Weird Sister (33 page)

‘It’s Agnes,’ Lolly said, calm now, ready to speak steadily. ‘It’s because of Agnes.’

‘I know,’ I said. I wanted her to see that I was ready to believe her. And I was, I was ready to believe.

‘She’s a witch,’ said Lolly, ‘I can show you. I found a book in the library at Cambridge. 1593 – that’s the date it was published. It’s a kind of, I don’t know, a testament or something, it’s a record of what happened in the village – our village, in Warboys. Right here. Three people were hanged for witchcraft – three people. A family. A mother, a father, and their daughter. The Samuels. That was their name. And the daughter, she was called Agnes. Agnes Samuel. You see? She’s come back.’

I took a sip of my tea and found it had gone cold. I got up and pulled the blind down on the window over the sink. I wanted to stay calm. ‘What did this book say?’

‘The old woman, the mother, she bewitched her neighbour’s children – the Throckmortons, Robert Throckmorton, that was the father’s name.’

I was getting very cold. My back was beginning to feel stiff. ‘Robert Throckmorton?’ I said. I felt as though Lolly’s story might overwhelm me.

‘Yes. And they were all hanged – the mother, the father, and the daughter Agnes.’ Lolly looked at me, her eyes wide with appeal, ‘Don’t you see? She’s come back. She’s come back to take her revenge. Why else would she return? Why else would she come all the way from America? I took the book from the library,’ she lowered her eyes, ‘I needed it. I’ll take it back. I showed it to Jenny.’

I tried to think what this could mean. ‘It could be a rather odd – horrible – coincidence. Couldn’t it? The names.’ I wanted it to be a coincidence.

Lolly’s shoulders fell and she became an unhappy teenager suddenly. ‘It could be.’

‘But then again –’ I didn’t want to lose her.

‘My friend is dead. She’s hanged herself.’

Hanged. The word swung back and forth in front of me. ‘Where is the book?’

‘I left it with Jenny. I gave it to her. I don’t know, it seemed serious to me, and we were scared, but we were sort of enjoying it as well. It was fun. We’d discovered something. It was a secret. We –’

‘We’ll go and get it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’ll go round to the Throckmorton house and get the book.’ I wanted to see it. I wanted to keep it from Agnes. I hoped it wasn’t too late.

‘Okay,’ Lolly stood, nodding in agreement, relieved to be taking action.

‘Not tonight. It’s too soon. Robert would – Robert would be angry. We’ll go tomorrow. After school. Come here and fetch me. We’ll go together. I’ll help you. I’ll help you Lolly.’

After she left I locked the door. I went from room to room in my little cottage and pulled the curtains shut, keeping my face turned away from the window, too afraid to look out into the darkness, too afraid of what – who – I might see.

Elizabeth and Lolly investigate

A pall hangs over the Throckmorton house, a death pall that won’t blow away. Inside, it is very quiet. The boys are gone, and with them their human spirit. Graeme is nowhere, again. Martin sits in his chair, the blanket slips off his knees, it keeps slipping off his knees. Robert hovers near to Agnes, he cannot bear to be alone.

Robert has arranged for Jenny to lie in an open casket in the old ballroom. The room is festooned with Derek Hill’s scaffolding and the steel pins his workmen hammered into the plaster ceiling are, inexplicably, rusting, stains veining slowly outward. Robert spends the night sweeping. He pushes the dust and debris to the far end of the room and covers it with a tarpaulin. The coroner has released the body and when the undertaker arrives with her in the morning the room is presentable. It is an unusual practice these days, an open coffin in the home, but Robert assures the undertaker that people will want to come and visit, people will want to view the body before the funeral. The undertaker and his assistant surround the coffin with lilies; their heavy scent drifts through the house like a languid ghost.

The day is quiet. After the undertaker leaves there are no other visitors. Robert goes into the ballroom from time to time, he worries that his sister is lonely. He sees her still, white face and realizes yet again that she is gone from him, she is dead. He leaves the room in haste and goes looking for Agnes and when he finds her, clings to her like a child.

Toward the end of the afternoon, twilight, Elizabeth and Lolly arrive at the Throckmorton house. They knock at the front door like strangers. Robert is in the kitchen staring at the sink. He hears the knock and, for a moment, can’t imagine what the sound might be. He goes forward – a visitor – at last someone has come to see Jenny.

‘She looks fine,’ he says, before they can speak. ‘I’m so glad that you’ve come to see her.’ He takes both women by the hand, Elizabeth on the left, Lolly on the right, and draws them into the house. ‘Come,’ he says, ‘you’ll see.’

Elizabeth thinks the look on his face is quite strange. His eyes are ringed from lack of sleep, the skin beneath them purpling. As he draws them toward the ballroom, Lolly staring at Robert as though mesmerized, Elizabeth realizes what he is doing. She pulls her hand away and takes Lolly by the arm. ‘No Robert,’ she says softly, ‘that’s not why Lolly has come.’

Robert looks from Lolly to Elizabeth, uncomprehending. He continues backing into the ballroom. Now Lolly is stretched between Elizabeth and Robert, who each have her by the hand.

‘No Robert,’ Elizabeth says more firmly. Lolly jerks her hand sharply away from his grasp. Robert is left holding her glove, he looks at it stupidly for a moment, hands it back. ‘Lolly left some homework in Jenny’s room the other night,’ Elizabeth continues. ‘She needs it for school. I realize it’s not a good time, but she must get it.’

‘Oh,’ says Robert as though he doesn’t quite understand, ‘oh.’

‘We’ll go up to her room. We’ll go together. Lolly is upset.’

‘Of course,’ says Robert, stepping aside. ‘Make yourself at home.’

With that, Lolly and Elizabeth rush up the stairs. At the top they meet Agnes. Lolly stifles a scream only partially successfully.

‘Hello,’ says Elizabeth, with a big smile. She decides to brave it. ‘I’ve brought Lolly. To see Jenny.’ Before Agnes can speak Elizabeth embraces her. ‘It’s terrible for you and for Robert and for Graeme –’ over Agnes’s shoulder she nods at Lolly to continue along the corridor toward Jenny’s room ‘– coming so soon after Karen.’

Agnes stands impassively while Elizabeth hugs her. Elizabeth can feel her shoulderbones, her ribs, beneath her clothes and finds herself thinking, oh, she’s too skinny. They both hear Lolly open the door to Jenny’s room. They turn and watch Lolly slip inside.

‘She’s come to retrieve some school-books,’ Elizabeth explains. ‘She left them here the other night.’ She lowers her voice. ‘I think she wanted to see Jenny’s room once more, I think she feels it’s a way to get close to her friend. Let’s leave her to it, shall we?’

‘Yes,’ says Agnes, smiling. Elizabeth thinks her smile is in-appropriate. ‘Poor Lolly.’

Elizabeth nods in agreement. ‘Poor Lolly.’

Lolly is relieved to find Jenny’s room is much the same, except neater than usual. There are no signs of Jenny’s death, of what took place. The room is cold but that was always the case. Lolly stands without moving for a moment. She wonders where in the room Jenny died, and wondering that makes her frightened. She thinks perhaps if she holds her breath and shuts her eyes when she lets go and opens them Jenny will be there. She tries but her friend does not appear. Jenny is not there.

Lolly works her way through the room quickly and systematically.

Elizabeth is viewing the body. There was no way around it, Robert insisted. Elizabeth feels a little queasy upon seeing Jenny’s face, doll-like in death as she never was in life.

‘The funeral is the day after tomorrow. Three o’clock. You must come,’ Robert says.

‘Of course,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘No wake, no reception. We had that for Karen. We can’t face it again.’

‘That sounds wise.’

‘Just a funeral. In the church. At three.’

Robert is nervous, agitated. Elizabeth watches him and thinks, for the first time ever, I have no idea how he is feeling. What could he be feeling?

After a while Lolly appears in the doorway. ‘I found it,’ she says, holding up a science textbook. She doesn’t come forward into the room.

‘Oh good,’ says Robert, walking over to give the girl an awkward hug. ‘Thanks Lolly,’ he says, ‘thanks for coming.’

Lolly and Elizabeth don’t speak until they are up the drive and halfway through the village. Elizabeth can’t wait any longer.

‘Did you find it?’

‘No,’ says Lolly, ‘it wasn’t there. I looked everywhere. It’s gone. Agnes has taken it.’ She bursts into tears.

Elizabeth grabs her hand, slows their pace, puts her arm around Lolly’s shoulder. ‘It’s okay. We’ll be okay without it, you’ll see.’ She wonders what she means.

‘Did you see her?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did she look like?’

‘She looked – okay. You know Jenny’s face. She looked calm. She looked like she wasn’t there anymore.’

‘Why did she do it, Elizabeth?’ Lolly’s grief is powerful and damaging.

‘I don’t know – I –’

‘I should never have brought her that book. It was Agnes.’ Lolly stops walking. ‘Do you think it was Agnes?’

Elizabeth closes her eyes. Her head is pounding. How could it be?

‘The book is gone, Elizabeth, I left it there with her that night.’

‘We’ll find the book. I want to see the book.’

‘How?’

‘We’ll go to London. There’ll be a copy in the British Library.’

Doors close in Warboys

After Jenny’s death the temperature in Warboys falls several degrees. The air smells of ice and frozen peat. In nearby canals and streams the water flows very slowly as if at any moment it might freeze. It is March, but the crocuses and daffodils show no sign of emerging.

With Jenny’s death, the village stops talking. The gossip and malice grind to a halt. Marlene Henderson has returned to work, she works long days and at night cooks Geoff heavy German meals. The Black Hat is quiet, the few people who venture forth talk about anything else, anything that comes to mind, apart from the Throckmortons, apart from Agnes and Karen and Jenny. Jim and Lolita busy themselves, they are finally redecorating the downstairs ladies’ loo, they talk of tiles, of colours, of basins and ventilation, they ask opinions, compare prices.

At night the blue light from the village’s televisions seeps past the sitting room curtains and illuminates the Warboys sky dully. The citizenry is in retreat. There will be no village uprising, no public accusations, no collectively hurled abuse, no stoning. The village backs down, as if they hope that because the gossip has stopped, the stories will go away. If no one speaks of it, it cannot be true.

The good people of Warboys abandon the Throckmortons; they leave the Throckmorton family to find its own way. Like they abandoned the Samuels a long time ago.

Except Elizabeth. And Lolly.

Graeme is in London

Graeme drives down to London. He goes south of the river because he thinks they might have what he wants there. He has connections in Peterborough but he doesn’t want to use them, he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s doing. He goes into the street market with its yams and its breadfruit and its music.

He stops the first man he thinks looks likely. ‘I want to buy a gun.’

‘What?’ says the man, ‘who are you asking?’

Graeme says, ‘You,’ and the man laughs and brushes Graeme’s hand away from his arm lightly.

‘I want to buy a gun,’ Graeme steps out again toward another black man in a leather jacket.

‘Are you crazy? What makes you think you should ask me?’

Graeme keeps going, keeps asking, he’ll either find what he’s after or get beaten up. He spends the whole night being led astray, traipsing up urine-sprayed steps on rotten council estates. He roams around in his car, on foot with his cane as his companion. White boys offer to sell him drugs. He tells them to fuck themselves and limps down the stairs and away. It’s as though he is protected by naiveté.

And he gets it. He gets what he’s after. He hands over the cash he withdrew from Karen’s account. He drives back to Warboys with the handgun on the passenger seat and his mood lightens with every mile until he’s rocking with laughter. He hasn’t laughed so hard in ages.

Elizabeth and Lolly go to London

Elizabeth takes Lolly out of school for the day; getting permission was easy given the circumstances, recent events. She picks her up and they drive fast, unaware that, across country, they journey in tandem with Graeme. At St Pancras they walk through the entrance of the library. Elizabeth kept her pass from her London days; she requests the book and while they wait they wander through the reading room, gazing at the other readers. The book arrives and they are on it like cats to a meal.

They sit side by side and begin to read. Later Lolly says she’s going to go outside and wait. Elizabeth nods, continues to read. She is hooked. The book has her in its grip.

One hundred thin scripted pages. The ink from one side shows through on the other, sometimes rendering the words blurry and blackened. Arcane spellings, unfamiliar diction and grammar, but the pages drip with the atmosphere of Warboys, recognizable somehow, even now. Elizabeth is riveted; she keeps forgetting to breath. ‘Look at where the old witch sits. Did you ever see one more like a witch than she?’ It is a chronicle of accusation, a poisoned text fully convinced of its own self-righteous truth. ‘Take her away. It is she that hath bewitched us and she will kill us if you do not take her away.’ Ordinarily Elizabeth would view the book with scepticism – not its authenticity as a document, but its sixteenth-century assumptions about the supernatural, about death and disease. Witchcraft. Mass hysteria. The document is gruesome and compelling. Pain all around – the bewitched children with their uncontrollable fits, the accused witches subjected to cruel tests, scratched and battered and humiliated. And the names. Robert Throckmorton. Jenny Throckmorton. Agnes Samuel. Agnes Samuel. Elizabeth turns the pages until she has finished, until Mother Samuel, Father Samuel and their daughter Agnes are condemned to death. Hanged.