The Familiars

by Halls, Stacey

  I heard myself, and knew it was hopeless, and my shoulders sank in abject misery.

  ‘You are distressed. You need to rest. Let me take you to one of our chambers.’

  ‘No, thank you. I must go.’

  ‘You cannot ride home, you are unwell.’

  ‘I will go slowly.’

  Katherine smiled. ‘You are more like a man than a woman. I insist on having someone ride alongside you.’

  I reached into my skirts for the letters I’d written by the light of my candle.

  ‘I have a favour to ask of you, Katherine.’

  ‘Oh, Fleetwood … What have I just said?’

  ‘Please. I ask nothing of you but this.’

  I pressed the papers into her hands. The sealing wax was like bloodstains.

  ‘When is Roger next going to Lancaster?’

  ‘In a day or two, perhaps. Are these for him?’

  ‘No, and he cannot see them. I want you to go with him, the next time he goes. Say you wish for a change of scenery and want to visit the shops – I don’t know. But go, and when you are there, you must find a way to visit the castle, alone. They know who I am; Roger will have warned them, which is why I can’t do it. You must give these to the coroner Thomas Covell’s clerk at the castle. Don’t give them to anyone else – put them into his hands, and tell him to send them with urgency to their intended. If the clerk asks questions, use Richard’s name, and say they are from him.’

  Katherine’s eyebrows were knitted with anxiety.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Please, Katherine. I would not ask if it was not a matter of life or death.’

  ‘And there is nothing deceitful in this? Nothing that slanders my husband’s name? Why can he not know about it?’

  ‘He just can’t. If you do not wish to have my blood on your hands when I die in childbed, then you will do this for me.’

  We stared at one another, and there was a flicker of something like defiance in Katherine, but not towards me – I could see her tasting it, examining how it sat on her.

  ‘I will do it,’ she said, nodding.

  I could have kissed her, and almost did, but settled for taking her hands in mine and squeezing them. She tucked the letters into her skirts.

  ‘A thousand times thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Roger will be back from Yorkshire tomorrow, I think, unless the execution is delayed.’

  ‘Execution?’

  ‘You have not heard? They found the woman Jennet Preston guilty of the murder of Thomas Lister’s father. She hangs today.’

  Over the next days, I occupied my old role as the ghost of Gawthorpe, waiting at various windows for Richard. When I saw him approaching from the stables, I watched for a moment his easy swagger, the lightness of him after his trip to Preston. How untouchable he was, how easily he glided through life. I went to let him in. He seemed surprised to see me opening the door, then read something in my face, because he stopped.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come inside.’

  His face turned ashen.

  ‘You are not … You have not …’

  ‘No, nothing like that, the baby is safe.’

  Relief swept through him and he mounted the steps, removing his gloves while I helped with his cloak. I led him through the house to the parlour and closed the door. Puck was dozing lazily beneath the window, and forced himself up to greet Richard, licking his hands with his large tongue.

  ‘Do you remember the other day when Roger came to dinner and told us about His Majesty’s justices at the assizes – Altham and Bromley?’

  ‘Yes,’ was his weary reply.

  ‘I have invited them to dine at Gawthorpe.’

  There was a pause, in which Puck wandered back to his warm spot. The baby adjusted its position in my belly, and I rested a hand on it.

  ‘You invited them to dine here. At this house.’ I nodded. Richard stared. ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘For the purpose of illuminating the plight of the Pendle witches.’

  Richard did not blink. His voice was calm.

  ‘You are making things very difficult for yourself, Fleetwood. For both of us.’

  ‘This is not about me, or us. This is about Alice and how she did not murder a child.’

  ‘That is for the jury to decide, not you, or Roger.’

  ‘Roger has already decided for everyone!’ I cried. ‘He has already decided!’

  ‘Lower your voice!’

  Richard began pacing, his fury a clear, high note in the room. Pockets of red bloomed on my cheeks and I felt hot rage fizz in my head. I felt for my chair, sitting back down slowly. Puck whined and whimpered next to me, trying to reach my hands. I rested a trembling palm on his head and covered my face with the other.

  ‘When are they coming?’

  ‘When they pass through Lancaster next week.’

  ‘And Roger knows about this?’

  ‘No.’

  He gripped the back of the chair and shook his head.

  ‘You are making a mockery of the Shuttleworth name. For far too long I have let you run around like an infant, and now this.’

  ‘I make a mockery of our family? You are the one with two families!’

  ‘Damn you to Hell, Fleetwood, I thought we were finished with that. Plenty of men have mistresses; it is not uncommon.’

  ‘We are common, then, are we? And it is not the sort of thing that can be finished. I am trying to help an innocent woman – what is so wrong with that?’

  Richard began pacing through the dust motes illuminated in a shaft of daylight, stepping into the beam then out again; lightness then darkness.

  ‘Why must you constantly undermine your own husband? Do you know how you make me look? And over a low-born local girl you barely know. Is she worthy of your attention? You have known her mere months. Why must you make such a spectacle of yourself, of us, for a woman who gave you some herbs?’

  ‘If you do not understand this now then you never will: Alice is innocent. And nobody believes it but me! Nobody wants to help! I need you, Richard. Who will you choose – your wife or your friend?’

  ‘Roger was your friend too!’

  ‘I cannot be friends with that man after what he has done, and you shouldn’t either.’

  ‘How can you say that? Roger is the closest thing to a father I have. He has looked out for us; he has helped us through so much. He thinks I have what it takes to be sheriff; he sees me in Parliament one day. He believes in me, Fleetwood, like no one else ever has.’

  ‘You should see the gaol he has them in, then you would not think so highly of him. It is a corner from Hell – dark and damp, and they are locked in there with no light, sleeping in vomit and waste, and there are rats and Lord only knows what else. One of them died in there! Where is your heart? Do you have a hole in your chest where it was? Where is the man I married?’

  What Richard said next made my blood run cold.

  ‘Your lying-in starts now. You will not be seen out of your chamber. You will stay there until our son arrives. It is mindless and foolish of you to go galloping around, making a nuisance of yourself and putting yourself in harm’s way. You are not thinking of our child, you are thinking only of yourself.’

  ‘So you will punish me for trying to save my friend’s life? You were more grieved for your bird than the fate of an innocent woman. And you would prefer me dead anyway, would you not? Your life would be easier without me here, your friendship with Roger intact. You could marry Judith and forget I ever existed.’

  Puck whimpered and I stroked him absently. Richard’s face was filled with a private sort of agony. Before he could reply, I left the room, shutting the door behind me so he would not hear me cry.

  CHAPTER 21

  The day of the dinner arrived, and the house hummed with purpose, but I did not. I’d followed Richard’s wishes and stayed in bed, though my heart raced even when I was lying down. The thin sheet of pain was still wrapped around
my chest, fine but tight, and my neck pulsed.

  I had a new nightmare. In it, I was in the witches’ dungeon. Even when I opened my eyes it was blacker than black, darker even than when they were shut. There was the sound of dripping water, and someone was sobbing quietly in the corner. I did not move, because the floor was wet, covered with what felt like straw, crunching gently. Just as I thought I would die from fright, close to me, very nearby, there was the sound of something eating. Not a person – something bigger, like a dog or some other creature. I listened as teeth ripped easily through flesh, the beast savouring every mouthful. That sound sent my stomach churning, my skin crawling, and I woke up drenched with sweat and fear, my heart battering my ribcage.

  I had no reply from the Lords Bromley and Altham, though I was not expecting one. In my confinement I had not been able to ask Katherine whether or not she had carried out my request. By the time the morning arrived, my nerves were jangling like a bunch of keys. I sat in my chamber and imagined what was happening two and three floors below: the kitchen servants would be plucking, chopping, peeling and braising; James would be selecting wines from the cellar; glasses and cutlery would be polished, knives sharpened. If they didn’t come, it would be a splendid feast for two.

  There was no sign of Richard: he was not speaking to me. I climbed out of bed and went to the looking glass, deciding to tackle my hair that hadn’t been combed in a week. My arms ached, and I felt as though I hadn’t slept in days, when really it was all I’d done. I cleaned my teeth and went to my dressing room, where I no longer took enjoyment. My sketchbook gathered dust in the corner.

  Once I’d dressed in pale gold taffeta, the idea of going downstairs after so many days in my chamber felt strange – I had grown used to the size of it. Just before midday, there was a knock at my door. Richard put his head in, his face tight.

  ‘Are you coming?’ he said.

  I stood up. ‘Are they downstairs?’

  ‘No, but the mistress who invited them should be.’

  The great hall was laid out for a feast, glinting with silver and glass and fresh linen napkins. Bowls of fruit brimmed with strawberries, plums, apples, pears and peaches. A very low fire crackled to take the slight chill out of the large room, and the sky blazed blue at every window. Richard and I stood in unhappy silence looking at it all, and then James appeared in the far right doorway.

  ‘Master, your first guest has arrived.’

  Roger stepped into the great hall.

  Richard moved forwards to greet him.

  ‘Hello, Fleetwood,’ he said after shaking Richard’s hand. His expression was mild. ‘Are you much recovered?’

  I glanced at my husband, who had betrayed me yet again, choosing his friend over me, but he kept his eyes on Roger.

  ‘A great deal improved, thank you,’ I eventually managed to say.

  ‘You have Katherine to thank for that.’

  He smiled placidly. Richard went to fetch him a glass of wine.

  ‘His Majesty’s justices are not arrived?’ Roger asked.

  ‘Not yet. What time did you tell them dinner would be served, Fleetwood?’

  ‘Noon, I think.’

  ‘It is unfortunate today is a fish day,’ Roger said to Richard. ‘That was a fine fallow you killed on Thursday.’

  ‘That was thirsty work. I think I shall wait for the weather to break before going out for that long again. The heat makes the horses grow stupid.’

  ‘Your skill surpasses stupid horses. You would hunt well on a mule.’

  Richard laughed and clinked his glass with Roger’s. He had not handed me one, so I moved towards Jacob, our red-cheeked, bright-eyed young server, who had noticed Richard’s slight and was flushed with embarrassment. I took a glass.

  We made an odd triangle as the two men stood close to one another and I away from them, breathing deeply to calm myself. James appeared again through the low doorway.

  ‘Sir Edward Bromley and Sir James Altham.’

  He gave a little bow and retreated, and as though appearing on either side of a stage, both doorways into the great hall were filled.

  On the left, Edward Bromley stood poised, a thumb hooked behind the velvet sash that cut through his middle. His doublet was very finely embroidered, with slashes through his sleeves, and his fan collar was tied beneath his chin with a green ribbon. A wide black hat completed the ensemble, and beneath it his eyes twinkled merrily. He was past middle age – at least forty – but handsome with it.

  Standing ten feet from him in the other doorway was James Altham. Perhaps ten years older than Bromley, he was taller and slimmer, enhanced by a voluminous sleeveless gown thrown over one shoulder. His jacket was a pretty cream silk, cut close to his body with wide cuffs. His breeches were black velvet with gold stitching to match his jacket, and rosettes were tied around each of his slender knees. He was hatless, and had grey hair and serious dark eyes in a lined face.

  As though hearing some silent cue, they both stepped forwards. Richard went to Sir Edward first, so I hurried to the older Sir James at the same time, as was proper with guests of equal rank.

  ‘My Lord, thank you for coming to Gawthorpe,’ I said. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey?’

  ‘Mistress Shuttleworth, thank you for inviting us. It was very generous of you to entertain us while we are in the north.’

  His dark eyes fixed on mine as he kissed my hand.

  The steward’s voice interrupted, surprising me.

  ‘Mr Thomas Potts,’ he announced.

  I looked towards the door, my hand still caught in Sir James’, and saw a tall, slim young man standing in the entrance.

  ‘Mistress Shuttleworth, I hope you do not mind my taking the liberty of inviting our constant companion during our tour? Mr Potts is the clerk of the assizes.’

  The young man directed an elegant bow in my direction.

  ‘Of course, welcome, Mr Potts,’ I said.

  The clerk moved inside and looked around the room, appraising the coats of arms on the wall and the minstrels’ gallery at the ceiling. He might have been younger than Richard, perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two.

  ‘Gentlemen.’ It was Roger’s turn to greet our acquaintances, and he slid smoothly over to shake their hands. ‘It has been an age since we were last in each other’s company. When was it … Tuesday?’

  They all laughed heartily and the three arrivals were handed wine.

  ‘Mr Potts, you are travelling with the assizes?’ I asked the youth.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied in a gentle voice. Was there a hint of Scot about him? ‘We have just left York, and begin the Westmoreland assizes the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Ah, my mother lives in Westmoreland, outside Kirkby Lonsdale,’ I said.

  He nodded politely.

  ‘Tell me.’ I lowered my voice, but the other men had moved towards the table and were talking loudly. ‘If you were at York, then you must have been present at the trial of Jennet Preston.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said pleasantly, as if we were talking about a shipping merchant we had in common. ‘Are you an acquaintance of Thomas Lister of Westby?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I trailed off, expecting something else would come to me, but it did not.

  His dark eyes darted around the hall.

  ‘This is a very modern house.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied, knowing it was not a compliment.

  ‘How do you like living in the north?’

  ‘I have never really lived anywhere else.’ We walked towards the table, where a sixth setting had been discreetly made. ‘Is this your first tour?’

  ‘Yes, and very interesting it has been, too. I must say I find the people in the north very … different. Everything is different: the food, the humour, the towns. I am craving London already.’

  He smiled with sharp teeth like little pins. I smiled and took my seat, further back than everyone else because of the size of my stomach. Roger was introduced to the young clerk.
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  ‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance,’ said Mr Potts, dropping the handshake to reposition his glass of wine.

  Roger’s eyes flicked towards mine then away.

  The first course was brought: salmon poached in beer, with pickled herrings. My own glass of wine had helped me overcome the shock of Roger’s arrival, and I turned to the two justices.

  ‘How does your tour fare so far?’

  ‘Very well, Mistress,’ said the genial Sir Edward. His moustache framed his rosy cheeks, plump as apples. ‘We are over halfway through, with Kendal next and Lancaster after that, as you know.’ I coloured slightly, hoping desperately that he would not mention in front of Roger the request I’d made in my letter, but he stopped there. ‘So far we have completed Durham, Newcastle and York, and Carlisle is after Lancaster. And then we are on the long road home to the south.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘You must have seen all sorts of fascinating arraignments in your work. For how long have you been justices on the northern circuit?’

  ‘Two years,’ replied Sir Edward.

  ‘And I just under ten,’ said Sir James.

  ‘And this is my first time on the circuit,’ announced their clerk importantly.

  The men’s eyes fell to their food and we began to eat. I could feel Roger’s intense presence from across the table.

  ‘I recently heard the news …’ I tried to keep my voice steady, ‘that you found a woman guilty of witchcraft at York?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the older justice. ‘That was an interesting one, because the woman was also at the Lent assizes accused of the same thing, not four months before.’

  ‘Again by Thomas Lister,’ I said.

  The table fell silent. A piece of herring trembled before Sir James’ lips, having failed to reach its destination.

  ‘Quite right,’ he said. ‘You must take an interest in the laws of the realm.’

  ‘But this time she was found guilty.’

  ‘The woman was found to be guilty of the felony of murder by witchcraft of Thomas Lister Senior, yes.’

  James Altham’s voice was quiet, almost soft. No doubt he saved its full impact for the courts.