“The stones should be on the other side of these fields,” he said, pointing to their location on the map to Twissleton.
“Agreed, five grey stones about a hundred yards apart and more or less running in a vertical line.”
“To which,” said Roger, “if Metcalf is right, there should be another stream on the other side.”
They soon arrived at the first stone. Grey and covered in moss, it was deeply imbedded in the soil, and to all appearances had not been disturbed for many years. Roger looked back over his shoulder and then consulted the map again.
“This stone is much closer to the stream than Metcalf’s map indicates.”
“So it is,” said Dowrimple.
A man stepped forward and removed his hat. It was Davy Ashmore. “You are mistaken, old man. I live here and know the land well. It would take half a dozen good strong men to move it. Could such clod-hoppers attempt such a feat without disturbing a single blade of grass?”
Twissleton, who had been stunned by Davy’s appearance, collected his faculties. “Let us examine the other stones.”
They moved on accordingly, but each result was the same. “These landmarks tally exactly with Alice’s map,” said Nicholas, standing beside the third stone.
“But not with mine,” said Roger, his anger building. “This stone ought to be some fifty yards to the right.”
“Impossible,” said Nicholas. He turned to the men. “Are these not the original stones?”
All answered in the affirmative except Henry Dowrimple. “Aye, they be the old boundary marks, but none are in their proper place.”
Nicholas mounted his horse. “Short of employing a surveyor and having the distance measured – again, I suggest we thoroughly inspect the area.”
A small rivulet, barely a trickle, was reached. “Master Twissleton,” said Richard, “do you designate this piddling stream a mark or a boundary?”
Flustered, the solicitor hastily consulted both maps. “It is not marked on either.” He looked accusingly at the manor in the distance. “Methinks some trickery is at play.”
“Hold!” rejoined Nicholas angrily. “I can make allowance for your confusion, but I will not permit you to make such an insinuation against Mistress Nash. The only beneficiary in this affair is Thomas Metcalf, and yet I hear no accusation in that quarter. Richard is right. Nobody could classify this stream, if indeed you could call it as such, as a permanent boundary.”
“I agree with both assertions,” said Roger. “Anyone with an ounce of intelligence can see that this trickle is merely a run-off. It is your prejudice that has aroused your suspicion, Master Twissleton, and not common sense.”
Richard could not resist a jibe. “I think Master Twissleton will need to find a better excuse than witchcraft to set aside Alice's map.” His statement was greeted with a rousing cheer from her tenants. Dowrimple however, objected loudly, and a moment later, was flat on his back on the ground.
“You lying old bastard!” Davy rubbed his now sore fist. The old man’s head had been as hard as iron.
“Davy!” cried Nicholas authoritatively. “Your violence serves no purpose.”
“Actually,” said Twissleton in a slow, thoughtful voice, “it does. I would put some questions to Master Ashmore.”
Davy looked at him insolently. “What d'ye want?”
“Firstly, I caution you to speak the truth for your answer will be recorded. Where is your hut?”
Davy pointed ahead. “Over there, just beyond that copse.”
“Good. Now, according to the maps, and on this point they correspond, there is a pond and a sheep shelter a little distance behind your hut. Are they to the right or the left?”
“The left of course.”
“Are you sure of that? Take a moment to think about it.”
“I don’t need to think about it. They are to the left I tell ye.”
“You were not at the Ball last evening. Where were you and what were you doing?”
“None of your damned business!”
“Answer him or I’ll charge you with hindrance,” thundered Roger, who had a vague idea of where the questioning was leading.
Not knowing whether a lie would serve his purpose, Davy opted for part of the truth. Naturally he did not mention that under Einyon’s instructions, he had been running around informing the witches of the special covenant.
“A calf was being badly born at the manor. I helped deliver it and slept in the stables. Hence why you found me there and not at Holton.”
“Very well,” said Twissleton, seemingly placated. “You have all heard his answers. Let us proceed to the area forthwith.” It took but a matter of minutes to determine that the pond and sheep shelter were to the right of the hut, and not the left as Davy had claimed.
“I don’t understand this,” he said, genuinely puzzled. Einyon had told him that for the time being, it suited his purpose to protect Alice, hence why he, Davy, had attacked Dowrimple. This then begged the question, who had altered the landscape, and why?
As though he’d read Davy’s mind, Twissleton pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You are in league with Alice Nash. You came here last night and with the aid of sorcery, altered the terrain in her favour. Davy Ashmore, I formally accuse you and Alice Nash of witchcraft. Confess, or face the consequences.”
There was a profound silence. Every eye was turned on Roger, who shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. A serious accusation had been made and he could not ignore it, and yet the details, let alone the ramifications, were too fantastic to be believed. But then, after the devastation and despair he’d witnessed in Appleby, and the tragic story of Amius and Mary Baldwyn, could there not be an element of truth to the charge?
The seconds ticked passed. Presently, Roger cleared his throat and said with obvious reluctance, “Smithers, take Davy into custody while we complete our business.”
The party split into two groups and searched the area, but no further discrepancies were found. Nevertheless, Twissleton was almost wetting himself in exultation, and as they started the trek back to Barkham Manor, his ambitious brain began to make plans.
Firstly, he would return to Holton and arrest Alice Nash. Yes, he would enjoy knocking the lying harridan off her pedestal. Did not believe in witches indeed! And if she had read Dæmonologie, then she would know exactly what was in store for her. Twissleton licked his lips. He could literally ‘taste’ her fear.
Secondly, he would seek out Catherine Ashmore. She was quite obviously in league with her brother, and together they had made a fool of him. Twissleton’s hands tightened on the reins as he thought of her small perky breasts. He would interrogate her gently at first, and when she begged for mercy, teach her the true purpose of the hole between her legs. He would then arrest her too. One way or another, ‘little Cathy’ would not escape his clutches.
A sadistic smile spread across his face. Then, realising that his expression might be betraying his thoughts, Twissleton straightened his face just as Nicholas leaned across and spoke to Roger.
“You don’t believe the accusation, do you?”
Roger sighed. “I fear I must. The evidence is too compelling. One mistake on one map is plausible, but three distinct errors on two supposedly identical maps is damned near impossible.”
Nicholas dropped back and continued the journey in silence. Hence why he was too far away when Davy Ashmore made his escape. He had been walking unbound between two grooms, and seeing Twissleton greatly distracted, pushed him out of the saddle and jumped onto Flint. The others spurred their horses and set off in pursuit, but Davy knew the forest like the back of his hand, and within minutes was out of sight.
Chapter Fifteen
A Matter of Opinion
The crowd waited in anticipation. Roger had ordered every adult in the vicinity to gather in the forecourt of the manor to listen to his announcement. He drank the wine he’d been given and then tossed the goblet aside, not caring as to its fate.
“People of Barkham Man
or,” he began, “I came here today to settle a land dispute, but during my peregrinations, I saw an entire village stricken as if by plague, a poor pedlar put in peril of his life, and heard the strange circumstances of Mary Baldwyn’s death. There is little doubt in my mind that the perpetrators of these atrocities are Margaret Dymock and Fanny Craddock.
“I can easily understand why you shut your eyes to their evil. Terror is a compelling master. You submit to their extortions and so become their slaves. But, in so doing, not only do you place your lives in jeopardy, but you also become accessories to their crimes and therefore, render yourselves liable to punishment.
“Nor, or so it seems, is this your only peril. There is evidence to suggest that, by the use of witchcraft, Mistress Nash has altered the terrain.”
There was an outbreak of muttering and the exchange of puzzled looks, which only subsided when Twissleton stepped forward. He spread his arms as though to embrace them. “Good people, these wicked women shall be arrested and brought to trial, and if you are not compliant in their capture and undertake to give evidence against them, you shall be deemed accessories and punished accordingly. Understand that it is the determination and duty of the magistrate and myself, to eradicate these infernal hags. Nobody, whether indirectly or not, will be spared.”
Twissleton would have continued his harangue had Henry Dowrimple not pushed forward. There was a cut above his eye and his white hair was dotted with blood, the result of the blow dealt by Davy Ashmore.
“If it’s a witness you want, then I’m your man. There’s things I know that she’d rather I didn’t. Her intimacy with Mistress Dymock and Mistress Craddock for example, and what about the death of her husband, Edward Nash?”
“Edward?” cried Nicholas in surprise.
A thrill of horror ran through the crowd as Dowrimple continued, “Aye. I have lived here abouts for seventy years, and knew the father and grandfather of Edward Nash very well. I will swear on oath that Mistress Alice conspired in her husband’s death. I have endured much at her hands, and it be high time the old cat had her claws clipped.”
Never had Twissleton looked more like an ape as he rocked on his heels with glee. “Excellent! Excellent!”
Roger proposed that the party return to Holton immediately, but Twissleton was too impatient to consider a delay, pointing out that, as they were close to Wolfdene, they could arrest Margaret Dymock within the hour. Further, that the capture of the witch would add weight and impetus to the examination of Alice Nash.
Though disgusted by the little man’s zeal, Richard and Nicholas agreed to the proposition, but only in the hope that the time spent in visiting Wolfdene would prove serviceable to Alice. Moreover, news of her pending arrest would swiftly reach her ears, and Nicholas had no doubt that somebody had already departed for Holton.
A galloping rider was indeed seen in the distance, but he was approaching the manor, not moving away. It was Amius Baldwyn.
After dragging him back to the tavern, Bess had scolded him like a wife, telling him that his best course of action was to seek redress with the law. She had advised him to seek out the survey party, to ‘ignore that ferret-faced whelk from London’, and speak to either Nicholas or Roger.
Amius had thought long and hard, and after rejecting the infernal alternative, which he had not disclosed to Bess, had agreed to her suggestion, but only on the proviso that if the law failed him, he would undertake to murder every member of the Dymock family.
Once he had identified the rider, Twissleton almost yelled in delight. Here was another reliable witness, another source of valuable information. Indeed, such was his conviction that the miller had sought him out to confess all, that for a moment, the solicitor experienced an emotion alien to his nature – humility. However, the feeling changed to bitter disappointment when Amius addressed Roger.
“Sir, you were witness this morning when I lay my poor Mary in her grave. Now I request your help as a magistrate. I accuse Mistress Dymock of using witchcraft to kill my child.”
“Master Baldwyn, you have arrived most opportunely,” said Twissleton, trying to wrestle the situation back into his hands. “We were just preparing to visit Wolfdene.”
“She has all the cunning of the devil, so ye will need to take her unawares.” Amius looked around. “Ye don’t have enough troops. I’ll get a dozen of my friends together and meet you at the mill.”
“Just a minute,” said Richard, concerned that the situation was getting out of hand. “Do we really need such a large contingent for a defenceless old woman?”
“Old but not defenceless,” rejoined Amius. “Wolfdene is a very strong place, as you will see.”
Roger sighed heavily. Though he would never abandon the duties of his office, his limbs and backside were sore from riding, and the thought of more hours in the saddle was not a prospect he anticipated with joy. Even so, he would not allow Twissleton to dictate proceedings.
“Amius, return to the mill and put your plan into action. We will meet you there shortly. You might also let it be known that Davy Ashmore is wanted on a number of charges…” he glanced at Henry Dowrimple, “…including assault. Once Mistress Dymock is secured, dead or alive, she will be conveyed to Holton immediately.”
As Amius saluted and rode away, Twissleton stood in disbelief, his face drained of colour. “Dead or alive?” he repeated incredulously. “But sir, I must have her alive, I need all of them alive.”
“Circumstances may dictate otherwise,” said Roger loftily, as Thomas Twisslemead, who had hitherto kept in the background, came forward.
“Sir, since you have sufficient men for the purpose, my service can be better employed in searching for Davy Ashmore.”
“Agreed. You may also let it be known that he’s wanted. In fact, the more who know about it the better.”
Thomas bowed. “It shall be done. If captured, I will convey him to Holton personally,” and so saying, he mounted Diablo and rode away. Nicholas watched him through narrowed eyes, still not convinced that Twissleton’s ‘double’ was the genuine article.
The tenants and workers returned to their tasks, eyes wide and chattering like magpies. What a tale they would have to tell during supper. Meanwhile, the others had set forth on their quest, and clearing the gate, Roger paused to look back. Try as he might, he could not refute the weight of evidence.
“Never again shall Alice Nash enter the manor,” he said to Richard, who was riding beside him. “With luck, she and her partners in crime will be lodged in Leeds Castle within the week.”
Richard tightened his grip on the reins. “I hope you do not include Lavinia Ashmore in that statement. There is nothing against her.”
“None will be spared. After what I’ve seen today, in my opinion the entire Dymock brood are a canker that must be cut out.”
“Then I will not move any further,” said Richard. “I care not what might happen to me, but I will not participate in the gross injustice you are about to enact. You cannot exterminate the innocent for the crimes of one or two family members. In addition, what proof is there against Alice? Did it ever occur to you that the original map was drawn from the rear and not the front? If you turn it upside down, the details are correct. And you can’t rely on Henry Dowrimple either. In so vociferously declaring himself a witness he exposed his animosity, and any testimony will be regarded as dubious. No, I will not believe Alice guilty on suspicion alone.”
“Mistress Nash will be tried fairly, and if the proof fails and she is acquitted, I will be the first to make abeyance.”
Richard laughed mirthlessly. “A fair trial? Ignorance and superstition, heightened by the published opinions of the King, are against her. Even if she were declared not guilty, she will never escape the stigma of being branded a witch.”
“I concede the latter point, but even if my own son were suspected, I would be compelled to deliver him to justice. Like a poisonous plant, witchcraft has taken root in the country and nobody should escape retributio
n.”
“And what of the innocent?” asked Richard, who felt as if a huge weight was descending on his shoulders.
“Innocence must be proved at trial,” rejoined Roger, his patience rapidly wearing thin. “I am influenced only by a desire to see justice done, and I will not be swayed from that duty by a love-sick boy. I saw how you were struck by Lavinia yesterday and at the Ball. Witchcraft is practised in many ways, and who can say from whence her beauty derives? Indeed, such are the known desires of sorceresses that she may have already taken a demon lover.”
Richard let out an explosive oath. “You pass all endurance, sir. Why she’s not…” He broke off. It had just occurred to him that Roger had not mentioned Lavinia’s true parentage, which could only mean that he still thought her an Ashmore. Therefore, revealing the truth now could be perilous. Richard collected his wits. “She is not a witch. So much do I believe in her innocence, that if you do not exclude her from your accusation at once, then neither age nor office will protect you from a challenge.”
Roger gripped the hilt of his sword. “Clearly the girl has bewitched you. Your conduct proves it.”
Richard also reached for his sword. “Like Twissleton, you speak and act in ignorance.”
Nicholas, who had just turned in his saddle to see what the delay was, quickly interposed. “What is going on here?” he demanded, looking from one angry man to the other.
Roger explained and then concluded, “Your cousin is not himself. If I chose, I could place him under arrest. But, I am willing to overlook the insult, attributing it to the frenzy by which he is possessed.”
Nicholas ‘sensed’ a danger. Had Roger spoken under the influence of the moment, or worse still, changed his opinion so that it now accorded with the solicitor? In either event, Alice was not safe from anyone, and more to the moment, neither was Richard.
“Possessed? If that be the case, then better I stay behind to ensure his safety.”
“You are mistaken if you suppose I will permit you both to retire. You will assist me to capture these witches or face the penalty.”
The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt Page 16
