The Vanishing Witch Read online

  There was no mistaking that he was Jan’s father. Master Robert’s hair, though greying, showed the same red-gold threads as his son’s. Both were tall and broad-shouldered, but while Jan had the trimness of youth, his father’s waist had thickened. Maturity enhances the features of some men’s faces, though, and it had done so for Master Robert. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who knows he has achieved more than most in his life.

  He inspected me as if I were a bale of cloth or a fleece to be graded and priced. ‘Mistress, I believe you came earlier to the Common Council and were refused admission.’

  ‘Please forgive me,’ I said, ‘I’d no wish to interrupt. I merely hoped to speak to you once your discussions were ended, but your loyal watchman—’

  ‘An idle cod-wit and an oaf. He’ll not be watchman by tomorrow. That I can promise you.’

  Several of the men carrying loads quickened their pace as if they feared the same fate.

  I clutched at his arm. ‘I would not have any man lose his post because of me. It’s his duty to see the council is not interrupted. You’ve many important matters to discuss.’

  Robert gazed down at my hand. I withdrew it at once, but not before I saw a movement of his own hand towards mine as if he had meant to touch it.

  Jan must have noticed it, too, and frowned. ‘Mistress . . . I don’t believe I know your name.’

  ‘Catlin. Widow Catlin.’

  Jan nodded. ‘You mentioned your late husband.’ He turned back to his father. ‘Widow Catlin came seeking advice on investments. I was telling her I can certainly advise—’

  ‘Mistress Catlin was seeking me,’ Robert said firmly. ‘Where investments are concerned, it’s the mature, sober mind that’s needed, not the hot head of youth. You’ve a lot to learn yet, my boy, before you may advise others, except on where to buy the best ale or find the prettiest girls. That’s what you’re expert in, lad.’ He gave his son a playful thump on the back and winked at me.

  Jan clearly didn’t appreciate the joke and seemed on the verge of snapping at his father, when his gaze was arrested by something behind me. ‘Fulk!’ he called.

  A short, stocky man scuttled across, his legs as bowed as if they were straddling a barrel. He pulled his cap from his greasy hair and bobbed obsequiously several times to me and to Robert.

  Jan clapped a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face the side of the warehouse. A man in a long robe was waiting, motionless, in the shadows. ‘How long has that friar been standing there? We don’t want him preaching and distracting the men, or begging alms from them. Tell him to try his luck with the rest of the beggars in the markets.’

  ‘He’s not been begging, Master Jan, leastways not since I noticed him. I’d have sent him off with a boot up his backside if he had. He’s staring at you, Master Robert. I thought you must know him.’

  ‘What business would I have with a friar?’ Robert said indignantly. ‘If you saw him loitering here, why didn’t you send him packing straight away? He might be a spy for one of the robber gangs on the river, watching for likely cargoes to steal. God’s blood, must I do your job, man, as well as my own? Here, you!’ he shouted, taking a pace towards the friar.

  Then he stopped, confused: the place where the friar had been standing was empty, leaving only the long, dark shadows cast by the sinking sun. We all scanned the bustling crowd, but there was no sign of the man anywhere.

  Robert drew a deep breath. ‘Too late. We’ll not get hold of him now. If either of you see him here again, tell the men to seize him and ask him what he’s doing. Shake it out of him, if you must. And the watch is to be doubled on the warehouse tonight. See to it, Jan, a man within and two to patrol outside.’

  Jan nodded, but I could see he was irritated. Clearly, he had not exaggerated when he said his father didn’t trust him.

  Robert, seeming oblivious to his son’s scowls, looked down at me, his expression softening. ‘Now, Mistress Catlin, these matters you wish to discuss with me. Shall we go somewhere we can speak in private?’

  ‘It’s growing late, Father,’ Jan protested. ‘I can help Widow Catlin. Mother’s expecting you early tonight. Sheriff Thomas is coming to dine.’

  ‘I’m not in my dotage yet, Jan!’ Robert snapped. ‘Instead of telling me things I know perfectly well, you’d be better occupied making sure that thieves don’t empty the warehouse while you stand around picking your nose.’

  So saying, he offered me his arm and led me past the warehouse, but as I glanced round, I was certain I saw someone moving in the shadows and had the uneasy feeling that Master Robert was still being watched.

  Chapter 3

  A child’s fingernails should never be cut in the first year. The mother must bite them off or he’ll become a thief. But when they are first cut at a year old, they must be buried under an ash tree so that witches can’t take them and cause the child harm.

  Lincoln

  Mavet, my ferret, is not in the best of moods. A dog that was stabbed to death defending his mistress’s honour has taken to chasing rabbits in the warren where Mavet has his sport. The rabbits are alive, of course – when did you ever hear of a ghost rabbit? – but all the more fun for that, as far as a dead ferret is concerned. If you’ve ever seen a rabbit shoot out of a burrow when a living ferret is put down it, you should see the panic that ensues when a ghost one chases them: he can be behind them at one moment, then pop up in front of them at the next.

  The ghost of the dog seems to regard the warren as its territory and refuses to be intimidated by Mavet’s snarls. But at least the wretched hound keeps the villagers awake by howling all night, and terrifies travellers by springing right through them, which affords me some amusement, even if it annoys Mavet.

  But give me the choice between a ferret in a bad mood and a woman in an ill humour and I would choose the ferret every time. A ferret’s bite is nothing to that of a woman when the supper’s been spoiled, as Master Robert of Bassingham was about to discover.

  He had talked with Mistress Catlin far longer than even he intended. She had money, a good deal, and was naturally fearful: first, of leaving gold in the house, but also of investing with unscrupulous, scheming rogues. There is nothing like knowing a woman has complete trust in him to make a man glow with confidence. Robert had intended to suggest a few safe investments and recommend a broker he used, but instead he found himself leaning back in the chair expanding at length about his own business.

  He had even mentioned the ship, St Jude, that would shortly set sail from the Low Countries, with exotic new fabrics and spices. It had been jointly leased by several of Lincoln’s leading merchants including the former Member of the King’s Parliament, Hugh de Garwell. At some point during their conversation, though he couldn’t now remember how or why, he had agreed to invest some of Mistress Catlin’s money in the ship, and had arranged to call upon her the following day to collect it.

  He had had no idea how long they had been talking until the ringing of the church bell shocked him into realising how many hours had passed. But, though he remembered guiltily that Edith would be waiting for him, he had insisted on seeing Mistress Catlin safely to her door. She had protested that she didn’t want to put him to the trouble but he knew he had been right to do so. Several times he’d thought he heard footsteps behind him, keeping pace with their own, and had turned, glimpsing just a flicker of movement, then nothing but the shadows cast by the guttering torches on the walls.

  Now that he was walking back alone, he had the same uneasy sense that he was being followed. He was annoyed with himself for feeling nervous as he walked in his familiar city but, nevertheless, he was relieved when he reached his street.

  Robert’s house, a fine stone building, stood within the stout walls of the city. He was satisfied that it reflected well upon his status and justly proud that he had been able to provide such a comfortable home for his family, a considerable improvement on the timber house in which he had been raised. The fear of fire
spreading through the city had been a constant anxiety for his parents.

  The hall of Robert’s house was nothing like as large as that of a manor. The long table that occupied most of its length would seat no more than a dozen people, five on either side and one at head and foot, but Robert still referred to the modest chamber as the great hall, for indeed it was as great as any merchant’s in the city.

  The finest English oak panels lined the walls, painted a fashionable green with a red trim that reminded visitors of the colours of the cloth that had paid for them. The sumptuary laws that prevented merchants, though they might be wealthier than many noblemen, from wearing sable, velvet, damask or satin had not stopped Robert employing generous quantities of these luxurious fabrics to adorn his chairs, cushions and casement seats.

  His pride and joy hung on the wall directly opposite the main entrance, where all those of sufficiently high rank to be admitted through that door could not fail to see it. It was a tapestry woven in Flanders, where the best in Europe were made, depicting huntsmen on the edge of a forest of dark and twisted trees. In the heart of the forest a giant savage boar, with a golden band about its neck, meekly laid its great head in the lap of the Saxon virgin, Æthelind.

  Every night, when Robert returned home from his warehouse, he would pause in the doorway, looking up at the tapestry. If he returned late, as now, when the candles were already lit, his pleasure increased as the light caught the gold threads in the boar’s collar and in the coronet that adorned the girl’s flowing hair.

  That evening, Robert was denied this pleasure, for his manservant Tenney had scarcely closed the door behind him when his wife pounced.

  ‘Where have you been, husband? A fine host you are. Thomas has been waiting this past hour.’

  ‘I’ve had business to attend to, my dear, the new cargo from Boston. I couldn’t get away sooner.’

  Robert wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told Edith the truth. There was nothing to be ashamed of in giving financial advice to a widow. It was a respectable and worthy thing to do, yet the lie had sprung from his mouth.

  Edith snorted. ‘I dare say Thomas also has business to attend to and a great deal more than you, seeing he is sheriff of this city, but he still manages to arrive in time for supper. It will be quite ruined. The beef will be as dry as kindling.’

  For the first time in many years Robert looked at his wife and saw that she was no longer a shy, slender little bride of fifteen, but a stout matron in her fifties. Her greying hair hung in looped braids on either side of her face and was dyed a fashionable saffron yellow, which served only to emphasise the sallowness of her skin.

  And what had he been thinking, having that gown made for her? It was the latest fashion, of course, but it didn’t flatter a woman of her age or girth. The low-cut top revealed a neck and bosom that were puckering with age, and the narrowness of her white surcoat, which hung like a tabard over her scarlet gown, drew attention to the thickened waist and hips that bulged out on either side beneath it. Edith was not given to over-indulgence in food or any other pleasures of the flesh, but having given birth to six boys – and lost all but two – she no longer possessed the proportions of a maiden.

  Thomas rose from a chair set next to the blazing hearth, a sheepish grin on his florid face.

  ‘Don’t scold him, Edith. As we all know, when Robert is at his ledgers a week may pass and he thinks it an hour. You should be used to that after all these years.’ He winked at Robert. ‘You should have married me, Edith. I merely send out the men-at-arms to see to my business, then retire to my dinner without another care.’

  Robert’s irritation mounted. ‘Well, you should care, Thomas. Those men-at-arms need sharpening up. The streets are full of vagabonds and beggars and no one moves them on. They should be rounded up, the pack of them, and whipped out of the city at the cart’s tail. Word would soon get round that this is not a city for easy pickings.’

  Thomas frowned. ‘Has there been trouble?’

  Robert hesitated. He could hardly call it trouble. ‘It’s nothing . . . Coming home this evening, I thought I was followed by someone who’d been at the warehouse earlier.’

  Edith gave a little cry. ‘How many times have I begged you to hire one of the linkmen to light your way home? It isn’t safe to walk the streets at night without an armed man. But, of course, if you came home at a decent hour . . .’

  Robert ignored the last little dagger thrust. ‘I’ll not waste money hiring men to keep me safe in my own city. I’m already paying a king’s ransom in taxes for the watch to patrol the streets.’

  ‘It’s money well spent if it keeps you from robbery or worse,’ Thomas said. ‘Edith’s right. You shouldn’t be walking abroad alone, especially in clothes that tell every cutpurse and thief in the shire you’re a wealthy man. My men can’t be everywhere at once. Most of their time is taken up with the taverns and cockpits. I’ve not the money to put a watchman on every street corner. As one of the Common Council, you should know that better than most.’

  ‘What I know—’ Robert began, but was interrupted by a clatter of footsteps on the stairs at the back of the hall and the crash of a door being flung open. A boy raced into the room.

  ‘I’ve told you a hundred times not to run in the house, Adam,’ Robert snapped.

  The boy’s face fell and he edged nervously towards his mother, who placed a protective arm about him.

  Thomas beamed at him. ‘Finished your Latin copy, have you, my boy? Nothing like Jan, is he? As I recall even if you’d nailed his backside to a bench, he wouldn’t study. Jan takes after you, Robert. The only kind of books you’ll tolerate are ledgers. But Adam here,’ he ruffled the boy’s curly head, ‘I hear he’s quite the scholar. Edith tells me he’s hoping to study at university.’

  Edith gazed fondly at her son, who smiled shyly up at her. Robert gave a noncommittal grunt. He was gratified that the boy attended to his lessons – but as long as he could read, write and had mastered figures, what more education did any man need? Unless he was entering the Church, and Robert didn’t intend his son to waste his life as a priest, scraping a pittance from tithes and alms. But if Edith didn’t stop coddling the boy, it would be all he was fit for.

  Adam was Edith’s baby. Jan had arrived after two stillborn boys. The two others who came after him had died in infancy and Edith had despaired that she would ever have another child. So when Adam mewled his way into the world, he was to her an Isaac, born to Sarah in old age and destined for great things. Edith had refused to allow any but herself to nurse him, day or night, certain that only constant vigilance would keep him safe.

  Robert supposed it was only natural that his wife should cosset the lad. Not that his own mother had ever fussed over him, quite the contrary. He’d been raised on a diet of indifference, thrashing and hard work, and had convinced himself he was glad of it: at least he had been able to stand up for himself when he was sent to work as an apprentice. As soon as Adam turned twelve in a few months, Robert was determined that his son should learn a trade too, however much Edith protested. His own business was naturally entailed to Jan as the eldest and Adam would have to make his own way in the world.

  But if the boy didn’t toughen up, a miserable time he would have of it. Apprentices and journeymen could spot a weakling the moment he walked through the door and would make him the butt of every cruel jest that young lads can devise. Barely a month went by without some young apprentice hanging himself in his master’s workshop to escape the torment. And for all that Robert did not dote on the boy, he would never want to see his son unhappy.

  Tenney flung open the door at the back of the hall, which led to the courtyard and the kitchen, and bore in a great dish of beef stew. A rich steam, heavy with vinegar, cinnamon, cloves, mace, ginger, sage and onion, wafted through the room. Beata, the maid, followed with a basket of fresh bread. She gave Robert a reproachful look, as vexed as her mistress by his late arrival, but Robert knew it was more because he’d put Edith in
a bad humour than for any fear that the stew would spoil. Beata took far too much pride in her cooking ever to allow that to happen.

  The arrival of supper was a welcome diversion and the piquant steam sharpened their already keen appetites. They had barely swallowed a mouthful when the door from the courtyard was flung open and Jan strolled in. Adam scrambled from his chair and, heedless of his father’s earlier warning, ran across to him, jigging expectantly from foot to foot. ‘Did you get it, Jan? Did you?’

  His brother grinned and, with a flourish, produced a small wooden model of a trebuchet, used to hurl stones at castles under siege. He held the toy high in the air, making Adam leap for it. Adam’s eyes shone as he whispered his thanks.

  Robert’s elder son had lodgings near the warehouse on the Braytheforde harbour. It was an arrangement he and his father had come to by mutual consent. It was easier for Jan, as Robert’s steward, to keep a close eye on the business, but it also meant that if the lad came home drunk after a night with his friends at the cockpits or with some girl hanging on his arm, Robert, and more importantly Edith, wouldn’t know of it – at least, not immediately. Nothing happened in Lincoln that was not round the city by the following day. Even so, Jan usually called in each day to see his mother and reassure her that he was not lying dead in a ditch and had not contracted some fever in the night, which Edith would imagine, if a day passed without her seeing him.

  With a friendly nod towards Thomas, he crossed to his mother, planting a kiss on her cheek as she lifted her face to him. She patted his shoulder. ‘Even later than your father,’ she murmured. ‘He works you much too hard.’

  ‘The last of the cargo arrived late from Boston and I wanted to check that the tallies were correct,’ Jan said, helping himself to a large measure of wine. ‘And don’t worry, Father, I doubled the watch on the warehouse.’