The Witch’s Daughter (16 page)

At last, silence returned to the courtroom. Every ear strained to hear what Anne would say, every neck craned for a clearer view of the devil’s bride who had lived undetected in their midst for so many years. Bess began to tremble. Anne took a moment to gaze about her as if studying the faces of those who had come to witness her condemnation. When her eyes met Bess’s she smiled weakly, then turned her attention back to the magistrates.

‘There is nothing I can say that will soften hearts of stone,’ she said.

‘Do you still claim innocence? After all that we have seen?’ Kilpeck asked.

‘I am innocent of the charges made against me by Widow Digby and Goody Wainwright, yes. I have harmed no one.’

‘The charges of
maleficia
are but one aspect of this trial. Witchery itself is a capital crime, this you must know.’

Anne said nothing.

Reverend Burdock leaned forward on the bench, hands clasped.

‘For the love of God, woman, and to save your soul from certain damnation, will you not confess and plead for the mercy of this court and of Our Lord?’

Anne looked at him levelly. ‘I have nothing more to ask of God,’ she said.

The reverend recoiled as if she had struck him, ‘How can you have come to this wretched, godless state, woman?’

‘Not woman—witch!’ came the cry from the room, so that soon a chant had been taken up. ‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’

Wilkins banged his gavel in vain. Only Kilpeck getting to his feet finally restored order.

‘Midwife Mary, Anne Hawksmith, you have both been found guilty of the charges of
maleficia,
in particular with regard to the Wainwright children and Widow Smith, and in general that you do follow the practice of witchery. It is the sentence of this court that you be taken from this place at sunrise, two days from this date, and that you be hanged until you be dead.’

The court descended into chaos. Bess heard the sound of her own screaming and thought she would lose her mind in that moment. She tried to push forward, to reach her mother, arms outstretched, but it was hopeless. She felt dangerous madness welling up inside her but could not see what to do. Despite the force within her reaching almost unmanageable levels, she could see no way it could be employed to save her mother. The crowd shouted and jeered fit to riot, so that Kilpeck gestured to the constables to remove the convicted women while his men held back the increasingly wild villagers. Bess was jolted and jostled by the mob so that she managed only one last, brief glimpse of her mother as she was led away.

*   *   *

Batchcombe Hall was a fine example of the craftsmanship of its day. Its glowing red bricks and gleaming timbers declared its owner to be a man of substance. The front door itself had much to say—wax-smooth wood told of wealth and strength; intricate iron hinges demanded to be noticed for their beauty rather than function; the muscular lock suggested this was in fact a fortress, as did the seven dozen black studs protruding from the wide wooden boards. It was to this door that Bess came early on the day following her mother’s trial. She left Whisper to snatch at the abundant grass beside the drive and took a steadying breath before mounting the steps. She had thought long and hard about seeking William’s help. She was far from certain that there was anything he could do, but she had no one else to turn to. She had no choice. Having made up her mind, she had then to decide at which door she would present herself. She was uncomfortable at the thought of arriving at the front of the great house. She had never set foot inside such a place. Would she even be admitted? And yet, she was neither a servant nor a tradesman. Nor did she care for the notion of slipping into William’s home unannounced through the back door. There was something furtive about such an action. Her situation was grave, but whatever the court had decided regarding her mother she refused to feel shame. No, she would go to the front door and ask for William. This was no time for delicate manners.

She lifted the heavy iron knocker and banged hard four times. After a worryingly long wait, she heard footsteps and the door was opened. A neat woman with sharp features and tiny hands cocked her head at the sight of the unexpected caller.

‘What business have you here?’ she asked.

Bess inwardly bridled at the speed with which this woman had summed her up as having no possibility of being a friend of the Goulds.

‘I wish to speak to Master William Gould.’

‘Master William is engaged at present. On what matter did you wish to speak with him?’

‘A matter of a personal nature.’

The woman remained motionless for a moment, as if considering whether or not this was sufficient reason to disturb her master.

Bess went on. ‘It is a matter of some urgency,’ she added, then, seeing no weakening in the guardian’s resolve, ‘I would consider it a great kindness if you would inform Master William I am here.’

Without a word the woman disappeared back into the house, shutting the door behind her. Bess stood staring at the impregnable barrier, wondering if she had been dismissed. She waited, a knot tightening somewhere beneath her breastbone. At last the door opened again, and this time William came hurrying forward. He took her hand and led her inside.

‘Bess,’ he said, ‘my poor, poor Bess. I have heard the terrible news, of course.’ He spoke as he whisked her through the grand entrance hall, past the polished wooden staircase, and through another door. The comfortable room contained more furniture and wall hangings than Bess had seen in her lifetime. It also contained a fair-skinned young woman seated on a low chair by the fire. Bess stopped, thrown by the sight of this unexpected stranger. William drew her on to a carved oak seat made restful with tapestry bolsters and cushions.

‘Bess, you have not yet met Noella Bridgewell.’ He turned to the woman. ‘Forgive me, my dear, I fear this is not the time for formal introductions. Bess Hawksmith is a neighbor and a good friend.’

Noella gave a short nod by way of greeting.

‘I have heard the name, of course,’ she said.

Bess took in at a glance the girl’s fine clothes, the expensive Spanish lace at her throat, the rich silk of her gown, the pearl-encrusted band in her hair. This was a lady of some standing, considerable wealth, and undeniable beauty. Bess sat down, conscious of her roughened hands and drab clothes.

‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ she said, unable to concentrate on thinking up social pleasantries to exchange. ‘Forgive my bluntness, but I am come on a matter of life and death.’

Noella nodded again, taking out an ivory fan to keep the warmth of the fire from her face. ‘I am certain my fiancé will afford you any assistance in his power,’ she said.

Fiancé! This woman was to be William’s bride? Bess felt her head spin. She wanted to run from the room, but she needed William’s help. He was the only hope left to her mother. She drew a deep breath and raised her chin.

‘How fares your mother?’ William asked.

Bess did not know how to answer. She no longer felt she knew who her mother was or how she might be feeling. She dug her nails into her palms to stop herself giving in to tears.

‘I have not been permitted to see her since the trial,’ she told him, shaking her head. ‘Oh, William. They will hang her tomorrow!’

William still had hold of her hand. He squeezed it, showing no signs of wanting to let go, despite the constant gaze of his fiancée.

‘The world no longer lives by any rules I can understand, Bess. Your mother is a good woman, a God-fearing woman of modesty and prayer. A loving mother and wife. She has helped so many people. I am at a loss to explain how such a thing can have come about.’

‘Many in Batchcombe have suffered greatly, William. They look for someone to blame. It was my mother who made me see that.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘People fear what they cannot explain.’ She felt her heartbeat quicken and knew that she herself was frightened. Not of the mother who had raised her and loved her and instructed her all her life but of this new power inside that same beloved woman. She looked up at William. ‘Will you help us?’ she asked.

‘But what can I do?’

‘Your family is well regarded. Your father has influence. If he were to make a plea for mercy, surely…’ She stopped at the sight of William’s bowed head.

‘My father will not intervene.’

‘You know this?’

William nodded.

‘But you could approach him, ask him yourself, make him see that these are innocent women. The plague took so many; surely enough people have died. What is to be gained by more death?’

Slowly William’s grasp on Bess’s hand began to loosen until at last he let his own hand fall by his side. He could not look at her. At last it was Noella who spoke. She stood and stepped forward to stand beside her future husband.

‘You should know that it was William’s father who sent for Nathaniel Kilpeck,’ she said, her voice level.

Bess could not believe what she was being told.

‘What? Your father sent for the witchfinder? But I do not understand. What possible reason could he have for concerning himself with such matters? Why would he bring such ruthless injustice into our midst?’

Still William could not look at her. He paced as he spoke, his hands raised in despair. ‘There are wider issues at stake, Bess,’ he said. ‘Things you cannot know of. Parliament is a place of unrest and intrigue. Every man has to prove himself, to prove his loyalty. My father treads a perilous path. Should he step too far to one side, he may be called traitor and lose his head. Should he veer to the other, he may find himself on shifting sands a short time from now, and the end result would be the same. In these dangerous times, the winds of change turn from north to south and back again between sunsets. There is pressure on the nobility to maintain firm control over their own regions. People feel this state of flux in the country and they fear it, Bess. They want to see strong government. They want to know they are in the hands of men of action. That they will be protected. If they cannot be saved from plague or starvation, they must at least know they are in God’s keeping and the devil is not among them.’

In the silence that sat between them, Bess was reminded of how different her life was from William’s. Here was a man whose father would sacrifice anyone to maintain his position. How could she ever have entertained the thought that he would have allowed that position to be weakened by letting his son marry a girl of no wealth or standing? And indeed, William had never harbored such a wish himself. She saw that now. All along he had known where her place was, and it was never going to be at his side. Not publicly at least. Noella was precisely the sort of woman his father would have chosen for him. She would enrich the family’s standing and no doubt its fortune. She was important. Bess and her family were expendable. She closed her eyes against the dizzying colors of the fine tapestries around her. She did not belong here. There was nothing William could do to save her mother. There was nothing he would be allowed to do. She stood up, mustering more composure than she felt.

‘I see now I was wrong to hope for your assistance for my mother. I am sorry to have brought this to your door, William. Good day to you.’ She strode from the room, uncertain how long she could hold back the tears of anguish now pricking her eyes.

‘Wait.’ William sprang to his feet and hurried after her. ‘Please, Bess. There must be something…’ He barred her way to the door.

‘What? Shall I take up your kind offer and install myself as your lover in the servants’ quarters, William? Or am I no longer even suitable for that position now that my mother is condemned?’ She pushed past him.

‘Will you go to your mother now? Let me at least accompany you…’

‘They will not permit me to see her,’ she said without stopping, her hand already reaching for the front door latch.

‘Not see her? But surely…’

Bess swung round, anger lending her the strength she needed. ‘Yes, she will hang in the morning, and they will not admit me so that we might say our good-byes. There is greater cruelty in that one denial than my poor mother ever committed in the whole of her good life.’

‘Then there is something I can do. Please, wait here but a moment.’

William sprinted back into the room they had just left. Bess was on the point of leaving when she noticed the maid who had let her in watching. She straightened her shoulders. She would not be made to feel ashamed. Why should she? William scurried back to her.

‘Here.’ He pressed a leather pouch of money into her hand. ‘Take this. It is sufficient to pay whom you must so that you can spend a moment with your mother. It is the very smallest thing for me to do. I pray it brings you both peace of mind.’

Bess closed her fingers around the bag, still struggling to control her overwrought emotions.

‘Thank you’ was all she managed to say before fleeing the house, knowing as she ran back to Whisper and snatched up the trailing reins that she might never have peace of mind again.

*   *   *

The entrance to the jail beneath the courthouse was down a twisting stone staircase barely the width of two men. Bess followed the jailer down the dimly lit spiral, the light from his smoking lamp falling nowhere useful to her own faltering feet. Here was a man corrupted by the company he had been paid to keep for so many years. Bess detected a darkness emanating from him beyond even the foul stench of the breath that belched out between his blackened teeth.

‘Nobody gets to see the prisoners the night before an execution,’ he had told her flatly. ‘Nobody.’

Any hopes Bess had harbored of appealing to his Christian spirit were quickly dashed.

‘I only ask a few brief moments.’

He leaned back against the bolted door and folded his arms. ‘I’d lose my job. I’d be out on my ear. And where would you be then, eh? Would you come a-looking for poor old Baggis, jobless and starving, mibben? Eh? I think not.’

‘Perhaps, if I could provide you with some … insurance. Against such a terrible consequence…’

He grinned, taking in her simple clothes and young body with a leisurely stare. Without any sense of hurry, he stepped forward and reached out a grimy hand. ‘And what could a maid such as you have that old Baggis might want now, eh? What d’you think?’