The Witch of Eye (48 page)

***

K
itty had honestly intended to keep her own counsel and say nothing to anyone about the refugee in the hayloft but, during the last few nights, she had lain awake on her pallet in the dormitory over the brewhouse, wondering what best to do for her dearest friend and for the Master. Kitty was utterly certain in her own mind that what each of them really needed was the other, but Jenna had forbidden her to say anything to Master Jourdemayne. Not yet, she kept saying. No, not just yet.

So, what to do for the best? Kitty wondered whether Robin Fairweather would be able to advise her. He was still here on the farm and she knew he was worldly-wise, so perhaps he would know what to do. And Kitty knew he liked Jenna and that he was the Master’s friend. She resolved to ask his advice. But first he had to promise to keep a secret.

‘What sort of secret?’ he asked when she waylaid him the next morning as he crossed the yard, a wicker pannier in either hand. Mallow, sensing adventure, followed close at heel, her tail wagging vigorously. Robin was making ready to return to Devon.

‘It’s a very important secret,’ Kitty said earnestly. ‘Will you promise not to tell?’

‘It depends what it is.’ Robin was tightening the girth on his horse’s saddle as he spoke. He gave her a grave look. ‘It had better be important,’ he said.

‘It is important. It’s about the Master.’

‘And how do you happen to know a secret about the Master?’ She was a funny little thing, this Kitty. He knew William was fond of her, but she had some strange ideas. Of course, she might know something important – or she might not.

‘You’ll have to tell me, Kitty, whatever it is, because your master has had some problems over the last few weeks. He’s got a lot on his mind. You mustn’t bother him.’

‘Yes, I know, but ... but it’s really, really important!’

‘It had better be!’

‘No, really. I mean it. It’s ... it’s imperative!’ That was a new word she’d learned recently. It had the desired effect.

‘Imperative?’ Robin looked startled.

‘Yes, imperative. It’s – it’s about Jenna!’ she finished in a rush.

The reaction was gratifying. Robin bent down so that his face was level with hers and dropped his voice.

‘Jenna! Are you sure? What do you know about her? Where is she?’

Kitty was saying nothing so Robin straightened up and slipped his horse’s bridle over a fence post before beginning to steer Kitty towards the byre. ‘Come on, Kitty,’ he said, ‘it’s quiet in there, so you’ll be able to tell me your secret.’

To his surprise, Kitty drew back in alarm. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not in there! Jenna’s in the loft! She’ll hear us. She’ll know I’ve told you and I promised...’

Too late. Robin took the stone steps to the hay loft at a bound, leaving Kitty standing open-mouthed behind him.

Hearing the commotion, Jenna was trying to take cover behind a small bale of hay, but when she heard Robin’s voice calling her name, she felt a huge surge of relief.

‘Robin!’ She scrambled to her feet. ‘Oh, Robin, it’s so good to see you.’

He took both her hands in his, looking anxiously into her face.

‘Jenna! The one person he’ll want to see.’

‘Oh, Robin, do you think so? I didn’t know ... I wasn’t sure.’

‘I’m certain of it. You know, do you, about Margery? That they’ve ... they’ve burned her?’

‘Already? When –’

‘Last Friday, at Smithfield.’

‘And was he there?’

‘Yes.’ Robin never took his eyes away from Jenna’s face. ‘It was difficult for him, Jenna. Well nigh impossible. I didn’t know how best to help him.’

‘But you were there?’

‘Yes, of course. I couldn’t let him face that alone. But I can’t stay up here in Westminster for ever, I have to get back to Devon, back to work. That’s why it’s such a miracle that you’re here. Oh, Jenna, wait until he sees you! You’re exactly what he needs.’

With a wisdom that only comes with growing up, Kitty had disappeared, glad that Robin had taken charge, pleased that she had decided to let him into the secret. She’d make herself scarce in the dairy – and she wouldn’t say a word to the other girls.

It was clear to Robin that he wouldn’t be setting off for Devon today, after all. But at least, when eventually he did go home, he was sure he’d be leaving his friend William in a much happier frame of mind.

***

J
enna hesitated outside the kitchen door.

‘Is he here?’

‘No, he isn’t. He can’t mope around the farmhouse for ever. There’s work to be done. It’ll be Martinmas next week so he’s started rounding up the animals for slaughter. The pigs have been let loose to forage for acorns to fatten them up so he could be anywhere. Talking of which,’ he added, glancing at her, ‘you could do with a bit of fattening up yourself. You’re like a scarecrow!’

Jenna gave him the ghost of a smile. ‘The food’s not very appetising in the Tower,’ she said.

‘Well, I can smell broth. Let’s see what they’ve got in the pot. Look everyone,’ he announced as he opened the door, ‘look who’s here!’

At that time of morning the kitchen was at its busiest, but everyone stopped and turned to see who had arrived. They immediately abandoned their spoons, knives and chopping boards and crowded round Jenna with little shrieks of welcome.

‘Jenna! How are you?’

‘Where have you been?’

‘Are you going to stay this time?’

Smiling, she let herself be led towards the table where a bowl of steaming broth was put in front of her with a platter of bread beside it. For a moment, she sat perfectly still, relishing the moment, before she picked up her spoon.

Outside again, Robin mounted his horse and swung out of the yard with Mallow in pursuit, dodging the flying hooves. Now his priority was to find William and he wasn’t going to waste time trying to find him on foot. If he was rounding up the pigs, he’d likely be in the oak wood. It wasn’t more than a mile away: it wouldn’t take long.

The kitchen at Eybury farmhouse had always been a hotbed of gossip and everyone seemed to want to talk at once. Questions about Margery were uppermost in everyone’s minds, how had she seemed in the Tower when she’d heard the verdict? Was the Tower as horrible as everyone said? When was Jenna released? Where had she been staying since then? Who had been supplying her with food? So why had Kitty said nothing?

She did her best to answer them, but all she really wanted was to see William. When the door opened and the shape of him blotted out the light briefly as he stood on the threshold, she thought her heart would stop.

‘Jenna!’ He moved into the room as though there was no one else in it, staring as if he’d seen a phantom. ‘Jenna, I thought –’

Behind him, Robin clapped his hands loudly.

‘Come on, everyone, back to work or dinner will be late.’

Kitchen maids and scullions scuttled in all directions to resume their duties and William came towards her, holding out his hand.

‘Come,’ he said. ‘We can’t talk here.’

Robin stood to one side, smiling benignly, as though he had single-handedly wrought a miracle.

‘Why don’t you two go up to the hay loft?’ he whispered. ‘It’s quite empty at this time of day. You won’t be disturbed.’

William looked at Jenna and took her hand, a smile beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth.

‘I can’t think of anywhere better,’ he said, his fingers curling around hers.

‘Go on, the pair of you,’ Robin said with a broad wink. ‘I’ll be in the yard if you want me. I’ll keep an eye open to make sure you’re not disturbed.’

They found the loft quiet and deserted, with Jenna’s makeshift bedding on the hay where she had been sleeping. William still had hold of her hand and when she turned to him, strangely hesitant, he looked at her in wonderment, as though there was something immensely precious between them, something they must approach with infinite care like a column of the finest, most exquisitely coloured glass. A sudden movement could risk shattering it into a thousand shards.

‘Jenna.’ William’s voice was low. He lifted her hand to his lips with reverence. ‘My dearest girl. Is it really you? Are you a wraith? I can hardly believe you’re here.’

‘William, I’ve been so worried. It must have been so dreadful for you –’

‘Hush, my sweet. We have the rest of our lives for talk.’ He raised his eyes and looked at her again. ‘We
do
have the rest of our lives, don’t we?’

Jenna nodded without saying a word.

‘Thank God!’

Now he reached for her. From this moment, there was no longer anything that could come between them and the most precious thing for each of them was the other. They didn’t kiss, they simply stood, holding each other, savouring the sensation of nearness, of touch, of their beating hearts.

Jenna’s eyes were closed. This would be her life from now on, here on the farm with William. Her world was almost complete, except for one dark shadow ... But William had talked of the rest of their lives, their future together, so there would be time to talk about Jake tomorrow ... tomorrow.

Today, they were here together and nothing else mattered.

***

T
he three main market days in the city of London were on Monday, Wednesday and Friday when the streets were crowded with merchants and housewives, urchins and stray dogs, loud with the cries of hawkers and street traders. The alehouses did a roaring trade and pickpockets, cutpurses and beggars took advantage of every opportunity.

Dreading the prospect of having to walk through the self-same streets where she had hitherto always ridden in the finest carriages, Eleanor was awake before dawn on the morning of Monday, the thirteenth of November. Waiting in her room to be dressed, she was surprised when Maude, one of the waiting-women, approached her holding a large pair of scissors.

‘I’m sorry my Lady ...’ she began.

‘I’m sorry, Your Grace –’ Eleanor said without thinking and immediately bit her lip. She eyed the scissors askance.

‘What do you propose to do with those?’ she asked.

‘I’m to cut your hair.’

‘Cut my hair?’ Eleanor’s hands flew up either side of her head in alarm, as though to ward the woman off. ‘Cut my hair? Don’t be stupid! And don’t come anywhere near me with those things. I won’t allow it!’

Maude had the good grace to look unhappy. ‘I’m sorry, madam, they’re my orders.’

‘No!’ Eleanor screamed. ‘No! You shall not. You will not come anywhere near me. I will not allow it. Get away from me. Get away!’

Without warning, the room suddenly seemed full of women apparently bent on attacking her. One held her down in the chair while Maude hacked off the once-glorious glossy tresses. The woman’s armpits reeked of sweat. Eleanor squirmed in revulsion.

Like a newly shorn sheep, she was then made to stand while her fine linen shift was forcibly removed and a loose tunic of black sackcloth was dropped over her head, secured with a leather girdle around her waist.

One of the women went to the door and called to a guard waiting outside.

‘She’s ready,’ she said.

‘Wait, wait,’ Eleanor said. ‘Am I to go out looking like this? Surely not! And where are my shoes?’

‘You won’t be wearing shoes,’ said Maude. ‘That’s what we’ve been told.’

Tears welled in Eleanor’s eyes and she blinked hard: she was damned if she was going to let these harridans get the better of her. But they had the upper hand and there was no point in making a scene so, whatever the day might bring, under no circumstances would she be seen to lose her dignity. Holding her head erect, she allowed herself to be escorted to the Westminster pier and taken aboard a barge.

She managed to maintain a proud silence during the journey rather than allow herself to give way to dread. The barge tied up at the Temple landing stage where Eleanor was helped to disembark, then given a lighted taper and told to carry it. Now, she found herself at the head of a small procession: on either side of her, two Knights of the realm were her escorts, and behind her trudged four guards and the half-dozen women who had been attending her during her imprisonment in Westminster. Bringing up the rear of the cavalcade, a small donkey-cart carried everyone’s belongings, and the women took turns to ride in it when they became tired.

That was not a luxury accorded to Eleanor. She was expected to walk every painful step of the way to St Paul’s Cross in bare feet. God, she was cold! The foggy November air clung damply to her skin and her bare head with its shorn, patchy hair, felt chilled through to her very skull. But the worst thing of all was the sensation of hard, cobbled streets underfoot. She had never so much as crossed her chamber floor without wearing slippers, but now she felt every stone like a knife beneath the soft soles of her feet and they soon started to bleed. Try as she would to pick her way between the slops and animal droppings in the road, the filth was impossible to avoid and her stomach heaved with revulsion at the thought of what was squeezing up between her toes.

But not a word of complaint escaped her lips. At Temple Gate, the group turned right into Fleet Street and, as word spread like wildfire, crowds of people began gathering to watch. At first, they had been totally silent, spellbound by the sight of this once haughty woman brought to this disgrace. Then one or two of the more adventurous tried some tentative jeers. Others began calling louder and, moments later, a rotten egg cracked against Eleanor’s shoulder. For the first time, she stumbled.

Standing among the crowd gathered outside the alehouse at the sign of The Bush, John Virley allowed himself a gratified smirk at the sight of her. He was vindicated now and, more important than anything, the Witch was dead. It was a shame about Canon Southwell, whose major sin had been a pompous belief in his own importance but, at the end, he’d been glad to help him.

As though to draw a line under the last ten years of his life, Virley felt justified in aiming a worm-infested apple at the Duchess as she passed him. He was smugly pleased when it caught her in the small of her back.

On and on Eleanor walked, across the Fleet Bridge and into the city. By the time she reached St Paul’s Cross, she was numb with shame and cold. Inside the cathedral, she offered up the still-burning wax taper at the high altar and moved her mouth soundlessly in prayer. In truth, she had no specific prayer to offer, she simply went through the silent motions of The Lord’s Prayer. Nobody was listening to her anyway. The people who crowded the nave merely wanted to see this once proud beauty with her head bowed. Crossing herself as she rose painfully to her filthy, bare feet, she turned and made to leave the Cathedral, the Knights still at her side, the guards following and the women still trailing behind.