Chapter 19
NOW
‘Flavinus,’ said Jake, seeming to enjoy the sound of the word. ‘Who would have thought a Roman standard bearer would have ended up in an Abbey?’
‘Technically, he’s not in the Abbey,’ said Violet. ‘It’s just his tombstone. I believe the word you are looking for is “repurposed”.’
‘Is that two words?’ Jake looked at her sidelong and she rolled her eyes heavenwards.
‘I don’t think so. You’re the teacher.’
‘And you’re the writer.’
‘True.’
Jake had presumably enjoyed the Abbey; it had struck him right in his interests, you could say – a Pagan tombstone in a Christian building. There’d been a jolly nice tea shop as well there, so they’d enjoyed a hot chocolate, looking out at the wintery courtyard beyond the windows.
It was a good distraction for Violet as well.
But even as she wandered around the Abbey and looked for the image of the little Edwardian girl hidden amongst the cherubs in the stained-glass window, her thoughts kept going back to Ollie and the look on his face when they’d seen him in the Market Place.
Something had happened to him at the Well, and she wanted to find out what it was.
She looked at Jake, wondering if she should share her experiences with him, then decided it was probably best not to. Sometimes, it was better talking to a relative stranger than someone who knew you very well. Also, she didn’t want him to think she’d gone mad.
So she made appropriate responses as they walked out of the Abbey, through the pretty, snow-dusted park, and doubled back on themselves to head towards the old gaol.
The building was in a back street, more or less – another one of those solid, stone-built places with some jaunty stocks in the yard out front. But it was tall and imposing, and Violet shuddered, thinking how very unfortunate one had to be to end up in there.
But that wasn’t the only thing that made her shudder. There was a strange feeling to the place, and she hesitated before stepping over the threshold. She wasn’t sure if she was being urged to enter the building, or warned to stay away.
They went inside and she looked around at the lobby and the little gift shop – and at a huge glass elevator that was hovering above a pit in the ground.
‘Oh nice! Looks like we can go in the dungeon. I’ll get the tickets and we’ll explore.’
Violet couldn’t answer. The sense of unease and terror emanating from that dungeon was palpable. ‘Do you not think it feels – weird?’ she whispered eventually, nodding across at it.
Jake shook his head. ‘No, it looks fun.’ As they watched, a family got in the lift and dropped down, out of sight. They remained there for a couple of minutes then came back up to the ground floor, where the doors opened and they stepped out.
The kids had wide eyes but looked pleased with themselves, and as they walked past Violet into the gift shop, the oldest one, a boy, aged about eleven wearing a football strip with shorts even in the cold weather, looked up at her.
‘It’s not that scary,’ he said. ‘The doors don’t open and it comes back up. ’
‘It’s really dark, though!’ said his sister, a girl of about nine with long, blonde hair and a cheeky smile. ‘But it’s fun.’
‘Thanks…’ The fear on Violet’s face must have been pretty obvious, even to those tots.
But still, she was reluctant to go in that lift, even as Jake came back with the tickets.
‘There are exhibitions on all the floors,’ he said, ‘mainly about the Border Reivers, and crime and punishment. The lift stops at every floor, and the dungeon is a bonus. And bonus number two – there’s an exhibition about the Witch Trials. ’
‘Really? So – who was actually held here? Witches? Perhaps?’ Violet had the sense of things – of people – pressing in on her and, her heart pounding, she stepped to one side, almost as if she was letting someone rush by her, out of the door and into the street.
A breeze that hadn’t been there before lifted her hair and she shivered.
She was sure this place would be swarming with ghosts.
‘Debtors, I think.’ Jake consulted his leaflet. ‘Petty thieves. Border Reivers. It was a pre-trial gaol, and they’d go to the Moot Hall for their trials, apparently. Oh, and it’s built out of stone from Corbridge Roman Fort.’
‘I need to ask again. Jake, were there ever any – witches – held here?’ She needed to know. She had that prickling sensation on her scalp, the same as she’d had at Newbrough.
‘Possibly.’ Jake nodded. ‘We’ll find out when we look at the exhibition.’
‘Actually, I think I’m going to ask.’ She walked over to the desk.
‘Hi. I’m doing some research into the Newcastle Witch Trials for a book, and I’m just wondering, were any witches ever held here?
’ She smiled at the admissions clerk, hoping she, Violet, didn’t look too scary, or that it was too silly a question.
‘Not that we’re aware of,’ said the clerk. ‘But so many records have been lost – there’s a chance, I suppose. One of the accused in the 1650 Newcastle trials was from this area so she might well have been held here before her trial.’
Violet felt sick. That was the feeling she was getting: that the gaol held a few more secrets than were evident.
‘May I ask her name?’
‘I’d have to look it up. If you come back to me after you’ve explored, I can tell you then.’
‘Great. Thank you.’ Violet went back to Jake. ‘They’re not sure there were witches here.’
‘You and your witches. Do you think Meg was here?’
Violet shook her head. ‘Actually, no. I think that if she was here, and she’d been tried, she would have been despatched on the Town Moor in Newcastle with the rest. Buried in St Andrew’s churchyard with them all – nails through their kneecaps to stop them rising again.
’ She pulled a face in disgust. ‘Not dragged back to Newbrough to be tied to a stake and burned. Having said that, who’s to say she really was tied to a stake?
Nobody knows. It’s probably just a legend that’s warped into fact over the years. ’
‘Fair enough. Okay, do you want to do the top floors first and work down, or the dungeon first and work up?’
Violet did not particularly want to visit the dungeon at all. ‘Top down, I think,’ she said.
‘Stairs or lift?’
‘Stairs.’ Violet knew that once she set foot in that lift, there’d be no going back.
‘This way, then.’
And she followed Jake.
* * *
The top few floors were full of stories and tableaux and different objects that told the tale of the gaol and the people who were imprisoned there and who worked there. Jake found it fascinating.
Violet seemed less enamoured of it all – quite jumpy, in fact. She kept looking over her shoulder, her expression suggesting that she couldn’t wait to get out of the building, although she held it together enough for Jake to explore.
The exhibition about the Newcastle Witch Trials was on the first floor.
Jake was convinced Violet would be excited about it.
‘Look!’ he said. ‘Isn’t that a marvellous picture?
’ There was some sort of engraving showing a handful of women wearing bonnets and swinging from some gallows.
A few faces peered out of a prison cell, seemingly knowing they were next.
‘Oh God, that’s awful.’ Violet pulled a face.
‘Ralph Gardiner. That’s from his 1655 pamphlet on his grievances against the coal trade.
It just makes it real, doesn’t it? Even though it was “journalism”.
’ She made quote marks around the word. ‘It’s all social instability, religious unease, suspicion of Catholics.
Not to mention the Puritan council that ran Newcastle in 1650. Like I say. Awful.’
‘You’re not wrong, Ms Academic Researcher!
Hey, look at this.’ Jake had moved over to the next display case.
It showed a bill of charges from the accounts of the Newcastle Chamberlain.
‘This guy’s written out a bill of charges for the witches.
It’s for two weeks, ending 23 August 1650.
Wow. It cost ￡15 19s 2d to execute the prisoners.
What’s that?’ Jake pulled his phone out to check. ‘Just over two grand in today’s money.’
‘Inhuman,’ muttered Violet. She glowered at a list of the names. ‘These were real people.’
‘It says here there were some more trials later on. Ann Armstrong—’
‘—a kid who accused over thirty women from Corbridge in 1673. No charges were brought against them and Ann disappeared. What does that tell you?’
Violet seemed angry – it was understandable really. Jake knew how passionate she was about the Witch Trials. This was kind of making it real. In fact, she was more than angry; she was twitchy.
‘Okay,’ he acknowledged. ‘Let’s leave. It’s a bit close to home this, isn’t it?’
‘Just a bit.’ Violet shuddered. ‘Yes. Time to go.’
They came out of the exhibition room and the lift was right in front of their noses, just waiting for an occupant.
Violet glowered at that as well.
‘Come on,’ said Jake, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. ‘We might as well. Let’s get in here, go down to the dungeon and pop back up and we’re done. Promise.’
Violet nodded. ‘Yeah, okay. Only because you want to do it and I’m nice like that.’ She still didn’t look convinced. ‘The lift door doesn’t open, right? We just go down and come straight back up?’
‘Seems that way.’ Jake pressed the button and the doors opened. He gestured for Violet to get in, and she took a deep breath and stepped inside. Jake followed her and they stood together, shoulders almost touching, fingers interlinked, as it began its descent.
The lobby came into view, and then the lift dropped slowly into the dungeon.
Jake had a moment to look around the cavernous, cold, depressing space, hear the recorded voice of the Gaoler give him some information – and then the lights went out, and the sound of the lift mechanism was silenced.
The lift was stuck.
And Violet screamed.