"Alizon Device," said Roger Nowell. "Abraham Law, cloth dyer of Halifax, Yorkshire, has summoned me and Constable Hargreaves to bring you to his father, John Law, chapman of Halifax, who lies half-crippled at the Greyhound Inn in Colne."
Before I could say a thing, Constable's fat fist closed round my wrist, and I had to rush to keep up with his quick pace as he marched me out the lych-gate to the waiting wagon. I wrenched my head round to take one last glimpse of Mam, weeping whilst Alice Nutter held her shoulders.
The horses strained to drag the wagon along the road, muddy with spring rain. Every so often the Constable and Abraham Law had to leap off and push the wheels free of the mire whilst Roger Nowell stayed aboard to keep his eye on me. So frightened I was, my bones knocking together, that I didn't dare look at him. But when the other men's backs were turned, Nowell cupped my chin and raised my face, giving me a look that was almost fatherly. Odd though it might sound, there was something in his eyes that reminded me of Gran. He looked as though he possessed some of her understanding as to the secrets folk buried in their hearts.
"When we reach the inn and you face the chapman," he whispered, "speak from the heart and tell the truth. With any luck his son will be satisfied and let it lie."
"Thank you, sir," I whispered back, smiling shy at him, but remembering to hang my head when Hargreaves and Abraham Law clambered back into the wagon.
When we reached the Greyhound Inn, Hargreaves made to haul me down from the wagon, but Nowell stayed his hand.
"No need to manhandle the girl," said the Magistrate. "I doubt she'd be foolish enough to make a run for it in front of so many witnesses. Would you, Alizon?"
"No, sir," I promised him.
Obedient as anything, I followed Abraham Law whilst Hargreaves and Nowell followed behind me. We entered the inn, crammed with half the people of Colne, so it seemed, but at Nowell's word, they jumped aside to clear our path. Abraham Law led the way up the stairs, then down a corridor, and finally into his father's room. Even that small chamber was packed: the innkeeper and his sons were there, as well as a scribe sat with his goose quill and parchment. In the midst of it all John Law lay upon a four-poster—the rumour went that Nowell himself had paid to put the man up in the Greyhound's best room. Master Law was no longer fat as I remembered, but wasted-looking, as though he had hardly eaten or touched ale since I saw him last. Though he was still lame and frozen down his left side, both his eyes could move again. He stared at me with such rancour that I wished myself dead.
"John Law," said Roger Nowell, speaking calm and even, with none of Hargreaves's heated huffing. "Here before you stands Alizon Device. Is this the girl you met in Colne Field on Wednesday, eighteenth of March, and who spoke to you before you fell lame?"
"Aye, that's her all right," said the chapman, his every word dripping in venom.
"Would you care to make any accusation regarding this girl?" Nowell asked him.
"She bewitched me, plain as day. I was struck down after trading words with her and you can see for yourself I'm still crippled for it."
Roger Nowell turned to me with his unruffled face as though he were as fair-minded as King Solomon and asked me, "Alizon, what do you say to this?"
I remembered what he'd said to me in the wagon, bidding me to be truthful. When I looked at the chapman's racked body, my eyes filled. Whether what happened that day was an accident or whether it was due to the powers come out of me that I could not control, he had suffered just the same and I was sorry for it. I clasped my hands and fell to my knees.
"Master Law, I am so very sorry. I beg your forgiveness." With the powers inside me I felt his pain as though it were my own.
The pedlar finally spoke up, brusque but not unkind. "Right then, lass. I can see your regret is genuine. I forgive you."
A mighty muttering filled the room. Abraham Law bent to say something in his father's ear, but John Law held up his good hand to call for silence.
"She's only young, Magistrate. Send her home to her mother for God's sake."
Master Nowell seemed as astonished as everyone else. "Alizon Device, you are free to go."
Thanks to God's grace and John Law's forgiveness, I ran home to Malkin Tower. The very air I breathed seemed to spin and crackle with blessing, and then I knew in the depths of my heart that Gran's prayers and charms had warded me this day like a great invisible hand. When I burst in the door, Gran let out a shout and I cried into the crook of her neck. Afterward Mam embraced me and held me firm and safe.
"Tomorrow morning you'll go to Mistress Alice's. The Constable and the Magistrate will dare not trouble you there. She's a rich woman. Her lands rival Nowell's."
I tried to ignore the niggling in my belly, remembering how the Curate had singled out Alice Nutter in his sermon, saying she would be punished for being true to the old faith. If she was wealthy, she was also guilty of high treason, hiding that priest—a far greater crime than witchcraft even. If Nowell chose to turn against her, she too must submit to his judgement. But then I recalled Nowell's fairness to me that very day, and I trusted that he would not persecute so virtuous a woman as Alice Nutter so long as she took pains to remain discreet and not make a display of her popery. If he were to arrest every Catholic in these parts, Nowell would have to take on Henry Towneley, the Shuttleworths of Gawthorpe Hall, even the Southworths of Salmesbury.
Our Jamie twirled round the room with me, so happy he was to see me. "Come Good Friday, I'll conjure up the name of your black dog and call the spirit back to you."
"Hush, Jamie," I begged him. "If you want me to stay out of harm, you must never speak of such things again."
M
ONDAY MORNING
I rose at first light, got myself up neat and proper as I could, and tied my hair with Nancy's ribbon.
Mam and Jamie wanted to walk with me to Roughlee Hall and watch with their own eyes as I passed into Alice Nutter's protection. So I kissed Gran goodbye and with her blessing set out the door. My brother slowed his long-legged pace to walk beside Mam and me whilst Jennet trailed behind.
"Walk smart, lazy bones," I called out to her. "When we reach Roughlee Hall, our Mistress Alice will give you something wondrous to eat."
We were a mile from Roughlee when a wagon drawn by whipped and foaming horses overtook us, then drew to a halt, blocking our way. Richard Baldwin and Constable Hargreaves jumped out.
"Alizon Device," said the Constable. "You must come to Read Hall. Roger Nowell wishes to examine you regarding the charge of witchcraft brought forward by John Law."
At that moment I took the man for a bigger simpleton than our Jamie.
"Master Law forgave me, sir." I'd a fair struggle not to show him any impudence. "He said so in front of a whole room of witnesses. Master Nowell himself said I could go free."
I made to squeeze past the Constable, but Baldwin thrust out his whip to block my way.
"You also so much as admitted in front of all those witnesses," the Constable said, "that you were guilty of bewitching the man."
"I never did!" My eyes darted to Mam's, wanting to tell her that the Constable was lying, not me.
"You begged his forgiveness," said Constable Hargreaves. "Why would you do such a thing if you hadn't bewitched him in the first place? An innocent soul has no need for forgiveness."
I opened my mouth to protest further, but the Constable cut me off.
"If John Law forgave you, his son will not let the matter rest. Abraham Law has asked us to proceed with the examination."
"But I'm bound for Alice Nutter's," I told him as though her very name were the charm that could release me. "I gave her my word I'd begin in her service this very morning, sir."
Baldwin laughed. "Witches cling to Papists as flies to dung."
The Constable ignored him. "Get in the wagon, Alizon. You are under arrest."
I turned to Mam, whose temper was rising, her wayward eye bulging as though she were set to murder Baldwin and Hargreaves then and there.
"Give my love to Gran," I told her, speaking fast before the men could silence me. "Ask her to pray for me."
"Ask her to work witchcraft on your behalf, you mean. Your grandmother's so-called prayers killed my daughter." Baldwin brandished his whip, but Hargreaves told him to put it away.
"Nowell won't be happy if he sees she's been molested," the Constable said.
Climbing into the wagon, I was thankful that Nowell, at least, was a just man. Perhaps this could still be made right and tomorrow I could begin my service at Alice Nutter's. I lifted my hand to wave goodbye to my family, only Baldwin and Hargreaves were ordering my mother and brother into the wagon.
"The Magistrate wants to question Elizabeth and James Device as well," said Hargreaves.
"Run along home to Gran!" I shouted to Jennet, who was stood there crying. "Run along, poppet! Now!"
My nine-year-old sister took herself off before the men could change their minds and drag her along to Read with the rest of us.
As the wagon trundled past Roughlee Hall, I gazed at the arched mullioned windows and imagined Alice Nutter watching our sad progress. At least they had arrested us on the road and not waited till we had arrived at the Hall. A nasty thing, that would have been, to have Hargreaves and Baldwin bursting into the lady's home in search of us—they might have taken it upon themselves to search for other things as well. With all my soul, I prayed that Mistress Alice could keep her secrets safe.
The driver lashed the stumbling horses as we passed beneath the shadow of the New Church. My eyes caught a leaping shape that I took to be the black bitch. Drawing on the powers Gran thought I had, I sent my inner voice reeling out, begging her to flee far and away from the reach of Baldwin's whip.
When we passed by Bull Hole Farm, where the men were busy sowing this year's barley and oats, I tried not to give Baldwin the satisfaction of seeing me cry, though it seared me to think of Matthew Holden seeing me brought down so low. To humiliate us all the more, Baldwin drove the wagon through Higham, only a stone's throw from West Close. Chattox, I wagered, would be right chuffed they'd come for me instead of her.
We turned on to the shady road leading past the vast Huntroyde estate, where Nowell's relations, the Starkie family, dwelt, and then on to Read Hall itself.
A grand manse was Read Hall, every diamond-shaped window pane polished to shine. Girding the house was a garden full of shrubs cut to take the shape of birds and beasts, lords and ladies. The lawns were awash in crocus, primroses, and daffodils. Such a splendid sight, this was, I near forgot the reason we were here.
The wagon came to a halt at the back of the house. Baldwin and Hargreaves marched us through a rear door into the kitchen, where a roaring fire blazed in the huge hearth. The smell of baking bread maddled me as I'd eaten nothing that day, but there was no lingering in the warm kitchen, for the men herded us into a chilly little chamber with whitewashed walls, a hard wooden bench to sit on, and nowt else. The bench was worn shiny by the many bodies who'd been sat there before us, awaiting their interrogation. At the far end of that little room was a stout oak door, through which Hargreaves dragged Mam, leaving Jamie and me behind to bide our time till it was our turn to speak to the Magistrate.
Sat on the bench beside Jamie, I took his hand and put my lips to his ear. "Have a care what you tell them. Don't betray us, love."
Baldwin, stood there guarding the door, spoke up, cold and callous. "No whispering, you two, or I'll have you put in separate chambers."
Lifting my head, I strove to see him with clear eyes: Richard Baldwin, Church Warden and the Constable's right hand. I sought to look past my own hate for the man. If the worst were to happen, if Mam, Jamie, and I were never to walk free, what would happen to Gran and Jennet? Would Baldwin take it on himself to look after my sister, his natural daughter? Feeling my eyes on him, Baldwin twitched and pressed his lips down in a brittle line. Mother of God, what had Mam ever seen in the man?
My hand still holding Jamie's, I pricked my ears to make out what was being said on the other side of that oaken door, but I heard only the kitchen maids shouting back and forth. By all rights, their task should have been mine. This very moment I should have been in the kitchen at Roughlee Hall, chopping onions for Mistress Alice's soup or learning how to dress a capon just the way she liked it. I should have been wearing the new kirtle with a clean apron tied over it and pattens on my feet. I should have been there, in her circle of protection, instead of sat upon this bench, half-sick with trepidation.
An hour seemed to crawl by. My brother was so nervous he clutched himself and jigged back and forth till Hargreaves delivered Mam back into our chamber. Then it was Jamie's turn to be questioned. Wild-eyed, Jamie whirled in panic whilst Mam and I threw him pleading glances, praying he'd not say some fool thing that could get us hanged. Before I could blink, Hargreaves had shoved my brother through the door and shut it behind him. Mam sank on the bench beside me and gripped my hand so tight that I could feel each of her bones. Together we bore the looks Baldwin threw us.