Chapter 21
21
Walking over the brow of the hill and along the chalky river footpath back to Ravenswood, Marcus said nothing and kept his eyes on the track ahead. Luna could see a vein throbbing in his neck as he wrestled with his anger, but it all seemed so unjustified to her.
‘Why do you not like Mr Findlay – the cunning man?’ she was brave enough to ask, scampering to keep up with him. ‘Mrs Webber says that many of the villagers go to him for remedies in their hour of need, especially when they cannot afford the doctor, as he doesn’t always charge the poorest members of the community.’
Herbs and other plants had been used for thousands of years to treat the sick and injured. Why had Marcus taken against his neighbour so, when as far as she could see, the man was at best curing people of their ills, and at worst offering desperate souls a little hope?
‘He is a charlatan. I grant he has a knowledge of botany, but he relies too much on hocus-pocus, and anyone who believes in such rubbish is weak-minded and gullible, in my opinion. ’
She was frustrated that Marcus didn’t like Mr Findlay simply because the healer believed in things that he did not, but she wasn’t prepared to argue. Men always thought they were right and delighted in having the final say. They did not like being contradicted by others, most especially women. Daniel, for example, had been angry about the manipulation of the masses by the church. He was particularly adamant that belief in a non-existent God would not cure ills of the body or the mind, but she had been bold enough to argue to the contrary. She had seen people find solace, even relief, through their faith during the worst ravages of illness, and witnessed it help them through the almost unbearable burden of grief.
Did it matter whether Mr Findlay’s rowan cross protected Mrs Webber from the spirits, as long as she believed it did? Or whether it had been the ointment or the incantation that had made her ankle heal exceptionally fast?
‘I did not like Luna’s… your friendship with him when he first came to Honeysuckle Cottage, and would request that it is not rekindled. His so-called remedies only made you worse.’
Again, there was a contrary explanation, and that was simply that the decline in Luna’s mental and physical health was inevitable – not down to anything Mr Findlay had done or not done. It was easy to blame someone when no satisfactory resolution to an issue presented itself. After all, wasn’t that what the accusations of witchcraft were rooted in? He stopped walking and reached out to grip both her elbows.
‘I have asked very little of you. Could you not have done this one thing?’
‘But I?—’
He let her arms drop and shook his head. ‘I was hoping that the villagers would see how you’d changed, but now I find you’ve been mixing with a misguided fool who thinks witches are real. He’s as cuckoo as the rest of them, dressed like a court jester and trying to convince me to give him access to the well to protect us all from some unspecified evil at Ravenswood.’
She didn’t try to speak a second time. Marcus clearly had a few things to get off his chest. It was interesting, however, that Findlay believed there was evil at Ravenswood and was trying to protect them from it. Whether it was the spirits of the dead floating about, the Ravenswood Witch, or even the grunting manservant who posed the greatest threat, she knew there was something very odd going on at the house.
‘There was no evil,’ he continued. ‘Just an unstable woman clinging to silly made-up rituals as a way of channelling emotions she could not control, but once the rumours of witchcraft started to circulate, they gained momentum. Who but a witch would dance around a bonfire in the dead of night? Of course, ignorant and frightened villagers embellished the tales, and reports of the mistress of Ravenswood sailing through the night sky on a broom or summoning the spirits of the dead abounded. And then he appeared, with all his silly divination and hocus-pocus nonsense.’
Was this the source of his fury? The belief that poor Mr Findlay was to blame for Luna’s madness, when even her own father had recognised the creeping illness consuming his daughter would never improve? Or perhaps Marcus was worried that, as one of the few people who had seen his former wife close up in recent years, the cunning man had the ability to expose them. But it was an unnecessary fear. Why couldn’t Marcus see he was an ally? She felt calm and safe at Honeysuckle Cottage, which was a welcome contrast to the anxiously churning stomach and constant feeling of being watched that she felt at Ravenswood.
‘I’m sorry that you feel I have betrayed you. He gave me some ointment for my ankle, that’s all.’ She didn’t mention the incantation or her conviction that something powerful had undoubtedly flowed from the older man’s hands. ‘I won’t see him again.’ If it was a choice between Marcus and Mr Findlay, this troubled man before her would win every time. Yet there was a part of her that knew Marcus was making a huge mistake to spurn someone whose help they may need in the future.
‘Taming the damn raven hasn’t helped everyone’s perception of you,’ he muttered, still focusing intently on the path ahead. ‘I’m glad one survived, but for him to have such a strange attachment to you does nothing for the case we are pleading.’
‘I didn’t exactly tame him,’ she bristled, trying not to mind his language. ‘ He attached himself to me. I think he knew I needed a friend. You have no idea what I’ve been through in recent months.’
Her words gave him pause, and he stopped and turned to face her again.
‘I am unspeakably angry with you, but I must acknowledge that I am angry with myself even more. It was too soon to take you into Little Doubton. I just wanted to begin undoing the damage of the last ten years and I should never have put you in a position where you were attacked by Hilda – a bitter and gullible old woman who blames everyone and everything for her misfortunes in life, apart from herself.’
She could sense he was calmer now, the flare of his ire dying down, and she dug deep for a smile.
‘It is just a scratch, even if I don’t understand why I was attacked.’
‘ Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch. Shakespeare,’ he clarified. ‘Scratching a witch, especially if she is cut above the breath, is supposed to render her evil powers harmless. You’re lucky she didn’t get your eye.’
So, she’d been a victim of a superstitious ritual, even though she recognised it was no different from her carrying a rowan cross, albeit that was less violent. These people fervently believed that such actions would protect them.
‘Then she’s done what she set out to do. If they believe I really am some sort of enchantress, then surely the wound she inflicted renders me powerless. They can leave me alone.’
‘If only it were that simple.’ He began to walk towards home again.
‘What exactly is a familiar?’ she asked, daring to reach for his wide, swinging hand. She felt him tense at her touch, before moving his fingers away.
‘A demon in animal form that you have tamed; a creature who will attend to you and carry out your wicked commands. How do you not know all this? Witchcraft and the accusations of such have been around for hundreds of years.’
‘How do you know all this?’ she shot back at him.
‘When your wife is accused of such things, it is provident to investigate the topic as thoroughly as possible.’
‘Did she… did I have a familiar before Bran? When my behaviour was more extreme? Not that he is a familiar,’ she hastily added, in case he thought she had such leanings.
‘No, you were never much of an animal lover. Creatures did not warm to you and you were often… unkind to them.’
This made sense because Luna had killed all the ravens, or attempted to. She thought he might expand on his comments, explain what other animals she’d had cause to harm, but he seemed reluctant to say any more.
Ravenswood came into view as they turned a corner. It still looked neglected and eerie, even though they’d made great progress with the interior. If only those oppressive trees weren’t poised to throttle the very last breath from the building. They were so predatory, creeping up behind the house, ready to pounce at any moment .
‘I asked in the village and may have found us some more staff,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘There was interest from a family who have recently moved to Little Doubton. The oldest son and one of the daughters will be coming to Ravenswood on Friday with a view to working for us. If you like her, and she presents herself satisfactorily, I will offer her a position as housemaid. The lad is wiry and his father used to grow crops for the market in Manbury, so he has experience of gardening.’
‘And they are not afraid to work for a witch?’ She said it with humour but Marcus was not inclined to exchange the smiles of before.
‘I don’t think they are in a position to be choosy. Their mother was recently widowed and has eight of them to support.’ He stopped to unlatch their front gate and turned to her, hurt still apparent in his eyes. ‘Perhaps if you would kindly sever relations with those who spout lies about dark magic, and Bran can refrain from shouting “curse you” at them when they arrive, they might even stay beyond the week.’
She looked for signs that he was joking, or for a softening of the eyes and upturn of the mouth, but there was nothing.
They walked through the gate and he lingered by the rose bush he’d planted back in April. She knew that the garden, and specifically the flowers, made him happy. If he was still in a sulk then she would leave him to his thoughts. The first of the buds had finally opened and it was a magnificent sight. The perfect petals were like gathered offcuts of white silk and a heady perfume danced before her in the air as she walked towards the meadow.
As she approached the house, she remembered that there was no point knocking on the front door as Mrs Webber would still be in Manbury. Instead, she headed for the kitchens, only for a figure to dash out as she turned the corner and run in the direction of the woods .
It was a woman, of this she was certain, swathed in a long dark-green cloak with a hood covering her head, not stopping to look back. Whoever it was, she did not want to be seen – darting behind the first tree she came to. Luna could not tell her age, nor discern anything useful about her appearance, but she knew two things for sure – it was not her housekeeper and it was someone who did not want her identity revealed.