The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  Despair seemed to lash her like a whip. She saw Lavinia standing by an angel, but when she reached out a hand to touch her daughter, the angel changed into a demon.

  She was falling - down, down, hundreds of miles down. She was standing in a world of fire. Thousands and thousands were groaning and writhing, their incessant wailing terrible to hear.

  There was a loud crack of thunder and Alice awoke with a start. She went to the window and peered outside. Though barely afternoon, the atmosphere was one of dusk. A noise behind her caused her to spin around, and a flash of lightning revealed the presence of Nancy Redfern.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Alice in surprise.

  “Granny sent me to help you. We know everything and that you’ve lost your powers.”

  Alice shook her head. “No, I must endure this alone.”

  Nancy looked at Alice as though addressing a simpleton. “Why?” she asked inquiringly.

  Alice was taken aback by the simplicity of the question. “Well, for one thing, your grandmother is not exactly a friend of mine.”

  “She said the same thing. But, you share a common enemy, and she wants rid of Dymock just as much as you do. Besides, I know Lavinia well, and she is too kind to be a witch.”

  “How do you know I lost my powers?”

  “Granny’s familiar, Percy, was here when you sent Richard to Wolfdene with the medallion. He also overheard your conversation with that bully, Einyon.”

  “How? There was no witness to either event.”

  “That’s because he prefers to remain invisible. Now, are you coming? I have a thestral outside, which as you know, is also invisible to the untrained eye.” Nancy glanced out of the window. “I suggest you bring a cloak. Without your powers, the air will be very chilly.”

  Alice thought fast. If this was a trap, then she would do well to tell someone where she was going. “My best cloak is downstairs. Please wait here. Roger Knowles and Twissleton are in the house, and if they should see you…”and leaving the sentence unfinished, she exited the room.

  Nicholas was sound asleep in an armchair, an empty bottle of wine on a nearby table. Alice found parchment and quill and quickly scribbled a note. Then, placing it under the bottle, hurried to the library. Roger and Twissleton rose on her entrance.

  “Be seated, gentlemen,” she said courteously. “I am come to see if you need anything before I go out.”

  “Freedom,” said Twissleton indignantly.

  Alice ignored him. “Master Knowles, a private word if you please.” Standing outside the library door and expecting another harangue, Roger was greatly surprised when Alice spoke quickly and urgently. “Listen to me, and please believe every word. I must visit Fanny Craddock, and upon my return, which admittedly may not be for some time, we will need to discuss matters again.”

  “So, the fellow did not deceive me.”

  “What fellow?” asked Alice uneasily.

  “Thomas Twisslemead. He told us that your circumstances had changed, though he was not specific.”

  “When?”

  “A few minutes ago. He was here just before you arrived.”

  Alice frowned. The name was unfamiliar. “What does he look like?”

  “Except for the voice, he looks like Twissleton. In fact, the resemblance is remarkable.”

  Alice stood very still as something very cold seemed to stir in her stomach. “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “Yes, he was one of the party this morning.”

  In the normal course of events, Alice would have supposed that Twisslemead was a friend of Nicholas’s. However, on this occasion, instincts screamed that something was wrong. But, not having time to dwell on it, she put on a brave face.

  “He lied,” she said robustly. “Nothing has changed. My proposal still stands - freedom for freedom.”

  “Do not give in,” said Twissleton, who had moved to the door and watched Alice closely. “Look at her face. It is she who lies. Something has happened that she dare not reveal.” His voice was full of contempt as he added, “Perhaps her abominable master has delivered new instructions.”

  “I will not listen to your taunts,” said Alice, feigning haughtiness. Time was passing, and even a moment’s delay could prove fatal to Lavinia. Alice ran to a closet, grabbed a warm black cloak, and returned to Nancy, who was tapping a foot impatiently.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wolfdene

  Lavinia opened her eyes and almost screamed. The circular chamber was vast and satanic. The roof was supported by four stone columns, to which skeletons were attached by short heavy chains. A section of wall was devoted to skulls and bones, while two niches each contained a coffin bound by iron rings. Somewhat perversely, each coffin was bedecked with flowers. Some had withered until they were little more than dust, while others were relatively fresh.

  Three stone statues dominated the chamber. The first was of a man with an expression of extraordinary ferocity, while the third was of a pretty woman with a rosary in her hand. The second and largest statue was hewn from black basalt. It depicted a demon seated on a throne, and although the face, beard, and upper torso were human, the lower half was that of a goat. In addition, the two curled horns protruding from the head, seemed to emanate a strange red glow. At the base of the statue was a cauldron and an altar, on which the flames from black candles flickered in a draught.

  “Oh, so you’re finally awake,” said Catherine. She was sitting at the bottom of a narrow set of wooden steps that led to the underside of a trap door. Beside her was an animal with black shaggy fur and bright yellow eyes. It might have been a cat, but if it was, it was the size of a large dog.

  Dazed and groggy, Lavinia shook her head to clear it. “Where are we, and how do we get out?”

  “Wolfdene, and you must stay here till granny comes for ye.”

  Lavinia looked at the animal. For all its monstrousness, it was vaguely familiar. “Is that Nex?”

  “Yep, and he’ll tear you to pieces if you try to escape.”

  Lavinia tried hard not to look at the animal as she said, “Why was I brought here?”

  “To become a witch of course. All you need do is consent.” Catherine pulled a face. “Mother stopped me last night at the covenant – bitch.”

  Lavinia’s mind flew back to Dorothy’s description earlier that morning. “So, we were at a covenant,” she said in horrified astonishment. She took a deep breath and boldly stated, “I would rather die a thousand deaths than give my consent.”

  Catherine shrugged. “Be as obstinate as you like, it won’t help. Granny will turn ye into a witch and I’m glad of it.”

  “Why do you hate me? I have always loved you and defended you against others, even when I knew you were in the wrong.”

  “I hate you because you're now a lady with all advantages. I hate you because Richard Faulkner loves you. I hate you because the only men I attract are poor low-life peasants, who would rather shove a hand up my skirt than show me any respect. When you are a witch, we will be equals.”

  Lavinia shook her head. “That will never happen. Margaret Dymock may do what she likes but I will never submit.” As the last word was uttered, there was a loud clang like a gong, and the horns on the demon statue grew brighter.

  Catherine laughed. “See? Even he knows differently, and you can’t say I haven’t given you fair warning.” The cat let out a ‘meow’ that was more like a growl. “Nex is hungry.”

  “No, don’t go!” shrieked Lavinia as Catherine stood up to leave. “Please, I implore you, stay here and protect me from this dreadful place.”

  Catherine turned on her viciously. “Protect you? Think because you now live in a fine home and have a handsome lover that you’re better than me?”

  “Of course not. I am not responsible for the past, nor am I better than anyone else. Please, stop this and let’s get out of here.”

  Lavinia turned away, unable to look upon her former sister’s hate-filled eyes. What had she done
to deserve such enmity, and why was she, Catherine, now in the bosom of granny Dymock? Indeed, did Elizabeth know where they were? Lost in a whirl of confusion, Lavinia was not aware of the other woman until she spoke.

  “Nice to see you again, Lavinia,” said Margaret Dymock. “’Tis many years since we last met. Do you remember me? Have I changed much?”

  Lavinia could not speak. If ever a woman resembled a witch, it was her former grandmother - long hooked nose, white tangled hair, and a mole to the right of her bloodless lips. However, there were two features that did not comply with the perception of a hag - a thick, bull-like neck, and broad mannish shoulders.

  “You look rather faint, my dear,” she went on. “I have a wonderful restorative upstairs, would you like me to summon it?”

  “No! I want none of your filth. I would rather die.”

  “Really, my dear, your manners do not befit your new station. But, why should you die? You are in love. If you do as I bid, Richard Faulkner shall be yours, and with your mother's consent too.”

  “You tempt me in vain. He is already mine. Now, why did you bring me here? I’m sure it wasn’t to renew acquaintances.”

  “Aye, you be quick-witted enough. My compact requires that I offer a virgin at least once a year in order to prolong my life. Alice Nash is similarly bound.” She paused to watch the effect on Lavinia and then continued, “She would have used you likewise if you had stayed at the manor. But, as you were raised as my granddaughter, I have the greater claim to your virginity. I will therefore use it instead.”

  “You disgusting hag! I am ashamed that the word ‘grandmother’ ever passed my lips. I will never consent.”

  Margaret shrieked with laughter. “Do you think I will readily give up my prize after I took great pains to secure it? I am the oldest, the boldest, and the strongest of the sisterhood. No black art is unknown to me. I rule this land like a Queen, and my consort is the Prince of Darkness. I am…”

  “…Bitter and twisted,” Lavinia interrupted, her courage slowly returning. “Spare me your boasting.”

  “I will spare thee nothing. Often have I aided thy mother in her dark schemes, even the accursed Craddock. And how does thy mother intend to repay me? By securing my throne through you.”

  “You lie!”

  “Do I? Strange she waited eighteen years to claim you. Ha! Her plans are known to me as soon as formed.”

  It took Lavinia a moment to realise what she'd meant. “You have a spy at the manor?”

  “Of course. Alice Nash can’t even fart without my knowing it. Hence why I know her true reason for claiming you and taking you to the manor.”

  “Impossible,” said Lavinia wretchedly. “She would never do such a thing.”

  “Oh yes she would,” said Catherine, watching her former sister’s discomfort with pleasure.

  Lavinia covered her face with her hands. “No, I don’t believe it, I won’t believe it. Dear God, protect me and my mother. Give us the strength to…”

  “Silence! Such words must never be spoken here.” Margaret retaliated with filth and venom. “Thy mother is a whore. She was baptised by the Prince himself, and then you know what he did? I can tell ye because I was there. He used her! Her mouth, her cunni, her arse, and she loved it. Ye hear me? She loved it!” and with eyes wild and breathing hard, she went across and grabbed Lavinia’s arm. “And ye know something, my pretty lass? You will love it too. The man who will deflower you is an expert, and…”

  “Lavinia! Lavinia!” A male voice, faint and slightly muffled, penetrated the chamber.

  “’Tis Richard Faulkner,” said Catherine, recognising his voice.

  “Richard! Richard! I’m…” Lavinia suddenly fell silent. Margaret had waved a hand. Lavinia could see and hear and even feel the witch’s hold on her wrist, but all speech and motion had ceased.

  “No prick will rob me of my victory. Catherine, guard her with your life.”

  “Can I tease her?” Catherine’s tone was so benign that she might have been asking for an apple.

  “Words only. Do not mark her or I’ll mark you – permanently!”

  Margaret hurried up the stairs and opened the high door. Wind and rain were lashing everything in sight, and yet the tempest did not seem to touch her. She peered into the darkness. The light from the open doorway shone down on Richard, who was standing at the bottom of the tower.

  ***

  The journey to Wolfdene had not been easy. The first mile or two through the forest had been relatively flat, but after skirting a natural amphitheatre known as the ‘devil’s bowl’, the track had become peppered with exposed roots. Ordinarily surefooted and confident, Merlin had stumbled several times, and Richard had been compelled to slow the horse.

  The closer they had drawn to the tower, the more the track had become difficult to traverse. Moreover, the surrounding trees had seemingly taken on fantastic shapes. And then Merlin had stopped, flanks quivering and nostrils flaring.

  There had been a moaning sound in the wood, as of someone in pain. Richard had turned in the supposed direction. Two fiery eyes had stared back at him. Mindful of Alice’s warning, he had dug his spurs into Merlin and galloped away.

  Just shy of the tower, the sky was seemingly wrenched apart and a streak of lightning had struck the ground. Merlin had reared with the inevitable result that Richard had tumbled backwards. Shaken but uninjured, he had tied the now thoroughly frightened horse to a tree and continued the journey on foot.

  Fortunately, he’d had but a hundred paces to travel, but even then, he had heard strange whispering and slithering sounds behind him, and was absolutely sure that someone, or something, had followed him. It was then that he had called Lavinia’s name.

  “Who dares summon me?” shouted Margaret.

  “Good God,” said Richard under his breath. Her face was so frightful, so charged with wickedness and malice, that his blood ran cold. “I am Richard Faulkner, late of Holton Abbey, and in the name of Alice Nash, I demand that you release her daughter, Lavinia Ashmore. We know you took her against her will, so don’t bother to deny it.”

  “Ah, so Alice has been telling tales again. You are mistaken, young man. Lavinia is my granddaughter and no kin of Mistress Nash.”

  “Really? Then you will not object if I speak to her.”

  Margaret was about to reply when she saw something that stopped her dead. A flash of lightning had illuminated the gold medallion around his neck. She recognised its significance at once, and it was vital to her plan that she retrieve it.

  “Certainly I have no objection,” she said in a friendly tone. “Stand aside while I throw down the ladder.”

  “None of your tricks now.” Richard dangled the medallion. “Courtesy of Mistress Nash, and you know that her power is greater than yours.”

  “Greater!” she shrieked. “By Beelzebub’s tail, you are begging to die.”

  “Either admit me, or I shall return with a dozen men and use the secret entrance.”

  Margaret laughed nervously. “What secret entrance?”

  Richard smiled inwardly. The hag was beaten. “The one down here in the stone.”

  “Alright, I will agree only because I’m getting wet.” A pair of narrow wooden steps dropped from the door and Richard climbed up quickly. Seconds later he was on the ground again, his head striking a rock.

  Margaret howled with laughter. Rather than witchcraft, she had simply pushed him off the ladder, snatching the medallion in the process. She looked at the unconscious man some twenty-feet below. She knew he was badly injured, and without assistance would probably die. But she did not care. She had beaten Alice Nash and that was all that mattered.

  Before closing the door, Margaret shouted to the turbulent sky, “Your child is lost, Alice Nash. Do you hear me? Lost! She will be sacrificed before one of the clock, and no matter what you do, I will outlive you!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Treachery

  Through the murky air they flew, borne as
if on the wings of a bat. Now devoid of her powers, Alice clung to Nancy for dear life, her face as pale as death. They eventually alighted near a solitary hut, whose crooked and slightly sinister aspect matched its owner.

  “She’s here,” said Nancy as they walked through the door.

  Alice looked around, not that there was much to see - a couple of large chests, a table and two stiff chairs, a bench, a three-legged stool, and a well-used spinning-wheel. A simmering cauldron was suspended over a smouldering fire, while the only window was covered with a thick piece of sacking. There were two doors. The first was closed, and the second, slightly ajar, led to the bedchamber.

  “Sit down,” said Fanny. It sounded more like a command than an invitation. “Nancy, my dear, go into the cellar and fetch a bottle of elderberry wine.”

  Alice raised an eyebrow, not at the wine, but the fact that there was a cellar. Misinterpreting the gesture, Fanny went on, “I make it myself, and no, the ingredients do not include hemlock.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear it,” said Alice, trying to smile. She was completely out of her depth and they all knew it. Still, it didn’t hurt to check. “You know what’s happened?”

  “Aye, Margaret has Lavinia, you have Knowles and Twissleton, and I have the key to everyone’s fate.”

  “Brief but accurate.” Since Fanny was obviously in full possession of the facts, Alice did not see the need for procrastination. “And what are you going to do?”

  “I have a few ideas, but first, we must see the state of things at Wolfdene. I need some of your hair for the charm I want to prepare.”

  Alice obliged and automatically added, “You also need a piece of dead flesh.”

  “I have it. Got it from Willy last night. A babe, freshly buried. Bewitched to death, and there is no doubt as to who killed it.”

  Alice was repulsed. “I don’t want to see it. I want no reminders of my former life. I will go into the other room while you make preparations. Summon me when you’re ready.”