The Vanishing Witch Read online

  We can’t find the money, not with the poll-tax too. Our bairns’ll starve.

  Jan pitied them, but all he could do was listen to their angry protests. He was not a man to give them false hope by promising he would try to change Robert’s mind. His father would not be moved, he knew, and deep down, he understood Robert’s reasons. Their own business had suffered badly this past year, with the weavers’ revolt in Flanders and the loss of St Jude. If their business failed, the very men who were shouting at him now would be put out of work and out of their cottages too. Yet it made Jan cringe to see the fear in the eyes of the women and know he had caused it.

  He stumbled over to where his horse was tethered. She had turned her head from the driving wind, pulling the leather rein tight against the tree branch. His numb fingers could scarcely undo the knot and the old mare was stubbornly refusing to give him any slack, not that he blamed her with the snow stinging her face. He tried to position his own body between her and the wind to shield her eyes as he fumbled to loosen the tether.

  As he struggled, he half glimpsed a movement behind him. He spun round, peering intently through the swirling white. Had one of the cottagers come out to argue with him again, or even attack him?

  ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded.

  He thought he heard an answering shout, but the wind was shrieking through the dried marsh-reeds with such force that a herd of bulls might have been thundering towards him and he wouldn’t have heard them. Unnerved, Jan hauled himself up into the saddle and turned his horse towards the distant torch-lights of Lincoln Castle and the cathedral high on the hill. But even those lights, which could usually be seen for miles in the dark, kept vanishing behind the swirling snow.

  His face already felt as numb and stiff as a block of wood and he hadn’t even reached the outskirts of the city yet. The horse was old and standing out in the bitter cold had made her joints stiff. Buffeted by the wind, she was pushed sideways on the path. She rolled her eyes nervously as the long, thin branches of the willows snaked out towards her. Jan kept a good grip on the reins, holding himself alert. This was a treacherous stretch of track, squeezed between the icy black river and the oozing marshes. He didn’t relish falling into either, especially not in the dark. Several times he twisted in the saddle and peered behind him, still convinced he had seen someone. But now he forced himself to face straight ahead, knowing that if he tugged on the reins or unbalanced his horse they could both plunge to their death.

  Jan’s mood was as dark as the bog pools. If only he’d come to Greetwell earlier in the day, as he’d planned, he’d be safely back at his lodgings by now or, better still, in a tavern, enjoying a stewed hare and a jug of wine before a roaring fire. It was all his father’s fault, entertaining Mistress Catlin at the warehouse and insisting that Jan act as nursemaid to her brat. He didn’t dislike the child, but she was a strange creature, asking questions about how this pulley worked and what that tool was used for, matters he had thought no girl would be interested in. She had a disarming way of looking up at him with those great tawny eyes, as if every word he uttered was enthralling. But there was something about her that disturbed him, as if a woman was looking at him through the child’s eyes and mocking him.

  As for Mistress Catlin, Jan could see only too plainly why his father was drawn to her. She was handsome, charming and graceful, all the things his mother was not. Much as he loved Edith, he had to admit she didn’t help her own cause, nagging her husband continually, like a beggar picking at a sore. Though Jan had never admitted as much to his parents, it had been a relief to move out of their home to have some peace from her constant fretting and ill humour. But even so, it embarrassed him to see his father behaving like a lovelorn minstrel around Mistress Catlin.

  Jan’s horse gave a whinny of distress and stumbled. Jan steadied her, and felt her trembling. Had she cast a shoe or lamed herself? Clicking soothingly to her, he swung his leg over her back and dismounted. Between the darkness, the falling snow and eye-watering wind, he could barely distinguish the shape of the horse’s leg, never mind what might be amiss with it. He ran his hand down over her knee and fetlock, then lifted her hoof. But he could feel nothing wrong and the shoe was still in place. Maybe something had been driven into the hoof, but whatever it was he didn’t want to go digging around blindly with his knife, risking more damage.

  He contemplated returning to one of the cottages to borrow a lantern, but knew none of his tenants would do him any favours tonight. They’d probably dump a pail of water over his head and hope he froze to death. Better to keep heading towards the safety of the city. Sighing and muttering a stream of oaths that would have made his mother swoon, he pulled his cloak tighter and trudged on down the track, leading the horse behind him.

  ‘Jan! Jan!’

  This time there was no mistake. Someone was calling to him. The voice, though muffled by the wind, was as harsh as the grinding of a stone millwheel. Was it an angry tenant who had followed him, or one of the thieving bands of river-rats luring him into a trap?

  Jan turned, shielding his face with an arm and blinking in an effort to clear his blurred vision as the frozen shards of snow rasped his eyeballs.

  He thought he saw a dark shape forming on the track behind him, the outline ragged and flapping in the wind, like the wings of a giant raven. Again Jan heard his name drifting out of the darkness towards him, taunting him.

  Grasping the hilt of his sword in numb fingers he struggled to draw it from its sheath as his cloak billowed around him. His horse, unnerved by the wind, was shying and pulling at the reins. If it came to a fight, Jan knew he couldn’t wield the sword and hold the beast still with his other hand. There was no time to find a tree to tether her, so he let her go.

  Even in the darkness, the creature on the track must have glimpsed the steel blade for it halted some distance from him.

  ‘. . . father . . . revenge . . .’

  Jan could only distinguish odd words as the stranger shouted through the wind. But he caught ‘revenge’ clearly enough. There was no telling if the man was carrying weapons, or indeed how many might be concealed in the tall reeds that fringed the track.

  ‘Stay back,’ Jan yelled defiantly. ‘I’m armed and know how to defend myself.’

  But the figure was advancing towards him. Against even the brawniest of the boatmen, Jan would have stood his ground. But the creature moving silently towards him did not even look human. It resembled a monstrous black bird. Only the white snow clinging to its hood and shoulders gave it any shape or form. Where the face should have been there was a black hollow, as if there was nothing inside the robe but darkness.

  Jan found himself stumbling backwards, beads of sweat breaking out on his face in spite of the cold. But the snow had made the track slippery and his foot slid from under him. He crashed to the ground, twisting his knee and losing his grip on the sword, which spun away across the stones. He lunged for it, flinging himself full length to slam his hand on the blade before it could slide down the bank and into the rushing water. He tried to pull it towards him, while twisting round to protect himself from the man who, he was sure, must now be almost upon him. But his pursuer had halted and was standing motionless a few yards away.

  Grasping the hilt of the sword, Jan tried to scramble to his feet, but his knee was throbbing painfully and he couldn’t get purchase on the ground to heave himself upright. He half crawled, half dragged himself across the path until he could grasp the branch of a tree growing low on the bank. Gritting his teeth he hauled himself up, and stood, for a moment, letting the pain in his leg subside.

  From this angle, he could see the part of the bank that had been hidden by bushes, and now he saw what had captured his pursuer’s attention. A child crouched at the edge of the water, staring into the river, a little girl. She must belong to a cottager, he supposed, and had wandered out to relieve herself. In spite of the bitter night she was clad only in a thin shift. He could see her mouth moving as if she was calling,
but the wind was rattling the rushes so violently he couldn’t hear her. She leaned forward, reaching so far out over the water that Jan was certain she would fall in. He yelled a warning, but though the robed man on the far side of her jerked round to face him, the child did not seem to have heard him.

  In spite of his fear of the stranger, Jan let go of the tree and began limping towards the girl. He had taken no more than a couple of paces when she straightened and jumped into the surging river. She was borne away instantly. Jan staggered to the bank and, gripping a tree to stop himself slipping, stared through the falling snow into the dark water. There was no sign of the child. Jan could swim a little, but not against a current like that, and he knew he’d never catch up with her as the river swept her along. Unless she was tossed against the bank and managed to haul herself out, she would drown in the icy water. She had probably done so already. A wave of nausea swept over him.

  He heard a shriek of fear and turned. His pursuer was backing away down the track, an arm thrown up as if trying to ward off an attack by some vicious beast. But there was no dog or other animal, only two children ambling towards him as if it were a summer’s day. One was a small boy, perhaps three years old, his hand thrust into that of an older girl. Though he could only see her back, he was sure it was the little girl he had seen moments before jump into the swollen river. Water ran from the clothes and hair of both children. It went on running, black and shining against the white snow. Jan shook his head, trying to clear his vision. It couldn’t be water, just a trick of the wind.

  The robed figure ran back towards Greetwell, vanishing round the curve of the track, as the two children walked slowly towards him. Then swirling snow obliterated them too. Jan stared after them. He had to have been mistaken about what he’d seen. The girl couldn’t have jumped. She must have moved out of sight behind the willow scrub, no doubt looking for her brother.

  Jan realised he’d been holding his breath and let it out, almost choking. At least the children had frightened off his pursuer, which meant he was either a madman or a would-be murderer who didn’t want witnesses to his crime. There was no comfort in either thought, and Jan certainly wasn’t going to wait around for the man’s return. The pain in his knee was gradually easing. It had been a wrench, nothing more serious. He offered a silent prayer of thanks for that.

  Jan limped down the path towards the distant lights of Lincoln, calling for his horse as he went. Only much later, once he had reached his lodgings and was shaking the snow from his cloak and hood, did it strike him that he’d seen no snow on the girl’s hair, and her shift had not stirred in the wind.

  January

  In Janiveer if the sun appear, March and April pay full dear.

  Chapter 12

  If you fear there is a sorcerer or witch living nearby, you should hold a bean in your mouth, whenever you go out, ready to spit at them, should you encounter them on the street, before they can curse you.

  Mistress Catlin

  ‘It’s no use looking at the door every other moment,’ Edward snapped. ‘That won’t bring him. It’s been three days since he last called. Three days, little Maman! You’ve lost him.’

  My son crouched by the fire, warming his hands against the winter chill. The room suddenly turned cold. His body blocked out the heat from the fire as if he had sucked it all into himself. He’d been in an evil temper since he had returned and I guessed he’d lost heavily on some wager. He was itching to lash out at someone.

  I rose abruptly and crossed to the table, pouring myself a glass of wine to conceal the hurt his words had inflicted. ‘According to our neighbours,’ I told him, ‘Maud has visited Edith and says she’s getting worse by the day. Apparently she’s described her cousin’s illness to anyone who’ll listen, and revels in every horrible detail. But if Edith’s only half as sick as Maud claims, I dare say Robert feels he must stay at her bedside.’

  ‘And what about your bed?’ Edward muttered sullenly. ‘If he wanted to be with you, he’d find some excuse easily enough.’

  Edward knew how to wound me. But even I was becoming anxious. I’d been trying to convince myself that Robert’s concern for Edith’s health was the only reason for his absence, but I confess I felt a hollow ache of disappointment that another evening would pass without him. I needed him. I wanted him.

  The night Robert had kissed me, I’d convinced myself he had discovered feelings for me that went beyond friendship. But a kiss means nothing to a man. He revels in the excitement of stealing one whenever he may – it matters not from whom – just as a boy enjoys the thrill of stealing an apple whether he intends to eat it or not. I, above all women, should have known that.

  I turned away, angrier with myself than I was with Edward. Leonia had been playing with knuckle bones in a corner of the room, but now she was watching me, the bones grasped in her hand. Her eyes were wide and a mocking smile played at the corners of her mouth, as if she, too, were taunting me. ‘What are you doing, Leonia?’ I snapped. ‘You’re far too old to be playing with toys. A girl of your age should be occupied with useful pursuits, like sewing. How do you expect to find a husband if you can’t even sew a straight seam?’

  ‘Is that how you caught my father, with your sewing?’

  Edward brayed with laughter, which ceased abruptly as he grabbed Leonia’s arm. ‘Watch your tongue, brat. Maman’s right. It’s high time you learned how to be a dutiful wife. And you can start by getting rid of those. Throw them onto the fire!’

  Leonia gripped the bones more tightly. Edward dragged her towards the hearth and forced the hand that grasped the bones over the fire, gripping her arm at the elbow, so that she couldn’t move her hand away.

  They glared at each other. Leonia was clenching her jaw against the burning heat, but she would not give in easily. Finally, pain forced her to open her fingers. The bones tumbled into the flames and Edward released her. She ran from the chamber and I heard her feet clattering up the stairs. Edward’s eyes flashed, defying me to reprove him.

  But before I could say anything there was a familiar rapping at the door. As I hurried past my son to open it, he gave me a swift kiss and grinned. ‘It seems your charms still work, little Maman.’

  Robert was standing in the darkened street, hunched against the cold. He glanced anxiously towards Maud’s house, before ducking swiftly inside and closing the door quickly behind him. He stood, panting a little and rubbing his arms vigorously. His smile froze as he caught sight of Edward standing by the fire. He nodded curtly.

  ‘I apologise for the lateness of the hour, Mistress Catlin. My son was coming to sit with his mother, but he’s only just arrived. He was detained on business.’

  I knew Jan called to see his mother most days for he was devoted to her, though from odd remarks Robert had made, I had the impression she favoured the younger boy. But I think even Jan found his mother wearing when she was ill. Sickness makes saints of some, but Edith, alas, was one of those women who became more querulous when she was unwell. One moment she was demanding Robert leave her in peace, for his fidgeting disturbed her, the next she was shrieking at him for leaving her alone so long, accusing him of neglect, when nothing could have been further from the truth.

  ‘I trust I find you in good health, Master Edward.’ Robert broke the awkward silence. ‘Have you been fortunate enough to secure employment yet?’ He remained stiffly beside the door, as if he couldn’t bring himself to sit while Edward was in the room.

  Edward shrugged. ‘I haven’t found anything to suit my talents.’

  Robert frowned. ‘And what are your talents, Master Edward?’

  ‘Gambling, drinking and wenching. Now, if I could find someone to pay me to do that,’ he said, grinning and winking.

  But Robert didn’t share the joke and his jaw tightened. ‘You should be out looking for any honest work you can find. It’s your duty as elder son to provide for your widowed mother and your sister. I’ll make enquiries among my fellow guild members. With men defying t
he law and leaving their masters, one of my guild brothers may need to hire a willing man. That is,’ he added, staring pointedly at my son, ‘if you will work for the old wages instead of the outrageous sums some of these men are demanding.’

  Edward’s eyes narrowed. ‘You needn’t trouble yourself, Master Robert. I can find many interesting ways of earning a living.’

  ‘Now, Edward, Master Robert was merely trying . . .’ I began, but I let the words fall, fearing they might provoke him. I’d no wish to see the two men quarrel.

  Edward snatched up his cloak and strode out into the street, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘You must forgive my son, Robert. He didn’t have an easy life growing up. His father was a cruel man, and I’m perhaps more indulgent with him than I should be to make up for that.’

  ‘All the more reason for him to be taking care of you and the child now,’ Robert said sternly. He sank into the chair that Edward had recently occupied and gazed at me earnestly. ‘I cannot understand any man being cruel to a woman like you, Mistress Catlin. It is unthinkable. It must have been a relief to you when your husband died.’

  I shuddered. ‘Not a relief, no. Grief is more painful than any physical wound, especially when you’ve loved a man as I once did . . . Indeed, it was that very love that made my husband’s wickedness harder to bear. If I’d not loved him so much, his vile acts would have seemed less cruel. But, in the end, it was another woman he wronged who brought him to judgement.’

  Robert’s brow furrowed. ‘I don’t follow you, my dear. Was your husband convicted of some crime? I thought he had left you money, and if he was hanged that was surely not possible because all is forfeit to the Crown.’

  I gnawed my lip, staring at my fingers in the firelight. ‘We came to Lincoln to escape the idle tongues. I fear what people might think of me, if my story were known . . . what you would think of me Master Robert, for I couldn’t bear to lose you as a friend.’