Tricks or Treats: An Anthology for Charity

by Tiffany Carby

  ‘You need not explain further Boy. I know of his tastes.’ The boy looked relieved. He was still quite naïve and clearly untested in the bedroom despite the looks the wenches gave him.

  ‘What would you like for your future?’ Blake blinked. Was this going to work out well? Had his luck changed?

  ‘My greatest desire would be to become a squire to a knight, and later if I proved my worth, to earn my knighthood in the house of a great knight, Sir.’

  ‘Well young Blake, your desire will be granted. You will start as a squire. How old are you?’

  ‘I think thirteen years Sir.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘My real mother died and her maid, my nanny, became later my father’s second wife. When he died she had to leave and went to work with me in the tavern and later married him. I found out my birthday in her diary and it was she who taught me to read and write and to do simple arithmetic. I also made the accounts for the tavern, Sir.’ Danton had heard he could read and write.

  ‘Who was your father?’

  ‘I was not told. I asked in the village, but no-one could tell me. She appeared one day with me looking for work. She had walked miles and was in poor health. James set her to work in the kitchen and later I worked in the stables and the tavern.’

  ‘Do you wish to know your family?’ The boy looked pained. ‘I have a natural curiosity Sir. Perhaps I have living relatives who might acknowledge me.’ Danton felt sorry for the boy. He had been uncared for and unloved going by the condition he had arrived in at the castle. He wanted to belong to someone, but a natural reserve kept him apart from the stable boys.

  He had suspected the boy did not come from common stock and his instincts were proving correct. His natural confidence and arrogance suggested his father had been a warrior but why then had his step-mother and his natural child been put out to fend for themselves. Something appeared untoward. The boy would want to investigate his roots later and Danton suspected it would lead him into danger. Learning to be a knight would prepare him for any battles he must win and protect him whilst he grew into a man.

  Chapter Four.

  Alex was tired but relieved. Ten children were too much to feed and protect even for her. She could not readily bring them down the mountain together for fear their numbers and ragged appearance would attract attention. Even a few strangers in the small villages and towns had attracted attention from those who would report them to the law and their lord or want them for their own nefarious purposes. Too often children would be sold to unscrupulous masters or to madams of brothels who would supply them to men or even women who taste ran to children.

  She had in the end asked Oladen to lend her his wagon and she and his son had transported them to several orphanages whose masters could be trusted to treat them fairly and find masters who would be kind to them. She had swallowed the lump in her throat when one little girl had to be torn from her arms. ‘I don’t want to leave you Alex. I will work hard for you if you keep me.’ She had gently put the child aside and walked away. She had then run to the forest where she had cried buckets. Oladen had found her and put her hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Hey, little girl. You did the right thing. Soon they would have been found out and treated worse if our Lord had got his claws into them.’ She clung to him and sobbed into his shoulder. Oladen was like the father she had never known but rarely did she allow him to get this close to her. She trusted no man after her mother had been deserted by her rich father when he heard she was with child. Her mother had ingrained into her daughter a healthy mistrust in men. A few men had tried to become intimate with her, but she had rebuffed them. After that she had worn her men’s garb as a way of deterring them.

  Tall and slim she fooled most men. Only a few like Oladen and his son knew her secret and they would not tell. Oladen wanted her married off, but he only had her interests at heart and was scared she would be harmed living only with the children and no man to protect her.

  Now she could retreat to her home in the mountains. Oladen and his son had built her a cabin behind a thick copse, barely known to anyone but themselves. She could hunt and grow a few herbs and vegetables during the summer. In the winter she came down braving the snow and gales and bartered hares and deer for milk and cheese and bread. She always had enough to live but feared entering the villages and towns for there were always pimps and pickpockets looking out for the unwary. She had never stolen from the village or townsfolk, but independent women were feared by other more passive women and often reported to the militia as witches. She had seen one poor woman garrotted and then burned at the stake. Village women had claimed their milk had turned sour after she had put a curse on them when they refused to buy her wares.

  Her mother had worked in a brothel. She had done the dirty work, the sewing and had kept the books but she kept Alex away from the clients. Her daughter had grown from a tiny child to a gangly pretty blond girl. She had been opportuned by a client. The lusty man had had her pinned to her cot, his hands moving up her skirts.

  Her mother had come to her rescue but there was no need. Her young daughter had looked into the eyes of the man and he had stopped groping her. His hands had gone to his throat coughing as he rolled over and fell onto the floor. The child had scrambled off the cot and ran into her mother’s arms. Once her eyes were off him the man had begun to breathe again.

  ‘A witch. She put a spell on me,’ he had gasped. Her mother had hit him hard on the head with a water jug and they had run away.

  She had moved them out to the mountains where they scavenged for a living. She had died of the pestilence within two years, fetching food for her daughter from the town-folk when the snows made it difficult for her to catch or grow food. Alex had lived off the land thereafter on her own until she had seen the children suffer and had adopted them. She was now twelve and had no future. She wished she had learnt a trade. Her mother had made her swear she wouldn’t end up a whore.

  Alex toiled for four more years in her mountain habitation. She suffered the worst winter in history, the snows piling up to the windows of her hut. She admitted defeat and came down to the village and worked in Oladen’s inn.

  ‘Foolish girl,’ he muttered. ‘You nearly suffered frostbite. You need permanent work in a hostelry to catch a husband.’ She ignored him but recognised she had to change her style of living if she was to stay alive. The only living person who would care for her was her mother’s friend, an old lady who had looked after her when her mother had worked in the brothel, her redoubtable mother refusing to allow her daughter to be cared for by the ‘ladies’ who serviced the gentlemen. Eliza had hinted she knew Alex’s father’s name. Alex could find him and ask for help, but she had rejected asking him for any help. He had denied her mother when she was in dire straits. She would not ask him for a penny.

  Autumn heralded more uncertainty for Alex. Both Oladen and his son caught the pestilence and died.

  ‘Leave us, Girl,’ commanded Oladen with his last breaths. ’Neither of us will last the week. You must take whatever money is in the box and find a better life. My Cousin will take this inn and drain it of every penny. He will make you whore for him. Go now! I cannot bear to see you fall into his hands.’ He pushed her away with his last ounce of strength. His son nodded from his cot, a bear of a man, reduced to an emaciated skeleton.

  Sobbing, she took the box he pointed to and put it in her pack, over her shoulder with her bow and arrows and the guns they had owned. Some guns she buried with ammunition in the forest for the future but two more she took with her as she made her escape; knowing Oladen had spoken the truth about his relative, who would sell his grandmother for a soux as the saying went.

  There was enough coin to buy a house and buy some horses to breed from and sell if she took advice from the right people. Oladen had given her names of men who wouldn’t cheat a girl. She buried most of the coin in a hole deep in the forest
; she wasn’t going to carry such a large amount with her. No-one would suspect her of being wealthy when they saw the clothes she wore; tired, patched and ragged. She had better garments back home, mostly left over from her mother, but she’d had no opportunity to wear them.

  She visited town the next week dressed in a respectable dress and bonnet, her hair loosely confined in a bun. She didn’t want anyone to recognise her as the girl who had a bunch of urchins running after her. She visited the solicitor, a keen sighted but stooped old man. He at first treated her as if she were a child. A sharp look from emerald eyes which narrowed and assessed him made him re-evaluate this young girl. She was no milk and water miss. Thin to the point of emaciation, she looked as if she could be blown away by a gust of wind, but her looks belied a will of steel. She explained her position, not trying to cover up her illegitimacy and lack of family. She needed land and a business to support herself.

  ‘Where would you get the money for this venture?’

  ‘I was left it by a friend and will pass the money to you when I sign the legal documents.’

  ‘You read?’ asked the old man astonished. She was dressed in a serviceable outmoded gown and threadbare cloak. She looked as if she hadn’t got a pair of threepenny pieces to rub together and needed a good meal.

  ‘Of course.’ She got up. ‘Will you serve my interests, Sir?’ She made to leave.

  ‘Stay Mistress, don’t be hasty. I needed to check your financial stability before I introduce you to my well-off clients. I will meet you in two weeks when I have found the contacts you need.’ She nodded and left. Oladen had warned her he was an old fossil and misogynist.

  She bought herself a horse. She had sold hers to pay for food for the children. She could carry much more game to sell in the villages if she had transport. She decided to visit her old nanny. Her house was two days ride. Now she would find out who her father was and confront him with his sordid behaviour. She would avenge her mother for the way he treated that kind and gentle lady.

  She found the lady, living in a home run by the charitable sisters. They gave succour and accommodation to servants who had no home, being no longer of use to their masters and mistresses who wanted young strong staff in their employ. The old lady was thin and slight with pale features and sunken eyes in a cadaverous face, but she retained her sharp wit and keen humour.

  ‘Alexandra, how you have grown? How is your mother?’

  ‘I am afraid she died two years after we left the brothel.’

  ‘You have fended for yourself?’ tutted the old woman.

  ‘I lived with some orphans and later a kind innkeeper gave me work but he died. He left me his money as his son died with him. I can set myself up in business and live in town if I wish or buy a place in the country and breed horses.’

  ‘You must take advice. Many will want to take advantage of a girl like you.’

  ‘I was given the names of good people by the inn-keeper. You could come and live with me.’

  ‘You are a good-hearted girl,’ She held the girl’s delicate hand in her knarled claw. ‘I have little time left. A year or two at most. The sisters have told me. They look after me well whilst the consumption slowly takes me.’ Alex’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Can I bring you anything to make your last days more comfortable?’

  ‘I need little. You could give a donation to the sisters, so they can help more people like me.’ She sat up, her usual brisk self.

  ‘Bring me that box, Girl. I have waited years to give you this. Your mother left it with me to give to you when you were old enough to appreciate the contents and make your way in the world.’

  Perplexed and intrigued, Alex took up the small box and placed it on the woman’s aproned lap. She had seen a similar box in her mother’s armoire. As she ran her fingers over the carved surface she felt warm inside and a tingle ran up her fingers and arms and across her chest to her heart. A sharp prick made her gasp and then the warmth died away.

  ‘You felt it?’ the old woman demanded. ‘What did you feel? Describe it?’

  ‘A warmth and a tingle. My heart felt pained for a second. What is it?’

  ‘Only those who are gifted can feel it. Your mother could feel the power but refused to use it for fear it would take her over and she could harm others.’

  ‘Was she a witch then? Am I one also?’

  Alex remembered that awful night when the man tried to kiss her with fetid breath and she had just looked at him and wished him dead. He had coughed and rolled over and she had no longer wished him ill but had remembered her mother’s fearful look. She had promised herself not to look at any man again in that way unless he would harm her. Her mother had said nothing, but Alex believed her power that night had driven her mother to hide them in the mountains away from inquiring tongues who might betray them.

  ‘Many have powers that cannot be explained. We do not have a name for them. Others fear them and call them witches but often they merely have powers they use to heal others.’

  ‘My mother taught me to use herbs to heal and I saved the lives of some of my orphans who Lord Vagna had beaten badly and injured.’

  ‘Open the box.’

  ‘There is no lock.’

  ‘Tap it three times and twist the carving of the cat. Only those who own the box and have the gift can open it.’ Alex was fearful after she had suffered the pain in her chest. Gingerly, she tapped it and the carving of the cat increased in depth until she could grab it and twist it until the lid opened. The contents seemed barely worth investigating; a few envelopes and some documents wrapped in ribbon, but she opened them and gave them to her nanny.

  The old lady peered at them through rheumy eyes, wrinkling her brow with satisfaction. ‘It is as I thought. Your mother was betrayed by him. Read,’ she commanded Alex.

  Alex read the first letter. ‘My dear Suzanna, I will come for you and our child when I can guarantee your safety. My brother still holds my castle and refuses me entry. He denies I am his brother and tried to get me killed. He betrayed me to the King, saying I was plotting to murder him. I have a bounty on my head and must keep in hiding but when I have proved my innocence I will send for you.

  All my love, your ever-faithful husband, John. St. Vinne.’

  ‘But, I thought I was illegitimate,’ exclaimed Alex. ‘My mother told me my father refused to acknowledge me or marry my mother.’

  ‘She told everyone that to protect you both. No-one knew your real name.’

  ‘If he didn’t betray me who did then?’

  ‘Your scurrilous scumbag of an uncle who took your father’s castle while he was fighting the King’s battles. He stabbed him in the back when he came back.’

  ‘Is my father alive?’

  ‘Read the second letter. It explains all.’

  ‘My dear Suzanna, I am sorry to inform you that my beloved brother died of the pestilence whilst in prison awaiting his trial for being a traitor. He betrayed you. He was a bigamist marrying his first wife years before he pretended to marry you. Thus, neither you or your daughter have any claim to the castle or his chattels he inherited from my father.

  I would be charitable to you and offer you the sum of 400 sovereigns to provide for yourself. and your daughter if you tell me of your whereabouts.

  I look forward to hearing from you soon my dear lady in more fortuitous and pleasant circumstances.

  Joshua St Vinne.

  ‘So, I am illegitimate.’

  ‘Not at all. Your mother was the first wife and only wife. He bribed a woman and priest to say your father entered into a marriage ceremony years before but I checked it out and it could not have taken place. Your father was out of the country when he was supposed to have made his vows.’

  ‘I understand him wanting to make me illegitimate and take the inheritance himself but why offer my mother money for our provision
?’

  ‘It was to entice your mother into the open, so he could murder you both. Your mother was too canny. She decided to take you into the mountains and protect you from him.’

  ‘I thought it was because of the man who tried to violate me.’

  ‘That was also a sound reason, but it was your uncle’s letter that made her leave her livelihood and home.’

  ‘She must have been terrified.’

  ‘She had been your uncle’s favourite when she was a young girl growing up. She chose your father over him and he never forgave her for spurning him.’

  She opened the documents. ‘One marriage licence and a birth certificate legitimising you.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘You need to go to the King and show him these documents and give him the other information I have found out which proves the other marriage is a dud. But you cannot do this on your own. You need a protector, a mighty lord or knight who will look after you. Even if you used your powers as you used them on that violator you could still be overpowered or betrayed to the King. No, you must keep your identity hidden until we find the right man or sponsor who will argue your cause for you.’ She pulled out some other papers and let Alex read them.

  ‘Mother Superior will look after these for you. She is an honest woman and knows your position. She has said she will give you shelter here from your enemies if you need it. She knows your uncle. He courted her when she was a noble lady before she entered God’s service and she knows his evil nature. In the meantime, you must take up that trade or horse breeding business and develop a new identity while we plot your uncle’s downfall. You must change your looks. That hair and those eyes are distinctive.’

  ‘I speak with my attorney in ten days’ time.’

  ‘I will write you when I can help you. If you do not hear from me in three months’ time come to me instead. I feel danger is around me and want this sorted as quickly as possible.’ Alex saw her eyes burning amber as if some power was taking her over.