Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
THEO
After receiving my orders, I returned home to a peaceful evening with my mother while my father spent a few hours at the castle apparently working on paperwork.
I wasn’t sure if that was what he had been doing, but it wasn’t my place to ask and even if I had, I knew he would never answer me, insisting that the information was confidential.
Now, after a relatively decent night’s sleep, I was eager – although nervous – to carry out my first investigation.
I made for the village of Thistlebury; it was only up the hill from Stanthorpe and just a short ride away.
This was the first time he had put his trust in me to do his bidding and I had no intention of showing my incompetence. But what to do next?
I had been away from the island for so long that I had lost touch with the few friends I had made as a child.
I thought back to those carefree days before the execution of Lady Thistlebury, when my friends began to shun me.
I now realised that part of the reason my mother had insisted on sending me to live in Norway was her concern that I could become the target for villagers, or at least their children, taking their resentment out on me because of my father’s part in the death of a well-respected woman.
I imagined that, as it had been for me, that was probably the first time any of them fully understood the role of Witchfinder.
I stopped at two farms to find out what I could about the Underwood woman. At the first the farmer insisted he had no knowledge of her but at the next I met a maid who was more willing to speak to me.
‘What might I do for you, sir?’ she asked looking up at me from under long, dark eyelashes.
For a moment I wondered if we had met before, but didn’t like to say anything in case I was mistaken. ‘I am here to enquire about a Mistress Rue Underwood. Is she someone you might know?’
The girl’s eyes narrowed slightly and she seemed at first displeased to be asked the question, then her expression lightened. ‘I do know of her as it happens. I’m Beattie Goodenough, by the way.’
I was slightly taken aback by her forthcoming demeanour. I went to speak, but she waved me back as she glanced over her shoulder, then she stepped outside and closed the door.
‘You mean her from up at Thistlebury Manor, don’t you?’ She must have noticed my surprise because she smiled. ‘You’re the Witchfinder’s new assistant, aren’t you?’
‘I am.’
‘I’ve seen you around a few times.’
I hadn’t noticed her but thought it better to keep this information to myself. ‘Is that right?’
She sighed. ‘I thought I told the Witchfinder all he needed to know about her?’
Stunned to discover this was the girl who had made the claim about Rue to my father, I was taking a moment to respond when the door flew open behind her and a red-faced woman, who I assumed to be her mistress, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back into the house.
‘That’s enough shirking for you. Get back to your work. ’
Frustrated at our conversation being interrupted and not wishing the girl to be punished on my account, I started to apologise. ‘Please do not blame her, I was just—’
The woman indicated an open window near the door.
‘I heard why you were here, and what she did. You shouldn’t pay much attention to what she says.
This girl is envious of anyone who looks at that Jem boy she’s been courting.
My maid knows nothing of the Underwood girl.
None of us do, not really. She keeps to herself.
Only ever seems to leave the estate to visit her grandmother’s customers or attend the market. ’
I could tell she had no intention of sharing anything further and suspected she might be telling the truth. ‘The family keep to themselves, you say?’
‘That’s right.’ Her expression softened. ‘I presume you know the history of her mother?’
‘I do.’
‘Then I’m sure you’ll understand why you shouldn’t believe everything envious young women might have to say.’ She pursed her lips angrily. ‘I don’t mind people looking out for those intent to cause harm, but I can’t see that young lady at the manor being one of them.’
Grateful for her balanced opinion, I stepped back. ‘Thank you for your time.’
She turned and went back inside, closing the door quietly.
I had barely walked two steps away when I heard her screaming furiously at the maid. For a moment I considered knocking on the door and trying to placate the woman, then reasoned that might only make the matter worse, so left.
It wasn’t late but, even though it was summertime, the skies were darkening.
I passed several more homesteads and decided that rather than return home only to come back this way the next morning, I would book a night at the inn, which I had passed a short while back, just after the weathered sign for Thistlebury village.
As long as there was stabling for Warrior or a field where he might be turned out for the night, I looked forward to an evening away from my family home for once.
My father’s rants about witches and how determined he was to track more down and bring them to justice had increased with each month since my return to the island.
As his assistant I had no excuse to step away when they occurred, nor did I wish to leave my mother to deal with his raging alone.
As I rode into the village, passing a couple of smaller cottages and then several larger, smarter houses closer in, there seemed little to entice me: just the church, which I had yet to visit, a blacksmith’s forge, a small mill and, yes, an inn.
I urged Warrior forward; he was tired after a hot day on the road.
I dismounted in front of the inn, The Grey Lady, a ramshackle-looking timber building. Laughter and drunken voices came from inside, but I was too tired to care much; all I longed for was a bed of any kind.
A boy came outside and saw me. ‘You want me to take the horse, sir?’
‘Are you the innkeeper’s son?’ I asked, unwilling to give Warrior’s reins to someone untrustworthy.
‘Aye.’
‘I’ll wait here with him while you go and speak to your father. I would like a room for the night if there is one, and my horse stabled, rubbed down, fed and watered. Will you do that?’
‘Aye, sir.’
I waited barely a minute before the lad ran back outside with a ruddy-faced man following him. He looked me up and down thoughtfully, perhaps wondering how much money he could extort from me, but then he gave a nod.
‘The boy will take care of your horse, sir. If you come this way I will get Bridy to show you to a room.’
I handed the boy the reins and patted Warrior on his muscular neck. ‘There’s a penny in it for you if I’m satisfied he’s been well cared for,’ I said quietly to the boy before following the man.
As I stepped inside I removed my hat and voices stilled, drinking vessels stopped in midair.
A couple of the men gave me sideways looks but most kept their faces turned from me.
I was used to receiving strange looks from people – it was part of my life as the Witchfinder’s son – but this seemed different somehow and I wondered if word had spread about me investigating Lord Thistlebury’s daughter.
‘Show him up to his room, Bridy,’ the man instructed a freckle-faced girl of about fifteen. Her face reddened and she stared at me. ‘Bridy, now!’
She scampered past me and up the stairs. ‘This way, sir,’ she said her voice small and high pitched.
I looked about me before doing as she asked, catching the eye of a dark-haired older man who, unlike the others, didn’t take his gaze from me.
I gave him a nod but it was not reciprocated.
Clearly I wasn’t welcome in this place and it made me wonder why.
I climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom at the top to the left.
I stared at the small, sparsely furnished room and saw a lumpy-looking bed, a small table and rickety-looking chair in front of the window, and a washstand.
Everything looked ready to collapse but it would have to do.
‘Would you like something to eat or drink, sir?’
I turned to her and smiled. ‘Beer and whatever your landlady has prepared will do me fine.’
She didn’t respond but walked over to the washstand, picked up the pitcher and left the room.
I sat on the bed. It was rock-hard with barely any stuffing left in the mattress, but it was better than sleeping by a roadside or traipsing all the way home only to return in the morning.
I was impatient to undress and get into bed and hoped she wouldn’t be long bringing me my food and drink.
‘Here you go, sir,’ she said, pushing the door open with her bustle and carrying in a tray with a steaming plate of food and a lidded tankard. ‘I’ll leave these here and bring your water straight up.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, opening the window to let much-needed fresh air into the stuffy room. Unfortunately, along with it came more of the noise from the patrons in the bar. I took off my boots, pulled the chair back from the small table and sat, eager to fill my stomach and ease my dry throat.
The food didn’t look or smell very appealing, but I needed to eat, so I took a mouthful of flavourless mutton stew.
The meat was tough and I realised I was too tired to continue chewing it, so, spitting it out, I tore a piece from the dry bread on the tray and soaked it in the watery liquid.
I attempted to think of other ways to track down the woman my father had tasked me to find, aware that the urgency increased each day closer to the full moon, when we suspected witches traditionally met.
It shouldn’t be this difficult to find someone, surely? Why did no one seem to know of her? There was something off about the situation but I couldn’t work out what it might be. I swallowed the last piece of bread and leant back in my chair to drink my ale.
Then it dawned on me. I needed to ignore my weariness, put my boots back on and go downstairs to the bar and find someone with information on the woman’s whereabouts.
The noise from the bar increased when I left my room and went downstairs, but quietened somewhat as I reached the lower steps, several people turning to watch me, some whispering comments to their companion.
Spotting a space next to the dark-haired man I had seen earlier at the bar, I decided to go and stand there.
‘A good day to you,’ I said, interested to see his reaction. Out of all the people there, he had been the one to strike me the most for some reason. I saw a look of distrust in his eyes, or maybe it was something else.
‘A good afternoon to you, sir.’
The landlord reached out to take the man’s tankard. ‘Here, let me fill that for you, Pierre.’
The man turned his attention from me, thanked the landlord and waited as the vessel was filled.
I had no intention of letting him ignore me that easily and decided to ask him about the woman.
‘Are you from these parts?’
He didn’t bother looking at me. ‘Since birth.’
He was a local. This was a good start and my hopes rose. ‘Maybe you can help me then.’
Still he didn’t look my way.
Sensing he was hoping I’d be put off by his attitude, I continued. ‘I’m looking for a woman by the name of Rue Underwood.’
There was an immediate hush. Slowly the man’s head turned towards me. I had got his attention. His expression didn’t change but there was something threatening about his demeanour. ‘Why do you presume to ask me about this woman?’
It was clear he was angry for some reason, though he was trying to hide it.
‘I have asked several people about her,’ I explained. ‘I don’t presume anything other than that you might know of her, or her whereabouts.’
His gaze hardened. ‘I do not.’
Not wishing to give up that easily, I tried again. ‘I only wish to speak to her. Maybe, if you—’
‘He said he don’t know ’er,’ said the man who had greeted me, who was now working behind the bar. ‘Now, would you like a drink, or maybe you’d prefer one to be brought up to your room?’
I looked around from person to person, hoping to see something in one’s eyes that would encourage me to speak to them, but each time my gaze settled on someone, they looked away, or focused their attention on the drink in their hand.
I was wasting my time. I turned back to the proprietor and nodded. ‘I will take one up with me, if that’s easier.’
‘Right you are.’
I carried my tankard of ale up to my room, closed my bedroom door behind me and set my drink down on the table. I undressed, feeling my mood sink lower with each passing second.
I sat on the edge of my bed to sup my ale. Was this really the life I had foreseen for myself? By the time I replaced the empty tankard on the table I was in a slightly better frame of mind, until I began to reflect on the months since my return.
Hadn’t my father brought me up to believe his job was a necessity?
That his endeavours to rid the island of the scourge that caused so much unease and danger were welcomed and respected by the locals?
However, living away from the island and not witnessing his investigations, I had not perceived the realities of his role.
The longer I worked for him the more conflicted I was becoming about the way he meted out justice.
The nightmares I suffered after the execution of Lady Thistlebury had also returned.
Although I still believed in his ideals, I wasn’t sure how long I could continue working as his assistant while salving my own conscience.
What choice did I have, though, if I was to stay close to home to keep watch over my mother in case my father took out his frustrations on her again?
My father was right about me letting him down by failing at the first opportunity he had given to me.
I decided to blame my lack of success on tiredness, though in fact I had spent too much time yearning for the woman that had stolen my heart.
I needed to push her to the back of my mind while I carried out my task.
Later, I pulled back the bedsheet and settled down, trying to make myself comfortable in the lumpy bed.
I was no longer a boy without a profession.
I was a Witchfinder’s assistant and I needed to prove my worth if I was ever going to have a say in how my father persecuted and dealt with those guilty of practising witchcraft.
I turned on my side and closed my eyes, a decision forming in my mind.
First thing tomorrow morning I would set about finding more information about this Rue Underwood woman.
I needed actual proof of guilt rather than hearsay, so I could put together a legal case.
The sooner I finished my investigation, the sooner I would have time to search for the girl with the turquoise eyes.