The Moon Spun Round (40 page)
Read The Moon Spun Round Online
Authors: Elenor Gill
Philip Hunter-Gordon
9 February 2007
Yes! Had words with Professor Harris. I was told he had done some local research on Hallowfield; apparently he was living here at the time. This would have been about twenty years ago. Some of the Hallowfield families go back generations, and the prof got to know the older residents in an attempt to record the oral history before it all got lost. They told him the stories their grandparents had told them about
what their
grandparents had heard (Things don’t seem to get passed down like that any more.) Among the tales he managed to record were some gems about the witch hunts. When I explained what I had uncovered in our family, he was very excited and insisted on lending me his own writings. He did stress that it’s all folklore and hearsay, nothing can be authenticated. However, I am welcome to make use of his work, provided I make any new findings available to him.
Now, according to the old folks, there was an ongoing grievance between
Sarah Norton
, who lived in Stonewater Cottage at the time, and
Adam Sewell
, who owned most of the and that was not owned by my family. Sewell was not a well-liked man—apparently he had some sort of physical disfigurement and a personality to match. It seems he had made an offer of marriage to Sarah, which she rejected. He was possibly more interested in her property than her. (Some of the fields behind the cottage, including what is now our paddocks, were once part of the cottage grounds.) His ambitions thwarted, maybe he started looking for other ways of getting his hands on her land. But who knows?
For whatever reason, Sewell persuaded the Reverend Payton to stir up public feeling, to the extent that Sarah and her friend Abigail (my ancestor) were charged with witchcraft.
Payton had already publicly accused the two women (no explanation for this, but apparently Payton made a regular thing of denouncing people from the pulpit), and so was more than ready to comply with Sewell’s demands. Incited by Payton’s and Sewell’s accusations, a group of men came at night to Sarah’s cottage and forcibly dragged the women away. They were taken off to appear at the assizes at Bury.
The women were accused of practising witchcraft and of being in league with the Devil. (Although, from what I understand, witchcraft has nothing to do with Satanism. In fact, modern witches don’t even believe in the personification of evil.) However, fortunately for the women, they were interrogated by a county magistrate who had retained some rationality despite the current wave of witch hysteria. A strange giant of a man by all accounts, quiet but influential and fair-minded. He was referred to as ‘The Badger’ on account of the white streak in his mop of black hair. Anyway, he released the women without charge and sent them home.
And apparently he sent Payton and Sewell off with a flea in their ear, which must have really pissed them off.
Evening of Sunday, 21 January
New Moon
I
T’S BEEN A LONG DAY
. Even though it’s a Sunday, Sally’s been working on a big advertising promotion for a Cambridge tour company featuring the Cam and the more famous of the university buildings. It’s the wrong time of year to take fresh shots, so she’s having to reprocess archive material from previous summers. But the posters and leaflets are beginning to look good. The company already has a website, but one they had designed themselves. Hopeless. Later in the week she’ll get to work on that and bring it into line with her new ‘Sally Lavender’ look, along with a PowerPoint presentation. Besides, working takes her mind off Jonathan and what she might have done.
But now she has reached a natural pause and realizes how long she has been at it. That’s one of the drawbacks of being your own boss—so easy to put off starting work, and then when you do get into it there’s no one to tell you it’s time to stop.
Apart from the endless cups of tea, she’s had only a couple of slices of toast for breakfast. She’ll go to the Green Man: the walk will do her good and the meals aren’t bad for pub fare. She fetches her coat and boots. Although the roads and paths have been gritted and are now clear, snow still lies over the fields and grass verges.
The log fire flares up in the draught from the open door. Sally quickly closes it behind her to keep the cold air outside where it belongs. Denis, polishing glasses,
greets her as a regular, and several early evening customers smile or nod as she walks up to the bar.
‘What can I get you, Miss? The usual?’ Denis is already reaching for a pint mug as Sally approaches, shaking herself out of her coat.
‘Great. And can I have a look at the menu?’
‘The poached salmon’s all gone, I’m afraid, but I’ve had an unexpected delivery of pheasant that I can highly recommend.’
‘That poached, too, is it?’ Sally gives him a wink. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll play safe with the chicken.’
A burst of laughter from the other end of the room. Sally recognizes Philip, Abbie’s eldest son, with the group at the pool table. He returns her wave with a smile, as he leans over to line up a shot. She takes her beer and the evening paper, and, making herself comfortable at a table near the fire, settles down to await supper.
Sally has finished her meal and ordered a second pint when the door opens and closes for the umpteenth time, a constant stream of locals coming and going. Sally can’t help looking up to see if it’s someone she recognizes.
Ayden looks awful. He hasn’t shaved, and the face behind the ragged stubble is pasty and bloated; his clothes are creased, the jacket stained. He stands in the middle of the room, staring across at her. Of course he recognizes her—that’s obvious from his stunned expression. There’s a chasm of silence before he lurches in her direction.
‘You’re one of them, aren’t you? At the funeral. I saw you together.’ His voice is loud enough to make heads turn in their direction.
Sally makes no response, momentarily unable to move or think. The sudden silence of his customers alerts Denis to the shift in atmosphere. He raises the bar flap and comes around to where Ayden has taken up the centre of the room.
‘Thought you’d put one over on me, didn’t you?’ He’s pointing at Sally. ‘You and that Hunter-Gordon woman, all pals. And that other bitch. Thought I didn’t know where she was, didn’t you?’
Ayden’s bluffing stupidity is enough to pull her to her senses. Of course you didn’t know where she was, thinks Sally, and now that you do you’re furious. And I’m a sitting target. I’ve got to get out of here.
Denis steps up beside Ayden. ‘Come on, Mr Drayton, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
‘Like hell I’m leaving. Came in here for a drink.’
‘It’s all right,’ Sally grabs her coat, ‘I was going anyway.’ Before Denis can stop her, she rushes past him and out the door.
‘Oh, shit!’ As soon as the cold air hits her, she realizes she’s made a big
mistake. The village street is empty. Dark shadows fill the spaces between houses, and the street lamps are spaced further and further apart as the road leads towards her home. ‘Now that really was a smart move.’ Expecting Ayden to come up behind her at any second, she tries to put as much distance as possible between her and the pub while struggling into her coat. So when she does hear the door open and footsteps pounding the pavement, a wave of sick terror almost brings her to her knees.
‘Sally, are you OK?’
For a moment she’s too frightened to recognize the figure running towards her. Then she realizes it isn’t Ayden and gasps with relief.
‘It’s all right. Denis has him under control’ Philip takes her arms. ‘God, you’re shaking. What on earth was going on in there?’
‘Nothing, just a…’ Sally feels as if her legs are about to give way and collapses against Philip’s shoulder.
‘We’d better get you home. Where’s your car?’
Sally shakes her head. ‘I walked.’
‘Well, mine’s over there, only a few yards. Can you manage? I think I’d better take you back home to Mum.’
Philip is driving very carefully. Mostly because the roads are quite icy, but also because he’s aware that his passenger is a close friend of his mother and likely to send in a report. Not that she seems to be paying much attention. In fact she still looks quite upset.
‘Are you warm enough? I’d try turning the heater up but it’s not very efficient.
Still, can’t complain: car’s a nice little runner for its age. Besides, I’ll have you home in a couple of minutes.’
‘This is very kind of you. I hope I haven’t spoiled your evening.’
‘No way. I only called in for a quick pint and I’d promised my mate a game, a sort of return match. I’m supposed to be studying.’ ‘Studying? Isn’t next term a few weeks away yet?’ ‘It is. But the more work I get under my belt during the holidays…’ ‘The more time you have for partying during term?’ ‘Exactly. Besides, it keeps the parents happy to see their studious son working hard. Justifies their outlay on the car.’
‘I doubt your mum’s fooled for a minute. Reading History, aren’t you?’ ‘That’s right. Social and political history of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.’
‘Abbie said you’re interested in Ancient Britain, too.’
‘Yes, the whole business about the Roman invasion and then the Saxons.’
‘I expect you know all about Hallowfield? I understand quite a lot’s happened here.’
‘Well, there’s not much early stuff, though there seems to have been a settlement here for some time. Most of the interesting events took place in the 1600s. Witchcraft trials and all that. Here we are.’ Philip turns the car in through the gates of Wheatcroft House.
‘Thanks, Philip, you’re a star. I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn’t followed me.’
‘My pleasure. But I insist that you come in and say hello to Mum.’
‘OK, I won’t argue with that. Tell you what, though, I’d be really interested to find out some more about the history of witchcraft in the village. If you happen to come across anything…’
‘I’ll see what I can find out. In fact you might have given me an idea for one of next term’s papers. Leave it with me. Come on, let’s get you into the warm.’
Sally goes around double-checking all the doors and windows. Cat, quite unperturbed, is asleep in her favourite armchair. That’s a good sign. She’s assured Abbie and Philip that she’ll be fine, but now she’s alone Sally doesn’t feel quite so confident. She thinks about ringing Naomi, then dismisses the idea. But that reminds her about the seals they had set around the cottage. Well, there’s nothing to be lost. So she goes in search of the beeswax candle and the incense sticks that Naomi left with her.
The lamps are dimmed, the candle will light the centre of the room. Thin trails of scented smoke curl up from the incense, carrying with them the memory of the last time they cast a circle for protection. She has no wand or knife, nor can she remember the exact words, but she paces out the circle three times around the room, using her hand to draw a ring of light. Then, at each quarter, she asks the Guardians to protect her. By now Cat is awake and observing the proceedings. Lighting the candle, Sally closes her eyes and visualizes the new moon as Diana the Huntress, long-limbed and agile, armed with bow and arrow. She looks a bit like Naomi, but that’s all to the good, a powerful champion to have at her side, and at this moment Sally needs all the help she can get.