The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  Alice gently lay a hand on his arm. “My good and long-time friend, I thank you for your kindness, but I have no intention of fleeing. On the contrary, I will surrender to justice.”

  “You will? Are you sure? Do not mistake the matter. Neither rank or wealth will protect you from punishment.”

  ”I know that, but I must atone for my offences and you must take me into custody. My only regret is that Lavinia will share in my disgrace.”

  Margaret Dymock let out a high-pitched cackle. “Listen to her! My shite smells sweeter than her repentance.”

  “Take this foul hag away,” boomed Sir Howarth. Margaret was seized by two men and moved nearer the fire.

  “Oh, think not of me, dear mother,” said Lavinia. “I have never been more proud of anyone in my life.”

  As mother and daughter embraced, Sir Howarth said quietly to Nicholas, “It is a pity she will fall into their hands,” and gestured to the men who were taunting the captives mercilessly. Several women, either high on adrenalin or a means of escape, had opened their bodices, exposed their breasts, and were playing with them tauntingly.

  Roger and Metcalf, the latter viciously kicking aside any witch in his path, approached the knight. Upon seeing Alice, Metcalf would have seized her had Sir Howarth not stepped between them.

  “She has surrendered to me and I will not allow violence on her person.”

  “Your pardon, Sir Howarth,” said Roger, “but if this be so, then the arrest must be formal.” He looked around for Twissleton but only saw the constable, who in turn, was searching the faces for Nancy Redfern. He had a score to settle with the ‘foxy Miss’, and it was therefore with reluctance that he desisted when Roger proclaimed, “Smithers, do your duty.”

  Alice bowed her head as Smithers intoned, “Alice Nash, I arrest you for the crime of witchcraft and other heinous offences. Hold out your hands so that they may be bound.”

  “No,” said Sir Howarth firmly. “She will suffer no indignity. I will answer for her conduct.”

  Alice addressed Roger. “Rest easy, I shall not attempt to escape and will answer to the charges.”

  Afraid that some trickery might be in play, Roger said in an official voice, “She avows her guilt. I call you all to witness it.”

  “I will certainly not forget it,” said Metcalf nastily.

  “Nor I,” said Smithers, feeling that the importance of his office was being overshadowed a little.

  Lavinia, who had been holding her mother’s hand, gasped as she was wrenched away by Metcalf. “I will take this girl in charge. She is also a witch.”

  “Oh no you won’t!” Richard jumped forward, his face seething. “She is no witch. Unhand her at once or I will strike you down.”

  Metcalf pushed Lavinia behind him and then drew his sword. “You insolent dog. I have other affronts to settle with you. Now, stand aside or I’ll cut your throat.”

  “Hold, both of you,” shouted Sir Howarth. “Settle your quarrels later. Lavinia is not a witch. The fact that she was about to be sacrificed proves it.”

  “So what? Whether she be the daughter of Elizabeth Ashmore or Alice Nash, she still comes from bad stock.”

  “As you just said, so what? It still doesn’t make her a witch. There is not a shred of evidence against her, so either lower your weapon or I will exercise my authority.”

  Metcalf hesitated, his sword still pointed at Richard. “Very well,” he said grudgingly, “but I want it known that I protest her freedom. As for you, Richard Faulkner, I will yet have satisfaction.”

  “Whenever you please,” he said with a mocking bow.

  “Sir Howarth,” said Roger, “with your permission, I will take the prisoners to the abbey and use one of the old dungeons to incarcerate them. Tomorrow, I will convey them to Leeds for trial.”

  “So be it.” Sir Howarth paused. “Must Alice go to the abbey as well?”

  “Absolutely. I cannot make an exception, the charges are too serious.”

  Sir Howarth nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly. “Alice, you had better take leave of your daughter.”

  “Thank you.” Alice held Lavinia's face in her hands. “Farewell, my child. Do not grieve. My heart has never been so at ease, and in whatever time is left to me, I will strive for redemption and where possible, make reparation.”

  “And you will succeed,” said Lavinia, tears now streaming down her face.

  Margaret’s shrieking voice shattered the melancholy. “Not so! She is bound to the master by a contract that nothing can break.”

  “I should very much like to see that,” said Roger thoughtfully. “The infernal’s signature must be singular indeed. Alice, do you have a copy?”

  Alice shook her head. “It would do no good. No uninitiated eye can read it. However, speaking of documents, in the absence of parchment and quill, as a magistrate and a man of honour, I ask you to bear witness to the following statement. After my death, Lavinia is to inherit my entire estate unencumbered. I have few blood relatives and all are of no account. Still, my estate is valuable, and one of them might seek to challenge my decision. May I trust you to comply with my wishes?”

  “Provided it is not forfeited to the crown, which may prove the case. Twissleton would know the law in this regard better than I. Where is he by the way? I have not seen him for some time.”

  “Probably scribbling in his notebook,” said Nicholas.

  Alice continued as though there had been no interruption. “As to you, Richard, I give you my greatest treasure – Lavinia. Treat her well, and love her every day.”

  Suddenly, there was a commotion and an ear-piercing scream. A monk had appeared by the bonfire, a finger pointed accusingly at Margaret Dymock.

  “Thy hour has come, accursed woman, and all thy viperous brood will suffer the same fate. To the flames with her!”

  Such was the awe and command of the monk, that the witch was immediately cast into the fire. Amidst her shrieks she was heard to cry, “They will never be united! Think a witch like thee, Alice Nash, can bless a union? Ha-ha-ha! Thy wish is a curse. Lavinia's bridal bed will be a grave!”

  She was consumed in a plume of bright yellow flame, which raged and roared as if in exultation. She was seen to raise her arms in supplication for a moment, and after a final terrifying scream, fell silent. When those who had participated looked for the monk, he was no-where to be seen.

  Fanny staggered to her feet, her breathing ragged and shallow. “She will not escape me that easily,” she whispered to Alice, leaning against her for support. “I’m sorry about Lavinia. Take care of Nancy if you can,” and with a final tremendous effort, dived into the flames.

  There was a long stunned silence, broken when Richard said to Alice, “With your permission, I will take your daughter to Craxton Hall, where she will find companionship and comfort in the arms of my sister. I’m sure Nicholas will not object.”

  “Not in the slightest. I just thank God that Dorothy was not here to witness this, though she will want to know every detail when we return to Holton.”

  Alice opened her mouth to correct him and then changed her mind. It did not matter that he was under the impression that his wife was still at the abbey. Right at that moment, the girl in front of her was more important. She hugged Lavinia one more time and then turned to Roger.

  “I am ready,” she said calmly, and with the upmost dignity, accompanied him to his horse.

  Sir Howarth wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ll get my men and go with them,” he said to Nicholas. The Knight lowered his voice. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Metcalf makes some half-arsed attempt to snatch her en route. What are you going to do?”

  “Form a search party. Detestable though he is, Twissleton would not have missed this unless there was a very good reason.”

  “True. You had also better check that the manor is secure. Once the news of her arrest is abroad, it is likely to be ransacked.”

  “Not to mention the uncertainty that her tenants and staff wil
l experience,” said Nicholas, and as his father walked away, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, ”Twissleton! Twissleton! Can you hear me?”

  “Over here!” A bare arm waved from just behind the rim of the hollow. Nicholas scrambled up the side, paused to stare in disbelief, and then roared with laughter. Twissleton was lying face down in the grass, naked, his back bloody and covered in welts, courtesy of Davy Ashmore and a switch.

  Nicholas appealed to some nearby men for the loan of some clothes. “I think,” he said as he helped the solicitor to dress, “that you had better stick to conveyancing. Witch hunting just doesn’t suit you.”

  Part III

  Aftermath

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Craxton Hall

  The sun had barely risen and yet it was already warm. Walking to the stables, Nicholas looked at the clear azure sky and sighed. It promised to be another long, hot, July day, and instead of fishing and boating along the river, he would be spending most of the time in the saddle.

  Craxton Hall was positioned on a rise and surrounded on three sides by sycamore trees. To the right, the land sloped down to a small green valley, intersected by several stone bridges and a not unsubstantial brook. Beyond the trees was the little village of Craxton, from whence the Hall took its name. Many residents were beholding to Nicholas as their landlord, and insofar as the condition of their habitation was concerned, had very little to complain about.

  Nicholas was greeted by several dogs but not all were his own. Gripper, a rather unattractive collie, was approaching his tenth year, and yet there was not a keener animal for sniffing out and pursuing game, as his somewhat mangled left ear could testify. His owner, John Crouch, though thin with a grey streaked beard, was possessed of a tough, wiry frame. His sunken cheeks and aquiline nose, rendered his face rather fierce, and yet he was a loveable old rogue who probably knew more than was good for him. He had been in service to the Faulkners in the position of stable-master for many years, and was utterly devoted to Nicholas.

  “Morning sir.”

  “Morning Crouch. What say you?”

  “We lost more chickens last night. I'm sure there's a den nearby. Your permission to take two men and search for it?”

  Nicholas smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “And snare a couple of rabbits for your supper into the bargain, eh? Well, why not. Yes, go ahead. Is Rayzer ready?” When Crouch hesitated, Nicholas looked at him sharply. “What is it?”

  “Bainbridge took him out for a good gallop yesterday, and when they returned, Rayzer had a cut behind his left foreleg. Nothing serious,” he quickly added, seeing his master's look of alarm. “Bit of rest and salve and he'll be right as rain.”

  Nicholas frowned. “Bainbridge?” The name was vaguely familiar.

  “He's here on loan from your father's stables. As you know, young Tom, the apprentice, broke his leg last week - silly drunken fool, so I sent a message to Hal Tobin asking if he could supply a temporary replacement. Bainbridge is certainly competent enough, but a bit on the quiet side if you know what I mean. Watches everything but says nothing.”

  “Well, so long as he does his job and you're happy with him, I'll not complain.”

  “I've saddled Rosie for ye. She could do with a good outing after foaling.”

  “Is the foal all right?”

  Crouch gave him a toothless grin. “Beautiful,” he said proudly, but in the next instant his expression became serious. “Any news of Mistress Nash? I cannot believe the stories I’ve heard about her. I’m sure the lady is innocent since you champion her cause, even though malicious and strange things are being said of her.”

  “I could argue the same point about us. According to reputation, I waste my estate in wine and horses, that my time might be more profitably employed, that I neglect my wife and religious observance, that I am at the alehouse when I should be at home, at a marriage when I should be at a funeral, shooting when I should be tending my accounts. And your reputation is little better. Idle, good-for-nothing, a prodigious drinker, a confounded liar, and that like me, you prefer the ale-house to church.”

  Crouch could hardly speak for indignation. “Lies! All lies! You know I’m not like that.”

  “Of course I do, and that’s my point. You’ll never stop tongues from wagging. Just look at the reports that are circulating.”

  Since the macabre deaths of Margaret Dymock and Fanny Craddock, stories had circulated that their ghosts had been seen in the forest, and more often than not, pursued by a monk. The reports were given more credence due to the fact that, when the cinders of the bonfire had been examined, no remains of the hags had been found. Gossip had it that Satan had carried them off whilst they were still alive in order to punish them personally.

  Another aspect was the haunting of Wolfdene, allegedly guarded by a hideous goat and a monstrous cat. With the fearful cries, fiery eyes, inexplicable lights at night, unearthly music, and wild figures flitting past the windows as if engaged in a devilish dance, nobody dare go near the place, not even during daylight hours.

  In the absence of the missing and presumably dead, Christopher Ashmore, Elizabeth was now the owner of Wolfdene, but as yet, no claim had been lodged. Indeed, it was only because of stomach-ache that she had missed the sacrifice.

  Davy Ashmore was still on the run, but unlike his absentee Uncle, was not entirely invisible. Reports of his whereabouts and physical appearance were as varied as they were fanciful. Even Crouch asserted that he’d seen him, and that when approached, Davy had ‘run as fast as a hare’.

  Alice’s whereabouts however, were an even greater mystery. The escort conveying her and the other captured witches to Leeds Castle, had been attacked by a group of men dressed as foresters. Only Alice had been snatched, while some of the other witches had taken advantage of the situation and made a bid for freedom. Strangely, the escapees had been caught and returned by the alleged foresters, who, having bound & gagged them, left them by the road.

  This clearly proved that the attack was solely for Alice's benefit, and suspicion had fallen on her family and friends. Nothing could have equalled the rage and mortification of Knowles and Twissleton, who had lost no time in accusing Nicholas and Richard of organising the escape. Twissleton had been at his unctuous best, threatening the young men with jail and forfeiture of their estates if they did not confess. But, as he could prove nothing against them and with his original task complete, he had returned to his office in London in high dudgeon.

  His only solace was that as a prime witness, it would be necessary for him to return to Holton and give evidence against the remaining witches. Further, with the extermination of the hags, all the mischief and calamity that had plagued Thornley Forest and Appleby had ceased. Even John Lanyon, the pedlar, had made a full recovery, and was now as strong and active as before.

  Privately however, and it was a prospect Twissleton was savouring on a daily basis, upon returning to Holton, he had every intention of pursuing Elizabeth and Catherine Ashmore, who quite remarkably, were still at liberty though rarely seen.

  The little vixen as he thought of Catherine, had teased him to such an extent, that during their clandestine meeting the night before he’d departed for London, his member had exploded with desire. And yet she had barely touched him. Sitting in his dark and musty office, his mind often wandered to her sweet red lips, her small firm breasts, and the promise of ecstasy that lay between her thighs. Yes by God, when he returned to Holton for the witch-trials, he would have her, even if he had to manufacture evidence.

  ***

  Crouch coughed delicately. “Do you think Mistress Nash is… dead?”

  “I don’t know. My father has sent out men every day since she was taken, but there's no sign of her. If she is dead, her body must be well- hidden. Now, I must be off, I have a long day ahead of me and…”

  He was interrupted by shouts and yells, and a moment later, three men, a fourth bound and gagged between them, came into view. Nicholas reco
gnised one of the men immediately, but only because of his size. It was John Atkinson, the burly forester betrothed to Suzy Worsley.

  “Sir!” he cried excitedly, “we've got him! We've caught Davy Ashmore.”

  “Look at him,” whispered Nicholas to Crouch. “Look at his haughty expression. Anyone would think his capture was something to crow about.”

  “Aye, and for a man whose been on the run these past months, he’s in quite good condition. Somebody has been helping him.”

  “It was the smell and the smoke that attracted us,” said John. “The dammed fool was cooking a chicken over a fire.”

  “The thieving bastard,” said Crouch under his breath.

  Nicholas bowed to the prisoner. “Master Ashmore, nice of you to join us.”

  “Mock all you want,” said Davy, his haughty tone matching his expression, “but I strongly urge you not to meddle with me.”

  “Why?” Nicholas looked pointedly at the bound man. “You’re hardly in a position to cast spells, and your granny isn’t here anymore to help you.”

  “I don’t need her help to bring you down.”

  Nicholas ignored the taunt. “You are an offender who has evaded justice for too long.”

  Though immobile, Davy still managed to exude an air of menace. “I would be very careful whom you label an offender, Nicholas Faulkner. Your recent record is not entirely blemish- free.”

  Gripper, perceptive dog that he was, had let out a warning growl. Nicholas patted his head as he said, “What happened to Margaret Dymock was entirely her fault. She kidnapped an innocent girl for her own despicable purpose.”

  “Lavinia? Innocent?” Davy laughed as he went on, “What do you intend to do with me?”

  “You will be escorted to Holton to be examined by the magistrate. As your crimes are well-known, I doubt Roger Knowles will have any qualms about sending you to Leeds to join the other wretches.”

  “Other wretches?” Davy looked directly into Nicholas’s eyes. His voice was full of meaning as he added, “And is Mistress Nash amongst them?”