The Vanishing Witch (25 page)

Jan was blustering on, striding up and down the yard, just like Master Robert
did in the hall when he was in a lather. ‘We must stop my father doing this, Beata. You’ve known him for years and he confides in you. Can’t you reason with him?’

‘He’ll not listen to reason on this, Master Jan. Not with Father Remigius giving his blessing to it. And that old priest is so smitten with Widow Catlin he’d marry her himself, if it wasn’t for his vows. She’s leading Master Robert
by the nose.’

The courtyard gate opened and Tenney hurried in. ‘Is the lad returned?’ he asked, as soon as he caught sight of us.

Jan took a step towards him. ‘He’s not come back here.’

‘I suppose I must look again then, as if I had nothing better to do. Happen he’s gone the other way along the river. I’ll skin him alive when I get hold of him. Case you’ve forgotten, it’s the Easter feast,’
Tenney said reproachfully. ‘And I’ve not had a bite to eat yet. What with fasting afore mass and the smell of all those meats roasting, my belly’s growling like a pack of wolves. I’m supposed to be stuffing myself, not chasing through the town after spoilt brats. If you ask me, we should let the lad alone. He’ll soon fetch himself back here when he gets hungry enough.’

‘And what if the boy’s
too scared to come home?’ I said. ‘You saw him. He wouldn’t take a single bite of that pastry Diot brought him. I dare say he thought it was poisoned.’

Jan whipped round. ‘What do you mean? Why should he think it was poisoned?’

‘Beata means nowt, do you?’ Tenney said, glaring at me. ‘Some nonsense young Adam’s got into his head. Pay no heed to it. Lad’s had no appetite since his mam died, but
give him time.’

‘What nonsense? What exactly has my brother been saying?’ Jan demanded, raking his hair, just as his father did.

Behind the young master’s back, Tenney shook a warning finger at me. I hesitated. Suppose Adam really had run away. Jan would have to know all, if he was to find him and persuade him to return. I decided to ignore Tenney.

‘It was at the mistress’s funeral, Master
Jan, when your brother told me . . . told me he’d seen summit he shouldn’t.’

‘And,’ Tenney said firmly, ‘like I told Beata, lads imagine all kinds of tarradiddle at that age. Why, it wasn’t so long ago he was afeared there was a monster living behind that great tapestry in the hall. But you need to have a word with him, Master Jan. Tell him what he’s saying is dangerous talk. He’ll listen to
you. He’s always looked up to you more than his own father.’

‘Master Jan,’ I said, frowning at Tenney, ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since the funeral and I’ve not been able to get it out of my head. Why did that creature Diot burn Edith’s night linens and mattress afore she was barely cold? I reckon it was cause she was afraid something might have got spilled on it, something she wouldn’t
want finding.’

Tenney let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Like I told you, it was ’cos Master Robert didn’t want to sleep on the mattress the poor woman died on. And no more would I. It was soiled and it stank worse than a pig with flux. You think he’d want to be reminded of her death every time he lay down?’

But Jan wasn’t listening to Tenney. He was staring at me, stricken. ‘You said Adam saw
something he shouldn’t. Are you trying to tell me he saw Diot with poison in her hand?’

Tenney shook his great head. ‘Beata’s not saying that at all, Master Jan. She’s just repeating the nonsense young Adam told her and he’s nowt but a bairn.’

Tenney grabbed my arm and pulled me away from Jan. ‘Have you lost your wits?’ he whispered fiercely. ‘Master Robert’ll have you arrested and flogged if
you go around shouting murder’s been done in this house.’ He kept his voice low, but it was not soft enough to prevent Jan hearing.

‘My father knows about this?’

‘No, Master Jan. I’ve not dared tell him what young Adam said,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘But he does know my mother swore she’d been poisoned,’ Jan said. ‘I told him that myself.’

‘The mistress said all manner of things afore
she died,’ Tenney said. ‘One time she was shrieking about an owl with burning eyes sitting on her bedpost. I searched her room myself, top to bottom, in case some bird had flown in, but there wasn’t so much as a feather.’

‘I never heard her say such things,’ I said hotly. Someone had to stand up for my poor mistress, seeing as how she wasn’t there to defend herself.

Tenney rolled his eyes. ‘Afore
you go repeating what young Adam said, you want to remember it was you who was cooking for the mistress when first she sickened. If word of poison gets round, it’s you and me’ll get the blame for it, no one else. You want to make sure that flapping tongue of yours doesn’t put us both on the gallows.’

A cold hand clutched at my belly. Tenney was right: if poison was suspected, I’d be the first
person they’d blame and how could I prove otherwise? I’d heard tell of servants being burned alive for poisoning their master or mistress, for that was nothing short of treason. I swallowed hard, trying to fight down my panic.

‘Master Jan . . . I didn’t mean . . . Take no notice. I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t tell Master Robert.’

But in the spring sunshine Jan’s face had turned
the colour of ashes. ‘You did right to tell me, Beata. Rest assured, I’ll not betray you to my father. But I have to find my brother. I have to hear for myself what he saw. Tenney, I’ll help you search. The sooner we find Adam, the sooner you can stuff yourself.’

A turf cut from the grave of ghost and placed under the church altar for four days will draw the unquiet spirit back into the grave and prevent it walking.

Jan trudged along the riverbank, but he was halfway to Greetwell before he spotted his brother. He’d sent Tenney to search the top of the city around the cathedral, knowing there were plenty of taverns open, even on Easter
Sunday, where he might quench his thirst and appease his hunger. Then if he found Adam, he’d be less inclined to clout him all the way home. But Jan guessed the boy’s instinct would be to run somewhere he could be alone, and there’d be few working the river on such an important feast day.

He found Adam squatting on the bank, hunched against the cold wind, his knees drawn up with his chin resting
on them. Leaden clouds obscured the sun, promising rain before the evening was out. The boy was breaking twigs into pieces and tossing them one by one into the grey water, watching the current sweep them away. He glanced sideways as Jan approached, lowering his head again as his brother sat down beside him, but not before Jan saw the stains of dirty tears on the boy’s cheeks.

‘So this is where
you’ve been hiding,’ Jan said, with forced cheer.

Adam gave a slight shrug, but didn’t raise his head.

‘I don’t blame you for running off,’ Jan said. ‘I was furious with Father. Still am. I can’t believe he’d contemplate marrying so soon. We quarrelled . . . after you left.’

Adam groped for another twig and methodically snapped the end off inch by inch, dropping the pieces into the water.

Jan was eleven years older than his brother. By the time Adam could talk, Jan was already working in his father’s business. Adam had always treated his brother more as an uncle than a sibling. In consequence, Jan realised he had little idea of what went on in the boy’s head. And Adam was certainly offering him no quarter now, staring sullenly into the twisting eddies. Jan’s belly growled, and he cursed
himself for not having thought to bring some food. At least it would have eased the tension, though if Adam really did fear Diot was trying to poison him . . .

‘I talked to Beata, after you ran off, about what happened to Mother . . .’

Adam flinched.

‘About what you told her at the funeral,’ Jan finished.

‘It’s true,’ Adam said fiercely, flinging the whole twig into the river. ‘Nobody believes
me, but it’s true!’

‘Beata believes you.’

‘Did she tell you I killed Mother? Did she tell you that?’

Jan was startled. That was the last thing he’d expected the boy to say. ‘No, of course not. She said you thought Mother had been poisoned. Did you say it because Mother
told
you she’d been poisoned?’

‘I said it because it was true. I saw her do it!’

Adam scrambled to his feet and ran along
the bank towards a birch tree that grew between the river and the path. He kicked and pummelled the trunk, lashing out so wildly that Jan was afraid he would slip and fall into the river.

Pushing himself up, he strode across to grab the boy, but Adam shoved him away. ‘I killed her! I killed her! It was all my fault. I should have protected her. You and Father weren’t there. So it was up to me.
I should have stopped her!’ The boy was scarlet with misery.

‘Who, Adam? Who should you have stopped?’ Jan demanded. ‘It was Diot, wasn’t it? That’s why you wouldn’t eat the pastry she brought you today.’

The boy stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Diot? She wasn’t there.’

Jan gripped him by the shoulders. ‘Then who was it?’

A fearful expression crept into the boy’s eyes, just as it had in Beata’s.
‘You won’t tell Father, will you?’

‘I need to know what you saw, Adam. Tell me!’

The boy cringed away from him and Jan realised he had been shouting. He released his grip and tried to soften his tone, crouching so that their faces were level. ‘Adam, I swear on Mother’s grave that I won’t let anyone hurt you. But you have to trust me.’

The boy glanced up and scanned the track, which was deserted.
He lowered his voice almost to a whisper: ‘It was one evening, when Father was away and you were still at the warehouse. I was sitting with Mother telling her about school, but Mistress Catlin came in and said I was making her tired. She sent me out. She had no right to do that! If anyone should have been sitting with Mother, it was me, not her. Mother wanted me there. I know she did.

‘So when
Mistress Catlin went out to the kitchens, I crept back in to kiss Mother goodnight. But when I was in the bedchamber I heard someone coming and hid behind the screen. I could see only a little of the bed through the joint in the screen but I saw her put some drops from her flask into Mother’s posset. I did! But I was too scared to tell anyone in case she told Father I’d gone into Mother’s chamber
when she’d said not to. I should have stopped her. It’s all my fault!’

‘Mistress Catlin added drops to Mother’s posset?’ Jan said carefully.

The boy nodded earnestly.

‘But you could see only a little of the bed. You’re certain it was Catlin you saw?’

‘I couldn’t see her face, but I saw a bit of her gown and her hands. I know it was her, Jan, I know it! She murdered my mother.’

The boy flung
himself at his brother with such force that Jan was almost knocked off balance. Adam wrapped his arms round his brother, burying his head in Jan’s chest, his slender frame shuddering with sobs. Jan grasped him tightly, hatred and grief coursing through his own body in equal measure.

Above them, the dark clouds burst open and fat raindrops fell, sending circles spinning across the river and trickling
down the brothers’ faces. It soaked their clothes to the skin, but still they clung desperately to each other under that vast grey sky, for they had no one else to cling to.

To prevent a new building from falling, the shadow of a man must be secretly built into the foundations, either by measuring his shadow with a piece of rope and burying that or by tricking the man into standing so that his shadow falls on the spot where the foundation stone will be laid. The chosen victim will die within the year, because his spirit has been stolen from him and it will
be compelled to guard the building for ever.

That vile old crone, Eadhild, is following me. I try to keep her at bay by avoiding the Greesen steps of an evening, even though it deprives me of the chance to meet the other ghosts who loiter there. When the charming Catlin and the beautiful little Leonia are safely abed, I drift instead to the Newport arch through which the Roman soldiers
forever march. But they’re hardly good company. I understand little of what they’re saying. The Latin I dimly remember my tutor thrashing into me seems a foreign language to these fellows and, besides, they’ll no more break ranks in death than they did in life. I wonder if they know they’re dead.

But Eadhild has found me, sliding her rotting hand between my thighs and tilting her head coquettishly
to one side, asking if I wouldn’t fancy a stroll through the graveyard. I don’t know how she died or why she haunts the Greesen, and I’m afraid to ask in case she thinks I’m interested in her, which, most emphatically, I am not. But I’d warrant she’s been searching for a bed-fellow to share her grave for many centuries and I shudder at the thought.

I was considering where else I might hide to
escape from the foul hag as Mavet and I were passing Mistress Catlin’s door late one night. A youth, posing as a linkman, was leading an elderly gentleman up the street by the light of a burning torch, assuring him that it was the quickest way to the inn where the old man had lodgings for the night. As the gentleman chattered away, the youth signalled to a slattern of a girl who was lounging against
a wall further along the street. In a flash of skirts she was gone, doubtless to alert those lying in wait in a dark alley that a plump pheasant was being led straight into their trap.

I contemplated whether it would be more amusing to watch events unfold or intervene, but I felt sorry for the old man, who was earnestly thanking the youth for his help and seemed to think the nasty little blowfly
was doing him a favour. Mavet, who’d had no sport all day, needed little encouragement to swarm up the youth’s leg and nip him where he most deserved it. The lad squealed, dropped the burning torch and, clutching his cods, sank to the ground, where he rolled around in the filth, shrieking as if he were possessed. And that is exactly what the elderly gentleman must have feared, for he scurried
away with more speed than I would have thought possible.