Page 6 of The Witch

I start to close the door to the house to enclose myself in the fortress. But before I can, a small black cat emerges from the underbrush.

“Gideon!” I clutch my chest, fighting to calm my pounding heart. “Gideon! Are you hungry?”

Gideon is not our cat. I reckon he might have another name, but I do not know of it, and I must call him something, mustn’t I? He comes to our door at least once or twice every day in search of food. He is a smart feline, as I always grant him at least a few morsels, often more. I am a soft touch, as Archie is fond of saying.

As always, Gideon trots up to me, raising his yellow eyes eagerly, in anticipation of a fine meal. I step back to allow him into the house, and that’s when I hear another rustling sound from yonder in the bushes.

As if there is something else out there.

Quickly, I close the door to the house and turn the latch. Then I direct my attention back to Gideon, who looks up, eyes plaintive. Except before I can turn to lead him to the kitchen, a familiar reedy voice interrupts my thoughts:

“Master Archie would surely disapprove of you bringing that scruffy animal here.”

’Tis the voice of Molly Howe, our servant. She stands behind me, clothed in her drab woolen dress. I do not know how long Molly was standing near the doorway, observing me. She has a tendency to show up where I do not expect her, where she is not wanted. Perhaps the dark presence I sensed this morning was Molly herself.

“My husband would not want a creature of God to starve,” I tell her.

Her green eyes flash. “Felines be creatures of the devil.”

“That is nonsense, Molly.”

She doesn’t say anything else as she follows me to the kitchen, where I find a bit of dried meat to share with Gideon. When he first started coming here, he was scrawny enough that I could make out the ridges of his rib cage, but now he is starting to plump up. He gobbles up the scraps and looks up at me hopefully for another bite. I oblige, daring Molly to object. I am the mistress of Pemberton, not she.

Molly does not say anything more of the cat—she would not dare. But when she opens her mouth again to speak, what comes out is far worse.

“You deceive your husband, Mistress Caroline.”

My stomach sinks. I consider pretending I did not hear her speak, but I know Molly well enough to know she will not be ignored.

“Pray pardon me?” I say weakly.

Molly’s lips curl into a smile that prickles my neck. She is three years younger than me—the same age I was when Archie and I were wed—but there is something in her eyes that is much older. If I believed in such things, I would say she was possessed by a wicked old woman. There is evil in the curve of her lips and her ghostly white complexion. When she stares upon me, it often feels that she is looking right into my soul.

“I saw it,” she says, almost triumphantly. “I beheld the crimson stains on your linens, even though you strove to conceal it.”

Gideon rubs against my leg as I stand, unable to speak. There is no use in denying it.

“You should tell him the truth.” Molly’s jaw is rigid as she says the words. “Tell him that you are barren.”

“I am not barren! ’Tis a lie.”

Molly gives me a knowing smile. “If you are not barren, how can it be that you have lain with your husband these past three years, and still you are not with child?”

How can I argue with this? My childhood friend Elizabeth was married two months after I was, and the last time I saw her at the market, she had a babe in her arms and another trailing behind her. I should be with child. I should have already given Archie a son or daughter.

But month after month, there is blood on the sheets.

“Please.” Even though I hate to bargain with Molly, I cannot bear to witness Archie’s sorrow when he learns the truth. “Do not tell Archie that his dream was not a prophecy.”

“In due course, he will come to know the truth,” she sniffs.

“I shall convey it to him in my own manner.” I reach out to clasp her hands in mine. Hers feel rough and raw and icy cold. “Pray, do not utter a word of this to Archie.”

Molly eyes me thoughtfully. “I will not say anything, Mistress Caroline. ’Tis not my secret to tell.”

“Thank you, Molly.”

But as Molly walks away, I cannot help but wonder if the girl will keep her word.