The Vanishing Witch (30 page)

Gunter turned and swam a few more strokes, then taking another deep breath, plunged down. With the muddy bottom stirred up by the quants and oars of the craft that constantly ploughed to and fro, not to
mention the filth pouring in from the open sewers and ditches of the city, the water was as thick as pease pottage. In the faint green light filtering down from above he could see little, except dark indistinct shapes far below, which might have been anything from sunken boats to drowned pigs.

His lungs bursting, he fought up to the surface again. To his relief he saw three small boats had cast
off and had arranged themselves close to him to protect him. There was always the danger of a punt or craft ploughing straight into him as he came up for air. The men in the boats were using grappling irons and poles to fish for any trace of the boy.

‘Over there,’ one shouted, and pointed. ‘I’m sure he went down there.’

Taking another great gulp of air, Gunter flipped over and dived again into
the foul soup, his arms spread wide.

Let me find him, Holy Virgin, don’t let him die. Show me where he is, I beg you.

He kept searching beneath the water until he felt as if his head and chest would explode. He knew he must surface again or drown. But as he kicked desperately upwards, the back of his hand brushed against something soft and cold. With his last splinter of strength he made a grab
for it and his hands closed around cloth. He yanked at it, and kicking frantically, he burst into the air, gasping and spluttering.

As the roaring in his ears subsided, he could hear people yelling excitedly, ‘We got him! We’ve found him!’

Just a yard or two away he saw the limp body of his son being hauled over the side into one of the little boats.

‘He’s—’ The man who had spoken broke off
in a stunned silence.

The boatmen were all staring at Gunter, horror on their faces.

Panic-stricken, Gunter swam desperately towards the boat, but even as he did so he realised he was still dragging something behind him. He turned his head. There, floating just inches from his cheek, was a face, white and bloated, the eyes opaque and staring up at him, the mouth wide in a terrible grimace. On
the forehead the skin was peeling away from four deep puncture wounds.

With a cry of revulsion, Gunter snatched his hand from the corpse, but it didn’t sink. It floated a few feet away, staring upwards into the grey sky, its arms stretched as wide as the crucified Christ’s, rocking gently on the waves.

Witches can be prevented from entering a house if pins or nails are pushed into door posts or the beams above a hearth, but beware: if these same pins or nails fall to the floor, the witch may use them to harm you.

Robert sat facing his younger son across a supper of fried young rabbits swimming in a rich wine sauce, their tender flesh liberally flavoured with cinnamon, ginger
and honey. Platters of cold mutton and pigeon pie lay beside it on the long table. Beata was still cooking every meat dish she could devise, so thankful was she to be eating flesh again after the forty long days of Lenten fish.

In many households, servants were forbidden to eat the costly spiced meat dishes they served to their masters at high table and were forced to feed any leftovers to the
dogs or swine. But Edith had always permitted Beata, Tenney and even the stable-boy to eat whatever was left from Robert’s table, saying it was a wicked waste for servants to cook separate meals for themselves while perfectly good food was thrown away.

Beata had never taken advantage of that by cooking great portions, not that Edith would ever have allowed her to do so, but since Easter Sunday,
Robert had noticed the dishes she prepared were large enough to feed half of King Richard’s army, even when only he and Adam were dining, as if she had determined to spend every last penny of his money before the wedding.

He was in two minds whether or not to task her with it but thought better of it. At least with Diot temporarily gone from her kitchen, she was speaking to him again and not
clattering the pans quite so loudly, although he suspected that that happy state would last only until the wedding. He dreaded to imagine what would happen when Diot and she were permanently sharing a kitchen.

He wondered if he should ask Catlin to dismiss her maid. He could insist upon it, but he found it hard to insist upon anything with Catlin. She would obey him, he was sure, that is, he
hoped, but he certainly didn’t want to begin their married life by upsetting her. He couldn’t understand why either of his sons should have taken against such a gentle, selfless and loving woman.

Father Remigius promised to pray to the Blessed Virgin for Robert and his elder son to be reconciled. But, from the expression on his face, Father Remigius lacked confidence that she would answer. Robert’s
jaw clenched. If Jan believed his father would come to his lodgings and beg him to return to work, he was either as conceited as a peacock or a slug-brained fool. If the boy didn’t work, he needn’t expect to be paid. He’d soon learn that pride doesn’t fill an empty belly. When his money ran out, he’d come back fast enough.

In the meantime, Fulk would keep things running smoothly at the warehouse.
But there was still that business with the Florentines. There’d be a hearing when the courts sat at Whitsun. He’d heard Matthew Johan was counterclaiming against the seizure of his goods. Very likely both he and Jan would be called to testify and he was not looking forward to sitting in court with his son. Such matters could drag on for days, especially when wealthy men were involved. Still,
by then he and Catlin would be safely married. Jan would have to accept it and be civil. If he wouldn’t, Robert thought grimly, he would have no hesitation in disinheriting him in favour of Adam.

True, Adam had never taken the slightest interest in the business, unlike Jan at his age. Neither did his younger son possess the toughness essential for the bloody cut and thrust of the marketplace,
but that had been Edith’s fault. She’d mollycoddled the boy and turned him against the trade. But he was determined that was going to change, and when Robert had made up his mind to something, he saw no reason to delay.

‘After school tomorrow, Adam, I want you to come straight to the warehouse. You’ve only a few weeks left with your books and then you’ll be starting in the business. Best to learn
as much as you can about it before you start work in earnest.’

Adam looked alarmed. ‘But Mother said I’d go to university.’

‘And what good would that do, boy? Study is for men who have to make their own way in the world and find a profession. You already have one. You’ll . . .’

He was about to add that Adam would one day be master of everything Robert owned, but stopped himself. He wouldn’t
make that promise yet. Jan had many failings, his quick temper being one of them, but he’d a good business head for all that. He’d be back . . .
Holy and Blessed Virgin, let my son come back
. Robert would barely admit it to himself, let alone others, but he sorely missed the lad, even their arguments and Jan’s cursed stubbornness.

He realised that Adam was staring at him, gnawing his lip anxiously,
exactly as Edith used to do. ‘You can find your way to the warehouse?’ Robert demanded gruffly.

‘Will Jan be there?’

‘Adam, I asked if you could find your way to the warehouse. Have the goodness to answer me.’

Adam lowered his chin. ‘Yes, Father. I know the way.’

He had the same irritating habit as his mother of looking up shyly from under his long lashes, instead of lifting his head and meeting
people’s gaze straight on. When he had first married Edith, Robert had found the habit enchanting, but as she had matured it had become ridiculous. He banged the table. ‘Lift up your head and look at me properly, not like a simpering girl. If you look at the workmen and paggers like that, they’ll tar you and put a dress of feathers on you.’

Seeing the terrified expression on the boy’s face, Robert
tried to speak more gently. ‘You have to understand, boy, the men on the wharf are tough. They won’t show you respect because you’re my son, you’ll have to earn it. And in time you’ll have to protect your new sister. Ensure that no man offers her any offence. You can’t do that if you behave like a girl yourself.’

‘My sister?’ Adam said miserably. ‘So Leonia
is
going to be my sister, then?’

‘Your stepsister, but I expect you to treat her as a blood sister. And Mistress Catlin will be your new mother.’

Adam traced aimless patterns in the thick red sauce on his pewter trencher.

‘She’s a good woman, you know that, don’t you, Adam? From a highly respectable family. Any man can see that in her bearing.’

His son’s pale cheeks flushed a dull red and his gaze dropped to his hands, which
were trembling. ‘Beata said . . .’

‘Beata said what?’ Robert said sharply.

Adam glanced anxiously at the door. ‘That . . . she didn’t trust her.’

‘You know better than to listen to the opinions of servants. Beata is put out because Mistress Catlin is bringing Diot and she doesn’t like sharing the kitchen. Come here, boy.’

Adam reluctantly slid out of his chair and edged round the table, holding
himself stiffly as if he expected a beating. Robert put a hand on his shoulder and lifted his chin with the other so that Adam was forced to meet his gaze. ‘And what do
you
think of Mistress Catlin?’

Adam bit his lip again.

‘I won’t punish you for telling the truth. Speak out, boy.’

Adam stared down at his father’s broad hand. ‘Mistress Catlin is . . . good to me. I thought she wasn’t at first,
but since Mother died, she’s been kind . . .’

Adam glanced up anxiously, but Robert was beaming his approval. It wasn’t an expression Adam had often seen on his father’s face – at least, not directed at him. He smiled shyly back.

‘Kind, yes, my boy, that’s exactly what Mistress Catlin is. She’s fond of you, Adam. She told me the other day that she loves you as much as her own children. With
a mother as handsome and elegant as Mistress Catlin and a beautiful sister, you’ll be the envy of every lad at school.’

‘Leonia frightens me sometimes.’

Robert chuckled. ‘Believe me, my son, pretty young girls frighten every lad. You’d best get used to that. There are a great many of them in this world.’

The bell above the door pealed urgently. Robert, startled, sprang up, instinctively pushing
Adam behind him. Tenney lumbered through the hall. He opened the small wooden shutter on the door and peered through the grille into the street beyond.

He turned his head. ‘It’s Sheriff Thomas.’

‘Don’t keep him standing out there, Tenney.’

His manservant slid back the stout beam that braced the door as easily as if he was drawing a knife through butter and pulled it open.

Thomas did not look
at Robert or stroll to the table to pour himself a goblet of wine, which was his usual habit. Instead, he hovered awkwardly by the door, fiddling with the hilt of his sword.

‘Tenney, fetch Sheriff Thomas some hippocras,’ Robert said. ‘He looks as if he could do with it. Bad day, Thomas?’

The sheriff waved his hand at Tenney, declining. The manservant ambled out through the door leading to the
courtyard.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Robert, at this late hour, but I thought you should know—’

‘Know what?’ Robert interrupted. ‘Why are you standing by the door like a servant? You don’t usually need to be asked to draw up a chair.’

But his guest made no attempt to move. Robert was alarmed. It was plain that Thomas had not come to call as a friend but as Lincoln’s sheriff.

‘Does this concern
Matthew Johan?’ Robert demanded.

‘It wasn’t his,’ Thomas said quietly.

‘What wasn’t his?’

‘The body they fished out of the Braytheforde this morning.’

‘A corpse?’ Robert said. ‘Was it one of
my
men? Has there been an accident? A murder? Father Remigius told me Johan’s men and some of my lads got into a fight at the Good Friday service. Have they been quarrelling again?’

‘It could well have
been the Florentines that had a hand in this. In fact I’ve men-at-arms rounding them up as we speak. But it’s not one of your men who’s been killed.’ Thomas took a step forward, his face creased in misery. ‘I am so sorry to bring you this news, but I thought you would rather hear it from a friend . . . The body they pulled out of the Braytheforde was that of your son, Robert. It was Jan’s.’

Adam, standing forgotten in the corner of the room, began to howl.

Devil’s Eye, known also as Periwinkle or Sorcerer’s Violet, signifies death, and if any should be foolish enough to uproot it from a grave, they shall by so doing drag up the ghost of the one who lies therein. And he shall haunt them until they fall into their own grave.

The day they buried Jan was cruelly bright and warm. Against the glaring sunlight, it was hard to
see if the candles in the hands of the black-robed men were even alight. Between the graves, and at the foot of the church wall, cowslips, ragged robin and ox-eye daisies were all in bloom, their petals stirring in the soft breeze. Swarms of St Mark’s flies, their long legs dangling, drifted over our heads, and in a garden opposite, pink and white blossom had burst out on the apple tree, as if Nature
were conspiring to proclaim its fecund vigour and life.

In contrast to the frozen child who had walked dry-eyed behind his mother’s coffin, spring seemed to have melted Adam, too, and he sobbed uncontrollably. Beata forgot her position as servant and put her arm round him, holding him close to her as if she were his mother. She was determined to take Edith’s place within the family.

I’ve known
many servants who dream of sliding into their late mistress’s bed, and I’d no doubt Beata longed to be Robert’s new wife – and had harboured that secret desire from the first time she’d entered his house. It was obvious from the way she looked at him and how she deliberately brushed against him when she served him at table. I had no fears that she would turn his affections from me, for she was
so disfigured that, even after all the years he’d known her, Robert could hardly bear to look at her. Poor deluded soul, did she know how ravaged her face was?