Witchfall (6 page)

He held out both hands towards me in a dramatic gesture, his long thin fingers pale in the candlelight.

‘To summon spirits is a power you too could possess, if only you would drop your girlish fears and learn from a master.’

I stared at the man, deeply shocked by his offer. ‘My aunt is dead. It is not possible.’

‘Anything is possible.’

‘I would not see her peace disturbed.’

‘The dead have no thought of life or death, of peace or disruption. Your aunt would be here with us, but not of this world.’

Dee took my hand and began to stroke my palm, watching me. I did not resist, for to own the truth I was curious to
see the extent of his power. I did not believe he could summon my aunt from the grave, nor did I wish him to try. But his power fascinated me, made it hard to deny him.

His gaze fixed on my face. ‘What was your aunt’s name?’

I hesitated, then whispered, ‘Jane Canley.’

He closed his eyes and spoke in Latin, muttering under his breath, and I heard him weave my aunt’s name into the spell. His fingers continued to squeeze and stroke my hand as he spoke. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and his narrowed gaze lifted to stare over my shoulder. His lips twitched as he glanced down at me.

‘Look behind you, Meg,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Slowly, slowly! Show neither fear nor surprise.’

My skin prickled. Following his instructions, I turned my head with exquisite slowness and looked over my left shoulder. There in the darkness stood Aunt Jane. Not as I remembered her in those last terrible moments as she slumped against the village stake – a smoking husk of blackened skin and bones – but as she had looked in her younger years, when I was but a child. My dearest Aunt Jane, her skin smooth again, her fair hair rich and glossy under her white cap, dressed in a simple gown and apron.

Terrified as I was, I found myself smiling at her instinctively. My lips opened to speak her name. ‘Aunt Jane!’

But my aunt did not reply, nor did she smile back at me. She stood – or possibly floated, for I could not see if her feet were touching the dank floor – in perfect stillness, staring at
a point beyond us in the dark cell as though not even aware of our presence. Her mouth remained level and closed, her blue eyes tranquil and empty of all emotion.

Staring, I was suddenly aware that I could see through my aunt’s body to the filthy wall beyond. There was her gown of coarse linen, yes, but through it I could see the wall’s roughcast stones glistening with water. It was as though Aunt Jane had performed the spell of invisibility on herself, and it had only partially worked.

I could not stand it. My heart rebelled, knowing this was not my aunt as she had been in life, but a shadow of her soul, a phantom that could never replace the woman I had known and loved.

‘Begone, spirit!’ I cried, wrenching my hands from John Dee’s grasp and pointing at the wavering vision.

And we were alone again in the prison cell.

John Dee looked at me oddly. ‘Impressive,’ he said, commenting on my ability as a witch. ‘Though your aunt would have spoken, if you had waited to question her.’

‘That was not my aunt.’

‘No,’ he agreed mildly. ‘But it was as close an embodiment of her spirit as you will get now, this long after her death.’

Dee poured some ale from a flagon into his wooden bowl and sipped at it, then offered the bowl to me. I shook my head, still a little angry with the astrologer, and he smiled. ‘If you wish, I can teach you to work the spell yourself. It is a
powerful magick for a woman, but I can see you are not without talent. You never know when it may come in useful to call a spirit to your side.’

‘I came here to serve my mistress, not to learn how to summon the dead.’

‘Wait,’ he insisted as I turned to the door. Dee set the bowl of ale on the table and beckoned me forward. ‘Look into the bowl and tell me what you see.’

Did he intend me to scry for him? Curiosity brought me to the table’s edge, but I did not wish John Dee to know the extent of my skill. I pretended not to understand.

‘What do you mean?’

‘If you are a woman of power like your aunt, not a country witch, then a simple act of divination should come easy to you.’

The astrologer was taunting me, and I knew it. A child’s trick, goading me to play his dangerous game.

Still listening for the guard’s return, I lowered my gaze to the bowl. I waited a while, trying to empty my mind of thought. Still nothing stirred in the cloudy liquid but the flicker of candlelight.

My reflection looked back at me helplessly: a pale, wide-eyed girl, her face tense and unsmiling under a plain white cap. The silence dragged on. My eyes began to sting and my belly hurt in anticipation of his contempt. From somewhere in the depths of that vile prison I caught what sounded like a scream, muffled by thick walls. Some unfortunate captive
being tortured in pursuit of a confession, guilty or not.

At my side, Master Dee stirred at last, perhaps growing uneasy as he contemplated his fate, and I drew breath to admit my failure.

‘I cannot read the future, I do not have the skill.’ Suddenly I frowned, my attention snagged by some movement in the cloudy liquid. ‘Wait, what was that? I thought I saw something.’

‘Yes?’

My gaze fixed on the bowl as the dark vision inside it swirled and shifted. With a chill sensation, I recognized what I was looking at. ‘I see a girl. A girl kneeling in a high lonely place. I cannot see her face, her head is bent. It is sunset and there are dark clouds on the horizon. At her back, I see—’

I gave a horrified cry and broke off.

‘Speak on,’ he urged me, close at my ear. ‘Do not be afraid of what has been shown to you. These visions have no power to hurt you and may bring much secret information.’

I shook my head and was relieved to hear the heavy tread of boots and jangle of keys outside in the corridor. It was the guard at last, returning to release me from this hellish place.

‘My time here is done,’ I muttered, averting my eyes from the bowl and hurrying to the cell door. I dragged on my gloves with shaking hands, banishing the vision from my mind. ‘I wish you good fortune when they come to question you tomorrow. And I pray you most fervently, Master Dee, to remember my mistress and the terrible hurt that might be
done to her by uttering the wrong word – even under torture.’

This time John Dee did not attempt to stop me, and I was soon outside again in the night, gulping at the river air, desperate to rid my lungs of the foul stench of his prison cell.

Alejandro was waiting for me near the river gate as he had sworn. He looked more Spanish than ever in the moonlight, his eyes keen and fierce as a hawk’s beneath his feathered cap, his cloak hiding a jewelled sword and the richness of his court suit. I remembered standing by another river bank in the daylight, listening to his proposal of marriage and promising to give him my answer in a year and a day’s time.

His sharp gaze searched my face. ‘What is it? You look pale. Did the meeting go badly?’ He frowned when I did not reply. ‘Does the astrologer plan to betray the Lady Elizabeth?’

I shrugged helplessly. ‘He said not, but I do not know for sure. We must return to court as quickly as possible. The princess will wish to hear what I have learned. If you want to help me, call a link boy to light us back to the barge.’

Alejandro did as I asked, then turned back, still frowning. ‘You are cold.’ He removed his cloak and swung it about me. His hands lingered on my shoulders. ‘I wish you would trust me, Meg, and tell me what has upset you so much.’

‘It’s just the stink of this place,’ I muttered, and hugged
myself into his fine cloak, still warm from his body. ‘I can’t stomach it.’

‘Hampton Court does not smell much better,’ he pointed out.

‘But the court is there and the Lady Elizabeth, and it is my duty to serve her.’ I tried to distract him with my chatter. ‘At least summer is nearly upon us. Perhaps the Queen will finally allow us to depart for the country before the stench of the palace infects us all with some plague.’

I felt safer once we were on board the barge and heading back along the dark Thames towards Hampton Court. The ancient timbers creaked and protested beneath us, oars struggling against the current, the return journey far slower as we hugged the central streams of the river, avoiding jetties that we knew to be watched by the Queen’s spies.

Wishing to avoid the winks of the bargemen, bribed to keep silent about our secret journey, I stood apart from Alejandro and gazed out over the blackness that was London asleep. Once or twice a small boat approached us, with men and torches on board who looked to be portsmen, and I feared we would be discovered. But each time I raised my hand and softly spoke, ‘Depart!’ in Latin, then watched as my power steered the boat away from our barge and sent it dancing violently across the current, leaving them no chance to turn in pursuit.

As we left the city behind, I gripped the barge rail and stared down at the water, sick at heart. There was little profit
in telling Alejandro that the astrologer had conjured a semblance of my poor dead aunt, nor had I any desire to discuss what I had seen in John Dee’s scrying bowl. For from what I had been shown in that last terrifying vision, it seemed I had neither future nor husband ahead of me – and no head either.

Another day and an evening went by before one of the Queen’s physicians finally agreed to visit the Lady Elizabeth, by which time I had managed to beg more logs for the fire and warmed the room as I remember Blanche used to do at Woodstock when the princess was sick. A tall Spaniard with a domed forehead and bulging eyes, his skin the colour of beaten copper, he examined the drowsy Elizabeth with only mild interest. It was clear he thought little of her Protestant leanings.

‘A disease of the spirit,’ he proclaimed, straightening from his cursory examination. ‘Very common in young women of an hysterical disposition, and hardly worth calling me away from the care of Her Majesty for such a trifling matter. Your mistress will recover with bed rest and good care. Meanwhile, let her take a cup of wine every three hours, and perhaps some mutton broth if she can keep it down.’

‘And the swelling?’

The Spanish doctor shrugged. ‘It is a simple imbalance of the humours. The Lady Elizabeth is melancholic and suffers from an excess of black bile. An hourly application of cold cloths steeped in hyssop should help to alleviate the swelling in her lower limbs.’

I stared as he packed away his instruments and turned to leave the room. ‘Señor, is there nothing else you can do for her ladyship? She suffers badly.’

‘You could pray for her soul,’ he suggested helpfully after a moment’s pause. ‘In my opinion, this affliction is a punishment from God for the wicked heretical views she has embraced in the past. Let the Lady Elizabeth do penance to our Lord Christ with constant prayer and daily communion. Then she may see an early recovery.’

‘Thank you, doctor,’ I said drily, and showed him to the door.

I returned to the bed to find Elizabeth awake, a faint smile on her lips. Her forehead drenched in perspiration, she sat up slightly to let me rearrange her covers. ‘So this is all God’s fault.’

I smiled, though in truth I was desperately concerned for the princess. Her skin was almost grey now, and her eyes lacked their usual spark of light and humour. If only Blanche Parry were there to advise me, I thought, busying myself with her pillows. But we had seen nothing of her since she had been dragged away by the Inquisition.

‘Would you like me to fetch you a cup of wine, my lady?’

‘Not yet.’

I wiped her forehead, trying to sound cheerful. ‘At least your sickness should mean a respite from their questions tomorrow, my lady.’

‘Do not be so sure,’ she murmured.

‘It’s late, but I must find cloths and an infusion of hyssop to reduce the swelling as the doctor suggested. And your sheets will need to be changed. But you will not be alone while I am gone. I have found a girl to sit with you until I return, my lady.’

‘Not that half-witted maid you left with me earlier? She kept staring and crossing herself whenever I looked at her.’

‘Forgive me, my lady, she was the best I could find in a hurry.’ I laughed at her expression. ‘This time I asked amongst the Queen’s maids of honour and finally found one who was not required in the birthing rooms and could be more easily spared from her duties. This one should be rather less inclined to cross herself, though I cannot promise anything about her staring. Her name is Alice Upton, and I believe she’s the granddaughter of one of King Edward’s old stewards.’

I paused meaningfully, in case anyone was listening at the door, and Elizabeth nodded, lowering her eyelids to hide the expression in her eyes. ‘Then let her come forward and sit with me, Meg, while you play hunt the hyssop. This may be the sickness talking, but I am inclined to like the name Alice Upton; it has a good ring to it.’

I knew then that she had understood me. Her brother Edward had been a fierce Protestant, and had tended to keep men about him whose allegiances and beliefs lay in the same reforming direction. It was unlikely that anyone of that
blood would feel any loyalty to Queen Mary and her burning Catholic zeal.

‘First though, while we are still private, tell me of your visit to John Dee. All I recall is you whispering in my ear that you had visited him in prison. Then I must have slept again, for I remember nothing else. Was that a true memory or my delirium?’

‘We had better speak softly then, for fear we may be overheard,’ I whispered, and pretended to fuss with her covers, stretching across the bed to smooth them down. ‘I have indeed visited Master Dee in the Fleet Prison. He said he would not betray you, even under torture. That he was more powerful than the Inquisition. And then Master Dee . . .’ I stumbled painfully over my words. ‘He . . . conjured the likeness of my aunt to demonstrate his power.’

The Lady Elizabeth stared up at me. ‘Master Dee conjured your aunt’s spirit? I have heard tales of necromancers who summon the dead to speak with them, but never believed it could be true. Was it indeed your aunt and not some magician’s trick?’