Midsummer's Eve

by Philippa Carr

  I saw the cottage through a gleam of light. They were close now, waving their torches. They were all shouting and I could not hear what was said except that it was something about the witch.

  Then someone called: “Come out, witch. Show yourself. Don’t ’ee be afraid. We won’t ’urt ’ee … leastways no more than ’ee have hurt us.”

  I gasped. She had come out of the cottage. She must have been in bed for she was in a nightgown, her grey hair streaming about her shoulders. Their torches lit up her face and I saw the fear there.

  I felt physically sick and would have turned away but Jacco was close to me and I could not move. His horrified eyes were fixed on the scene.

  “What do you want with me?” she screamed.

  “You’m going to see, missus. What’ll us do with her?”

  Someone spoke. They were all listening. Could it be Rolf telling them what to do? I wondered.

  “That’ll do …” shouted someone. “What they’ve allus done. Duck her in the water. If she drowns she’s innocent. If she floats it’s with the help of the Devil and proves she’s one of his.”

  “Where did the Devil kiss ’ee, Mother Ginny?”

  There was a burst of coarse laughter.

  “Oh no,” I murmured. “She’s only an old woman.”

  Jacco nodded, his eyes staring at that terrifying scene.

  They had attached a rope about her waist. She was screaming and fighting them. One of the men gave her a blow which knocked her to the ground.

  “Jacco,” I cried, “they’ll kill her. We’ve got to stop them. Papa would.”

  Jacco rode forward. “Stop it,” he cried. “Stop it.”

  No one took any notice of him. They were all intent on getting Mother Ginny to the river. She called curses on them as they dragged her along the ground.

  I was sobbing. “We must do something. What would our father do?”

  But we lacked his strength and authority. We were only children and whatever we did would be of no avail. There was murder in the air. I had seen something in those people that night which I never would have believed could be there. For the first time I had witnessed the fury of a mob. These people who went about their ordinary daily rounds had undergone a remarkable change. There was a side to their nature which I had never known existed. They were cruel. They delighted in inflicting pain. They wanted revenge, an eye for an eye. Tregorran’s mare; the Cherry baby; the rain; the heat; the Poldeans’ boat. They wanted revenge and they were going to have it. And Rolf was there … leading them on … making them aware of how witches were treated long ago. Rolf … whom I had so much admired; who had been a hero to me, whom I had loved. That was the most startling and disturbing revelation of all. They were uneducated people … ready to be led … but he … I felt I knew what was in his mind. He was obsessed by the old ways, old customs. He wanted to see if people would react today as they had long ago. But this was a human life … I felt I could never trust anyone again.

  I wanted to go to him, to tell him I was here, to beg him to stop this. But he was their leader. I could never forget that. Jacco and I were, after all, only two children. We could not stop them even though Jacco was my father’s son.

  I wanted to shut it all out of my mind, forget what I had seen, go right away. I did not want to know what was happening by the river. I feared something even more terrible was going to happen. But even if I did run home, I should never forget.

  I could hear the shouts by the river.

  “She won’t sink,” said Jacco.

  “No, the river’s not deep enough.”

  “Not by the banks. If they throw her into the middle … They say witches don’t sink. The Devil saves them.”

  “But either way …”

  “She’ll be saved,” insisted Jacco.

  Then the boy came out of the cottage. He sped across the clearing. He was very close to us. I held my breath. I thought: What will they do to him?

  I was aware of him; he was crouching among the trees quite near us.

  The shouts sounded farther away; then they were near again. They were coming back. They were dragging Mother Ginny along. Her clothes were sodden and mud-stained; her hair hung grey and slimy about her face, which was deathly pale. I thought she was already dead.

  I heard myself praying to God to do something … to send these people away … to let Mother Ginny go back to her truckle bed.

  The people were shouting like a drunken mob. They were drunk in a way—not with strong drink but with mob frenzy.

  She lay on the grass and they were all round her. I could not see her now.

  Then someone cried: “The Devil saves his own.”

  “Not for long,” said someone else.

  Then suddenly, with a shout, someone threw a torch at the thatched roof. It ignited immediately. The thatch was alight. Someone threw another torch and the cottage was a blazing mass.

  The mob stood back to admire its handiwork. I could see Mother Ginny now. She had risen to her feet and stood staring at the cottage. There was silence as she tottered towards it. She went along the path to the door and walked into the flames.

  There was a silence which seemed to go on for a long time. I think they were all waiting for her to come out. But she did not.

  Someone shouted: “That’s her and her cat gone. What of the boy … the Witch’s Varmint?”

  There was silence again. My heart was beating rapidly. I heard a sound very close to us. Jacco moved his horse slightly. I heard him whisper: “Jump up behind me.”

  Then I saw Digory and I felt a wave of relief sweep over me.

  “Come on,” said Jacco. “Quick.”

  We moved silently through the woods.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking,” said Jacco.

  I glanced at Digory, who was clinging to Jacco; his face was white and all the bravado had gone out of him. I felt very tender towards him at that moment.

  We were free of the woods and Jacco began to canter.

  “Do you think they will follow us?” I called.

  “Might do. If they knew where we were.”

  I could see the grey towers of Cador. We went up the incline and Jacco stopped suddenly.

  “I know,” he said. “The Dogs’ Home.”

  “Oh yes,” I cried. “That’ll do.”

  The Dogs’ Home was an old shed a little way from the stables. Jacco used it for anything he needed for his pets. Our father had said that if he had them he must be able to look after them; they were his responsibility. He had a key and no one else had one.

  “It’s the safest place,” he said.

  We went on to the shed. Then Jacco dismounted, pulling Digory with him. The boy seemed in a state of shock and hardly to be aware of either of us.

  Jacco always carried the key of the shed with him. Now he opened it and we went inside. There were dogs’ baskets and sacks of peas with which Jacco fed his peacocks. It smelt like a granary.

  “You’ll be all right here,” he said. “No one would dare come here. We’ll get you blankets and food, so you needn’t worry.”

  Digory still did not speak.

  “Now,” said Jacco, “we’re going to see you’re all right. Annora, you get some blankets for him. You’ll have to be quiet. First let’s stable the horses.”

  We left Digory in the shed, locking him in. He was still stunned. I wondered how much he had seen of the terrible thing which had happened to his grandmother.

  As we left the stables, Jacco said: “We’ll keep him there until our father comes home. He’ll know what to do.”

  I felt an immense relief. Yes, our father would know what to do.

  “None of this would have happened if he had been here,” I said. “Mother Ginny is dead. She couldn’t have survived in that fire. She walked right into it.”

  “She killed herself.”

  “No,” I said, “They killed her.” And to myself I murmured: And Rolf was one of those who killed her. How
could he? And yet I had seen him. Rolf. My Rolf. I would never have believed it possible if I had not witnessed it with my own eyes.

  I was glad of something to do. It stopped my thinking of that terrible scene. But I knew I should go on thinking of it … always.

  The task before me was not easy. I had to tread very carefully for fear of arousing attention. I did not know who was in the house. How many of them, I wondered, were still in the woods? But they would soon be coming back. They had done their wicked deed. Surely they would want to get as far away from it as possible.

  I went into the linen room and took some blankets and a pillow. I went to the Dogs’ Home where Jacco was impatiently waiting for me. He seized them and made a bed of some straw. Digory stood there—his thoughts, I knew, far away at that terrible scene—and when we told him to lie down, he obeyed us as though in a trance.

  Jacco knelt beside him. He was gentle. This was a new side to my brother and I loved him the more for it.

  “You’ll be all right now,” he said. “They won’t come here. We’ll keep you here till our father comes home. He’ll know what to do.”

  Jacco stood up and looked at me. “First thing in the morning we’ll bring him some food. Have to be careful with old Penlock.”

  I nodded.

  “Here’s the key,” went on Jacco, turning to Digory and putting it into his hand. “Lock yourself in when we’ve gone. Don’t open the door to anyone except us. Understand?”

  Digory moved his head slightly.

  I wanted to weep seeing him thus, denuded of that reckless bravado which had been such a part of him. I was discovering something about Digory, about Jacco, and so much more about the baser instincts of people whom I had always before thought commonplace. But what I had learned tonight of that other one whom I had idolized—that was what hurt and bewildered me most.

  We went into the house cautiously. I crept up to my room, undressed and got into bed.

  I lay looking through the window at that slim slice of moon and I could not shut out of my mind the sound of voices, the weird light of torches, and all that had happened on that terrible night.

  I had roughly been jerked out of my childhood and I should never be the same again.

  I did fall into an uneasy doze just as it was getting light, but my sleep was haunted by nightmares. I woke up sweating with horror. Will it always be like this? I wondered. I can never forget. I should be haunted forever by the memory of Mother Ginny walking into the flames. But most of all by a figure in a greyish robe leading the mob.

  As soon as I awoke I remembered the boy. The terrible adventure was not over. I tried to imagine what his feelings would be on this morning. His whole life had changed. He had lost his home and his grandmother, who was the only family he had. What else had he? Only us. How I wished my father were home. I kept telling myself that if he had been, this would never have happened. He would have stopped it before it went so far. He alone could have put an end to those proceedings.

  As soon as I went downstairs I found Jacco waiting impatiently.

  “We’ve got to get some food for him,” he said.

  “I don’t suppose he feels much like eating. I don’t.”

  “He’ll have to eat. See what you can get. You go to the kitchens more than I do, so it will be best for you to get it. You’ll have to be careful.”

  “I know,” I said. “Leave it to me.”

  There was a subdued atmosphere throughout the house. How many servants had been in the woods last night? I wondered. Some of them might well have remained on the moor or perhaps they did not get farther than the quay.

  We had to make a pretence of eating breakfast although it was an effort to do so for both of us.

  Afterwards I made my way to the kitchen. I was aware of an unusual silence.

  Mrs. Penlock was seated at the big kitchen table with Isaacs and some of the others.

  This was clearly not the moment to go to the pantry. I should have to bide my time.

  “Good morning,” I said, trying to appear as usual.

  “Morning, Miss Annora.”

  “Is—is anything wrong?”

  There was a brief silence, then Mrs. Penlock said: “There was a fire last night, Mother Ginny’s house was burned to a cinder … and her in it.”

  I looked steadily at them. “How … how did it happen?”

  After some hesitation Isaacs said: “Who’s to know how fires start? They do and that’s about it.”

  They looked down at their plates. I thought: I am sure some of them must have been there. Murderers! I wanted to shout at them. That was who killed Mother Ginny.

  But I must be careful. I had to think of Digory.

  I must get away or I should betray something; and yet on the other hand I had to show curiosity. Hadn’t I been told a hundred times that I had my nose into everything? “Curiosity killed the cat,” Mrs. Penlock had told me on more than one occasion.

  “There … must have been a cause.”

  “It’s easy done,” said Mrs. Penlock. “Her always had a fire going. Sparks fall out and a place like that—it gone in next to no time.”

  “Is she dead? Are you sure?”

  “Reckon,” said Mrs. Penlock.

  “And,” I went on, “the boy …”

  “There ain’t no sign of him. He must have gone too.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Well, her being a witch, you’d have thought the Devil would have come to her aid.”

  “And he didn’t?”

  “Seems not.”

  I hated them all in that moment. How dared they sit there lying to me. They knew, all of them, how she had died.

  I wanted to shout at them, telling them that I knew, that I had been there and seen it all. Then I remembered the frenzy of the mob last night and I thought of the boy who had been saved. If they turned on him they might devise some terrible end for him as they had for his grandmother.

  I said: “It is … terrible.” And I ran out of the kitchen.

  Jacco was waiting for me.

  “Well?”

  “They are all there. I couldn’t get anything. They are pretending it was an accident. They said sparks must have fallen on the roof and set it on fire.”

  “Well, what do you expect?”

  “It’s lies … all lies. They did it. They killed her.”

  “We’ve got to save the boy. So what about the food?”

  “I’ll have to seize the opportunity.”

  He nodded.

  “Let’s go to the Dogs’ Home to see how he is,” he said.

  I was glad that it was sheltered from the house, for the shrubs round it were considerably overgrown.

  Jacco rapped on the door. “Let us in,” he called.

  We heard the key in the lock and there stood Digory. He still had the dazed look on his face.

  As we went in Jacco said: “We’re going to bring you food. All you have to do is stay here. You’ll be all right. In a few days my father will be home.”

  Digory said: “There’s nothing … nowhere. It’s all burned down … and me granny …”

  I went to him and put my arms round him.

  “We’re going to look after you,” I assured him. “My father will know what to do.”

  He just stood there like a statue that has no life.

  “Come on,” said Jacco. “You’ll want to eat something. You’ll feel better then.”

  Later that morning I was able to get into the pantry. I took milk, bread and a piece of cold boiled bacon.

  Jacco said: “That’ll do for a start.”

  And we took it to the Dogs’ Home.

  Digory was still in a daze but we made him eat a little.

  Jacco and I went into the woods on the afternoon of Midsummer’s Day. The smell of burned wood and thatch hung about the place. It was a pitiful sight to see that burned-out shell of what had once been a home. The grass was scorched and there was something eerie about the scene. I felt that forev
er after it would be a haunted spot … haunted not by the so-called witch but by the evil of those who had killed her.

  There was a subdued air in the town. The hot sun beat down on the fourteenth-century bridge which crossed the river near the quay and where the boats were moored. There had never been another Midsummer’s Day like this.

  One of the fishermen sat on an upturned boat mending his nets.

  “Good day,” we said.

  “Good day, Mr. Jacco, Miss Annora.”

  He was intent on his nets. Everyone seemed less loquacious than usual.

  Jacco said: “So there was a fire last night?”

  “Oh, aye. So ’tis said.”

  I thought: Where were you last night, Tom Fellows? Were you one of those who tormented that old woman? You were there perhaps, waving your torch, setting that home on fire. It may not have been your torch which lit the fire, but you are all guilty, all the same … every one of you who let it happen.

  “Mother Ginny’s cottage was burned down,” said Jacco.

  “Oh, aye, so ’tis said.”

  “And she was in it.”

  “So they’m telling me.”

  “It’s a terrible thing,” I said.

  “’Tis so, Miss Annora.”

  “And,” demanded Jacco, “what of the boy Digory?”

  “Don’t ’ee ask me, Mr. Jacco. I know naught.”

  I thought: That is what they will all say. They know naught. They are all ashamed. They are all going to pretend they were not there.

  We moved on. We spoke to some of the others and it was the same with them all. They had all heard of it and it was a terrible thing to have happened—even to a witch, some added.

  I said angrily to Jacco: “They are all going to plead innocence.”

  “The guilty always do.”

  “There were a lot of them in the woods last night.”

  “They will all say they were on the moor or the quay or in their beds.”

  To all of them we mentioned Digory. Nobody called him the Varmint now. They believed he had been in the cottage and died with his grandmother. That certain respect which was due to the dead was accorded him.

  “He’ll be safe in the Dogs’ Home,” I said. “They think he’s dead.”

  “We’ll keep him there.”

  “Till our father comes home,” I added.