Blood and Clay

To Susan, Jim, Paul, Totty, Boo,
Holly, Emma Lou,

Kimberelli, Foz, Sandra and Mandy who
were all there at

the beginning and continue to inspire
me.

Though this book is fictional and
some of the language used is contemporary,

most of the characters and events are
historically accurate.

To learn the truth behind the fiction
keep reading at the end of this story.

“
Don
’
t be such a wimp Lizzie, just tell them you aren
’
t interested. It
’
s up to you isn
’
t it? You don
’
t have to go doing witchy stuff if
you don
’
t want to.
”

Gabriel
picked up a pebble and turned it over in his fingers a few times before taking
aim at the pine cone they had set on a rock at the other side of the road.
“
Rats, missed again. Are there no
bigger pine cones Lizzie?
”

“
You don
’
t need a bigger pine cone; you need a better aim Gabe.
”

I
scraped back my hair and tucked the long black strands behind my ears. I winced
as my fingers got caught in the wind tangled knots but still managed to chuckle
at Gabe, always ready to blame anyone but himself when he couldn
’
t do something.

“
Anyway you won
’
t be finding no more cones at this
time of year. You were lucky to find one that big in December. Most of
‘
em will be stuffed in the church by
now.
”

Though
I
’
d never been to church I lapped up the stories Gabe told me
about it and I knew, from years of tales about, that there were some beautiful
decorations put about at Christmas and most had pine cones and holly in them.
It weren
’
t just his kin going to church that made us different. His
kin had a bit of money too, enough to rent their own cottage anyhow. Mine had
nowt but a broken old barn.

“
Don
’
t boss me around anyhow. Find one yourself.
”

Gabe
smiled and pretended to aim a pebble at me before taking another shot at the
cone.

“
Don
’
t avoid talking about it. You can
’
t trick me into forgetting. Why don
’
t you just tell them you don
’
t want to be a witch?
”

For
once Gabe looked genuinely concerned. He wrinkled his nose, with its smattering
of freckles, as he squinted in the winter sun. The light caught the pale green
of his eyes as he stared at me, waiting for an answer.

“
You don
’
t need to stay; it
’
s my job to beg not yours. Folk like
you don
’
t have to sit for hours to wait for a scrap or a coin.
”

“
Stop it Lizzie. Don
’
t go starting another fight just so
you don
’
t have to talk about it.
”

I
ignored him and looked down the road. What did he know about any of it? Only
what I told him. It was just a game to him then he got to go home to his Mam
and Pa in their cosy little cottage with food on the table and warmth all year
round. He didn
’
t have to spend hours sat on Beggar
’
s Bend waiting for
 
someone to come and take pity on him just so
he had enough money to feed his family. I adore Gabe but he makes me angry
sometimes. He has it so easy.

“
Fine, I
’
ll be off back to my work then. Took a day off to spend it
with you I did but I
’
m sure there
’
s milking to be done down John Nutter
’
s farm. Best be where I
’
m wanted.
”

Gabe
threw a final pebble at the pine cone, hitting it this time, and then stomped
off. I sighed. I knew it was my fault. I just didn
’
t want to talk about it. Sometimes it
bothered me that Gabe could never really understand. Easy for him to talk and
tell me what to do. It weren
’
t him that
’
d get a beating for being cheeky was it?

I
wiggled my toes to see if I could still feel them. The cold had slowly crept in
and seeped into every part of my bones and I felt the knuckles of my toes crack
and crunch like ice as I scrunched them up. The small movements made them ache
as the feeling rushed back in. Then they felt normal for a moment but the
relief was short lived. As soon as the feeling returned I began to feel all of
the sharp, tiny stones which lay beneath my bare feet, pinching into my skin
like little thorns. I walked around a bit. My legs ached so much from sitting
on this rock. How long had I been here; three hours... four? Gabe had just come
to play at being beggar for an hour before he left. I
’
d already been here for a couple of
hours by the time he ambled up. It was great fun as a way to pass an hour
before trotting back to a nice farm job and a happy home. I wanted to start off
home but it wasn
’
t worth the risk. I
’
d been through worse pain than sore
legs. To move now might mean another night without food and my stomach griped
so much already.

We
’
d not had much left this morning, a
scrap of bread and cheese and I
’
d given mine to Nettie. Mam, Gran and our James had taken
their share but poor little Jennet looked at me with those teary eyes and I
couldn
’
t eat mine. Not with her looking so hungry; better for her
to have the extra food. I
’
m older; fifteen and I can go without food when I need to,
but Jennet, my little Nettie, well she is just eleven and still growing. I
’
d give her my last scrap on earth if
she needed it.

I
stood up and jiggled around a bit to try and warm up. I was wearing the only
clothes I had; a tunic dress which was just thick enough to keep me from
freezing in the biting winds but not thick enough to actually keep me warm. I
began to feel a bit warmer and some of my earlier energy returned. Just one
passer
–
by; that
’
s all I needed and we would have food enough to get the
family through another night. I sat back down on the rock by the side of the
road. It wasn
’
t comfortable and it made my backside cold but at least it
took some of the weight off my feet and stopped the small stones biting into my
skin for a moment. I heard a clatter of wheels and squinted down the road. A
farmer on a horse but one I didn
’
t know. His horse pulled a cart piled
with veg and bags. Flour perhaps. As he drew near I called out to him.

“
Sir. Can you spare me a coin or some food?
”
He looked at me and slowed his horse.

“
Are you that Device whelp? Is that old bitch Demdike your
Grand-dam?
“

“
Aye Sir, t
’
is so. My family haven
’
t eaten nowt but scraps for days. I
’
m afeart that my sister won
’
t last the week without more food.
Can you spare me just one egg?
”

“
Humpf.
”
The farmer grunted and rode closer.

As
he drew near my heart leapt. Hopefully the charity he showed would mean that I
could start home. Then his booted foot shot out and hit me square in the chest.
I fell backwards and tumbled over the rock behind me. He kicked his horse and
carried on his journey. I lay on my back and stared at the navy and grey sky as
I tried to catch my breath. I pushed myself up onto my elbows then slowly stood
up and brushed the cow dung and mud that had smeared from the farmer
’
s boot onto my tunic. It hurt to
breath but I knew it would hurt more in the morning when the bruise formed.

The
kick had taken me by surprise, perhaps because the farmer had a kind face. It
weren
’
t unusual to be treated so but it was a while since I had
been stupid enough to get caught out. There was not a farmer or farmer
’
s wife within thirty miles that didn
’
t mistrust or even fear my Mam and
Gran. The local farmers who passed Beggar
’
s Bend usually ignored me and some
were even kind but there were others who were not so kind. I
’
d had some fair old bruises from
those kicks in my time. The first time I
’
d been left with a bruised chest from
a ride-by-kick I cried all the way home. It didn
’
t do me no good though. I just got
another beating for coming home empty handed. I
’
m a lot faster at skipping out of the
way of those kicks when I need to now. It
’
s tough begging but not half as tough
as not eating is.

I
waited another couple of hours by the roadside until the evening started to
draw in. The nip in the air had started to make my fingers turn blue and my
ears and nose stung from the cold. I was going to give up for the day when I
heard horse hooves and saw a man in the distance. I said a quick prayer of
thanks when I realized that it was one of the richer men of Sabden. Mam wouldn
’
t be happy if she knew I prayed but
that were just another of my secrets; one to keep me safe from her and Gran.

As
the man on horseback got closer I got a better look. He was a refined gent. He
was dressed in dark brown breeches and a purple riding coat. He looked so fine
that he could have been off to church or a party. As he reached me he halted
his horse. I tried not to stare at him. He set my nerves on edge. He stared at
me for some time. Long enough that it made me start to squirm. He looked at me
as if he were trying to read my thoughts. I looked down at my dusty feet. They
still hurt. I wanted to walk away but I felt like I needed to be dismissed.
Like I couldn
’
t go until this man said that I could. Then he spoke with
that strange accent that some of the finer folk in Pendle spoke with, kind of
local but with a twist.

  
     
“
What are you doing by the roadside
child?
”
the man asked.
“
Where are your shoes?
”

He
surprised me. I was taken aback at the kindness in his voice. I hadn
’
t expected that. Suddenly I felt more
ashamed than ever. He sat there in his finery with his funny accent and spoke
to me with kindness. I felt ashamed that I needed to beg. This sudden burst of
pride surprised me. I'd been begging for years and it had never made me
ashamed. I had to beg for my Nettie but I had never felt like this. Yet
something about this particular man made me hate that I was asking for pity.