The Lawrence Harpham Boxset

by Jacqueline Beard

Mr Smart unwrapped the papers, looked inside and sniffed the contents, before placing a few grains on his tongue. Pursing his lips, he handed it to Andrew Taylor, who did likewise.

  "That’s not my prescription," said Taylor, recoiling at the taste. "What the devil is it?"

  "I cannot say," said Mr Smart. "I don’t recognise it. Where did it come from?"

  Violet stepped forward. "I collected it from the Pharmacy at the Post Office. Mr Harpham was in bed, and the housemaids were busy, so I thought it would be more efficient to take the prescription myself. I dropped it at the Chemist, but no one was there, so I left it on the counter. When I finished my errands, I returned. The powders were already prepared and in the tray with the other prescriptions. Mr Lait was busy with customers, so I left a penny and took it."

  Mr Smart turned to Doctor Taylor. "I'll go to my next appointment via the Druggist," he said. "This preparation tastes nothing like a cold remedy, and we urgently need to find out what is in it."

  He opened his bag and dropped the envelopes inside, then took his coat and hat from the stand before placing his coat over his arm. "You were right to think that Anna drank from your glass," he said, doffing his hat to Lawrence. "She told me herself when I questioned her earlier, and I thought nothing of it, at the time. We must, at the very least, confirm what was in this mixture of Taylor's."

  "I will go with you as far as the chemist," said Doctor Taylor. "I feel responsible and must check it was not a misinterpretation of my prescription. You know how bad my writing is." He smiled, but his poor attempt at a joke fell flat. Both medical men hastened down the path, almost bumping into Emily and Loveday. A middle-aged, freckle-faced woman accompanied the girls.

  "Where can I find her?" asked the woman. "Upstairs," said Emily, "I will show you the way."

  They watched the woman bustle upstairs then Michael spoke. "Have you got a moment?"

  Lawrence nodded and followed Michael to the study. "What is it?" he asked.

  Michael beckoned him to sit, placed his elbows on the table and steepled his hands. "What do you make of this, Lawrence?"

  Lawrence shrugged, "I don’t know," he said. "The most likely explanation is that a mistake was made with the prescription, as Doctor Taylor says. Or perhaps it is food poisoning, after all?"

  "Don’t be alarmed," said Michael, "but after what we found this morning, I think you ought to be careful. There’s another, more personal, explanation."

  "What do you mean?" asked Lawrence. "I thought we had decided there was nothing in that business with the crow."

  "There may not be," said Michael. "One event on its own is not necessarily suspicious, but two inexplicable events on the same day makes me nervous. That is all."

  "You think someone intended to harm me?" asked Lawrence.

  "No," said Michael, thinking out loud, "but if the crows were put in the basement for your benefit, and there is a possibility that your powders were tampered with, then we ought to consider it. Together, it doesn’t seem quite so far-fetched that someone may want to hurt you."

  Lawrence flinched. "Surely you can’t think that someone interfered with my medication. Why would they? I’ve no quarrel with Mr Lait."

  "No," said Michael. "Of course not, and he is a professional man, experienced and highly unlikely to make an error."

  "Though according to Miss Smith, there was at least one occasion that the Chemist Shop was empty. Anyone could have entered and tampered with the packet."

  "Now you say it like that, it sounds fanciful," said Michael. "The Pharmacy door chimes on entry so nobody could get in without being heard. Far too risky. No, Lawrence, it is my mind conjuring up nonsense. Forget I mentioned it."

  "I cannot," said Lawrence. "Not now. The powders could have been meddled with at any time, if you think about it. The original contents might have been tipped away and replaced with something sinister. It could have happened when they were left unattended in the house. I should speak to Violet, and Mary. She brought them in on my breakfast tray, and I don’t know where they were left in between. A lot of time passed between Violet fetching them from the Chemist and Mary delivering them with breakfast."

  "Well, speak to them then," said Michael. "It will put our minds at rest and can’t do any harm."

  Lawrence walked towards the door, pushed the brass door plate then stopped. He turned to Michael. "How much do you know about Violet Smith?" he asked.

  "Lawrence," Michael exclaimed. "Steady on." He delivered the words brusquely.

  "I am sorry," said Lawrence. "I am an investigator, on a case. I don't want to divide your loyalties, but you must see that I am obliged to ask."

  "It is not a matter of division of loyalties," said Michael. "My duty is to Reverend Raven, and I will help you with any aspect of your investigation, but I have known Violet Smith for two years now. She is dependable and kind. Her devotion to the family is exemplary."

  "I don't doubt it," said Lawrence. "But who is she and where does she come from?"

  "You will have to ask her," said Michael. "I have never heard her speak of a family, but she has been with Mrs Harris for a long time, and I doubt she has suddenly decided to poison her employer's guests."

  "I am sure she hasn't," agreed Lawrence. "And for all we know, young Anna is suffering from nothing more than a spot of food poisoning."

  "Exactly," said Michael, smiling. "It will all look very different tomorrow."

  Lawrence re-entered the hallway, intent on returning to his room, but Anna McElliott's mother was descending the stairs at a pace and impeded his progress.

  "Excuse me," he said, waving her through. "How is Anna?"

  Mrs McElliott shook her head. Her face was flushed, and she looked as if she had been crying. "Not good," she whispered. "The doctors gave her an emetic earlier, and she is exhausted from vomiting. What a colour it is too."

  "Is there anything I can do?" asked Lawrence.

  "You are kind, sir," said Anna's mother, "but there is nothing to be done. Anna is asking for Alice Etheridge. She is her best friend, and they are as close as sisters. I am going to fetch her at once."

  "Tell me where she is, and I will go," offered Lawrence. "I am sure you would rather be with Anna."

  "I would," said Mrs McElliott. "You are very kind. You will find Alice at the tailor's shop."

  "I’ll return as soon as I can." Lawrence took his hat from the hat stand and strode towards the centre of the village, where he located Alice and explained what had happened. She dropped her sweeping brush and accompanied him straight back to The Vicarage.

  She was young, close in age to Anna, and about fifteen, he surmised, but had a vastly different character. Anna went quietly about her business blending into the background as a good servant should whereas Alice was brash and showed no self-consciousness. She conversed with Lawrence as if they were of similar age and standing.

  "Is she going to die?" Alice asked, as they left the shop.

  "No, I don’t think so," said Lawrence, "but she is very poorly."

  "I couldn’t bear another death," said Alice passionately. "This village is damned." Anger flashed in her eyes.

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "It is cursed. We are all cursed," she said.

  "There is no curse," countered Lawrence, gently.

  "You wouldn’t think so if you’d seen the things I have seen. You have no idea," said Alice coldly.

  "Tell me about it, then."

  "I saw it," she said. "I saw the smoking baby."

  "Sarah Hammond's child?"

  Alice nodded and stopped walking. "Yes."

  "You saw it the day it died?"

  "I did, and I will never forget it."

  "What happened," he asked.

  She took a deep breath and moved, head lowered, watching the ground as she spoke. "I was in the village running an errand for Mr Borrett. It was early afternoon, and the weather was unsettled, drizzling and misty. I saw the Hammond's come towards me, pushing a perambulator. All see
med well at first, but as they neared, I noticed faint wisps of smoke coming from the top of the pram near the baby's head. At first, I thought I had imagined it, and then it became clear that the baby's parents had not noticed. They were arguing and fully engrossed with one another. When they were so close, there could be no doubt, I stopped them and told them that there was something wrong with the child."

  "What did you see?" asked Lawrence.

  "I saw Sarah Hammond stop, then I heard her scream," said Alice. "She pulled the child from the pram and unwrapped the swaddling, sobbing fit to burst. The poor wee babe was red raw and blistered. It lay there, in a torpor, eyes rolling back in its head and too weak to cry out."

  "Did you see anything on the child's skin?" asked Lawrence. "Was there a substance, an irritant of some kind?"

  "I saw nothing," said Alice. "But I will never forget the smell of it."

  "The smell?" repeated Lawrence.

  "Yes, an acrid, evil burning odour, like Sulphur. It was Brimstone, I am sure. There is no doubt in my mind that Edith Hammond was bewitched."

  Chapter 26

  Honor - Deception

  We rose the next morning, Vicar, deprived of sleep and desolate, yearning for the new day to bring fresh hope. It did not, and our torment continued. I left the children and trudged to the gaol house again, but they refused me entry, and I waited outside until well past noon. Matthew Hopkin’s creatures came and went, working in shifts to ensure they had a constant supply of sleep and sustenance, both cruelly denied to my mother. As each person left, I implored them for news of her, but they walked by, either ignoring me or sneering. Just when I feared I would never know how she fared, Dorothy Webb passed by, carrying a pitcher. Dorothy was a young relation of Thomas, my friend from Page’s farm and we knew each other a little. She owed me nothing, and I did not know if she had turned against me as so many people had, but I was desperate for news. I approached her and begged for help, asking her to find out whether conditions had worsened for my mother in gaol. Fate offered a rare moment of kindness when she agreed.

  She dallied in the gaol for a long time. I had assumed that she was delivering water, but she must have had other tasks to occupy her time. I paced the yard in turmoil waiting for her to appear, and when the door eventually opened, I rushed headlong towards it before realising it was Priscilla Briggs. She saw me and barked orders to ‘move along’ muttering under her breath that the child of a witch did not belong among decent people. I glared at her, willing her heart to stop still in her chest, but it did not, and she shambled towards the Inn, clay pipe in hand.

  Trepidation rendered me immobile, and by the time Dorothy left the building, my limbs were stiff with lack of movement. She exited the gaol house with her head lowered, attempting to scurry away. Whether she was trying to avoid me or whether she was desperate to leave the prison, I could not be sure. I did not allow her to pass me and stumbled towards her, weak from hunger.

  She blanched at the sight of me, sorrowful green eyes welling with tears. Her hair was matted – her clothes covered in dust. I do not know why, and I did not ask. Instead, I addressed her and insisted on hearing how my mother fared.

  She started to cry, opening her mouth to speak but forming no intelligible words. I pleaded with her to try harder, begging her to speak without delay. I could wait no longer. Whatever she had to say could be no worse than the horrors conjured up in my imagination.

  She clasped her hands to her face as if in prayer, then told me to prepare myself for her news was dreadful, and I would not have contemplated it in my worst nightmare. She earnestly hoped that God would show mercy to my family.

  I did not repeat my blasphemous opinion of God and his lack of compassion as I needed her help. So, I took her hands and led her to the rear of the gaol house, then lifting my skirts I settled on the grass and bade her join me.

  She sat down, still trembling, and took a deep breath. then said it was all over. Mother had confessed to every accusation made against her. My heart lurched, and bile rose in my throat. I asked her to repeat herself, demanding every detail. Had my mother gone mad? What had she confessed to? Had they tortured her? Dorothy struggled to find the words. She put her head in her hands, covering her face as she told me that my mother would be tried as a witch.

  I tried to make sense of her words, Vicar. You cannot imagine how it felt to hear such a thing, to know that my good, kindly mother would be on trial for her life, her only crime to have met with ignorance and superstition in the village. Her only sin to be unable to extricate herself from the cynical money-making ruse of Hopkins and his entourage. There was nothing that my honest, God-fearing mother would have done that could require a confession.

  Dorothy watched my pale face and started to cry again. She composed herself for long enough to give me further details, stating that she could see the gaol cell from the front room while she swept. When she first entered, my mother was being dragged up and down the cell, held upright by a man and a woman., while my poor sister, lay moaning in the corner. Another man directed the charade, and from the description Dorothy gave, must have been Hopkins. He grew impatient with my mother, commanding her to confess, accusing her of acts of witchcraft in a voice that rose and grew angrier by the moment. My mother was exhausted, hardly able to put one foot in front of the other but determined not to succumb to his wishes. Finally, he lost his temper and directed the woman to strip search Patience. My mother fell to the floor, screaming and flung herself towards my sister, desperate to protect her. At that moment, Dorothy stopped sweeping and watched as a triumphant smile spread across Matthew Hopkins’ face. He had found my mother’s weakness.

  Hopkins approached Mother and forced her away from Patience. He stood above her, gloating and said that if she confessed to witchcraft, he would leave Patience alone. Mother acquiesced in an instant.

  By then, Dorothy had finished her chores and was making for the door. Hopkins saw her leave and coaxed her into the cell, where he induced her to join John Gooding as a second independent witness to Mother’s confession. Dorothy heard every word my mother uttered. She witnessed the entire confession. It was not like the confessions that you hear in church, Vicar, for none of it was true. Even Dorothy, young and impressionable as she was, did not believe it had any basis in fact. But my poor mother, drained and fatigued, drew upon her last ounce of strength to protect her child, her eldest, special daughter. She spun tales of witchcraft and Satanic worship with preposterous claims of familiars and spell-making. She said that she owned three pet birds going by the names of Tom, Robert, and John that she kept as familiars. They suckled from the teat on her thigh. She owned to covenanting with Satan by setting her imps to make mischief in exchange for money and confessed that she instructed them to make a cow jump over a stile, thereby breaking James Aldus’ cart.

  Ridiculous as it was, that satisfied the witch-finders for a confession. They had their witch, and that should have been the end of it, but there was much worse to come. They reneged on their promise, Vicar. No sooner had the confession left my mother’s lips than they placed irons upon her, set her on the floor and left her to watch while they tore the clothes from my sister’s body and started to search.

  Dorothy stalled, unable to tell me what happened next. I am ashamed of how I bullied her, Vicar, but I needed to know and made her say it. Dorothy sobbed so hard her voice broke as she told me how my mother struggled against her restraints. She scraped her arms and legs until they were bleeding and raw as she tried in vain to reach her daughter to offer comfort. Patience screamed, kicking out like the child that she was, terrified and uncomprehending. Though impaired, she was strong and not easy to subdue, so the women spread-eagled her on the floor and stuffed a gag into her mouth. The searchers worked quickly, identifying warts upon her skin which they called teats.

  Then, they removed the gag and accused her of devilry. They spoke of things she could not understand, demanding that she confess herself a witch. In her distress, she repeat
ed the words like a child, and the searchers smirked and pronounced another successful confession. When Hopkins was satisfied, one of the men produced a set of leg irons and clamped them to Patience. Hopkins dismissed Dorothy, and she left. Dorothy had one further piece of news to impart. She said that Hopkins intends to submit my mother and sister to Bury Saint Edmunds for the Witch Trials. That is what it has come to, Vicar, and still, there is not a man of God in sight.

  Chapter 27

  Poison

  Lawrence sat alone in the drawing-room, mulling the day's events, and trying to work out what he was still doing in Fressingfield. On one hand, some of the villagers were behaving more rationally. They appeared to be free from the superstitious fears that had caused such worry within the church. But a higher number still, remained convinced that witchcraft was alive within the village. Lawrence did not believe in witches, but the terror of finding the curse crow had shaken him. Even the memory almost paralysed him with fear, and he found himself more sympathetic to those beliefs he had formerly dismissed out of hand.

  He remained concerned about Anna McElliott, who was confined to her attic room, still hovering between life and death. Her mother had not left her side, sleeping in a chair beside her daughter through the night. Lawrence visited Michael first thing that morning to talk through his fears. Having discussed the matter, both men convinced each other that Anna had contracted food poisoning, and the consumption of Lawrence's powders were entirely coincidental.

  "On that basis, what is the point of me being here?" he said out loud, as Loveday entered the room.

  "Are you going then?" she asked. "I have hardly seen you these last two days."

  "We have both been otherwise occupied," said Lawrence.

  "You spend all your time reading," she pouted, "when you are not bedridden, that is."

  "And you spend all your time walking with Doctor Taylor," Lawrence smiled.