking stick, professor. Did you carve it yourself?” Brian looked up, interested, and the professor smiled and shook his head.

  “Nah. Found it at a flea market. The man that sold it to me assured me it was hazel wood, and as I fancy myself a bit of a bard, it seemed appropriate.” Lou looked confused, but the professor went on, “Hazel is the wood for saints, poets, and bards. ‘Tis a holy wood, and will protect and aid one who carries it. Now, I’m not sayin’ I’m a saint, but I do like to spin a yarn now and again, and if it was good enough for them bard boys, it be good enough for me.” He smiled as he s
poke, and Lou couldn’t help but smile back at him and the odd figure he cut, sitting there swallowed by his chair, holding a staff that came higher than his head while seated.

  “Now, then, you wished to know of lore, is that right lad?” He addressed his question to Brian, who nodded and set down his teacup.

  “That’s right, professor. Specifically any spooky tales to relate to travelers around Halloween time, for the Hamish tours, you know.”

  The professor nodded. “I remember what you said on the phone this morning. Now, spooky tales there are in plenty here in Scotland, as I’m sure you well know, but ones that are specific to All Hallow’s, now let me think for a moment…” his words faded off and they sat in silence for a brief span of time before the professor snapped his fingers together. “The inn at Dundee!”

  Brian leaned forward, and Lou listened eagerly.

  “There’s an old inn that was the site of a most gruesome murder.” The professor spoke with a wide grin on his face. Lou hoped it was storytelling he enjoyed, not speaking of murder specifically.

  “Who was murdered?” Brian asked.

  The professor clucked his tongue. “Lad, don’t be interrupting the story. Do ye want to hear it, or no?”

  Brian nodded, looking chastened. “I’m sorry, professor. Please continue.”

  The man settled back in his seat. “As I was sayin’, there’s an old inn at Dundee that was the site of a most gruesome murder. A peddler man was traveling through many, many years ago, and chanced to stop at that inn on the night of All Hallow’s. The innkeeper gave him a room and left him with a candle, and that was the last anyone saw of the poor man in life.”

  The professor paused, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Lou felt goose bumps coursing over her arms as she waited for him to go on with his story.

  He sighed dramatically. “When the man didn’t appear in the morning, the innkeeper was sure he’d skipped out at night, to avoid paying his bill, ye see. But not long after that night, strange things began to happen.