The Vanishing Witch (17 page)

I was on the verge of yelling for help, but I didn’t want to frighten Mistress Edith, who lay in the chamber directly above.

‘Stay back,’ I warned. ‘You needn’t think because I’m
a woman I’ll not use it. I’m well used to defending myself.’

‘I don’t doubt that for a moment.’ He backed away a pace, holding up his hands. ‘A comely woman like you must have had to fight off many advances in her time,’ he said, staring at my pocked skin.

I knew he was mocking me and felt my face grow hot. ‘I’ve sent for the bailiff,’ I lied. ‘He’ll be here with armed men at any moment. So,
if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give me back what you stole and get out of here afore they arrive, ’less you want to find yourself wearing the hangman’s necklace.’

‘I’m quite content to wait for the bailiff and his men,’ he said, grinning impudently. ‘I swear, upon my mother’s life, I’m as innocent as the Virgin Mary.’

He had the effrontery to saunter over to the master’s high-backed
chair and flop into it, bold as you like, patting the chair next to it. ‘Why don’t you sit with me, my beauty? I’m sure there’s much we could talk about to keep ourselves amused while we wait.’

I couldn’t believe the man’s nerve. ‘If you’ve stolen nothing, it’s only because I came in and caught you. No honest man would break into a house.’

I noticed that the flagon of wine that had been on the
chest was now on the table. I lifted it to return it to its place and felt at once that it was empty. ‘That proves it. You are a thief. That was half full this morning.’

He smiled. ‘I will admit to taking a drink. But I trust you’ll forgive a guest helping themselves to refreshment. My thirst got the better of my manners, but I’m sure your mistress would not object.’

‘Guest, is it?’ I snorted.
‘No one’s said anything to me about guests.’

He was a good-looking man, but then rogues usually are, and he certainly had the silver tongue of a trickster. I was at a loss to know what to do, for he clearly wasn’t going to leave. The only thing I could think was to run out into the street and try to grab some passer-by to help me. I was on the point of doing just that when I heard footsteps crossing
the wooden floor above me.

I ran towards the stairs to call a warning to Widow Catlin, but before I could reach the door, he’d sprung from the chair and clamped a hand across my mouth. With the other he grabbed my wrist and dragged me back until I was pinned against his chest. He suddenly twisted my arm, making the candlestick clatter to the ground.

I felt his breath on my ear. ‘I want to surprise
her,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t spoil it, there’s a good girl.’

I heard Catlin’s light tread on the stairs and he pulled me back behind the door. As soon as she came through it, he kicked it shut and released me, shoving me hard away from him, so that I fell to my knees on the wooden floor.

Catlin gave a tiny cry, which broke off so abruptly, it was as if her breath had been snatched away.

‘I found
him here when I returned,’ I told her, clambering to my feet and rubbing my bruises. ‘I reckon he’s one of that robber gang Master Robert warned us about—’

Catlin gave that little laugh of hers, like falling shards of glass. ‘The only thing my son steals is women’s hearts. Isn’t that right, Edward?’

The man gave her a kiss. Then he turned and offered me a low bow, as if I were a noblewoman.
‘My humble apologies, mistress. When I saw you waving that candlestick, like an ancient warrior queen, I couldn’t resist seeing what you might do next to defend your master’s castle.’

‘You’ll have to forgive my son, Beata. He enjoys playing games.’

Widow Catlin was not looking at me, but at Edward, unable to suppress a fond smile. ‘Beata might have brained you, Edward, and you’d have had no
one to blame but yourself. Anyway, what brings you here?’ Her expression turned grave. ‘Is there trouble at home? Has someone been into the yard again?’

‘I came to see you, little Maman. I’m desolate without you and I wanted to see how things were progressing here. How is Mistress Edith?’

A slight frown creased Widow Catlin’s forehead, and for the first time since she had come downstairs she
took her eyes from her son and looked at me. ‘I came to fetch Edith some of the pig’s blood broth you made earlier. She thinks she might be able to swallow a little now. Would you heat some for her?’

It was as plain as the balls on a bull that she wanted to tell her son something about Mistress Edith that she wouldn’t say in front of me and that straightway put me in a cob. Anything she had to
say about
my
mistress should be said to me, not a stranger. And I reckoned Master Robert wouldn’t be pleased if he knew this son of hers was poking around among his things.

So I took my time. I crouched to pick up the fallen candlestick, replaced it on the chest and arranged it just so, then ambled to the door leading to the courtyard. Behind me, I heard Edward whispering something to his mam.
They laughed, and I knew he had made some joke at my expense. He might be good-looking, and his mam evidently doted on him, but there was something about young Edward that made me shudder, as if someone had walked over my grave.

If a patient is bleeding and the flow cannot be staunched, a blood-stained bandage must be taken to the house of a known blood charmer. Let the blood charmer bless the bandage and let it be taken back to the patient and bound again about him and the bleeding shall stop.

Without warning Edith’s back arched so violently I feared it would break. The bedposts rattled as
her limbs jerked in convulsions. I shouted for Beata, who came running up the stairs. Scarlet blood ran from Edith’s lips and trickled down her chin as she ground her jaw. I seized a rolled linen bandage and tried to force it into her mouth to stop her biting her tongue, but I could not prise her jaws apart. Beata stood helplessly in the doorway, staring at her mistress. She looked so stricken that
I feared she might swoon.

‘Stinking motherwort, Beata. Is there any in the house?’

She nodded, unable to tear her eyes from Edith’s thrashing body.

‘Then fetch it quickly.’

I gave her a little push towards the door, which seemed to bring her to her senses, and she ran from the room.

The convulsions began to ease. Edith’s body relaxed a little and she lay trembling, her eyes closed and her
face deathly pale. Beata burst back into the room and breathed a great sigh of relief on seeing that the fit had nearly passed. I took the small flask from her and examined the fragment of dried plant that had been tied to it, checking that Beata had found the right oil.

‘Hold her head up,’ I instructed. I waved the flask under Edith’s nose and, almost at once, she began to mumble and her eyelids
fluttered.

‘Add three drops to a little water,’ I instructed Beata, ‘and help me to spoon it down her.’

We managed to dribble the liquid into the corner of Edith’s mouth and I massaged her throat to help her swallow. Exhausted, she lay back on the pillow. Her clawed hand shot out and seized my arm, gripping it with a strength that hardly seemed possible in one so frail.

‘Great black cat . .
 . was sitting on my chest . . . getting heavier and heavier . . . couldn’t breathe. It’s her . . . it’s her – she sent it!’ Her shaking finger was pointing at Beata. ‘It’s her bid . . . It’s an imp . . . imp from Hell . . . I’ve seen her feeding it.’

Beata gaped at her. ‘Mistress, I haven’t any cat. There’s not been a beast of any kind come near your chamber.’

The maid moved closer to the bed,
reaching out to soothe Edith, but her mistress shrank away from her, clinging to my arm and cringing against me.

‘Don’t let her near me . . . She’s trying to kill me. Get her away! Get her away from me!’

Beata looked thoroughly alarmed, as well she might. ‘Mistress, it’s me, Beata. You know I’d sooner cut off my own arm than harm you.’

But Edith continued to shriek in fear and I could do nothing
to calm her.

‘Beata, you should leave her,’ I said firmly. ‘Your presence seems to distress her.’

Casting a last look at her mistress, the maid hurried into the solar beyond the bedchamber. I stepped out with her and pulled the door shut behind us. I patted her shoulder.

‘I’m sure your mistress doesn’t know what she’s saying, Beata. I’ll soak a cloth in lavender water to lay on her forehead.
It’ll help her to sleep. Perhaps it would be best if you stay out of the chamber for a while, just until she is in her own mind again. If she becomes agitated, it might bring on another fit.’

Beata darted another frightened glance at the door, then scuttled across the solar and down the stairs. I stared after her. Did poor Edith really have cause to fear her maid? She seemed terrified of her.
Was Beata hurting or threatening her when they were alone? From now on I would ensure that Beata was never left alone with her mistress.

It was plain that Edith was growing worse by the day. Her face was so thin and yellow that it looked as if an ancient skull lay on the pillow, not a living creature. Thin dark lids were closed over her eyes, but beneath them, the eyeballs moved restlessly as
if they had been transformed into a mass of scurrying insects. I had cropped what remained of her hair and tied a linen cap tightly beneath her chin, wrapping a linen band around her forehead to stop her slipping her fingers beneath. I had cut her nails almost to the quick, but still she clawed at the skin as if she was trying to tear it from her skull, crying that her head was on fire and her flesh
was burning. Rusty spots of blood oozed from the sores on her scalp and stained the white linen.

I heard heavy footsteps crossing the solar and thought Beata was returning. I hastened to the door to prevent her from entering and frightening Edith again, but it was Jan who was approaching. I stepped into the solar, pulling the door to the bedchamber closed behind me.

‘Your mother’s exhausted.
You’d do well to let her rest.’

Jan glanced anxiously over my shoulder at the closed door. ‘Beata says she was seized by convulsions.’

‘She was, but they’ve passed now. She sleeps peacefully.’

‘But I don’t understand.’ He raked his fingers distractedly through his hair, as Robert did. ‘I sent for the nuns from the infirmary of St Magdalene to care for my mother. Where are they? Why didn’t they
come? When Tenney took the message yesterday, the prioress told him they’d be here within the hour. I’ll have to send Tenney again to fetch them.’

‘The nuns came as they promised, but when they examined your poor mother they swore she has a fever of the brain, which has sent her mad. They insisted she should be kept naked without coverings on her bed or a brazier in the chamber, and doused repeatedly
in icy water, which they said brings the mad to their senses.’

‘My mother’s not mad!’ Jan shouted. ‘She has a sickness of the stomach, as Hugo Bayus told us.’

‘Hush now, Jan. There’s no need to fret.’ I pressed my fingers to his cheek soothingly, as I would with my own son. ‘The instant I heard what they proposed, I dismissed them and forbade them to touch her. I’d never allow anyone to torment
your poor mother. I’ll tend Edith myself, as I promised your father. I won’t leave her day or night.’

Jan’s anger turned upon me. ‘You had no right to send them away! The nuns are skilled at healing. They care for the sick every day. What do you know about such things?’

‘They said your mother was mad,’ I reminded him gently. ‘And you said yourself that she is not. You wouldn’t have wanted them
to add to her pain by employing remedies that were not only cruel but useless too. I was certain if you had been here, you would have dismissed them yourself. I only did what I thought you would do, knowing how devoted you are to your mother. Forgive me if I acted without your consent, but if I had sent for you, by the time the messenger found you they would have begun to torture poor Edith. And
I knew you’d never forgive yourself if you’d added to her suffering.’

I took his hand and pressed it. ‘I am guided by Hugo Bayus in all I do, and your father says there is no better physician in England. I promise I will do exactly as Master Hugo instructs. I will care for Edith as if she were my own dear sister, which indeed she has come to be these past days. You must learn to trust me, Jan,
as your father does.’

March comes in with an adder’s head and goes out with a peacock’s tail.

If a family member goes on a long journey, a bottle of their urine or their knife is hung on the wall. If the urine remains clear or the blade bright, they are well. If the urine becomes cloudy or the blade tarnished, they are ill or in danger. If the urine dries or the knife falls or breaks, they are dead.

Sparks flew from the iron shoes of Robert’s horse as they struck the
stones on the track. For miles he’d been staring up at John of Gaunt’s castle and the cathedral squatting high on the hill above Lincoln. But that had only added to his frustration for he seemed never to draw closer to them on the long, flat road.

The message, sent by Jan to tell him Edith was dying, had taken more than a day to reach him. He’d set out at once, but it had rained hard the night
before and the muddy tracks were as slippery as butter. Where the track crossed marshland, he’d frequently been forced to dismount and drag the beast forward, squelching through deep mud and over rotting boards. Whenever he passed a wayside shrine or church, he crossed himself, offering up a prayer for a miracle that would heal her.

But he’d dared not press the pace for, if the horse slipped,
it might easily break its own leg or its rider’s neck. He tried to tell himself that haste was useless. His wife would either be already dead, or he’d arrive at home to find her sitting up and declaring herself much better. Either way, he would be of little help to her if he was lying in a ditch with his back broken.

But when the lower walls of the city at last came into sight he was seized with
panic, certain, now that he was so close, that every minute counted. He spurred his mount into a gallop, knowing that the poor beast was already on its last wind, as he was himself. But guilt drove him on in the desperate hope that he might reach home in time.