‘Blanche is her own worst enemy. How many times have you told me such? Fret not … ‘tis but a storm in a puddle!’ Nathaniel stretched out his leather boots to warm his toes by the embers.
The weather continued foul and fierce, with driving snow, sleet and the lashing of gales and rain, which turned the sodden tracks into quagmires. They sent a boy on snow shoes down to Bankwell House to see if the Nortons had returned, but there was little fresh news.
Rumour said they were all sent to York gaol on foot and had perished in a snowstorm. Then it was said they were released and were safe, staying with the Justice, who once was for the Royalist cause.
Then one evening Thomas Carr arrived, cap in hand under cover of darkness to tell his sad tale.
‘The old priest died on the journey,’ he stuttered. ‘He was buried where he perished with no decent offices. Mistress Norton was fined full whack and returns to pick up her child from you.’
‘What child?’ Hepzi asked, puzzled that he was sent ahead as messenger. A constable was usually above such a menial task, being held high in the district.
‘The Norton child was sent back to lodge with Goodwife Preston down the Kirkgate in Settle and to be brought here to you. Is that not so?’ He was looking at her as if she knew all of this scheme.
She held up her hands in horror at his words. ‘I know naught of this. No one in this past week would venture forth into these hills with a bairn. Nonie is best where she be with the goodwife.’ She wiped her brow with relief. ‘'Tis a consolation to know that leniency has been granted to my kinswoman by the Justice–’ She cut off her words. It was never wise to say more than was necessary to a constable.
‘You were right, husband. It was but a storm in a puddle.’ Yet why did her heart shake with unease?
Nathaniel turned to their visitor. ‘'Tis pity that it be Christmas or we’d be offering you the wassail bowl, a slice of spice cake and a dish of frumenty for your trouble, but alas, parson’s rules must be obeyed, aye?’ He winked and guided him out of sight for a jug of warm ale.
‘You speak true enough, more’s the pity,’ answered the constable. ‘This be now a meagre season with no brightness to cheer the dark nights. Where’s the harm in a bit of Christmas cheer?’
Nathaniel tapped his arm in agreement. ‘Our mouths are sealed, Brother Carr. We all know from whence this new Lent doth come … from that sobersides in our pulpit. This business with our sister Norton is so petty as to be mean of spirit. What think you?’
‘We have had none worse these past few years. The old priest was a kind enough soul. He did not deserve to die by the roadside like a dog. It hath troubled me much,’ sighed Tom Carr, looking shamed by his part in the action.
‘What of Constable Stickley, is he of the same mind as you?’ Hepzi asked softly.
‘Robert Stickley serves only one master and that is himself,’ Carr replied. ‘Will you collect the child or wait for Mistress Norton to do so on her return? She cannot be far behind now.’
‘We will send for them straightway and I shall prepare a room for them to rest here awhile after such a bothersome experience,’ she nodded, relieved that her worrying was needless.
All’s well that ends well, she mused. Blanche had been spared. There was no harm done. Nate was right: she was a fusspot indeed.
She gave no thought to the matter as she spun the wool for the winter weaving, churning the butter, layering dirty linen, cuffs and collars in the buck tub until the following morning, when there was a great rapping at the main door and a voice crying in the wind.
‘Hepzibah Snowden! Let me in!’
The kitchen girl went to the door as she was taught, but Blanche Norton stormed in, white of face with cheeks afire, her white hair streaming wildly behind her, her cap awry. ‘Where is she? My Nonie … Mama has come for her!’ she cried around the stairs.
‘Where’s who? Calm yourself, Cousin.’ Hepzi was caught with flour on her face, in her working skirt and mud on the stone flags.
‘You have Nonie here with you?’ screamed Blanche, breathless with her long uphill walk from Settle.
Hepzi shook her head. ‘No, I’m told she bides still with the goodwife in Kirkgate. She’s not here. We thought you both abiding there,’ she replied, but her heart was thumping. Something was amiss.
‘Word was sent for you to collect her. Did you not go?’ Blanche insisted, her hands rubbing on her face.
‘No, I did not know until but yesterday what had befallen any of you,’ she answered, breathless with fear. ‘I thought she was with Mistress Preston.’
Blanche sat on the stairs in a half-fainting swoon, crying and rocking with grief.
‘The goodwife knows naught of my baby’s arrival and did not clap eyes on her once. Oh, what is happening?’ Blanche’s composure was breaking down.
Such was her alarm at these ill tidings that Hepzi sent for Nate. He would know what to do and vouchsafe for her actions. ‘Truly, Sister, as God is my witness. I knew naught of my part in your plans. Nonie must surely be biding with someone else in the town,’ she pleaded, hoping it was so.
‘But she was told to bide with Goody Preston, the seamstress, and not to leave the lodgings until you came for her and you did not come?’ Blanche was screaming like an animal in pain. ‘She must have set out for Wintergill on her own. Oh, tell me this is but some mad dream and I will wake up. Where is Nonie? Why did you not go looking for her?’
Hepzi tried to explain. ‘How could I go if I didn’t know this was my task? The snow was so bad, no one came to tell me. Don’t blame me.’
Nathaniel came and, sensing the trouble, sat down on the steps beside the distraught woman. ‘Calm yourself, tell me exactly how this all came about. You sent her back with Thomas Carr then?’ he asked, pushing a glass of warm spiced beer in her hand but she pushed it away.
‘Thomas came with us partway. It was he who helped me put her on a cart. Nonie cried to stay by my side but it was for the best that we got her back safely, was it not? Did I do right? Oh, tell me,’ Blanche wept.
‘What was the carter’s name, pray?’ Nate continued his questioning, trying his best to direct her thoughts.
‘I know not,’ Blanche confessed. ‘But we paid him to return my bairn to the marketplace where it is but a short hop down the street to Goody Preston’s dwelling. She has been there many a time before.’
‘So you don’t know his name. Who vouchsafed for him?’ Nate continued, looking up with alarm at his wife as she shuddered that Blanche had given over her child to a stranger.
‘Thomas the constable made the arrangement. I gave him my bride ring. It was all I had of value to secure safe passage for my child.’ The widow looked so woeful, rocking back and forth in her distress.
‘Did this carter say in what direction he was heading? What was his load?’ Hepzi patted her cousin’s cold fingers, trying to bring some warmth into Blanche’s frozen body.
‘He was heading for Settle to cross the river and onwards, I expect. Did I do wrong?’ Blanche pleaded.
‘Was he worthy of trust, this stranger? What did he look like?’ Hepzi asked gently, but Blanche shook her head.
‘Like any such journeyman in the darkness, wrapped in sacks, but his cart was covered. I trusted his word. He promised to drop her by the inn at the crossroads. She was to make her way to Mistress Preston and then to you. Thomas Carr knew of him. You must have known I would send her here.’
Blanche was looking up with such childlike surprise that her cousin felt a fear in the pit of her stomach.
‘But I knew naught,’ she insisted. ‘That’s what I told the constable. There’s been much snow and floods. Perhaps she lodges at the inn or some kind soul has taken her in and she waits by a warm hearth. Do not despair.’ Her words sounded hollow.
‘I should have kept her by my side. Where shall I look for her?’ Blanche began to stir from her strange lethargy.
‘We will send for the constables and the watchmen,’ Nathaniel butted in to reassure her. ‘They will go from house to house in the town and make enquiries. Anona is a sensible maid. She would not walk out in the wild weather. Whatever made you send her from your side?’
‘I thought only of her safekeeping. I feared that we might be sent to York and she could not walk sixty miles. I thought I was doing the best for her. Surely I have not caused her more harm?’ Blanche was weeping, tears filling her eyes.
‘I’m sure not …’ Hepzi lied. It was days since the child was sent away. Even one day was a long time to be homeless and without shelter. What if … Her thoughts were racing ahead with terrible possibilities. ‘We must talk to Thomas Carr at once. He will know who the carter was. There will be a search party and we will get down on our knees this minute and pray for her return.’
Blanche paced the flagstones all night and the next morn refused to break fast with them, preferring to be out on horseback with Thomas Carr, who rode disconsolate by her side, blaming himself for the child’s disappearance.
Hepzi polished and swept and prayed. Keeping busy was the only cure for this dreadful foreboding. If only they had known that Nonie was coming. Blanche’s spur-of-the-moment decision might bring such a dreadful result. If only it had not snowed. If only she had warned her cousin in time. If only this holy parson was not so diligent in his righteousness.
‘We cannot sit here and do nothing,’ she cried when the thaw began and paths were clear enough to tramp down to Bankwell.
‘Now don’t go upsetting things,’ warned Nate.
‘How can you say such when a child is lost because of Parson Bentley? Are you feeble-hearted in this matter? If this were our own child … I must go to Blanche.’
Hepzi made her way down to Bankwell House, slithering along the wood path by the packhorse bridge. Her cousin was pacing the cold rooms distraught.
‘There’s no news. How could you all conspire against me like this? If only you’d warned me … I am fire and ice,’ Blanche cried. ‘My heart is frozen but my mind is afire with the injustice. ‘Tis time to turn tigress and grab by the throat all those who have wronged my cub. I will kill that wicked man!’ she screamed, crossing herself in fear at her own murderous words. ‘Cousin, I cannot cease from this travail until I find my child. Why is it taking so long?’
‘Whisht, Sister, and calm down,’ Hepzi answered. ‘Let the men go looking, stay awhile by the fireside.’
She tried to comfort her but Blanche shook her head. ‘It’s all right for you to talk. You haven’t lost a child. What do you care? I cannot rest. I will go back to Settle one more time and see if there is news.’
‘Not in this storm, I beg you,’ her cousin pleaded, but the distraught woman was already through the door. ‘Get away from me. This is all your fault.’ Hepzibah stared into the snow, sick with fear. Another storm was on the way.
It was cold sitting on the cart, watching the black pony stumbling over the snow. Anona was cold and wet and her tummy was rumbling with hunger. How did she come to be here? She sat quietly hoping that the smelly man wouldn’t pinch her with his bony fingers again. If I am very quiet perhaps he will forget I’m here, she thought. How she wished she was with Mama. The old man on the cart kept staring at her so she pulled away from him as far as she could.
It was a narrow lane and the snow was falling. She couldn’t see far in the mist. The man on the cart beside her was dressed in sacks with rough leather and fingerless gloves, and his legs were wrapped like bandages. His face was covered with spots like potholes on the track. When he grinned he had only one tooth, and she didn’t like those bulging eyes.
Her clothes were heavy with wetness and her cloak gave no comfort. Round her middle her stomacher was stiff like a board, cutting her in two. Covered up as she was, her hair in a tight cap over her ears, she was still cold as ice and her fingers were frozen.
They were clip-clopping along the track but it was getting harder to see ahead, and the steaming old nag stumbled again and snorted. Wet snow was covering their tracks behind them, and she sensed danger. Why was she here alone in the dark with this stranger? We are lost, she thought, and there was menace in the old man’s greasy smile. Edging away from him, from the stench of dung, her belly was churning and fear was creeping up her body, freezing her legs and her hands into wood.
On and on they trundled but in the half-light it was getting harder to fathom out where they were heading. She did not know this road. She had never left Bankwell but to go visiting with Mama in Settle and Wintergill.
Then they came to a steep slope and the poor horse slipped, lurching Anona into the ribs of the stranger, who cackled and tried to hug her tight. The nag gathered himself with fright and started to pull harder and harder, skating over the ice, slithering faster and faster, rocking them from side to side down the hill. The old man tried to ‘who-oah’ the creature, to lash it with his whip, cursing with strange words she couldn’t understand.
Clinging for dear life on to the side of the old wooden cart, jolted by the motion, she felt sick. Her throat screamed out with terror at this spinning-top ride, ‘Mama! Mama! Save us!’ But there was no one there to help them as the horse shot round the bend into the stone dyke and the cart tipped on its side on top of the man, who screamed in mortal agony.
Anona was flung into the air. It was the carter who took the weight of the wooden wheels on his back. Barrels scattered and rolled like cannons. She landed in the soft snow unharmed, but her head was spinning.
‘I want Mama, I want my mama!’ she cried into the dawn light. The snow had stopped and she looked down at the man with horror.
‘I can’t lift the wheel,’ she cried out, but no one came. The man looked at her with empty staring eyes and said not another word.
The nag lay on its side, helpless, and she wept icy tears for the poor animal’s leg was all twisted. She watched the wheels of the cart turning as if in some daydream. She had to find help. Wrapping the wet cloak around her body, she felt the squelch of dampness in her leather boots, her skirts dragged her down. Was it better to go back up the hill and follow the track home to Mama or to go on while she could?