Cauldron of Fear (37 page)

'What is it to
you, mistress?' Crawley smiled to himself in the darkness, sensing
that there was far more to this than even he had suspected, for he
had anticipated someone might wish to make another accusation, or
even, perhaps, to try to buy Matilda's life, for there was still
the unresolved matter of who had paid the first two guineas.

'Matilda
Pennywise has placed a hex upon a member of my family,' the woman
replied, carefully. 'I cannot give you details, nor can I reveal my
identity to you, but I am willing to pay you and pay you well for
her speedy execution, for all the while there is breath remaining
in her body, her powers are surely killing one who is dear to
me.'

'I see,'
Crawley said thoughtfully. His smile flickered again. 'And you have
proof of this?'

'None that I
can show you,' the woman said, 'but I was under the impression that
you had all the evidence and proof you needed against the
witch.'

'Aye, that I
do, mistress,' Crawley agreed, 'but the sentence is to be carried
out in the morning, nonetheless.'

'I was under
the impression that you had the authority to decide the hour of her
execution.' The woman reached inside her cloak and Crawley
instinctively stiffened, but when she withdrew her hand there was
no weapon in it, only a small dark and almost shapeless object,
which she held out and shook. Crawley heard the unmistakable
chinking of heavy coins.

'I have here
fifty golden guineas,' she continued. 'These I will give to you
now.' Her arm whirled and there was a blur as the little bag flew
through the air, landing just in front of Crawley's feet with a
jingling sound. His immediate instinct was to bend and pick up the
bag, but he forced himself to remain unmoving, his gaze set firmly
upon her outline.

'You don't
want to count it, then?' she asked, a note of surprise in her
voice.

Crawley shook
his head. 'I am sure there will be fifty guinea coins in there, as
you said,' he replied. 'There would be little point in it being
otherwise.' He stepped forward and reached out with the toe of one
boot, prodding the bag as if he expected it might at any moment
spring to life.

'There will be
another fifty guineas for you as soon as you have executed the
Pennywise witch,' the woman said. 'I shall have the sum delivered
to you before dawn's first light.'

'I see,'
Crawley said. 'That is indeed a large sum of money, mistress.'

'The same
amount, I hear said, that you demanded for her reprieve and
absolution.'

'I shan't deny
that,' Crawley chuckled mirthlessly. 'You appear well
informed.'

'Aye, Master
Crawley, that I am,' she said, and he heard a low laugh from within
the cowl. 'Well informed enough to know that this is the only way
you'll get your money now, and you have to hang the bitch
anyway.'

'Aye, that I
do,' Crawley said. Slowly, he stooped and picked up the bag,
hefting its comforting weight in the palm of his hand.

'Do we have
ourselves a bargain then, Master Crawley?'

He let out a
deep breath, looked down at the bag, and nodded. 'Aye, mistress,'
he growled. 'We have ourselves a bargain. I shall hang the witch at
midnight before three witnesses, as the law demands.'

James had
found two sheepskins, which he placed in the back of his father's
cart and laid Matilda carefully upon them, and drew a thick woollen
blanket over her. While he had been gone, Hannah had bathed her
granddaughter's raw flesh and helped her into a soft shift, but
even so, the pressure upon her back drew a pained groan from
her.

'Have courage,
my pet,' Hannah urged, as James helped her up to sit alongside
Matilda. 'Here, drink some more of this.' She lifted Matilda's head
and raised the bottle to her lips. 'It will start to take effect
soon, little one,' she whispered soothingly. 'And we are taking you
somewhere they shan't find you.'

'Crawley?'
Matilda croaked. Her eyes were open, but they were not focussing.
'Crawley... he's...' Hannah lowered the bottle again and allowed
Matilda's head to fall gently back onto the soft fleece.

'You don't
need to worry yourself about him no more,' she said firmly.
Instinctively her hand went behind her, seeking the reassuring lump
where she had hidden the old pistol beneath the makeshift bedding.
'That animal won't lay a finger on you ever again, I swear.

'Now drive,
James Calthorpe,' she said, looking up to where James had taken his
position on the driver's seat in front of them. 'Drive on and let's
get her away from here. I don't know what's happening, but there's
little point in staying around to find out. Whoever brought the
poor child here, I'm willing to bet everything I have in this box
that it weren't Crawley and, when he finds her gone, this is the
first place he'll come looking.'

Despite her
nakedness, Harriet found herself sweating heavily, the tightly
laced leather hood stifling her and the weight of the awful iron
cage bearing down agonisingly on her neck muscles. The vicious
spike raked her tongue whenever she tried to move it, despite the
numbing effect of the potion Jane had forced upon her, and her
buttocks and thighs were cramping from the pressure of the cold
stone beneath them.

In the
darkness she began to picture all manner of horrors: every
slightest noise, real or imagined, had her stiffening in terror,
her ears straining through the thick leather, her mind racing in
time with her pulse. She tried to pray, but all the words kept
tumbling over each other inside her head and finally, with tears
stinging her eyes, she gave up.

It seemed
impossible that this was happening to her, but the reality was too
stark to deny and she found herself seized in the grip of a
paralysing horror. Until now, more concerned with the fate of her
cousin than with the other drama unfolding in the village, she had
paid the events concerning Matilda Pennywise and Jacob Crawley
little attention, convinced that someone would soon enough bring
the village to its collective senses, but now, alone, helpless,
naked, she began to understand how truly desperate her position
was.

Insane as it
had first seemed, Harriet now saw how diabolically cunning Jane's
plan truly was. The leather hood hid her true identity effectively
enough, the barbaric bridle and the drugged potion combined to
prevent her being able to tell Crawley otherwise, and the welts
across her back, buttocks and thighs were close enough to the marks
she had seen on Matilda's body not to give the witchfinder any
cause for suspicion.

Shortly now,
if Jane was to be believed, Crawley would return for her, convinced
that she was Matilda and again, if Jane was right in her
assumption, the foul man would have her, beat her and then, worst
of all, take her out onto the green and hang her and, by the time
the truth was discovered, it would be far too late.

For the first
time Harriet began to understand the nature of true wickedness.
Jane Handiwell would be rid of two threats - one real, the one from
Harriet herself only imagined - at a single stroke. She would be
dead and Crawley, together with Wickstanner, would be driven from
Fetworth and probably from the county itself, but only after they
had unknowingly done Jane Handiwell's evil work for her.

Harriet's head
slumped forward and she began to sob, tears soaking the leather,
her naked breasts heaving as she gulped in air, the pains and
discomforts now melding into one overall feeling of helplessness
such as she would never have believed possible.

And then,
through the haze of despair and frustration, she heard the sound of
heavy boots scraping on the stone floor of the passageway beyond
the door and the blood seemed to freeze in her veins...

Jacob Crawley
reined his horse to a halt and swung slowly from the saddle. Behind
him, Silas Grout dismounted likewise and moved forward to take the
reins of his master's horse.

'Human nature
is a curious thing, Silas,' Crawley mused, looking up at the
darkened silhouette of the church. 'Greed, suspicion, superstition
- the Devil sows them all in equal amounts, I tell you.'

'Do you know
who the woman was then, Master Crawley?' Silas asked.

'Does it
matter?' he replied. 'We could doubtless enquire and probably find
out, eventually, but why waste time?' His hand went to the money
pouch at his belt, hefting the comforting weight. 'The important
thing is that she has helped us salvage something from what was in
danger of becoming a totally lost cause. Why the old woman was so
stubborn I have no idea, but some people behave strangely and these
villages breed some curious sorts.'

'So what now,
Master Crawley? Shall we hang the wench and have done with it?'

'We'll hang
her right enough, Silas,' Crawley said. 'This fifty guineas and the
promise of another fifty ensures that, but the thing must be seen
to be done properly. You take your horse around to the barn and
then go down and see to the girl. I'm sure you can find something
to amuse yourself for a short while, eh? But check your scaffold
first, in case anyone has sought to interfere with its
workings.

'Meantime, I
shall ride across to the inn and select three suitable witnesses to
observe the execution. It's quite likely there will be more come to
see the spectacle, if I'm any judge.'

'What if the
old woman turns up with her money?' Silas asked. 'She still might,
even though it is well past your deadline.'

'Aye, she
might at that,' Crawley said, but his tone indicated that he did
not think it likely. 'If she does, then lock her in one of the
rooms down there. Whatever's happened to Jed, I'll wager she's
responsible and I reckon he must be dead, or we'd have seen
something of him by now. So if she does show her face, tomorrow, at
first light, we'll go and have a look in the woods and, if we find
a corpse, well then, you shall have the pleasure of hanging her
too, before we finally take our leave of this place.'

'None of what
she's saying is making any sense,' James said. He and Hannah were
sitting on a fallen tree trunk that lay just outside the small
woodsman's hut where they had brought Matilda. It was only two
miles or so from Hannah's cottage, but she assured James that they
would be safe enough, for the time being, at least.

'That Crawley
don't strike me as being a country fellow,' she said, 'and
Wickstanner would have trouble finding his way from one end of the
village to the other. No one's used this place these past ten
years, except me. I come out here from time to time, when I feels
the need of me own company.'

Only partially
reassured by this, James nevertheless carried Matilda carefully
inside, where he found a clean and comfortable bed, upon which he
laid her. A small stove stood in a stone ingle, already laid with
kindling and this Hannah soon had crackling away.

'We'll have to
damp it down before first light,' she warned, 'otherwise someone
might see the smoke, but it'll be all right till then. I'll get
some broth going for Matilda, you go move that cart up behind the
next lot of bushes and take the horses out of the way. If you go
straight past that gnarled old sycamore, you'll find a small
clearing where they can graze for a bit.'

By the time
James had carried out these instructions Hannah was simmering a
small pot on the stove and, while he then walked back along the
track, just to make sure there was no sign of their having been
followed, the old woman coaxed some of the broth into Matilda. By
the time he returned for a second time Matilda was at least
partially conscious, though she seemed dazed and her speech was
largely incoherent.

Tears sprang
to James's eyes as he stared at her shaven head and at the welts
that were still visible above the neckline of her shift, and he had
to go outside again, not wishing to display his anguish at seeing
her in such a condition. Walking back to the cart he reached under
the various skins and blankets and retrieved the small case he had
placed there just after he first hitched up the horses back at the
mill.

Laying it on
the tailboard, he opened it carefully and stared down at the two
pistols within. There was also a small compartment that held an
ornamental powder horn, plus a small wash bag containing several
lead balls. Hands trembling, James began painstakingly to load the
two weapons and tucked them into his belt, transferring the powder
and shot to opposite pockets of his jacket.

'They'll not
harm you again, Matilda,' he whispered. 'I'll kill the first man
who tries, I swear it.'

Back inside
the hut for a third time, James saw that Matilda was now resting
much easier, thanks largely, he guessed, to her grandmother's
potions. She saw James and seemed to recognise him properly for the
first time, managing a watery smile and then trying to tell him
something, though little of it made any real sense. Eventually she
fell back again, closed her eyes and was soon breathing the
shallow, regular breath of the sleeper.

'She'll not
wake again for a few hours,' Hannah said, standing up and moving to
the small window. She pulled the rough sacking curtain to one side
and peered out into the darkness. 'And I don't think we're likely
to be disturbed here, either.' She turned back into the room and
nodded in the direction of the door. 'Talk outside,' she whispered.
'Leave Matilda in peace for a bit, eh?' They moved quietly outside
and settled on the fallen tree trunk.

'Well, she
seems a bit confused,' Hannah admitted, when James made his
observation, 'but that's only to be expected, seein' as all she's
been through.'

'I couldn't
really understand anything of what she was trying to say,' James
said. 'All that about another girl and the graveyard - I think her
mind was wandering.'