After a while, when all she could see before her were trees and tangled impassable shrubbery, Hannah despaired. In her panic, she began to run, her ankles soon ripped and bleeding from the many rambling thorns which clawed at her from all directions, and her hair tugged into wild disarray by the overhanging branches. As she ran in blind panic, her terror mounted, until she was reduced to tears. Her cries rose into a scream and, all presence of mind beginning to flee, she was convinced of two things: that she would die out here in these Godforsaken moors, and that it was her husband, Vincent Pengally, who had set loose the witchcraft that pursued her now. Her mind was besieged by brutish images, all reason torn asunder, and all hope gone; her screams became hysterical as she stumbled deep into the spinney.
Some time later and having been urged from her cottage by those awful screams, the herb-gatherer came to the spot where Hannah lay, white as death in the moonlight. When the black dog began sniffing Hannah’s seemingly lifeless body, the herb-gatherer shooed it away. ‘Lift her,’ she told her silent companion, ‘take her to the cottage.’ The dark shape bent over Hannah, blocking out the light of the moon, then sliding its grotesque limbs beneath her slight form, it lifted her with surprising tenderness, its burden jerking awkwardly, when Hannah’s arm raised something from the ground. As it fell away, neither the herb-gatherer nor her companion noticed that it was a garment, a long grey shawl, caught on the strands of a wicker basket which contained pretty lace and the like.
In silent procession, the strange party wound its way down the valley, the black dog bounding ahead and the herb-gatherer softly instructing her companion to ‘take care’, until at last they came to the cottage.
Though sparsely furnished with basic articles of sound old oak and having only a rush mat on the stone-paved floor, the parlour was warm and cosy. The two lamps which were suspended from the ceiling beams bathed the whole in a kind gentle light, and the cheery fire gave out a rosy warmth. The herb-gatherer was never one to retire to an early bed, knowing from long experience that some of the most beneficial herbs only flourished when bathed in moonglow.
Presently, when the small limp form was laid out on the oak table and, in the reviving warmth, was beginning to stir, the herb-gatherer peered deeply into Hannah’s face. ‘It’s the Pengally woman!’ She was astonished. ‘What in God’s name is she doing… wandering the moors at all hours?’ She turned to the dark shape which was hiding in the shadows. ‘The Pengally woman,’ she murmured, a deep frown creasing her brow and her head shaking slowly from side to side. ‘What’s she doing in the spinney… so far from home?’
The dark shape also shook its head, but vigorously, as though irritated. It came forward, hesitantly, and with a strange sorrowful expression on its twisted features. It reached out as though to touch Hannah’s face, but then retreated a little, its soulful eyes gazing on Hannah’s still features and making small unintelligible noises in the back of its throat, noises that were strange, even to the herb-gatherer. ‘What is it?’ she asked, disturbed by its obvious distress. The noise was like that of a child crying, and it startled her.
Hannah’s eyes flicked open and saw everything, yet they were unseeing, glazed with pain and confusion. Slowly they closed again, and the herb-gatherer continued to watch her loved one as it reached out to take Hannah’s hand in its own. She was made both jealous and alarmed at the great tenderness there. ‘Away!’ she snapped, ‘to your bed.’ She pointed to the door, and was shocked when her instruction was not swiftly heeded. ‘I said… away to your bed!’ This time, she went to the door and opened it, waiting until the bent figure reluctantly sidled past her. Quickly following, she trailed it to the outhouse, where it turned once with pleading and uniquely beautiful eyes. When it saw that she was adamant, a look of hatred darkened its features. ‘No, no,’ she protested gently, her heart flooded with compassion, ‘it’s for your own good.’ Her smile was deep with love as she reached out to stroke its temple and, when her smile was returned, albeit hesitantly, her relief was obvious. When she turned the key in the lock and called out softly, ‘God bless,’ there was no acknowledgement. There never was.
On her return to the parlour, she found Hannah struggling to a sitting position, her blue eyes more alert as she cast a nervous gaze around the room. ‘It’s alright,’ she was told, when it seemed she might panic. ‘You’re in the herb-gatherer’s cottage… you’ll come to no harm here.’ Quickly now, she was at Hannah’s side, to help her down from the table. ‘Take your time,’ she coaxed kindly.
‘I’m sorry if I woke your child.’ Hannah’s scared eyes searched for the cradle.
‘You’re imagining things.’ The herb-gatherer had stiffened at Hannah’s remark. ‘There’s no child here.’
Hannah looked at the woman’s face. She saw how the passage of time was written there; she saw the sad aged eyes, and she was puzzled. Of course. It was not the herb-gatherer’s infant she had heard. It was her own. That was why she was here. ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured.
‘Pay no mind.’ The herb-gatherer eased Hannah into the rocking-chair by the fire. ‘You’re the Pengally woman, aren’t you?’ When the revelation appeared to startle Hannah, she quickly reassured her. ‘Don’t worry… I know how to mind my own business. But… how did you come to be in the spinney?’ She was greatly intrigued. ‘What frightened you?… we heard the screams.’
‘We?’ Hannah’s voice was marbled with fear, as she jerked her head towards the door.
Thinking quickly and cursing herself for her foolishness, the herb-gatherer bent to pat the dog who was stretched out by the hearth. ‘Me and my old faithful,’ she chuckled. ‘This one’s got ears as sharp as a rabbit’s. There’s nobody else, only me and him. My husband’s away… don’t know when he’ll see fit to find his way back here again.’
Presently, after Hannah was rested and the old herb-gatherer had brewed a fresh pot of tea, it was time for questions. ‘You still haven’t told me what you were doing in the spinney.’
‘I was looking for you… searching for your cottage. I knew it wasn’t far away… but I strayed from the path.’ The memory made Hannah inwardly shiver.
‘Looking for me?… Why would you be looking for me? And at such an ungodly hour?’ The old woman thought her visitor was a little deranged, but she understood how a body might seem so, if the mind was deeply troubled. ‘I don’t know you… only by sight and reputation,’ she explained. ‘You have a heavy burden as the woman at Greystone House.’ She made no mention of the fact that she knew of Vincent Pengally’s unsavoury reputation, but he was the burden that she spoke of!
‘I carry a greater burden than you’ll ever know.’ Hannah’s voice dropped to a whisper, and her eyes betrayed a tortured soul. ‘You must help me.’
‘Help you?’ The herb-gatherer leaned forward in her chair, her curious gaze searching Hannah’s anxious face. ‘I can think of no way in which I can help you.’
Hannah became greatly agitated, gripping her cup with such frenzy that it was taken from her, for fear of it snapping asunder. ‘Yes!… yes, you can help me, the gypsy said. I must find a way to destroy him… before he sends me to Hell. She said he was a devil, and he is.’
The herb-gatherer’s instincts served her well. ‘Your husband… this “gypsy” told you that he was the devil?’ She smiled, but not unkindly. ‘You must pay no mind to gypsy-talk. Your husband is only a man.’ She nearly said ‘like any other’, but she bit her tongue.
‘You don’t know what I know.’ Hannah closed her eyes, hoping to shut out the vision of that darkened cellar so long ago, but the vision only grew stronger. She pressed her two hands over her ears to shut out the haunting sound of a newborn’s cries. Not one newborn, but two! Something evil had happened on that day, some terrible monstrous thing that she would never know, but which would haunt her to her grave. She lived in dread that it might happen again, but she must not let it. She must not let it! Her fingers savagely plucked at her stomach, as though seeking to draw out that whi
ch plagued her.
All manner of questions had risen in the herb-gatherer’s mind, as to how this poor soul had come to seek help at her door. Now, seeing how she tore at herself, everything became clear. ‘Are you with child?’ she asked softly, reaching out to still the frantic hands.
‘No!’ Hannah gripped the gnarled fingers, clasping them between the palms of her hands and holding them in a posture of prayer. ‘No, not with “child”… it’s his. It’s no child. I must be rid of it, do you understand? A terrible thing was done… oh, he denies it all, but I know. In my heart, I know!’ Her words tumbled one over the other and her blue eyes swelled with terror. They stared beyond all earthly things, seeing only the past, and the monsters which her agonised mind had created. To the watching woman, it was like a madness unfolding before her. ‘You will help me, won’t you?’ Hannah pleaded, in a whisper. ‘You must… for I can’t bear the thought of it growing inside me!’ She began trembling, and the herb-gatherer felt her terrible fear. ‘Please.’ The word was a desperate plea and, though she could not fully understand, the old woman realised that should she refuse help, the consequences would be disastrous.
‘Calm yourself,’ she told Hannah, her voice soft and kindly. ‘I can see I have no choice but to help you.’ She saw the tide of relief sweep Hannah’s face, and she was glad. ‘There are things I need to know… how far has it gone? Are you strong?’ she went on, delving until she was reassured. ‘I’ll make ready,’ she said at length. ‘You just relax… drink your tea and stay calm. It will soon be over.’
When the square pine table was well-scrubbed and laid with a strong cotton sheet, and two wooden buckets placed beneath, one filled with hot water and one with cold, the old woman banked up the fire and instructed Hannah to ‘take off your clothes and wrap yourself in this’. She passed over a coarse brown blanket. ‘When you’ve done that… climb onto the table.’ Nervously, Hannah did as she was told, her eyes anxiously guarding the dog at the hearth. ‘He won’t harm you,’ the old woman chuckled, bending to pat its lazy black head.
Stretched out on the table, with the blanket loosely covering her nakedness, Hannah watched while the old woman brought certain items from the dresser; these she laid beside Hannah, who deliberately kept her eyes averted. ‘You won’t hurt me?’ she asked tremulously, ‘Please don’t hurt me.’
‘No. I won’t hurt you.’
‘And you mustn’t tell. You must never tell.’
‘No, I won’t tell.’ The old woman stroked the hair from Hannah’s brow. Then she crossed to the dresser once more, taking out a small jar, a cup, a chunk of green soap and a towel; these she returned to the table. ‘I want you to drink this,’ she told Hannah, ‘it will give you strength.’ Picking up the cup, she bent to scoop a small quantity of water into it, afterwards mixing it with a few pinches of dark aromatic herbs contained in the jar. She tipped the cup to Hannah’s lips, nodding her head when she saw that Hannah was becoming drowsy. The potion was strong, and always effective. After a while the old woman raised the blanket from Hannah’s lower limbs, and went quietly to work.
An hour had passed. And still Hannah had not regained her senses. The old woman spoke softly to her. ‘It’s all right… all over now.’ She was exhausted, beads of sweat staining her temples and her thin arms like lead weights hung from her narrow shoulders. The blood-splashes on her apron had dried black in the heat from the fire, and her mind was haunted by the deed she had done. The Pengally woman was right: the ‘thing’ growing inside her was no child… merely an unrecognisable blob of blood and tissue. The old woman had consoled herself with the discovery that whatever it was she took from the Pengally woman, it was without life, perhaps murdered by the fear and hatred alive in its unwilling host.
At long last Hannah was roused and made to sip yet another hot revitalising potion. ‘It’s bitter.’ Hannah pulled away, shaking her head.
‘Drink it,’ she was told. ‘Every last drop.’ When the cup was reluctantly drained, the old woman instructed Hannah to ‘lie still awhile. You must regain your strength. It’s all over. Don’t worry.’
‘Is it… gone?’ Hannah lowered her eyes, still afraid.
‘Yes, it’s gone. The deed is done and… it’s a strange thing, but if you hadn’t come to me your own life might later have been in danger.’ She looked into Hannah’s eyes with chilling directness. ‘It was dead inside you. I think you had already killed it.’ Her words brought a smile to Hannah’s face, and the old woman was convinced that the madness was still there.
‘You stay. Keep watch.’ The old woman raised her lamp and peered into the dark corner where the shape was hidden. When it began clambering to its feet, she shook her head and retreated. ‘No!… the dog will accompany us. You stay here.’ She was still irritated by the strange display it had made earlier over the Pengally woman. Without another word she departed, securing the door behind her. As she passed the disturbed earth, which was now a small grave, the old woman paused. It had not been a pleasant task and she had been glad of the darkness when it was done. She was comforted by the belief that no one had seen her bury that pitiful unformed substance. But she was wrong. There had been one who watched from a grime-laden window close by. And that same one watched her now, with wounded eyes that held an extraordinary beauty. There was a deal of devotion in those haunted eyes, and loathing.
‘Are you sure you can find your way from here?’ The old woman saw how frail and deathly-white Hannah was, and how the slow tortuous trek across the moors had drained her strength. She would have preferred her to stay at the cottage, but the suggestion had been received with great alarm.
‘I’ll be all right,’ Hannah assured her. ‘You go quickly. We must not be seen.’ The thought set her trembling.
‘Straight to your bed, then,’ urged the old woman as Hannah stumbled away. ‘Don’t be too eager to take up your labours.’ She watched until Hannah was swallowed by the darkness, then she softly called the dog and began her own way home.
Crossing the open ground was a trial for Hannah. In the guilt that had taken hold of her, she was convinced that she must be seen, and pounced on! It was with great relief that she safely reached the vestibule of Greystone House, and she was filled with every hope that her journey this night would remain a secret. Strange, she thought, all of her fears had not gone from her with the awful burden she had carried. For some reason she could not understand, her soul was still not at peace.
At the door Hannah turned, her anxious eyes scouring the night. She looked at the tall trees, standing serenely against a wakening sky, and she felt threatened. Her gaze roved over the primitive landscape which stretched away as far as the eye could see, and its vastness terrified her. In the soft breeze that swayed the branches overhead, she imagined a voice, low and persuasive, calling her name, ‘Hannah,’ it seemed to cry, ‘Hannah Pengally’. Suddenly, where the heathland gently rose, she saw a figure, cloaked in darkness. It came slowly forward, seeming to float over the ground, its cloak rippled in the breeze and the hood which covered its face appeared hollow, empty. ‘Hannah,’ the voice disturbed the night and turned Hannah’s heart over. Pressing against the door, she watched helplessly as it came ever closer. She opened her mouth to scream, but instead she made a strange laughing sound. ‘Oh, Hannah,’ the voice floated into her head, into her very being. ‘Ridding yourself of his seed won’t save you from the devil!’ The sinister warning was torture to Hannah’s fevered mind, triggering those terrible things within her that she could no longer control. Now the screams came, long and terrified, unearthly sounds that cut the night air and struck terror into the hearts of all who heard them.
It was Scarlet who came to Hannah first; Scarlet who held her fast and soothed her like she might soothe a child. Hannah would let no one else near her. As Scarlet helped her sobbing mammy into her bed, and saw those wild tragic eyes, she was held in the grip of real fear, and the awful realisation that her mammy’s fragile mind had snapped.
From a distan
ce, the hooded figure waited until Hannah was taken away. Now it began to silently track the herb-gatherer as she returned on sure and hasty footsteps to the haven of her cottage. Remorseful of the surly manner in which she had spoken to the one she loved most of all in the world, the woman was desperate to make amends. When, after a while, she saw the lighted window of the cottage, she hurried forward towards the outhouse, her steps echoing across the yard and telling of her approach. Inside the dark interior of its prison, the shape stirred, still immersed in the black mood which had settled over it. Inwardly seething, it waited until the key was thrust home and the door flung open to let in a rush of cold night air, but still it made no move.
‘Angry with me, are you?’ The old woman bent at the door, reaching down to take hold of the lamp. Using a match from her pocket, she lit the lamp and held it before her. ‘Aw, don’t sulk with me, darling,’ she pleaded, coming into the darkness in a halo of light, ‘I didn’t mean to be so spiteful.’ Still it made no response. When she stooped to finely stroke the bowed head, it moved beneath her fingers, raising its face towards her and fixing her with large and curiously hypnotic eyes. The strange sound emitting from the open mouth betrayed its frustration. ‘There, there… I promise I won’t punish you again when you’ve done nothing wrong,’ she murmured. When its long crooked fingers entwined in hers she gently laughed, ‘Oh, you’ve forgiven this foolish old woman, have you?’ There was relief in her voice, and love, and possessiveness. ‘Come on then,’ she coaxed, ‘you can sleep in Mammy’s cottage tonight… a special treat.’ She closed her fist tighter about its fingers and, even though it did not resist, the old woman sensed that she was not entirely forgiven. The thought saddened her.
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