Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

‘Agnes? Don’t be so foolish. She’s done you no harm. Her hens are always good layers, and anyway, at this time of the year, hens are always unpredictable. Just wait a day or two, and yours will be laying nineteen to the dozen.’

‘My hens have given up, too,’ said the third woman, the weaver’s skinny wife; someone who Jane always tried to avoid. She had a small, pointed face, a bitter expression and a spiteful tongue. Her name was Matty; ‘And there’s another thing,’ she said, ‘Agnes Myles was there when Abigail Butcher’s latest baby was born, and look what happened to him. He was all twisted and bent like a piece of old thorn bush and couldn’t get his breath properly and he died hours later before they could get the priest to baptise him. Terrible it was. And who’s fault was that, may I ask?’

‘Babies often die,’ said Jane impatiently, ‘it’s one of the facts of life. You can’t blame Agnes for that.’

‘You can, if she’s a…’ said Biddy ominously.

‘A what?’ said Jane, suddenly feeling a prickling of fear. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Why, she’s a witch, Mistress Warrener. That’s what we’re saying. She’s a nasty, evil old witch.’

‘Stop this talk at once, all of you. You don’t know what you’re staying. Agnes is a healer. You’ve all benefited from her treatment when you were ill.’

‘She didn’t cure my aching bones,’ said Emily resentfully. ‘She said there was nothing she could do for me. Gave me some ointment to rub on my back, and what happened? It got even more crooked.’

‘That’s got nothing to do with Agnes. She can’t make you young again.’

‘Now don’t you start telling me what’s right and what’s wrong. We know, don’t we,’ Matty said, turning to the others for support. ‘And we also know what went on up in the woods.’

‘Oh, and what nonsense are you going to tell me, now?’

‘It’s not nonsense. It’s a fact. They do say that witches can turn themselves into filthy demons if they’ve a mind to. Well, his Lordship was up there in the woods on his horse when out from behind a tree she pounced, disguised as a spirit from hell. Horrible it was. No wonder his Lordship’s horse bolted and he fell off. It was a mercy he didn’t kill himself.’

‘That’s rubbish. I found him and got help. He said it was a trick of the light on the leaves that frightened his horse. Spirits, demons, witches! You’re all a poisonous lot of gossips.’

‘And you, Mistress Warrener, are riding for a fall, too,’ said Biddy. ‘We all know what you’re up to. You’re always up at the Manor strolling around with his Lordship, even visiting him in his bedroom, so we’ve heard. Well, don’t you come the high and mighty with us. His Lordship’ll tire of you soon, and don’t you come running to us when it all goes wrong. And where will you be, may I ask, when all the great lords and ladies come to his house? Do you think he’ll want to walk out with you then? Oh no, you’ll come creeping back to that old father of yours and no one will ever look at you again.’

‘You’ve got a foul mind, Biddy Tomkins. There’s no harm in me talking to Lord Nicholas.’

‘Nothing at all, if it’s only talking.’

The three of them cackled and spluttered and, impatiently, Jane turned to jump up on Melissa’s back.

‘That’s right, you ride away on that horse of yours. But don’t say we didn’t warn you. There’s changes coming to this village. They do say that the monks will be kicked out soon, Mortimer’s gone and we don’t know what’ll happen to his place, and now they’re saying the King’s coming. Think of that. And we don’t want any dirty old witch around here putting curses on his Highness.’

Jane turned and rounded on Biddy. ‘Now what mischief are you saying? The King’s coming here? Who told you that?’

‘It’s common knowledge, Mistress Warrener. You ought to talk to us a bit more. A bright girl like you ought to keep up with the news.’

* * *

Agnes was in the wooden hut at the end of her garden. She was tying fresh rosemary into bundles ready to hang up on the rafters for use next winter. The room was full of the pungent scent of herbs, like the church after Sunday’s High Mass. She looked up as Jane came in.

‘Come in, Jane. It’s good to see you again.’

Jane walked over to the table and ran her fingers through the pile of herbs, smoothing out the grey-green spiky leaves of the rosemary. Gradually, the anger in her subsided. She picked up a bunch of rosemary and buried her face in it, inhaling deeply. ‘Um, lovely. I envy you your healing talents.’

‘It’s nothing special. It’s just a question of knowing which of God’s plants is suitable for any particular ailment. I’ve studied them all my life, remember. Even the dangerous ones have a use if you know the right dosage. But what can I do for you?’

‘You’ve heard the news, of course?’

‘My dear, the village is buzzing like a beehive with news.’

‘Do you know that a whole lot of people from Court are coming to the Manor?’

‘Oh that! Yes, I’ve heard, and I feel sorry for Lord Nicholas. He’s going to have his work cut out feeding and entertaining that mob. Master Lowe’s been here and commandeered all my eggs for the next three weeks. Still, he says he’ll give me a good price for them. Seems my hens are the best layers in the village. I hope his Lordship’s coming home soon, otherwise Master Lowe’s mind’s going to give way under the worry of it all.’

‘They say that the King’s coming.’

Agnes put down the bundle of herbs and looked at Jane, suddenly serious.

‘Best not to listen to gossip, Jane. Wait until Lord Nicholas tells you himself. There’s all sorts of rumours flying around but no one knows for sure. Only his Lordship, of course. We’ll all be glad if King Henry comes here, not that we’ll see much of him, but it’s best not too many people know about it. Master Lowe told me nothing and that’s how it should be. The King’s the King, and these are dangerous times. Now, I’ve nothing against Harry Tudor, but others might not agree with me. So steer clear of gossips, Jane.’

‘Agnes, there’s something else I must tell you.’

‘Why, my dear, how serious you look. Come now, we’ve never kept things from each other, have we, so what is it?’

‘I’ve just been talking to Biddy Tomkins…’

‘Now what made you do that? Nothing good ever came out of Biddy Tomkin’s mouth. She’s nothing but a bawdy ale-house keeper’s wife, a trouble-maker if ever there was one.’

Ambrose strolled in, rubbed himself round Jane’s skirts, then sat down in a pool of sunshine in the doorway and proceeded to wash his face and whiskers with delicate precision.

‘There are rumours going around…’

‘There always are when Biddy Tomkins opens her mouth.’

‘Abigail Butcher’s child died recently.’

‘I know. The poor, wee babe. But it was only to be expected with his spine twisted all over the place. There was no room in his chest for his breath. But the Lord gives, and the Lord taketh away, and it’s not for us to question His ways. And I daresay it’s better for the babe to be in Heaven with the angels with a good, strong body, than having to endure a wretched life down here with us.’

‘You were there when he was born?’

‘Yes. Abigail asked me to give the others a hand. It was a bitter labour. Jane, what are you saying?’

‘It’s not what I’m saying, it’s what they’re saying. People are also saying that it’s strange that your hens are laying and theirs aren’t.’

‘That’s because I feed them on corn and barley which I saved over the winter. Now what’s all this about, my dear?’ she said, as she wiped her hands on her apron and came over to put her arms round Jane’s shoulders. ‘Come on, look at me, and say what you have to say.’