The Secret of Isobel Key (15 page)

“I hardly needed to, since you talked to her earlier today.”

Tammy nodded firmly. “I did. I called her because I'm worried about you.”

Lou clenched her hands. “Tammy, I told you those things because you're my best friend. I thought you would understand that I'm trying to figure things out.”

“There are other ways to figure things out!” Tammy exploded, her eyes flashing. “I don't understand what's going on with you!”

“If you'd listened to me, you'd understand that I don't think scrying is stupid! Tammy, I still haven't figured out what I believe, but you're going to have to deal with the fact that I don't really feel comfortable with our parents' faith.”

Tammy glared at her. “And don't you think your mother has a right to know that?”

“No! I'm twenty-one. When will everyone stop butting in?” Tammy looked stunned, but Lou pressed on. “What I believe is up to me, and no one else. I shared things with you because I trust you. I can't believe you called my mother!”

“I just don't want you to do anything dangerous.”

“It's not like I'm sacrificing animals and worshiping the devil, Tammy!”

“But that's what witches do, isn't it? How many of those women in the court records really thought they were witches? If you asked me that yesterday, I'd say none of them. But then my best friend tells me she believes in magic. Of course I'm worried about you!”

Lou drew a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate your concern. But this is my life, and I want to figure things out in my own way. Can you let me do that?”

Sulking, Tammy flopped back onto her bed. “Fine. Just don't involve me.”

“Fine.” Lou turned and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

She glared at Tammy. “To brush my teeth, not that it's any of your damn business.” She slammed the door behind her, cutting off Tammy's reply.

Isobel's screams woke the town, and the first men on the scene found her in the bloody chamber, surrounded by death. No one doubted what had transpired, especially when the good doctor reminded the townsfolk of the animosity Isobel bore her brother-in-law for taking a second wife.

The people of St. Andrews were saddened that one of their own could fall so far into madness, for it was surely madness that had possessed her, but the doctor insisted that it was another form of possession.

He named her witch, a consort of the devil, and he listed not only the murders of that night but also the death of her own sister five years past as proof of her crimes. The children had been whispering just such a charge against her, that she was a witch and an agent of evil, and now the wise doctor stood before them, making the same charges. None spoke against him, for his accusations made a certain amount of sense. Isobel was arrested and led to the gaol that night.

That night, Lou had a frightening dream.

She saw a woman with dark hair struggling, panting, crying out, and a man bending over her. When he straightened up, Lou saw that he held a shriveled newborn. She watched in horror as blood flowed from the woman on the bed, and she saw the crying infant turn purple, then blue, and then still. The man seemed helpless to stop the death around him, but he calmly and gently covered the infant with a cloth, and was turning to cover the body of the woman in a similar fashion when the dream suddenly shifted.

It was still the same room, Lou was sure of it, but now every surface appeared drenched in blood. The body on the bed was still there, but now another corpse had been added—a man lying on the floor, covered in blood. It was not the same man Lou had seen first, she was certain of it.

The door to the room opened, and suddenly Lou's vision went black, and all that was left of the dream were the gut wrenching sobs of a woman and the sound of myriad voices chanting one word over and over again: “witch, witch, witch, witch, witch.”

Lou woke up in her bed with a small scream, and at first she had absolutely no idea where she was. She stayed still, frozen in terror for a moment, but when she heard the sound of snoring coming from the bed beside her, reality came rushing back and she realized she was in St. Andrews. She breathed a sigh of relief, but no matter how much she told herself that everything was now alright, she couldn't coax her mind back to sleep. It kept replaying the scenes of her nightmare interspersed with her fight with Tammy.

She lay awake until the digital clock beside her read 5:45, and then she quietly slipped out of bed. She got dressed in the dark, careful not to wake Tammy or the other girls. She crept from the room, carrying her shoes in one hand and her coat in the other. In the lobby, she slipped her shoes and coat on and headed outside.

Dawn was not yet there, and the streets were tinged an unearthly violet. Lou didn't really have a plan or a destination in mind, so she was a bit surprised when her feet led her to the ruins of the cathedral on the far side of the town. It was a spot she had noticed when Brian was showing them around that first day, but Lou hadn't really had a chance to take in the striking visual. The walls of the cathedral were crumbling in many places, but there were segments with windows still standing, intricately carved hundreds of years ago. When Lou looked at the cathedral from the front, she could glimpse the sea through the windows, and as she walked around the side, her view shifted to the old cemetery, once sheltered within the walls of the church, now open to the elements.

Lou circled the ruins once, slowly drinking in the sights of decay and death juxtaposed against the vibrant churchyard grass and the rolling ocean. By the time she had made her way entirely around the ruins, the sun had appeared. Lou found on bench on the far side of the cathedral and paused, sinking into thought.

She sat there as the sun climbed, and she just stared. She stared at the blackened, crumbling stones of the church, at the long-forgotten headstones, and at the stark beauty of the ruin. Seagulls swooped and cried above her, and Lou reveled in the wild solitude. She was still sitting there when an old man shuffled up to the gate around the cemetery and carefully unlocked the chain around the door. He swung the gate inward, inviting passersby to stroll through the resting place of the ancient dead.

Slowly,
she rose from her bench and headed toward the open gate. She hesitated on the threshold, not sure why she would want to disturb the rest of this peaceful place, but something propelled her forward. She was careful to remain on the well-worn paths, for she had no desire to inadvertently step on someone's grave, and she walked slowly, reading the headstones that were still clear enough to make out.

The sun began to warm her, and for the first time since coming to Scotland, she shrugged out of her coat, surprised to realize she wasn't frozen to the bone. She continued to stroll about, whispering the names of the headstones she could read out loud. As a child, she had gone through a brief period of fascination with the ancient Egyptians, and she still remembered that they believed that they would be able to survive into eternity as long as their names were remembered. It was silly, perhaps, but ever since Lou had learned that, she always tried to speak the names of the dead out loud, to give them a brief moment of continued life.

Lou wandered around the cemetery, whispering the names of the dead. She did not speak the names of Isobel Key, whose remains were not interred in holy ground, nor did she speak the names of Margaret, Janet, or Alexander Nairn as she passed their headstones, for they were worn smooth with the passage of time.

She did not protest her arrest, nor did she struggle when she was initially plunged into the darkness of her prison. So far, the only sounds she had made at all had been the screams which first alerted the townsfolk to her crimes.

The cell they threw her in was dank and tiny. The floor was more mud and filth than wood or stone, and there were no windows for her to see out. Her jailors brought her only water, and every time she thought to lie down upon the filth, someone would rattle the door of her cell, or scream at her, anything to make enough noise to prevent her from sleeping. In response to their noise and threats, the jailors were greeted with eerie silence, but they were hard men set to a hard task, and more than equal to it.

They kept her, awake and barely alive, for a full seven days while a commission to try her in St. Andrews was requested and granted by the king. Seven days without sleep or food. Seven nights in a dark, nasty hole. Her jailors were not moved to sympathy or compassion, for they had dealt with witches before: not for a few years, certainly, but accused witches were nothing new in the town of St. Andrews. They would certainly not endanger their livelihoods for a servant of Satan such as Isobel.

On the fourth day of her imprisonment, her strange silence was broken. Isobel began alternately calling out curses and pleading for mercy. Such spite flew through the bars of the cell that if there had been any doubt in the minds of the guards as to her guilt, it was thoroughly dispelled.

Outside her cell, Hogmanay celebrations were just as joyous as in previous years, but Isobel did not know that. Young women walked backwards over their thresholds, holding up mirrors behind them which they hoped would show them the face of their future love, feasts were consumed, ale was drunk, but Isobel did not comprehend of any of the revelry. Her cell had no window, and the walls were thick, preventing all sounds from creeping in to her ears, and keeping her cries muffled from the people of St. Andrews. Isobel no longer knew nor cared what day it was. All she knew was that she could not sleep, she could not eat, and that she could not forget the image of her once beloved Alexander bathed in his own blood.

Lou finally left the graveyard when the sun was high, and she began to wander. When she realized she had found her way to the bottom of the steep street where Professor MacDonald lived, she started to climb toward his house, hoping to find him at home.

She knocked on the blue door once, twice, and was about to turn and head back when the door opened. The professor was wearing a different kilt today, this one in deep greens and yellows. He still sported the dangerous looking black combat boots, but his leather jacket was missing and his shirtsleeves were rolled up past the elbows. His hands were covered in dirt, and Lou realized she had interrupted his work in the garden.

“I'm so sorry, professor, I really shouldn't have come by without calling first.” She turned to go, but he stopped her.

“Louisa, was it?” She nodded at him shyly. “The lass who was interested in witches. You're not disturbing me; come in and sit for a spell.” He brushed his dirty hands off on the rear of his kilt and turned to lead her inside. She followed, apologizing all the way.

“I really don't know what's come over me. I should never have come by like this. After all, I've barely met you. I'm sorry I've disturbed you.”

He barked a short laugh. “A pretty girl at my door should hardly be called a disturbance, lass. I'm happy for the company, truth be told. Now,” he said as he led her once again to the cozy study, “what's on your mind that you sought me out again?”

Lou didn't know what she was going to say until she heard the words tumbling out of her lips. “I want to know more about the witch you spoke of yesterday, and more about her niece, Nan. What happened to her after her parents died? Where did she go? What about her family?”

The professor smiled at Lou. “You're taking an interest in the family, is that it?”

Lou nodded, still a bit uncertain as to why she would want to know these things.

“Well, now,” the professor said as he settled back in his chair, “Isobel Nairn became the ward of George Nairn, he that was her grandfather. The family left St. Andrews after the tragedy, and I believe they settled in Edinburgh for a time.” He paused to glance at his guest.

“Nan married in 1677, at the age of twenty. Her husband, one Malcolm Ferguson, worked as a cobbler in Edinburgh, and they lived there happily enough, although she must have remembered her aunt, for the herbal survived in the keeping of the family all those years. I don't doubt that she studied and memorized her aunt's recipes and spells, for Nan was able to deliver three healthy children and see them live to adulthood. Her children were all girls, Margaret, Jenny, and Agnes. They grew up in Edinburgh, and when they were of age, Jenny and Agnes married local men, but Margaret never wed. It's from Jenny that my family is descended, and her husband Tom Smith. He was, as you may have guessed by his name, a blacksmith by trade.”

Lou listened, spellbound, as the old man spun the story of his lineage as effortlessly as if he were reading the lines printed on a tremendously detailed family tree. Lou did nothing to stop his impassioned recital, but twice the professor interrupted himself. The first time he left the room, he returned bearing the same tea service that they had used the previous day, and they shared a companionable midday meal. The second time he went out, he came back carrying a worn manila folder, which he handed to Lou with a flourish.

“Those are the family photos, those which have survived the test of time and damp, that is.” Lou flipped through the portraits and snapshots, smiling at this further glimpse into the rich family history the professor had been narrating.

“
It looks like you inherited the family hair!” She commented, holding up a photo of a woman in a stiff Victorian dress and stiff smile, both of which were completely at odds with the wild mop of dark curls that crowned her.

The professor laughed and ran his hand over his own head, making the gray hair stand up as if he had just put his finger in a light socket.

“Aye, that of it that hasn't fallen out!” He chuckled, appraising his guest. “You have hair like that yourself, lass. Does it plague you?”