Iris Collier - Day of Wrath

Agnes’s garden was full of dark figures, some, mostly his own servants, were already filling buckets of water from the well. Someone was trying to get people to form a chain. Others did nothing. Nicholas jumped off his horse and shouted to them.

‘Come on. Everyone’s needed. Do you want to see her house go up in flames?’

It was the wooden shed which was burning furiously. Fortunately the wind had died down and the flames had not yet reached the house.

‘She’s an old witch,’ said someone from the back of the crowd. ‘She’ll be the next one to burn, and serves her right.’

‘Get hold of that man,’ shouted Nicholas to Geoffrey, who’d joined them. ‘And don’t let him go. Now where’s the old lady?’

‘She’s inside,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Mistress Warrener’s with her.’

‘Geoffrey, get this lot organised. Seize hold of anyone who won’t co-operate. And get someone over to the Sheriff. Tell him he’s needed urgently.’

He ran into the house, where Agnes Myles was sitting defiantly in her chair. Jane was on her knees in front of her. She looked up as Nicholas came in.

‘She won’t leave this house. She could have a bed with us. My father can’t stand cruelty. Try and persuade her, Nicholas.’

Nicholas took hold of Agnes’s hands. They were cold and she was shivering with shock.

‘I want you to come with me, Agnes. There are evil people outside who want to harm you. Now I know somewhere where you can be safe until we’ve caught the people who want to harm you. There’s a place in the Priory where she’ll be safe, Jane,’ he said. ‘I don’t want her staying with anyone in the village. It would be too dangerous both for her and the people she’s staying with. Come, let me lift you up, Agnes. You’ll be safe with me.’

Suddenly her body seemed to crumple and she fell forward. Before he could stop her she collapsed on the floor. The strain had been too much for her frail body, and she fainted with the horror of it all. He stooped down and picked her up in his arms and carried her outside, where already Geoffrey’s organised team was bringing the fire under control. Some people cheered when they saw him. Others hissed. There were cries of ‘Witch, witch, burn the witch,’ but Nicholas took no notice. He carried Agnes to his horse, laid her carefully on its back, and led her down to the Priory. Jane walked with him, leading Melissa.

The frightened gatekeeper let them in and went to fetch the Prior, who’d just finished Matins. He came out straight away.

‘What’s this, my Lord? Am I expected to provide lodgings for all the old women in the village?’

‘No, Prior. Agnes Myles needs a refuge. People are burning her property; they could start on her next. They are calling her a witch, and you know that’s ridiculous.’

‘Of course it is. Mistress Myles doesn’t know anything about witchcraft. I know she’s on our side, not the devil’s. Brother Michael thinks the world of her. Some ignorant mischief-maker is spreading these rumours. I know, let’s put her in the anchorite’s cell. There’s a bed in there and a chair, and we can lock the door.’

‘And give me the key,’ said Jane firmly. ‘I’ll be the only person who has access to her. I can bring her food every day, and see she has everything she wants.’

‘Good idea. I can’t have the monks looking after her. That wouldn’t do at all.’

They carried Agnes round to the little hermit’s cell, which had been built on the southern side of the priory. It was a small stone room, with a window cut into the wall of the Priory for the occupant to see Mass being celebrated on the high altar. It had been occupied for twenty years when the last occupant had died, but the bed was still firm and dry and there was a comfortable chair. Jane said she’d fetch some bed clothes and a rug for the floor. They laid Agnes down on the bed and Nicholas covered her with his cloak. She was still unconscious. They left her and went out, locking the door. Jane put the key in her pocket.

‘Thank you, Prior,’ she said. ‘I wish everyone was as charitable as you.’

‘I hate victimisation of innocent people,’ he said. ‘She’ll be safe there as long as I’m head of this house.’

* * *

The Prior went off to his bed. Nicholas turned to Jane. ‘You were right, Jane, as usual. I only wish I’d paid more attention to you before. Agnes knows something. Somebody wants rid of her, that’s for sure. When she wakes up, see if she can remember the names of anyone who’s been to see her recently. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t think they’re of any importance. We might think differently. Now I must go back to her house and see that the fire is put out. I’ve sent for the Sheriff and asked Geoffrey to keep hold of anyone who refused to co-operate in putting out the fire. Tomorrow, the Sheriff will start an investigation. Have you got any ideas yet about who killed her cat?’

‘So you’ve already heard?’

‘Geoffrey told me.’

‘It was awful, Nicholas. They strung him up on a tree and hung an obscene notice round his neck. I’ve been to see two people today; one, the mother of the baby who died; she might have had it in for Agnes. The other was the churchwarden, who knows most things in the parish and can read and write. You see, whoever killed Ambrose knew how to write. But one thing’s certain, Edgar Pierrepoint would never kill anybody’s cat, not if it belonged to the devil himself, and Abigail had nothing but good to say about Agnes. Also, none of her family can read or write. However, Pierrepoint said he’d go down to the ale-house and talk to the regulars to see if they know anything. But at least Agnes is safe here. No one’s going to burn down the Priory to get at her.’

He stared at her in admiration. ‘Jane, what would I do without you? Local knowledge is vital if we’re to fit all the pieces together. I go dashing round the county to talk to the Sheriffs and Southamptons of this world and you stay here and fill in the details. I always knew we’d make a wonderful team. Come and report to me tomorrow. Usual place. After your father’s midday meal. Now I must be off to Agnes’s house and see that it’s made secure. We don’t want thieves in to make the situation worse. Tomorrow I shall see the Sheriff. Jane, dear Jane, sleep well.’

‘This is a pretty kettle of fish you’ve got landed with, Lord Nicholas,’ said Sheriff Landstock, drawing a chair up to the kitchen table. It was Sunday morning and he’d just returned from checking out Agnes Myles’s house. ‘Who’d want to burn down an old woman’s shed? Not her house, mind you, her shed. Thanks to your prompt action last night Agnes Myles has still got a house to come home to. Now, I suppose we ought to take a look at these two wretches you’ve hauled in. Who are they, by the way?’

‘One’s called Bovet, Tim Bovet. The other’s a Will Perkins. Not from round here. Seem to be a couple of ne’er-do-wells. They earn a bit here and there and spend it in the taverns. They sleep where they can and help themselves to whatever they can lay their hands on and then move off before they get caught. However, that doesn’t make them arsonists.’

‘Why did you bring ’em in then?’

‘Because neither of them lifted a finger to help put out the fire and both shouted insults at Agnes Myles.’

‘Not enough to make an arrest. Do you want me to take them back to Marchester? I can hold them for questioning. They can cool off in my gaol and I can cross-examine them. If they’ve got anything to hide, we’ll soon get it out of them.’

‘That sounds the best idea. I can’t hold them here for ever in my cellar. Here, Richard, help yourself.’ Nicholas pushed the jug of ale across the table.