The Ravenswood Witch

Chapter 1

1

1885

Her heart was pounding and her breaths were raspy in her throat. She was beyond exhausted and had to rest for a moment, steadying herself by placing her hand on a rough gatepost and bending forward to stop herself being sick. It was only then she noticed the jagged scarlet scratches across her fingers where she had pushed the hanging brambles away from her face in her flight. Her terror was such that she hadn’t even felt the sharp thorns tear at her skin. How had it come to this? That she should be a fugitive, running from everything she knew?

She dared not stop for long because they were after her, fully aware that she was heading for the ferry, and the horses’ pounding hooves were much faster than her shaking legs. An earlier thunderstorm had left the dirt paths and grass banks slippery and wet, and she worried that she would lose her footing in her bone-weary state. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the gold and copper hues of the rising sun blurring into the deep indigo of night. Dawn was breaking, and soon the blanket of black that had afforded her a degree of cover as she’d raced along the stony tracks and scrambled through the bushy undergrowth would be gone .

Her eyes desperately scanned the riverbanks ahead, searching for the craft that would convey her across the water to Manbury. There, she would catch a train to London; the anonymity of a large city might offer her safety, even though she knew that the few shillings she had wouldn’t last long. The coins jangled in her pocket, weighing heavier than they should because they were ill-gotten gains. Her heart beat faster in her chest, weighing heavier than it should because it was broken. But it was her soul that weighed the most, for she’d sold it to the Devil.

She forced herself onwards and hurried around the bend in the road, finally spotting a small wooden boat in the distance, moored to a jetty that jutted out into the dark water. Relief flooded through her. It was on her side of the river and would surely set off as soon as she passed the ferryman some of her precious coins. She started to scamper down the stony track that curled towards the river, just as the bulky figure of a man stood up from the steep bank and collided with her.

Unaware of each other until the moment of impact, they became a twisted knot of limbs as they tried to anchor themselves and avoid tumbling to the ground. Inevitably, they toppled backwards as one. Her foot was caught under his leg and there was an unpleasant crunch as the weight of him snapped her ankle.

The pain was intense, and she let out a scream.

‘Where the hell did you spring from?’ he snapped, and then realised she was crying. ‘Damn and blast. I could do without an injured girl on my hands, especially as I seem to have done the damage. But you appeared from nowhere.’ He slid his body from hers, briefly wincing as he clutched at his shoulder.

‘I’m sure my ankle is broken.’ Her sobs came thick and fast. Everything was ruined. She knew enough to know it wouldn’t bear her weight and would take weeks to heal. Even if she could somehow hobble to the boat, going any distance beyond that was impossible now. She was done for. They would catch her and she would have to face the consequences of everything that she’d left behind. It was almost certain that she would be hanged.

She noticed his pained expression as he clutched at his arm again.

‘Are you injured?’ she asked. ‘Your shoulder…’

‘It’s not connected to the fall.’ He brushed her concern aside, and his brow furrowed as he bent towards her feet to look at her ankle. ‘But kind of you to ask.’

She closed her eyes for a moment, the tears still falling. They would certainly catch up with her now. There was nothing for it but to surrender to the inevitable and await her fate. Using a grubby hand to wipe away her tears, she noticed the man’s pocket watch had fallen to the soft soil in the tumble. She reached for it but as she turned it over, she saw that the glass had cracked.

‘Oh no, your beautiful watch,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. What have I done?’

‘What have you done? What have I done, more’s the point. Here you are, likely with a broken ankle, and yet you are concerned about my timepiece. Watches can be mended.’

‘So can ankles,’ she pointed out, shifting her position slightly, but the pain was too much and she let out a cry.

‘Besides, I have long since given up worrying about material possessions. It’s people who matter in this world.’

His words brought home to her how totally alone she was. No one would want anything to do with her now. Daniel was dead and she was ultimately responsible. Her body crumpled like a deflating hot air balloon and any remaining fight was expelled with one long, defeated exhalation of breath.

‘For goodness’ sake, don’t faint on me.’ He got to his feet using his uninjured arm and leaned over her. ‘Let’s see if you can stand.’

His large frame made her feel vulnerable, but she gripped his spade-like hand as he heaved her up onto her good leg. The moment she rested her injured foot on the ground, she felt a searing-hot pain. Further tears spilled from her lower lids – partly the excruciating agony and partly the futility of her desperate situation.

‘And now you’re crying.’ His eyes rolled to the heavens. ‘I’m not used to the tears of women – they make me uncomfortable.’

‘But I must catch the ferry,’ she tried to explain, casting glances towards the jetty in the distance. ‘It’s imperative that I get to London.’ She felt giddy and the concerned face of the man before her began to blur as she felt her body sway.

‘This is not good,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I’m taking you to the house.’

‘No, I…’ But he wasn’t asking her permission. The man slipped one arm around her waist and the other under her slender legs, scooping her up and holding her close to his chest. She could smell the sweat of physical exertion and an earthy fustiness coming from his clothing. There were smears of soil across his shirt and forehead, but he was too smartly dressed to be a farm labourer, and too well-spoken, yet he had the look, scent and build of a man who had already been several hours toiling on the land – which made no sense at this early hour.

There was a decidedly unstable moment as he struggled back up to the path, his feet slipping on the wet bank, and she thought they were destined to fall back towards the river again. She might be slight, and he was built like a Shire horse, but by holding her, he had no free hand to steady himself as he attempted to mount the steep incline. He stumbled a couple of times as clumps of soil skittered downhill, but he managed to keep them both upright.

Too weary to do anything other than lie in his arms, she resigned herself to her fate. This complete stranger was in charge and she had no fight left. He was taking her somewhere, regardless of her protestations, and what he chose to do with her when he got her there was out of her control. She was the cornered rat at the back of the barn, who knew the farmer was about to put a swift end to everything with the sharp edge of a shovel. Although a rat would fly at his attacker and fight to the last. But she was no rat.

The approaching rumble of hooves was almost a welcome sound after her two days of flight.

‘I am undone,’ she whispered, and let her head fall against his neck and her eyes close.

‘Hey! You there,’ a voice called.

‘How can I help you, constable?’ the man holding her asked.

‘Hand the woman over, there’s a good chap.’ The trotting came to a halt. ‘Goodness, what have you done to her? Has she fainted?’

‘Broken her ankle, I fear.’

Her eyes were open again now as she accepted this was the end, and she saw the younger of the two men dismount and walk towards them both.

‘This is the woman. I’m sure of it,’ he said to his colleague. ‘I can take her now.’

Her rescuer looked down at her face and she was sure he could read all the misery and guilt written across it. There was no need for words and no plea of innocence she could utter, because she had done bad things and felt that God was entitled to condemn her. Their eyes met and held, and if her emotions were clear from her expression, so were his. It was as if they shared a brief moment of understanding, both sensing the pain and weariness of the other. The silence lasted longer than it should have done, and the officer gave a small cough to remind them both that he was waiting.

‘I don’t understand. What on earth do you want with my wife?’ He kept his focus on her as he spoke to the policemen.

She scrunched up her eyes in confusion. Had the stranger just told the officer that she was his wife ? A nauseous feeling washed over her, as the unrelenting throbs of pain made it difficult to focus .

‘This woman is not your wife.’

‘Are you accusing me of lying?’ he challenged, and he changed from the concerned gentleman of before to someone bristling with irritation. ‘I think I damn well know my own wife. We’ve been married for nearly ten years.’

‘Of course, Mr Greybourne,’ said the older gentleman from his mount. ‘But the fugitive was of similar appearance. Slim and with pale yellow hair. She was last seen in a long grey cotton dress, asking about the Manbury ferry. You can’t blame us for the assumption.’

‘Fugitive?’ he enquired.

‘Yes, wanted for murder.’

There was an almost imperceptible clench of his square jaw as he absorbed the information.

‘I’ve been out here by the river since first light and I’ve seen no one of that description come past.’

‘Apart from your wife,’ the constable said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Apart from my wife,’ the man repeated.

The older policeman tugged at the reins and the horse lumbered forward a couple of paces, enabling him to inspect the woman in Mr Greybourne’s arms.

‘Luna Greybourne. Well, well, I don’t think I’ve set eyes on you for nearly seven years. Not close up, at least.’ He peered down quizzically at her pale face and frowned. ‘You look different to how I remember. Smaller somehow.’

‘But, as you all know,’ Mr Greybourne reminded the men, ‘my wife has been unwell for a very long time.’

‘Indeed.’ There was an awkward pause.

‘So, do please excuse me. I must take her to Mrs Webber, who will know what to do with the ankle, and perhaps have a sedative to ease the pain. ’

‘Of course.’ The younger policeman stepped aside, and the older gentleman doffed his hat.

‘If you see anything?—’

‘I’ll be sure to let you know.’ He turned towards the house and paused. ‘We did hear someone running, not ten minutes since, when we were down at the water’s edge. I thought it was children playing but could it have been your runaway?’

The older man nodded. ‘Sounds possible. Indebted to you. Come on, Jones, let’s not dawdle. Time is of the essence. We don’t want her getting on that ferry without us and crossing to the other side.’

The men rode away and the thudding hooves grew fainter, as Mr Greybourne began to walk back up the very path she had run down only minutes before.

‘Don’t be alarmed. I’m taking you to my home. I fear more rain is on its way and we would both do well to retreat inside. I will not harm you and, if you cause me no trouble, I will keep you safe until your injuries have healed. I shall ask only once and I promise not to pry into your personal business any further, but I should like to know your name, at least?’

She lifted her eyes slowly, taking in his broad shoulders, his square jaw and unshaven skin, until finally their gazes met for a second time. His eyes were as world-weary as her own and dark circles shadowed the sockets. Her chest heaved and she refused to break the questioning stare. A whole minute went by as she contemplated the bleakness of her situation, and then she made a decision, right there on the banks of the river in the cool morning sun. She could never return to her old life and here he was, offering her an alternative – an escape. She would be a fool not to embrace his audacious lie. It offered the possibility of sanctuary, even if only temporarily .

‘I’m Luna Greybourne,’ she said, raising one eyebrow and challenging him to disagree. ‘Your wife.’