The Vanishing Witch (64 page)

Robert stared at the muscles rippling in her slender white throat as she taunted him. He saw his hands circling it, squeezing it, throttling the lying breath from her body. Every fibre of his being wanted to kill her, wanted to see the fear bulging in her eyes, to see her lying lifeless on the burned grass. He stepped towards her, reaching
for her neck. But Catlin didn’t flinch. As he met her triumphant gaze, he knew that even to slap her would allow her to win.

Before either of them could move, Robert drew his sword and thrust the point of the blade to within an inch of Edward’s throat.

‘You – drop your purse and knife on the ground, and you, mistress, I’ll have yours too and your wedding ring.’

He was gratified to see the shock
on their faces. They hesitated. Robert raised the blade and slashed it across Edward’s cheek. A thin curtain of blood ran down his face. Edward yelped and pressed his hand to the wound, staring in disbelief at the smear of scarlet on his finger.

‘Your purses!’ Robert repeated.

They hastened to unfasten them from their belts. Catlin tugged at her ring and dropped it on the grass, eyeing him warily.
Robert scooped them up with his free hand, rage numbing the pain in his back. He walked across to where Catlin’s palfrey was tearing up tufts of grass and, sheathing the sword, he stuffed the purses, knives and ring into the saddlebag. Then he unfastened the reins.

‘I’ll give you both until curfew tonight to leave this city. You will take nothing with you, not even your own daughter. She will
stay with me. I would not have that sweet, innocent child corrupted by your filth. You’ll walk out of here and be thankful I am not having you whipped out at a cart’s tail. At daybreak I will go to Sheriff Thomas and tell him it was you who poisoned my poor wife and attempted to poison me. I will have you both declared outlaws, wolf-heads, and I’ll see to it that every man’s hand in England is raised
against you. I suggest you put as much distance as you can between yourselves and Lincoln tonight or you will be dragged back here in chains.’

To prove if someone be a witch or not, drive an iron nail into their footprint in secret. If they are guilty they will be compelled to return to that spot and pull it out, but if innocent they will continue on their journey without knowing.

‘He means it!’ Edward said, not taking his eyes from the distant figure of Robert as he led the palfrey through the castle gate.
‘What are we going to do?’

‘You heard him,’ I said. ‘He won’t go to Thomas until the morning. He means to punish us, yes, but mostly to frighten us into staying away. He doesn’t want us brought back to Lincoln in chains. Even now, he’s thinking of his precious reputation if this should come to trial. He won’t want the whole city to know he’s a cuckold and a fool.’

Edward’s fists were clenched
so hard, his knuckles had turned white. ‘I won’t be driven out to beg on the road. And we need Leonia. Without her, we won’t have a hope of getting hold of Warrick’s money or lands. It is all entrusted to her. But if he really does go to the sheriff and have us declared outlaws, we’ll lose it anyway.’ He slammed his fist into the nearest tree-trunk in fury. ‘I’d like to boil that sanctimonious bastard
in one of his own piss-vats.’

I pressed my fingers to Edward’s mouth. ‘The only place Robert will be going is into the graveyard to lie alongside that wretched wife of his. It is all arranged, my beloved. That’s what I came to tell you. Robert is even now on his way home, hot and tired. He’s had a shock. The first thing he’ll do when he reaches his house is pour himself a soothing goblet of hippocras,
hippocras laced with dwale. And he won’t stop at one cup, given the mood he’s in, he’ll gulp a full flagon.

‘I’ve hidden Martin’s knife for you and sent the stable-boy to tell Martin to come to the house at the striking of the Vespers’ bell. All we have to do is wander slowly back to the house, by which time Robert will probably have fallen asleep, and even if he hasn’t, he’ll be so drugged he
won’t be able to protest, much less defend himself. After you’ve done the deed, go up to the solar, change your clothes and wash yourself with the water I’ve put ready and stay there. I’ll hide in the kitchen until I see Martin cross the courtyard and go into the hall. It can’t fail. By the Compline bell tonight, Robert will be laid out cold on his own table and the only person the sheriff will
be hunting is Martin.’

‘I’ll enjoy sticking a knife into his fat carcass,’ Edward said, through clenched teeth. ‘Seeing the fear in his eyes as he watches his blood spurt out. I only hope I can resist the temptation to hack him into tiny pieces.’

Two red spots appeared on Edward’s cheeks and I could see the excitement burning in his eyes. He bent and kissed me hard on the lips, squeezing my
breast in his fist. Then he gave a shout of laughter, and a raven pecking at the guts of a dead squirrel flapped into the nearby tree with a disgruntled squawk.

‘Before the year is out, I shall be master of all Warrick’s lands and Robert’s business too. You shall be my queen.’

‘I told you I’d take care of you, my beloved,’ I whispered. ‘Don’t I always?’

If a man is dying, his death will be prolonged if his head rests on a pillow stuffed with the feathers of pigeon or game-birds. To help the man to die, the pillow must be drawn sharply away from under him, so that he may pass into the next life. But if you would delay death, place a bag of feathers beneath him and he will linger.

Robert hitched the palfrey in the shade of the
stables, but had neither the will nor the strength to heave the saddle from the poor beast. He hobbled through the yard and into the house.

‘Tenney . . . Beata!’ he bellowed, from habit.

But only a flood of silence washed back at him. He cursed himself for forgetting they no longer worked for him. It was high time he reconciled himself to the fact that Tenney would never return, with or without
the cart. Every person he had ever trusted had betrayed him. He supposed that was another crime he should report to Sheriff Thomas in the morning, for all the good it would do now. But, hurt and enraged as he was, part of him knew he would not mention Tenney to the sheriff. He couldn’t see the man hanged. There were worse crimes, far worse, as he’d learned to his cost that day. He tried to calm
himself, but it wasn’t easy. He could hear his own blood pounding in his ears and such a tight band was gripping his chest that he felt as if he were suffocating.

To think that only a few days ago he’d wondered if Sheriff Thomas and Catlin had grown too close. He almost wished it had been Thomas with whom she’d betrayed him. He still couldn’t stop thinking of Edward as Catlin’s son, and the image
of them lying together in the grass made him feel sick.

He crossed to the chest where the jug of hippocras stood ready, with his favourite goblet, and poured himself a larger than usual measure, but he didn’t sink into his chair to drink it. His back was aching, with violent twinges, as if the devil himself were thrusting his pitchfork into the bone. He was sure that if he sat down he’d never
be able to rise again. Still grasping the goblet, he heaved himself painfully up the stairs to the solar. He wanted nothing more than to lie down in the cool of his bedchamber and sleep.

The solar, too, was deserted. Catlin’s scissors lay in the centre of the table, as if she had dropped them there in haste. The sight made him wince and he averted his eyes as he pushed open the flimsy door in
the wooden partition at the far end of the room, which screened off his bedchamber.

A sweet, dizzying perfume assailed him, so strong that it almost sent him reeling backwards. He stood in the doorway and stared. The shutters were closed to keep out the heat and the room was lit by a single candle on the table beside the door. It was blessedly shady and cool, but that wasn’t what had halted him
in his tracks. The small chamber had been transformed. The bed was festooned with garlands of flowers. They hung in loops from the heavy drapes, and were twined round the four posts. Rose petals, lavender, bergamot and fresh leaves lay strewn on the wooden floor. The scent was stifling in the closed room.

‘Do you like it, Père?’

Leonia stepped from behind the screen in the corner. She was dressed
in a simple white shift, her shorn head bare, save for a garland of rosebuds.

Robert gave her a bewildered smile. ‘What is all this?’

‘It’s the feast of John Barleycorn, Père. Had you forgotten? Everyone decorates the house with flowers. I wanted to make the bed pretty for you and Mother. You do like it, don’t you?’

Leonia moved gracefully towards him and dropped a demure curtsy. He took a
great gulp from the goblet he was holding and stroked her cheek. ‘Your mother is . . . Your mother won’t be returning to this house.’

He’d not planned to say it. Indeed, he’d not even given a thought to how he would explain Catlin’s absence to the child. But now that the words were out, he expected her to look surprised, tearful, and he braced himself for the onslaught of questions he was sure
would follow, but none came. The expression on her face was as serene and unperturbed as it had been on the day her poor little dog had been slaughtered.

‘Then I’ll take care of you, Père. Don’t I always?’

Thank God, she was nothing like her mother. One day soon she’d make some man a loving wife. ‘You’re an angel, my dear.’

Indeed she truly looked like one, except for her hair. Not that it
made her ugly, far from it: it showed off the colt-like curve of the slender neck and the high cheekbones to perfection, but still when he thought of what Catlin had done to her . . . He found himself pathetically grateful that Leonia had finally forgiven him, as if he were a callow youth who’d been returned to favour by a mistress who had spurned him. At least there was one person in this world who
loved him and would never betray him.

Leonia took the goblet from his hand and placed it on a side table. Then she began to unfasten the silver buckle of his belt.

‘You look so weary, Père. Is your back paining you again?’

He was touched that she was even aware of it. He couldn’t recall making any mention of it in front of her, but she had evidently noticed. She had such a tender heart. She
pulled the heavy belt from his hips and laid it aside. Her slim little fingers deftly worked up the row of buttons on his robe.

‘Why don’t you lie down? That will ease it. I had Diot put fresh linen on the bed so it’s cool for you.’

He looked down at the rosebuds on Leonia’s head. ‘Why do you never wear the golden rosebud I gave you? Don’t you like it?’

Leonia’s white teeth tugged at her lower
lip. ‘I loved it, Père, more than anything else I ever had . . . but Mother took it away from me. She gave it to Edward.’

‘What?’ Robert’s anger blazed again. ‘I will see that woman pay . . .’

Leonia glanced up, looking fearful. Robert tried to calm himself. He stroked her delicate hand. ‘I’m not angry with you, child. You cannot help who your mother is.’ A sour bile rose in Robert’s gullet
and he snatched up the wine again, taking a huge thirsty gulp. ‘I’ll buy you another necklace . . . a dozen necklaces.’

Leonia undid the last button and tugged at the heavy folds of the robe, helping Robert to ease it from his shoulders. He stood there in his shirt and hose. Leonia clasped his great paw in hers, tugging him towards the bed. ‘Please, Père, lie down and rest.’

The soporific perfume
was having a soothing effect on Robert. Angry though he was, he was also incredibly weary. Pacing the floor in a fury would not help his back. Better to rest and plan what he would say to the sheriff in the morning and to his fellow merchants. Thomas would be discreet. He knew better than most the value of a man’s reputation in business. But Robert would have to concoct some tale to explain
his wife’s disappearance to his guild brothers. Otherwise the townsfolk would invent their own tale, which, knowing them, would be worse even than the truth.

He eased himself onto the bed and watched Leonia unbuttoning his shoes. He couldn’t begin to think why he hadn’t waited and married her when she came of age. Plenty of widowers took brides younger than her.

Leonia handed him his goblet.
He struggled to sit up.

‘No, Père, you’ll hurt your back. Let me!’

She climbed up on the bed beside him, slipping her little arm about his shoulders to support him as he leaned forward to take another gulp of wine. Then she tenderly rearranged the pillows beneath his head.

Adam crouched in the stables until he heard Diot returning from the market. He scurried out, taking the two heavy baskets
from her and hefting them in through the kitchen door. She looked surprised, as well she might, for Adam was not normally so obliging.

‘Mistress Catlin not back?’ she asked, dabbing at her deep cleavage where sweat flowed, like a river between two hills.

Adam said nothing. He helped Diot to unpack her purchases – eggs wrapped in straw, a root of dried ginger, a crock of butter already half melted
in the heat, leeks and a live chicken, its legs bound tightly and its blackcurrant eyes watching them.

‘Fetch me the small axe from the stable, will you, lad? I’d best get this bird killed and plucked. Master’ll be home soon.’

‘He’s already home,’ Adam said.

Diot wiped her hands on her grubby kirtle. ‘Why didn’t you say? He’ll be wanting his wine or some cool cider in this weather.’

She started
across the courtyard, but Adam stepped quickly in front of her. ‘Leonia’s already fetched the wine. She said he was sleeping, didn’t want to be disturbed.’

‘Aye, well, a nap’ll do him good. He’s fair dauled, what with his business and all these meetings. Wish I had time to take a nap myself.’

They glanced up as the gate to the stableyard opened. Catlin edged in, looking warily at the house.
She tucked her riding whip under her arm as she peeled off her white kid gloves.

Adam raced over to her, his heart thumping with excitement, but he was struggling not to let it show.
She didn’t know what was going to happen. She didn’t know!
He hugged their secret to himself.