Scarlet Widow (24 page)

‘I’m not afraid of her witchery,’ said Nicholas. ‘I’m going to go and confront her now, this minute!’

Francis caught at his sleeve, but he twisted it away and pushed through the goodwives crowding in the hallway. There were many more women gathered in the house now, and outside on the village green, too. Beatrice followed Nicholas through the front door and as she did so she saw that Jonathan Shooks had arrived and was just stepping down from his calash. Today he was wearing a coat of a much darker grey, as if it had been cut from the thunderous clouds above their heads. When he saw Beatrice he gave her his usual smile of acknowledgement, part appreciative and part mocking.

Nicholas stalked to the far corner of the village green, to the Widow Belknap’s house. By the time he reached it, rain had started falling, fat heavy drops that rustled into the weeds and flowers of the Widow Belknap’s front garden.

Beatrice came close behind him as he marched up to the porch, and both Francis and Goody Rust came close behind her, as well as Jonathan Shooks and William Rolfe, the shoemaker, who had happened to be walking past and was obviously keen to find out what the fracas was all about.

A large brass knocker hung on the Widow Belknap’s green-painted front door, in the shape of a snarling wolf’s head. Nicholas took hold of it and banged it hard, three times. Almost immediately, the door opened and the Widow Belknap appeared, wearing the same brick-red gown that Beatrice had seen her in yesterday. Her black parrot, Magic, came strutting out, too.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, looking from one of their faces to the next. ‘Have you all come to pay me a social call? If so, I regret that I am freshly out of cake.’

‘I am come about my baby son, Tristram, you witch!’ said Nicholas. His voice was wobbling with anger. ‘I am come to ask why you took his life. If you had wanted to take your revenge on us, for whatever reason, why could you not have asked for money, or some other recompense in kind, or even taken
my
life – but not the life of a child who had so many years to look forward to?’

There was a very long silence, during which the Widow Belknap stared at Nicholas unblinkingly. He started to repeat his accusation, but she interrupted him and said, ‘I can hear what you are accusing me of, Mr Buckley. However, I had no involvement in it whatever. How could I have taken your baby’s life when I was here in my own house all of yesterday and all of last night? And why would I want to? I would have thought you had enough trouble with your own wife without accusing
me
of any misconduct!’

‘You can’t deceive me, you witch!’ Nicholas retorted. ‘Everybody in the village knows that you have no need to leave your lair to spread your mischief! You can send that infernal black bird of yours, or one of your cats, or simply a wraith that flies invisible through the darkness, with breath that can suffocate anybody who happens to have displeased you!’

The Widow Belknap looked him up and down with her intense green eyes, as if she were trying to decide what size of coffin he would need.

‘How
dare
you come to my door and slander me so?’ she replied, although her voice was much quieter and more controlled than his. ‘How
dare
you?’

‘Because there is only one person in this village who could have wanted to inflict such harm on our family, and there is only one person in this village who is
capable
of it!’

‘You nocky!’ spat the Widow Belknap. ‘Do you really think that I could ever be so exercised by the empty-headed gossip of your wife and her knotting-circle that I would go to the extent of murdering one of your infants? Why would I risk my life for such petty vindictiveness? Do you think I
want
to be hanged, or burned, or floated in a pond?’

‘Then who else made my children so sick?’ Nicholas lashed back at her. ‘Who else would have painted a cross upside down on their bedchamber wall, in brimstone and treacle? My son was murdered by a procurator of the Devil, and there is only one procurator of the Devil in Sutton, and that is
you
, Widow Belknap!’

The Widow Belknap’s eyes narrowed and she pointed a long finger directly at his face. ‘If you ever call me such a name again, Nicholas Buckley, the flesh will be boiled from your bones and you will be reduced to broth! So go away and think about
that
while you’re burying your baby boy!’

‘Widow Belknap—’ said Francis, stepping forward. ‘I am sure this has been nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. Mr Buckley has just lost his youngest son and it is natural that he is very overwrought. Let us please make peace with one another. You remember what Peter said? “Be ye all of one mind, having compassion, one of another. Love each other as brethren, pitiful and courteous.”’

‘This witch killed my son!’ said Nicholas. ‘I shall see her burned, I promise you!’

‘Not before
you
have been turned into a mess of pottage, Nicholas Buckley!’ said the Widow Belknap. ‘Now, get off my property, all of you, before I call the constable and have you arrested for trespass!’

Jonathan Shooks came up and laid a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. ‘Come away, my dear fellow. You’re playing with fire with this woman, believe me.’

Nicholas pushed his hand away. ‘And what about
you
,
Mr Shooks? Was I not playing with fire when I invited you to treat my children? On the one hand I have this murdersome witch, and on the other I have you and your Chinese fire-sticks and your deals with demons. I don’t know which is the worser!’

‘I made it clear to you that I could protect your children,’ Jonathan Shooks persisted, his voice dropping even lower and steadier. ‘Only, however, at a price.’

‘Yes – twenty acres, more than half my land! That land is my
life
, Mr Shooks, as much as my family!’

‘Well, yes,’ said Jonathan Shooks with an understanding nod. ‘And now I realize that it was more than you were prepared to sacrifice. Unfortunately, you can see what your refusal has led to. If you had deeded that land over to me, I could have come to an arrangement with Satan’s proxies and your infant son would still be alive today.’

‘Don’t you have any idea what you were asking me to do?’ demanded Nicholas. ‘You were asking me to strike a bargain with the Devil! The
Devil
– the embodiment of everything evil! It flew in the face of everything that I have ever believed in! You were asking me to choose between my family and my God!’

‘My dear sir, we all have to come to a deal with the Devil sooner or later in our lifetimes. In a world full of moral ambiguity, it is the only certain way in which we can guarantee our survival.’

Nicholas was confused and breathing hard, as if somebody had been chasing him. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Supposing I were now to change my mind, and say
yes
, I
will
come to such an agreement? Supposing I
do
deed over those twenty acres? What would prevent this proxy of Satan from coming back later and demanding even
more
land, until I had no property left to my name at all?’

Jonathan Shooks folded his arms and looked at him with another of those expressions that Beatrice found impossible to read. It was like a tolerant adult looking at a child who persisted in being awkward – but at the same time it was very highly charged, as if his tolerance had limits and those limits were very close to being reached.

‘You would have to trust me, Mr Buckley,’ he said. ‘The only guarantee that I can give you is my word.’

‘But what about Satan? I don’t doubt that I can trust
your
word, but if you are striking a bargain with a proxy of Satan, how far can I trust
his
word? Satan is a liar by nature!’

‘Mr Buckley – I warned you what would happen if you didn’t agree to the terms of my arrangement, and very sadly it has. You still have a chance to save Apphia, and your wife, and the remainder of your family and servants. Time, however, is running very short. The hourglass is rapidly emptying even as we speak.’

‘Mr Shooks,’ put in Francis. ‘
Was
it the Widow Belknap who caused the Buckley children to fall ill? If so, we should simply have her arrested and tried for her crime.’

Jonathan Shooks looked down at the stony brown roadway for a moment, as if he were trying to summon up all his reserves of patience.

‘My dear reverend, you have to understand that what is happening here in Sutton is very much more complex than that. This is not simply a case of a vengeful woman who has the ability to cast malevolent spells.’

‘Then what is she? And what is her place in this, if any?’

‘I suppose you could best describe her as a facilitator for the underworld – a go-between, what the Spanish call an
intermediaro
. Proving such a thing to the satisfaction of a court, however, even to the most superstitious of juries – no, that would be well nigh impossible. The days of Salem are long gone.’

When Jonathan Shooks said that, Nicholas turned on his heel without a word and started to walk back down to his house. Jonathan Shooks made no attempt to follow him. Instead, he let out an exaggerated sigh and said, ‘Such a pity. Such a great, great pity! That fellow is a fool to himself.’

Beatrice didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t trust his motives in demanding twenty acres from Nicholas Buckley, but at the same time she didn’t trust the Widow Belknap, either. While Nicholas had been confronting the Widow Belknap in her porch, and accusing her of murdering Tristram, Beatrice had been carefully studying the various plants and bushes in her flowering weed garden. She had seen several medicinal herbs, such as Solomon’s seal, which was used to take away bruises ‘caused by women’s wilfulness in stumbling upon their hasty husbands’ fists’.

There was eyebright, too, and costmary and marigold, all of which could be used to treat a variety of ailments, from colic to worms. Almost in the centre of the garden, however, a yew bush was growing, dark and even more pungent now that it had started to rain – one of the thickest yew bushes that Beatrice had ever seen.

They were only halfway home when there was a deafening detonation of thunder directly above their heads and the trees all around them began to thrash and sway, as if they were trying to uproot themselves and run away. Uriel snorted a few times, but Francis managed to calm him down and keep him trotting straight ahead. Whenever it had thundered, Kingdom used to slew violently to one side of the road, or sometimes he would stop altogether, shivering with terror.

‘What do you think?’ asked Beatrice, as she and Francis sought shelter in the porch. The rain was lashing down much harder now and Caleb came hurrying around to the front of the house to unharness Uriel and lead him to his paddock.

‘Don’t seem to frighten him, this thunder,’ said Caleb, tugging affectionately at Uriel’s mane. Caleb himself was soaked but he didn’t seem to mind. At least the rain was warm.

‘Maybe that’s because I named him for an archangel,’ said Francis. ‘There must be plenty of thunder in heaven, especially when the Lord is angry.’

‘And what about you, Francis?’ asked Beatrice, as she went in through the front door and took off her bonnet. ‘Are
you
angry?’

‘Of course I’m angry! But it’s righteous anger, not pique! An innocent child has died and I don’t know how, or why!’

‘We must try to think about it calmly and with logic,’ said Beatrice.

‘How can we, when there is nothing logical about it at all? Jonathan Shooks seems to be suggesting that Satan was responsible, or at least some proxy of his, but I can’t work out if Tristram’s death was natural or supernatural, or something of both. I have no way of telling if those children had simply picked up some common childhood sickness, like weaning brash, or if somebody poisoned them on purpose or deliberately gave them an infection – or if indeed a deal really
was
done with some demon or other, which is what Jonathan Shooks would have us believe. Then again, Jonathan Shooks stands to profit handsomely from this, whatever the cause. Twenty acres, to say the least.’

Beatrice went through to the kitchen where Mary was slowly stirring a kettle filled with cream and milk and water to make cheese.

‘Did I hear the Reverend Scarlet say that Tristram had passed away?’ Mary asked.

Beatrice nodded. ‘Very sadly, yes. Apphia is a little better, but I am still afraid that we might lose her, too.’

‘Is it true that the Widow Belknap put a spell on them? That’s what everybody’s been saying.’

‘No, Mary, I don’t think it was witchcraft, although it’s possible that the Widow Belknap was party to what happened. We should keep our tongues still, though, until we have proof.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Mary. She went back to stirring the thickening curds in her cheese-kettle, but then she stopped and said, ‘Is it all right to make cheese in a thunderstorm? It won’t turn sour, will it?’

‘No, Mary. It won’t turn sour.’

Beatrice wondered if now was the time to tell Francis about the tests she had carried out on Kingdom’s vomit and diarrhoea, and on the tarry hoof prints from Henry Mendum’s field. She didn’t yet have enough evidence to prove beyond doubt who might be responsible for all the disturbing events that had been taking place in Sutton over the past few days. In spite of that, she might be able to reassure Francis that it was not his faith that was lacking. All the prayers in heaven and on earth would not have deterred the kind of person who was capable of painting four naked slaves with pine resin and quicklime and saltpetre and setting them alight, or of killing a small child like Tristram, however that had been done, or of poisoning Kingdom with yew leaves.

She was almost sure that this was the work of man – or of woman – and not of demons.

She was tying on her apron when Francis called out, ‘
Bea
! Beatrice! Come here, my dearest, if you would!’

She went through to the hallway and Francis beckoned her out to the porch.

‘There,’ he said, grasping her arm, and pointing towards the end of the driveway. ‘Is that the person you saw before? A brown cloak, you said, didn’t you – with a hood, and carrying a staff? I didn’t notice him at first but then a grouse broke out from the trees, as if something had startled it, and it was then that I saw him. Him or
her
, whoever it is. He’s been standing there ever since, quite still. Is he looking in our direction or not? It’s hard to say.’