Destitute On His Doorstep (20 page)

‘That is an understatement. As you know he intended to marry me and claim it for himself—regardless of my wishes—and already he is punishing me for its loss.'

‘Punishing you? But it is hardly your fault that it was sequestered—although he will not see it that way and I can imagine how angry he must be. While ever he lives he will never forget, Jane—not this, nor the man who took out his eye. It was done in war, but to my father it was personal.'

‘I know. The man who maimed him was Colonel Russell—the same man who now owns Bilborough—the man who has asked me to be his wife.'

‘Then the grim reality is that Father will do his twisted best to destroy it all.'

‘He's already started. He's determined to destroy us both. Already he is blackening my name in the town—putting it about that I meddle in witchcraft.'

Hester paled, appalled. ‘No, Jane, not you. I know Gwen fled Bilborough because of the accusations against her—but you…'

‘The worst of it is that people are listening—how long before they believe it and take action?'

 

Jane found out the following day when her beloved Scamp was found dead outside the cottage gate. Isaac, his face grim, said he'd been poisoned, for it was the only explanation he could think of for the animal's sudden death—and also the fact that some strange-smelling meat was found nearby and there were traces of vomit around the little dog's mouth, giving truth to his suspicion.

Jane was devastated. When she stared down at her loyal pet's lifeless body, his eyes wide open and glazed, she felt the blood draining from her face. Why would anyone want to poison a harmless, lovable little dog? What harm had he done to anyone?

Trying to come to terms with the pain of losing Scamp, for the next twenty-four hours she was edgy, starting at noises, looking at shadows.

 

Confused, muddled and frightened, her fears were realised the following morning by the sound of voices and movement outside the cottage. Looking out of the window, she saw a large contingent of people. Squinting into the sun, she couldn't see their faces, nor even tell how many there might be. Only one man was mounted— Jacob Atkins. He hovered beyond the gate at the back of the crowd.

Responding to a loud banging on the door while wiping the palms of her hands on the skirts of her dress, on leaden legs she slowly moved towards it, terrified at the thought of confronting the mob. She glanced at Hester. ‘It's your father, Hester. Please stay out of sight. If he sees you here it will only inflame him.'

Hester shrank into the shadows when Jane opened
the door. Mr Atkins had come to the front of the crowd and dismounted. Boldly Jane faced the mob, her head raised proudly.

‘What do you want?'

Atkins's hand shot out and he grabbed her chin. His fingers dug into her flesh and he forced her to look into his cruel eye. ‘Still defiant, Jane? You won't remain so proud. Before they've done with you your wits will have flown. You see,' he told her piously, ‘this is what comes of not being sensible. It is your own fault that I have been obliged to do this.' He let go of her.

Jane ignored his taunts, knowing he was trying to frighten her. She kept her stare defiant and controlled, even though she did feel the need to kick his shin. If sheer blind rage could kill, Jacob Atkins would have dropped dead on the spot.

A spokesman stepped forwards and thrust his ugly face close to Jane's. ‘You're coming with us.

There was an unmistakable look of gloating on his face and seeing it, the hair on her body rippled with cold. ‘Would you mind telling me why? I have done no wrong.' Trying to keep a firm grip on her nerves, her gaze shot to Jacob Atkins. He smiled in the most unpleasant fashion.

‘Ah, now, there you are mistaken, Jane,' he said, his voice full of threat. He was aware of the reason why Gwen had fled Bilborough and sought sanctuary in his home—although he had no time for such nonsense and didn't believe in witchcraft anyway. But he was not against using the same methods on her stepdaughter for daring to stand against him, for spurning him. ‘We've
come to take you into Avery to answer to the serious charge of witchcraft.'

‘If Justice Littleton has any questions he wishes to address to me, I will most respectfully respond, but I owe none of you an explanation.'

‘We've got to take care of this matter ourselves if we want to see justice done,' someone shouted.

‘That's her. That's Jane Lucas—stepdaughter to Gwen Lucas,' a woman's voice called, high and shrill and malevolent from the back of the crowd. ‘What woman would do such wickedness as to wantonly poison a woman and her unborn babe but a witch?'

A high shouting of condemnation greeted that. Jane could feel the current of hysteria and violence in the air. In fear and desperation she took a step back, her eyes fixed on Jacob Atkins. ‘Can you not see that what you're doing is foolish? Can you not realise the futility of your revenge against me and Francis?'

Atkins's face darkened and, with a scornful curl to his thin lips, he said, ‘Don't waste your breath, and don't think I can be so easily swayed from my intentions, for in spite of the revulsion I feel at you and him together, I shall learn to overcome it. As far as I am concerned nothing has changed—only that Francis Russell has one more thing to lose that will make my revenge sweeter.'

Jane shrank back, for the man before her was a stranger and the single eye that bored into hers was that of a madman, and she knew, with a sinking heart, that this was indeed what he was, for only a madman would behave this way.

‘You are out of your mind. You have lost your senses. Leave Avery before you regret your actions.'

‘Regret?' He laughed insanely. ‘I shall regret nothing I do where Russell is concerned.'

Jane swallowed hard. ‘Then there's nothing else to be said. You have descended into the very realms of evil so you know nothing else.'

Atkins stepped away from her when a heavy man with cropped dark hair and a greasy leather jerkin reached out and seized her arm in a vice-like grip and jerked her forwards, dragging her towards a wagon.

‘Let go,' she cried. ‘What are you doing?'

She kicked out at him and attempted to drag herself free, but he got hold of both her wrists. He shouted for help, and several eager hands hauled her up inside, where someone tied her wrists behind her back.

‘Where are you taking me?' she demanded.

‘The gaol,' Atkins said, with a note of grim satisfaction. ‘And then, thank God, you'll get what you deserve.'

She stared at him in defiance. ‘Not until I have been tried. I have faith in Justice Littleton and English justice.'

Atkins laughed maliciously. ‘Just wait until you've experienced it. I can guarantee the examiners will not be gentle with you, Jane. Far from it.'

Jane shot a look at Isaac in the doorway. He was stiff and staring and deeply ashamed because he was unable to help the mistress in the hands of the mob. At that moment Jane could think of only one person who could help her. ‘Find Francis, Isaac. Tell him what's happened—I beg of you… He'll know what to do.'

‘Much good he'll do you,' Atkins growled, mounting his horse.

Jane hated being helpless in many ways, but the armour of righteous fury was wearing off, and while she kept a fierce face for Jacob Atkins, he knew she was afraid. Not without reason, either. He was not stupid. And clearly he realised that his strategy of spreading gossip and scandal concerning her in order to endanger her had worked.

As the mob made their way to Avery with their captive in their midst, Hester came to stand beside Isaac on the doorstep. His lips were clamped together, but strangely Hester was calm.

‘We'll do as she asked and go and see Colonel Russell, Isaac. Try not to worry. Everything will be all right. Jane will come to no harm. We'll think of something.'

 

By the time Jane reached the courthouse she was holding on to her temper and sanity by a thread. With her wrists tightly bound, she was completely drained from the sheer physical exertion of trying to remain upright in the wagon as it jolted over the rutted road.

Her cell beneath the courthouse was small, the walls beaded with damp and the straw on the floor foul. When the door banged closed on the world outside, that was the moment when she began to fully comprehend the ramifications of what was happening.

Her wrists had been untied and she rubbed at the flesh where the bindings had cut deep. Earlier she had not been able to think straight for anger; now there was fear of the evil being planned against her, that she might not have the energy or the strength to fight. She sagged against the wall. Already she had faced public
humiliation, and now possibly death because of Jacob Atkins's spite.

Her thoughts turned to Hester and Isaac and how worried they would be, but gradually their images faded to make way for another, this one with deep blue eyes and a haunting smile. Francis would not be smiling when they told him what had become of her. Imagining how he would react made her tremble and gave her courage. However much she had insulted him, and whatever else he was, at her darkest of moments, Francis was a strong, unwavering gleam of hope for her to cling to in this, her darkest hour.

 

The light was fading when the bolts on the door were pulled back. Pushing herself up from the pallet Jane bit her lip to stop it trembling, loath to show any sign of weakness. A man with a long face and a lantern jaw stepped into the cell. It was Justice Littleton. He was neatly attired in a fur-trimmed robe and velvet cap. He had been a good friend of her father's. He was also a dour Puritan, but he was a fair man.

‘Mr Littleton, I'm so glad to see you. I do hope you can clear up this misunderstanding. In the eyes of the law I have done no wrong.'

‘I'm just as upset about this as you are, Mistress Lucas. Originally there was no intent to arrest you, but you were taken because of your association with your stepmother, Gwen Lucas. There are those who suspect you of practising witchcraft.'

‘And I tell you it is utter nonsense. I am not my stepmother.'

‘No, but in the light of Mr Atkins's accusations against you—and the evidence he has that could incriminate
you—there is some danger to you. There are some people in Avery who remain loyal to your father and have no desire to see you examined on the charge of witchcraft, and those who shout the loudest are those whipped up by Mr Atkins's rantings. I remember him of old and I hadn't much time for him then. He is not like his sister.'

‘No, not at all.'

‘It is unfortunate that she made herself unpopular. The climate of opinion in Avery is none too favourable to you at present. There is a certain amount of hysteria driving those who believe you are guilty. It has been claimed that you have a dog—a familiar—and that on occasion it has been seen to…to…'

Jane elevated an eyebrow. ‘What, Mr Littleton? What has my dog been seen to do?'

He appeared flustered suddenly and wiped his perspiring brow with his handkerchief. ‘Why—to—to lick you, as though he were…'

‘Sucking me? Dear me. I think I know where that damning information has come from,' she uttered drily, thinking that Alice Merton's association with Mr Atkins must be closer than she realised. ‘It is utter rubbish, of course, and for your information, Mr Littleton, my dog was poisoned yesterday.'

‘I'm sorry—I didn't know, but it proves nothing. You must understand that people are suspicions of such things.'

‘People are always suspicious of things they don't understand.'

‘I am sure you are right, but I would like the atmosphere to die down before you are tried.'

Jane went cold. ‘Tried? I am going to be tried?'

‘I'm afraid so. I cannot ignore what I have been presented with. I would not be doing my duty if I were to do that. However, if you were to be tried in this present climate, there is a danger of the evidence being disregarded for the sake of satisfying the lust for blood. The longer it is drawn out, the less inclined anyone will be to act in haste.'

Lust for blood? Jane paled. Those three words captured exactly the emotion emanating from the faces of the crowd when she had been brought in to Avery. Some had shown signs of sympathy and doubt, but it would be a brave man who would dare to stand against the majority.

‘It would appear that common sense has taken flight before the onslaught of fear and prejudice,' she uttered firmly. ‘Where is the justice in that? My father was a revered and respected landowner in this town who all his life lived in honour, whereas, during the years of conflict, Mr Atkins gained a name for savagery. For the short time he spent in Avery there were several cases of his brutality. Ask Colonel Russell. He will confirm that.'

‘Your father, John Lucas, was an exceptional man. We may not have seen eye to eye over the years, but he was a man of honour.' He turned towards the door. ‘For your own safety you must remain where you are. In the meantime I shall speak to Mr Atkins.' With a curt nod he went out.

Jane's heart sank when she heard the key turn in the lock and she shuddered at the thought of spending the night in that vermin-infested hole. She sank down on
to the pallet, her head dropping into her hands as the hopelessness of her situation overcame her.

Gradually the cell darkened. From the depths of her cell, she heard laughter; in fact, the voices sounded unusually joyful. She reflected bitterly that it was probably her imminent trial that they were happy about. She remembered all too vividly the jeers and cries of hate that had followed her to the gaol, and yet, on reflection, she had seen a few friendly faces, and some who had glanced uncertainly at their neighbours and measured Jacob Atkins with doubtful eyes.

Stunned by fear and fatigue, she collapsed on to the pallet and slept the sleep of a hunted animal.