A Roll of the Bones

by Trudy J. Morgan-Cole

  There was no gaol in the colony; there had been no need of one. There were no private rooms at all, but that hard hand steered Nancy away from the warmth and light of the fire, towards the door of the dwelling-house. She knew with a sickening fall of her stomach where he meant to take her: there was a little outbuilding just outside the main dwelling-house that they used to store tools and barrels and other oddments. It had a heavy door that could be barred from the outside, and she knew Philip Guy meant to lock her away in there, in that cold, windowless place, until they could rig up some sham of a trial.

  As he pushed her through the door, his grip tight on her shoulder, she heard a voice she had rarely heard before: that quiet and biddable girl Nell Bly, who was now Nell Whittington. In her soft voice, Nell quoted from Scripture the last words Nancy heard before she was forced into her prison, and the door bolted behind her:

  “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A Bargain is Struck

  Whilst conscious men of smallest sins have ruth,

  Bold sinners count great Sins, but tricks of youth.

  CUPIDS COVE

  JUNE 1613

  “SAY WHAT YOU PLEASE, MASTER GUY, I AM YOUR COUSIN’S wife,” Kathryn said, knotting her hands together toprevent them trembling. She had never found Philip Guy a fearsome character before. But now, sitting by the hearth fire in the main dwelling-house flanked by the minister on one side and William Catchmaid on the other, he looked stern and unapproachable. George Whittington had come to these men with his ridiculous accusation against Nancy, and they had taken him seriously. Kathryn realized the trembling in her hands was not fear alone, but also rage.

  “I know you are, Mistress, and I would not bring shame upon my kinsman’s household without good cause,” said Philip Guy. His eyes shifted to Reverend Leat, who leaned forward with his hands on his knees.

  “These charges against your maid are serious ones. The king himself has written a book against witches, and a great many have been found guilty in England. I heard tell of near a dozen witches hanged in Lancashire last summer alone. His Majesty is bent on stamping out witchcraft, and if we allow it to take root in this colony, we damn ourselves and doom our enterprise.”

  “I know all this, Masters, but even the king himself knows there are such things as false accusations. People accuse one another out of spite. There has been bad feeling between Sal Butler and my maid Nancy for months now, and as for Whittington—well, he sought Nancy’s favour, and she spurned him. Now he seeks his revenge.”

  Nancy had been locked in the makeshift gaol of the storeroom for hours, since before dinnertime. Master Guy, Master Catchmaid, and Reverend Leat had been closeted away, too, listening to the tales of her accusers, and they had left two men to guard the door. Those men had not let Kathryn see or speak to Nancy. Now she had left the baby in Bess and Daisy’s care, and come to plead Nan’s cause.

  She felt entirely alone, with no protector. The only man in her household at the moment was Frank, a common labourer with no status or standing in the colony. Her husband was leagues up the coast. His cousin Philip, filling the governor’s role, looked to be trying hard to be impartial. The minister was bound by his profession to stamp out even the suggestion of witchcraft, and as for William Catchmaid, he could hardly be expected to take Nancy’s part. Sal Butler, her second accuser, lived in the Catchmaids’ house and had cared for Mistress Catchmaid in her confinement, and she had accused Nancy of placing a curse on the Catchmaids’ unborn child.

  There was only one man in the colony of good birth who might be kindly disposed towards Kathryn, and she did not know if Thomas Willoughby could, or would, help her now.

  “What I do know of witch trials is that cases must be properly heard, with evidence for and against,” she said carefully.

  “There is no witchfinder among us, of course,” Reverend Leat said, “but I have read books on the subject, including His Majesty’s book, and I have read many accounts of witch trials. I think I am capable of discerning if your maid is a witch or no.”

  “But…you will give her a chance to speak, and those of us who know her? For I’m sure I can make it clear to you that this is all folly, and that Nancy is no more a witch than I am a—a—” for a moment she faltered, not able to think of something outlandish enough, “than I am a duchess,” she finished.

  “We will examine the girl, of course, and you may make a statement in her defense—if you are certain you wish to defend her,” Philip Guy said.

  They hoped she would denounce Nancy, Kathryn realized. If she refused to do so, suspicion might cling to her as well. How little they know of me, she thought. For now, she begged two boons: that she be allowed to visit Nancy and bring her some food, and also that they postpone the trial till Master Nicholas came home.

  Philip Guy would not agree to the second: who knew, he said, how long it might be before her husband returned? “We must take time to think this through, and the girl will not be tried in haste. While we review the matter and plan our course, if your husband returns, then ’twill be all the better, for we will have the benefit of his testimony. But should he tarry at this plantation site of his for weeks or months—well, we cannot wait so long. The matter must be dealt with, for ’twill lead to division among the people.”

  That gave Kathryn the hope that there would be at least some delay, some time to hatch a plan. And Master Philip did allow her to take some bread and cheese to Nancy.

  The small outbuilding was guarded by two apprentices from the Catchmaid house, men she did not know well. Master Catchmaid brought her to them and told them to let her in, “but she is to stay no more than a quarter of an hour.”

  “May I light this candle, to bring in a little light?” Kathryn asked, taking a tallow candle from the pocket of her kirtle.

  “Nay, no need of that.”

  What does he think—that Nan and I will burn this storeroom down, to set her free? But Kathryn meekly gave up the candle and let the guard open the door for her to step through.

  There was a rustle in the corner and Nancy sprang towards the door. She stopped short, blinking in the light, and then the men outside slammed the door and it was dark again.

  “Oh—’tis you. Are they letting me go?”

  “No—not yet. I brought you something to eat.”

  “What good is that? Kat, they must let me go, you must tell them to drop this foolishness!” Nancy’s voice was fevered and frantic. As Kathryn’s eyes adjusted to the dim light that seeped through the cracks around the door, she saw her friend’s face was wild enough to match her voice, her hair was loose and bedraggled around it. Nancy, always the calm one, the strong one. Her strong hands gripped Kathryn’s wrists hard enough to hurt.

  “You must eat—you know not how long they’ll keep you before your trial.”

  “Trial! What, will I have to stand and swear I am not a witch? Are they truly taking this—this spite of Whittington’s, seriously?”

  “’Tis not only Whittington—he has Sally Butler on his side, too, and you know the Catchmaids trust her.”

  “That sour-faced besom! She hates me, but she’d not have done this alone—Whittington put her up to it. He threatened me, told me I’d be sorry if I turned him down.” Between words her breath caught as if she were fighting back sobs.

  “Yes. But—his threat was not against you. He told you he would spread a tale about me and—Thomas Willoughby.” Kathryn’s voice shook as she whispered the name. When the preacher had begun speaking of sin in the camp, when Whittington had stood up to give testimony, she had thought she was about to be branded as the adulteress she very nearly was.

  “He is more evil than I thought,” Nancy said. “I had not thought even a mind as twisted as his could conceive of calling me a witch.”

  She let go of Kathryn’s wrists and sank to the floor, her back against a barrel. Kathryn opened the basket and handed her a piece of bread. Nancy tore at it, despite reject
ing it a few moments earlier. Kathryn settled onto the floor beside her and handed over the cheese.

  Each bite seemed to calm Nancy a little. She was less frantic now, more measured. As she ate, Kathryn put a hand on her knee. “I swear, I will find us a way out of this.”

  “There is no us in this matter. You must not tangle yourself up in my misfortune.”

  “It is us. It is always us—in this and every matter. You crossed the ocean for me—what would I not do for you?” Her hand gripped Nancy’s knee more tightly. “And in truth, if he has made one false claim, he might as well make the other. Neither of us is safe from him.”

  Adultery and witchcraft—the two worst things a woman could be accused of. She and Nancy stood in danger of both. And Nancy did not know—must never know—that while one accusation was a lie, the other, now, was not. Not truly. Kathryn had not completed her sin the other day in the brewhouse, but only chance, not virtue, had saved her.

  When she left Nancy in her makeshift prison, dusk was falling. Everyone hurried to the dwelling-houses for their evening meals, walking in little knots as they gossiped. A witch among them! Even now they would be lining up, taking sides for or against Nancy. She chilled a little, thinking of how she had stood before those three leaders of the colony, with no man to defend her. She thought, too, of Nancy locked in that dark small storeroom, of the terror in her voice. Nancy could not be left there, to face whatever fate these men might decide on.

  Her babe would be restless now, Daisy or Bess no doubt walking the floor with him. Kathryn’s breasts were tender with milk; she must get back and feed him. In a moment.

  She met Willoughby on the path heading down towards the dwelling-house she had just left. Mercifully, he was alone.

  “I must talk to you, Thomas. Tonight.”

  “With great pleasure. When and where?”

  She had thought it through. No good going to the brewhouse or anywhere else they might be found. Strange though it seemed, the safest place in the colony was her husband’s bedchamber. When Bess, Frank, and Daisy were all settled to sleep upstairs, she could unbar the door and let Thomas Willoughby in, and the only danger would be discovery by the members of her own household. Bess and Daisy were frantic with worry over Nancy, and if Kathryn told them she was meeting in private with Willoughby to concoct a plan to save Nancy—true enough, in its way—they would believe her. And Frank, if he did not entirely believe, would not deny it.

  “Only be sure no one sees you come to our house,” she charged Willoughby. “Come before the moon is up.”

  He glanced at the cloudy sky. “There’ll be no moon to see tonight.”

  “All the better, then.”

  He came when the house was still and quiet, and everyone, even the baby, was asleep. He swore no one had seen him, and she led him by the hand through the main hall and took him into her chamber, up into the bed with the curtains drawn, “but only so that we might speak with none to hear us,” she charged. The enclosed space felt small and full of his presence.

  “You know what happened this morning in church. I need your help.”

  “Your maid was accused as a witch, is all I know.”

  She knelt at one end of the bed, trying to keep as much space between them as she could, in this dark curtained world. “She was falsely accused by two people who bear her ill will. And we have no man to speak for us. William Catchmaid, Reverend Leat, and Philip Guy all seem ready to believe the tale. Governor Guy and Master Crout are not here.”

  “And your husband is gone.”

  “Yes.”

  “So what would you have me do?”

  “Stand up for us. Tell them that Nancy is an honest Christian girl, and no witch.”

  “I barely know the lass.”

  “You know me. And I tell you this accusation is madness.”

  He reached forward, took both her hands in his. There was no comfort in his touch. “What if I do tell them that? Philip Guy has no respect for me, and the others less. They see me as a brash, willful youth who was sent here for his punishment and will not be shaped into a good colonist.”

  “That matters not. You are Sir Percival Willoughby’s son, the only true gentleman here. They are merchants and tradesmen. No matter what you have done or why you are here, you carry authority in your name. Your father is a knight. If you tell them you believe my testimony, you lend me the weight of your word.”

  He drew her towards him, pulling gently on her hands, closing the space between them. “What if I say ’tis no affair of mine?”

  “You can ruin me with a word,” Kathryn said. She paused, drew a breath, decided to tell him the rest. “The same man, Whittington, who slandered Nancy, told her he would also slander me. That he would publish it abroad that I had betrayed my husband, with you. ’Twas a lie when he told her that, but now we have made it true. If it comes out, you will be shamed, but I will be utterly destroyed.”

  “Will it not be worse for you, then, if I speak in your maid’s defense? Guy and the others will think I speak for you because I am your paramour.” He took one hand from hers, but only to trace a line down her cheek with his fingertip. All the desire she had felt two days ago in the brewhouse flooded back, sharpened by her terror, the risk she was taking, the danger Nancy already faced. God help me, but despite it all I want to finish what we began.

  “You will tell the truth about Nancy, and lie, if you must, about me,” she said. “We will cut the legs out from under Whittington’s threat, if he breathes a word of it. You will go to the minister and the masters and swear this lie has come to your ears and you will not hear such slander against a good and true wife.” Closer, closer now, his face nearly touching hers, his breath on her eyelids. “You will tell them I am a good Christian woman and so is my maid, and swear on your honour as a gentleman that all George Whittington’s words are lies.”

  I am a good Christian woman. All the pictures she had tried to paint, all the roles she had tried to play, shattered in pieces about her. Nicholas Guy’s true wife, Jonathan Guy’s loving mother, one of the leading women of Cupids Cove, mistress of her household—none of that was any good to her now. But this other role was open to play—the brave heroine who would risk reputation and all for her friend. And playing that part, she could also be the woman she had longed to be since she first set eyes on Willoughby—the reckless wanton who trembled beneath her lover’s touch. I will be ruined, she thought. But oh, what a lovely ruin.

  Willoughby said nothing. His lips grazed her forehead, a gentle, slow movement that made her tremble more. There had been no time for this in the brewhouse. They had hours of the night. Finally, his lips against her ear, he whispered, “And in return? What boon do I gain—besides the chance to stand up to the masters of this colony, and wield the power of my name?”

  She had not even thought of this, that he might welcome the chance to use his authority, to show himself more than the nobleman’s wastrel son. “If that be not lure enough for you,” she said, her words barely more than breath, “then here, in my husband’s bed, I give you your reward—for ’tis my reward, too. What you swear before the masters will be a lie. I will be yours—for tonight, at least.”

  His fingers plucked at the laces of her kirtle. “For tonight. And perhaps another night or two, if we can steal them, before your master returns. A rich reward indeed, Mistress Guy.”

  “But you must swear to do it.” She placed her hand flat on his chest as if to push him away, though she gave no pressure to it. She thought of Nancy, like a captive creature in that darkened room. She could not allow herself this pleasure unless she knew it would buy Nancy’s freedom.

  He caught the hand, took it to his mouth. “Swear true to you that I will swear false to them?”

  “False about my virtue, but true about Nancy. Only you can save us both.”

  She heard a footstep above her, and they both froze. One of the servants upstairs, getting up to use the chamber pot, no doubt. Her hand was still at his lips, an
d she put a finger over them for silence, but he took that finger and suckled it, and she pressed her lips together to keep back a moan.

  I am sacrificing my virtue to save Nancy, she told herself. The truest of lies.

  The footsteps upstairs fell silent. She pulled him into her arms, back onto the mattress of her husband’s bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  A Hasty Decision is Made

  Search close, thou may’st some Felony find here:

  From all Fool-hardy Treason these are clear.

  CUPIDS COVE

  JUNE–JULY 1613

  FOUR PACES BY THREE. FOUR BY THREE, OVER AND OVER again, from the barrels to the rack where rakes and hoes were stored. Nancy had begun pacing as a way to keep her legs from cramping and her mind from running mad on the first night of her captivity. This was, she thought, the third night. Or the second? Apart from a brief daily visit when Kathryn brought her food, she had seen or spoken to no one.

  I am a sensible woman. I have been falsely accused. I will await my vindication, and I will not…I will not…I will not go mad. She said it over and over to herself, a litany, when perhaps she would better have been praying. She did pray, too, but the thing that kept her closest to sanity was repeating those lines over to herself as she paced. I am falsely accused. I will not go mad.

  Sunday: the accusation. Monday, then Tuesday, and now—was it Tuesday night? Nancy thought perhaps she had lost a day. Each hour she expected the door to open and Reverend Leat or Philip Guy to call her forth to a witch trial.

  She thought of tales she had heard, of witches dunked in rivers to see could they sink or swim. One way, the woman was doomed; the other, she was damned. They tortured witches with hot pokers and irons. Kept them in chains in their own filth. Nancy had been given a bucket to piss in, and there were no chains. Yet.

  There had never been a witch trial in Bristol in her lifetime; all she had heard were tales from far away.