Chapter 14
Avice
Ashort time later, Avice joined Trewoofe in her garden with a stack of trenchers – thick slices of bread – lathered in pickled onions and cabbage.
Bramble and Ashling bounced around the garden with a half dozen Pillywiggins as the midwife pulled off her gloves, reached for a trencher, and satiated her hunger with her first crisp bite.
The soft bread topped with the vinegary taste of pickled vegetables perfectly complimented one another.
Avice sucked through her teeth as she chomped through crunchiness, letting out small murmurs of delight.
By the third bite, her stomach stopped its growling, and she saw the amusement dancing in Trewoofe’s eyes.
“Good?”
Avice swallowed her bite. “Very. Would you like to try?”
The midwife held out a trencher, piled high with pickles.
He reached out with his tongue, wrapped it around the offering, and chomped it back in one bite.
Avice quivered as it brushed against her bare palm, leaving a pool of hot saliva against her skin.
She remembered the feel of him against her wrist, temple, and of course, where it had explored during her dream.
Her cheeks grew hot, and she turned her face from him.
“Urgh… what is that?” he asked.
“What is what?”
She burst into a fit of giggles at his expression. His lips were peeled back, bright pink gums exposed, as he flicked his tongue in and out of his mouth.
“Pickled vegetables?” Avice offered, still chuckling.
Trewoofe wrinkled the end of his snout. “I prefer meat, or the sweets you bring me. I do not think I like vegetables or pickles,” he announced, flicking his tongue out a final time.
The midwife wiped the tears from her face. She marvelled at how much better she felt after some food and a belly laugh. The shadows of her panic in the cellar were finally gone.
“I do not have much honey left and I do not think I have eaten meat since Summer,” Avice explained. “I mostly eat mushrooms, vegetables, and fruit. Whatever my garden and the woods provide.”
“I do not mind fruit, but the rest is not to my tastes.” Trewoofe wrinkled his muzzle again. “I must hunt soon. I do not need to eat often, but when I do, it is animals from the forest. I will bring you some of my next kill.”
Avice brightened at the thought of meat stew, jerky, and bone broth. She practically drooled at the thought of what she could cook with some deer or boar.
“That would be wonderful, thank you!”
“It is not a problem. I share with the Wulver too. Good Neighbours do not need to eat often but the Wulver do more than most.”
“That is kind of you,” Avice complimented.
She scooted closer to him and rested her shoulder on his bicep.
“When I agreed to let them come and live in my Kingdom, I became responsible for them,” Trewoofe explained.
“I suppose that makes sense, but still. It is kind, like you were to me in the cellar. Thank you, your voice helped.” Avice looked up to meet his eyes, they were soft and questioning.
“You were very brave down there,” the Knucker stated. “You seem better now…” He paused for a moment, as though he were choosing his words carefully. “Would you care to share what happened to you? Why are you so scared of being underground?”
Avice bristled against him. Part of her wanted to tell him it was none of his concern.
That it was rude of him to ask. The other half of her knew that he had been steadfast, helpful, and kind.
Trewoofe was not a man. He probably had no concept of being ruined, of having a so-called ‘precious virginity’ stolen, of no longer being chaste, of being unwed after being ‘bedded’.
Avice opened her mouth and snapped it shut again.
“You do not have to tell me.”
“No, I want to. It is just hard to find the words.”
Avice! Are you alright? Bramble called from the other side of the garden.
She smiled as Ashling and a small Pillywiggin landed on his fluffy head. “Yes, I am!” She waved them off. “Go back to playing!”
She watched as the Faeries continued to flit around: tagging, chirping, and hiding in a game that she did not understand. Avice tilted her head up to Trewoofe, who watched her closely, waiting for her to speak.
“I was not born in Lamorna. My mother is from Saint Buryan. It is a long day’s walk from here,” Avice began.
“My father died when I was a baby. My mother never remarried and I was her only child. She worked for the tavern owner. It was enough to get by, along with the herbal treatments she grew and sold.”
“Ah, so witching in your family was not unique to yourself and Agnes?”
“My mother was a very good apothecary, and she taught me a lot.” Avice nodded.
“When I was just old enough, but still a child, I started working in the tavern too. I did not like the way the master of the place stared at me. His name was Mister Inman. He leered at me, and the older I got, the more I felt his eyes on me.”
She swallowed; her throat was thick, like she had swallowed a mouth full of sand. Trewoofe flexed his talons, the points cracking the frost.
“What do you mean you felt his eyes on you?”
Avice thought for a moment. How could she explain what men could be like to a Knucker?
“Like a predator watching his prey. But not stalking her for eating.”
One heartbeat, then another.
Avice watched sadly as realisation dawned on Trewoofe.
“You were a youngling!” he growled. “If humans are anything like Knuckers, you were far too small to court, let alone do anything else with.”
Bramble had stopped his game again, and Avice felt the burn of his eyes. She gestured for him to continue to play. He flicked his gaze from Avice to Trewoofe and back again, before turning back to the other Faeries in the garden.
“In the villages of greater Penzance, it is not uncommon for girls to wed at that age—”
Trewoofe pulled his lips back, flashing his fangs. “That does not make it right!”
“I know.” She laid a hand on his scales and stroked him reassuringly. “I know.” Avice took a deep breath before continuing. “The problem was not what he did to me. The problem was what he did to me and we were not married at the time.”
Trewoofe’s growling stopped under her featherlight touch, but his muscles remained tense. “What did he do?”
One hand still on his bicep, she reached the other to clutch her pendant.
“It was the Lord’s Day. So, the tavern was shut.
Mister Inman sent a stableboy to fetch me after the service.
He said if I wanted to keep my employment I should come and help him clean for the afternoon trade.
Of course I came, the coin my mother and I earnt kept us from starving.
” Avice worried her lip with her teeth. “The stableboy sent me down to the ale cellar. Telling me the master wanted me to start there. Mister Inman was there. He told me to get undressed. I told him no.”
Avice removed her palm from Trewoofe and traced her fingertips over the scar that circled her eye, then touched the one that marred her lips. “That was when he sliced me.” She grazed the hem of her skirt. “He cut off my dress and chemise…”
“Avice?” Trewoofe lowered his head and brushed his tongue against her face to catch the tears she had not realised were falling. She quivered under his gentle touch. Avice swallowed as he retracted his tongue, already missing the warmth of his touch.
“He forced me. He is the only man I have ever been with, and he ruined me. Took my virginity and made me unworthy of marriage.”
“I do not know what being ‘ruined’ or a ‘virginity’ is. Living so close to a human village, I am aware of what marriage is. So, if something being done to you, without your permission, makes you unworthy of it. Well, why would you want it to begin with?”
“The local priest and Moot Council’s solution was to have me marry him.”
“What?!”
“They tried to make me marry him. That way I would be Goodwife, and not a ruined girl.” She clenched her jaw. “They tried to stitch up my wounds with pretty ribbons and silence my screams with a veil.”
Trewoofe stood abruptly. “Which direction is Saint Buryan? Point it out to me.”
Avice squinted up at him, lifting her hand to protect her eyes from the weak Sunshine. “Why?”
Steam rose from Trewoofe’s mouth as he huffed. “Because I am going to kill him.”
Avice gave a short, sharp laugh. “I would tell you, if he were still alive.”
The Knucker cocked his head. “What is the rest of the story?”
“My mother said no, thank God,” Avice continued.
“She sent me to apprentice with Great Aunt Agnes. When I moved to the cottage, and started to learn more about witching and midwifery, I did not even think about returning to Saint Buryan. I liked Lamorna well enough. Then, I received a message that my mother had died from the flu.”
“I am so sorry you lost your mother,” Trewoofe said, settling down next to Avice again, resting his head by her boots. “So, you went back?”
“Yes. I attended the funeral. My mother’s house had already been given to another family, but I collected her few possessions.
It meant I had to stay in the tavern,” Avice replied.
“After closing, I offered to share a drink with my old master. He thought I was propositioning him, of course. He did not realise I had spiked his ale with foxglove and nightshade.”
“Ah.” Trewoofe’s eyes smiled. “You are impressive, little witch.”
Avice’s face warmed at the compliment. “So, that is why I do not like to be underground.”
Bramble bounded over and the Pillywiggins retreated to the holly bushes. Then, Ashling chirped and landed on the tip of Trewoofe’s nose. The Knucker went cross-eyed trying to stare at the Wisp.
It is also why she does not like marriage or men, Bramble interrupted, his tongue lolled from his mouth. Except for John the Fisher, Avice does not mind him.
Trewoofe’s head snapped up, and Ashling gave an indignant chime at being knocked from his perch. “Who is John the Fisher?”
If Avice did not know any better, she could have sworn that the Knucker sounded jealous. She bit back a smile at the thought. Trewoofe: The Lord of the Underneath, the King of the Well, and the Keeper of the Good Neighbours, envious of a human villager.
Green-eyed of Jonathan Fisher. Surely not? Avice put the Knucker out of his misery. “John is my best friend,” she stated simply. “Except for Bramble and Ashling, of course.”
The Wisp pealed, and the Grim thudded his tail against the frozen ground.
“Good,” Trewoofe chuffed.
The shadows had lengthened during their conversation, and Avice yawned. It had been one full night and day since she had slept, her eyes were so tired they hurt.
The Knucker stood. “I will let you rest, little witch. I plan on hunting soon. When would be best for me to return with a share for you?”
The midwife counted on her fingers. “Four days from now, it is the Lord’s Day. I will attend service in the morning. In the afternoon, I should be free. I would love a visit from you.”
Trewoofe’s tail whipped back and forth. “Then, I shall see you four afternoons from now. You can eat something besides…” He wrinkled his nose. “…pickled vegetables.”
Avice let out a guffaw, and Trewoofe joined her with his rumbling-laughter, shaking the frozen ground she sat on.
After she let out every chuckle she had, the midwife stood.
Avice hugged the Knucker’s foreleg in farewell, and he lowered his head so his chin touched her lower back.
She reluctantly let go before finally turning in for the night.