Page 17 of Witchbane

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.

Chapter Eight

RUE

The following day was another hot one. I was on my way home from delivering several tinctures and sachets for my grandmother’s clients, by way of punishment for returning home early the previous day. I was grateful not to have come across Theo Le Cerf, but it was probably because I had kept to short cuts and quieter lanes on my way to and from the homes I visited.

I wondered what had changed to hasten the ruin of my home over the past few months. It was deeply unsettling.

A raven flew out of the rusting gates where the drive for Thistlebury Manor met the road, startling me for a moment and distracting me from my worrying thoughts. Once inside the gates I stopped to put my bags down for a moment and relieve my aching arms. I was sweaty and hot and my throat was parched. I needed more than rest, I needed a cool drink of water from our well.

I forced myself to keep going, wishing I could find a shady spot on the overgrown lawn and lie down for a while. Instead, I walked down the shady tree-lined drive, enjoying the slightly cooler air as I passed through the long leafy archway. At the end I stopped for a moment to take in the once impressive manor house where I had been born and lived my entire life. How beautiful it must have looked when my mother first arrived here soon after her nineteenth birthday. I cleared my throat in an effort not to cry at the thought of how happy and hopeful she must have been then.

I recalled my father boasting that Thistlebury Manor had once been the pride of Thistlebury village, where the Underwood family have lived for generations. He always stopped short of adding that since he had met and been spellbound by my mother, Martha, and had married her despite the fury of his family, things had taken a turn. I wondered how different my life might have been if things had been different and she hadn’t died so young. They might have had more children. I pictured myself playing in the gardens with siblings and smiled. But my father had disappeared soon after my mother’s untimely death, leaving me alone to be looked after by my aunt and grandmother.

His disappearance had been clouded with mystery. I wasn’t sure if that was because no one, including my grandmother and aunt, knew what had happened to him, or whether they were keeping the truth from me, believing I was too young to understand or cope with it. I had tried several times over the years to encourage them to confide in me but never succeeded.

I thought about the Witchfinder and how he had ruined everything for my family and for our loyal estate workers – not that many now remained, especially after the gossip about my mother and grandmother and rumours of them being witches after Elias Le Cerf had arrested and executed my mother. Only the most loyal servants had remained. Our finances had dwindled to almost nothing and likewise their wages. Not that I thought of them as servants – to me, and I suspected to my grandmother and aunt, Pierre, his son Jem, Tilly and her mother were more like family to us after all we had endured together these past years.

Pierre stepped out from two trees, making me jump. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,’ he said, leaning a rake against a nearby tree and coming over to me. He reached to take my bags.

Grateful to him for appearing at that moment, I let him take them. ‘Thank you, Pierre.’ I pushed my hair back from my face where it had escaped from my bonnet.

‘You look worn out, Mistress Rue.’

I groaned. ‘I am.’ I was about to grumble about the heat and having to be out walking in such weather when a thought struck me. Pierre always seemed to know so much more than I did about what went on at the estate. He had grown up here and he and my father had been good friends, remaining close even after my father had to step up and take a more serious role in running the place when his father died.

‘You and my father were close, weren’t you?’

‘We were, miss. Lord Thistlebury was my closest friend as a boy,’ he said quietly as we walked side by side up the long drive. ‘Even with our status being so different, I never felt as if he looked down on me and he certainly treated me as a friend when we were here.’ He glanced at me before looking forward again.

‘Whatever it is,’ I said, sensing he was unsure how much to share, ‘I’m old enough to know the truth. Really, whatever it is, I would rather know than come to my own uninformed conclusions.’

‘I hope I’m doing what’s right for you, mistress.’

‘Please, Pierre. Tell me whatever you know.’ I didn’t expect him to fully confide in me, but any information would be better than nothing.