Joseph Delaney - Spook's Secret

After a while Alice came back upstairs carrying a cup half full of a pale yellow liquid, and I lifted the Spook's head while she poured a little of it into his mouth. I wished Mam were here but I knew that Alice was the next best thing: as Mam had once told me, she knew her stuff regarding potions.

The Spook choked and spluttered a bit but we managed to get most of it down him. 'If s a really bad time of year but I might be able to find something better,' Alice said. 'If s worth going out to look. Not that he deserves it, the way he's treated me!'

I thanked Alice and saw her to the front door. It wasn't raining any more but there was a chill in the damp air. The trees were bare and everything looked bleak. 'It's winter, Alice. What can you find when hardly anything is growing?'

'Even in winter there are roots and bark you can use' Alice replied, buttoning up her coat against the cold. 'That's if you know where to look. I'll be back as soon as I can ...'

I went back up to the bedroom to sit with the Spook, sad and lost. I know it sounds selfish but I couldn't help starting to worry about myself. I couldn't possibly manage to complete my apprenticeship without the Spook. I'd have to go north of Caster to where Arkwright practised his trade and ask him to take me on. As he'd once been the Spook's apprentice and had lived at Chipenden like me, perhaps he'd do it, but there was no guarantee. He might already have an apprentice. After thinking that, I felt worse. Really guilty. Because I'd just been thinking about myself, not my master.

Then, after about an hour, the Spook suddenly opened his eyes. They were wild and bright with fever, and to begin with I don't think he knew who I was. He still remembered how to give orders though, and began shouting them out at the top of his voice as if he thought I was deaf or something.

'Help me up! Get me up! Up! Up! Do it now!' he shouted, as I struggled to help him up into a sitting position and pack the pillows behind his back. He began to groan very loudly, and his eyes rolled in his head and went right up into his skull until only the whites were visible.

'Get me a drink!' he shouted. T need a drink!'

There was a jug of cold water on the bedside table and I filled a cup half full and held it gently to his lips.

'Sip it slowly,' I advised, but the Spook took a big gulp and spat it out onto the bedclothes.

'What's this rubbish? Is this all I deserve?' he roared, his pupils coming back into view to fix me with a wild, angry stare. 'Bring me wine. And make it red. That's what I need!'

I didn't think it was a good idea at all, what with him being so ill, but he insisted again. He wanted wine and it had to be red.

'I'm sorry but there is no wine,' I explained, keeping my voice calm so as not to get him even more agitated.

'Of course there's no wine herel This is a bedroom!' he shouted. 'Down in the kitchen, that's where you'll find it. If not, try the cellar. Go and look. And be quick about it. Don't keep me waiting.'

There were about half a dozen bottles of wine in the kitchen and all of them were red. The trouble was, there was no sign of a corkscrew - not that I looked too hard. So I took the bottle back up to the bedroom, thinking that would be the end of it.

I was wrong: as soon as I came near the bed, my master snatched the bottle from me, put it to his mouth and pulled the cork out with his remaining teeth. For a moment I thought he'd swallowed it, but suddenly he spat it out with such force that the cork bounced off the bedroom wall opposite.

Then he began to drink and, as he drank, he talked. I'd never seen the Spook drink alcohol before, but now he couldn't get the stuff down his throat fast enough. He became more and more excited, the talk giving way to ranting. It didn't make much sense because he was raving with the fever and the drink. A lot of it was in Latin too, the language I was still struggling to learn. At one point he kept making the sign of the cross with his right hand, the way priests do.

Back at our farm, wine was something we drank rarely. Mam makes her own elderberry wine and it's really good. It only comes out on special occasions though: when I lived at home, I was lucky to be given half a small glass twice a year. The Spook finished off a whole bottle in less than fifteen minutes and later he was sick - so sick that he nearly choked to death there and then. Of course, I had to clean up the mess using the other strips of sheet.

Alice came back soon after that and made up another potion with the roots she'd found. We worked together and managed to get it down the Spook's throat, and within moments he was asleep again.

That done, Alice sniffed the air and wrinkled up her nose. Even after I'd changed the bedclothes the room still stank to high heaven, so that I couldn't smell the flowers any more. At least, that's what I thought at the time. I didn't realize that the Spook was on the mend.

So the doctor and nurse were both proved wrong: within hours the fever had gone and my master was coughing up thick phlegm from his lungs, filling handkerchiefs as quickly as I could find them, so I ended up tearing another sheet into strips. He was on the slow road to recovery. And once again we owed it all to Alice.

Bad News

The Hursts returned the following day but looked lost and bewildered, as if they didn't know how to start clearing up the mess. The Spook spent most of his time sleeping but we couldn't let him stay in a room with the wind howling in through the broken window, so I took some money from his bag and gave it to Mr Hurst to pay for some of the repairs.

Workmen were employed from the village: a glazier fitted new glass to the bedroom and kitchen windows while Shanks boarded up the rest temporarily to keep the elements out. I had a busy day myself, making up the fires in the bedrooms and one downstairs in the kitchen, helping with the farm chores too, especially the milking. Mr Hurst did some work but his heart wasn't in it. It seemed as if he didn't enjoy life any more and had lost the will to live.

'Oh dear! Oh dear!' he kept muttering wearily to himself. And once I heard him say quite distinctly, as he looked up at the barn roof, his face filled with anguish, 'What did I do? What did I do to deserve this?'

That night, just after we'd finished our supper, there were three loud raps on the front door and they brought poor Mr Hurst to his feet so suddenly that he almost fell backwards over his chair.

'I'll go,' Mrs Hurst said, laying her hand gently on her husband's arm. 'You stay here, love, and try to keep calm. Don't go upsetting yourself again.'

By their reaction I guessed it was Morgan at the door. And there was something about the manner of the three loud raps that chilled me to the bone. My suspicions were confirmed when Alice looked at me, turned down the corners of her mouth and mouthed silently the word 'Morgan'.

Morgan swaggered into the room ahead of his mother. He was carrying a staff and bag. Wearing his cloak and hood, he looked every inch a spook.

'Well, this is cosy. And if it isn't the young apprentice himself,' he said, turning to me. 'Master Ward, we meet again.'

I nodded in reply.

'So what's been happening here, Old Man?' Morgan taunted Mr Hurst. 'That farmyard's a disgrace. Have you no pride in yourself? You're letting this place go to rack and ruin.'

'Ain't his fault. Stupid or something, are you?' Alice snapped, hostility heavy in her voice. 'Any fool can see if s the work of a boggart!'

Morgan frowned angrily and glared at her, raising his stick a little, but Alice returned his gaze with a mocking smile.

'So the Spook sent his apprentice to deal with it, did he?' Morgan said, turning towards his mother. 'Well, that's gratitude for you, isn't it, Old Woman? You take in a little witch for him and he can't even be bothered to come and help bind your boggart. He always was a cold-hearted wretch.'