Ruth Warburton - Witch Hunt

She nodded, and followed him round the building to a low porch, and into a smoky parlour. Two men were still drinking beer in the corner and they looked up as she entered. Rosa ducked her head and pulled her shawl closer around her face, digging the ruby into its folds. She waited in the shadows of the doorway while Luke made his way across to the bar and spoke to the landlady.

‘Luggage?’ Rosa heard her say, and saw Luke shake his head.

‘. . . weren’t expecting to have to stay,’ she heard. ‘We got caught up in London.’

‘You’ll ’ave to share a bed wi’ yer sister,’ the woman said irritably. ‘We’ve only got the one free. But you can have the room to yourselves.’

Share a bed? Rosa felt her face flush scarlet, and then silently chastised herself for being such a child. Of course they’d have to share a bed. They couldn’t afford to pay for two rooms.

The woman came across, holding a key, and looked her up and down sharply.

‘Quiet little thing, ain’t you? Cat got yer tongue?’

‘She’s tired,’ Luke put in shortly. ‘So am I.’

‘All right, all right. Only making perlite conversation. Here’s the key to your room. Payment’s now.’

Luke nodded and fished a couple of coins out of his pocket.

‘My sister’s hungry; we haven’t eaten all day. Is there anything she can have?’

‘Cook’s gone home,’ the woman said sourly. Luke pulled out another coin and she looked at it for a moment and then tossed her head. ‘But you can ’ave bread and cheese. Not down ’ere, we’re closing up. I’ll bring it up.’

‘Bread and cheese? That’s the best you can manage for a shilling?’

‘Take it or leave it.’

‘At least give us a glass of beer.’

‘All right. Bread, cheese and beer. And you’re lucky with that. The room’s the second floor, right-hand door as you come up the stairs. Don’t open the window, the catch is broke. And here, take this.’

She shoved a lighted oil lamp into Luke’s hand and Rosa followed him up the rickety stairs to the attic.

At the top of the second flight they paused for a moment, catching their breath, and then Luke pulled the key out of his pocket and set it in the door. But it was not locked – as he went to turn it, the door swung open of its own accord and they went inside, Luke ducking his head as he passed under the low door frame.

He set the oil lamp on the mantelpiece, turned up the wick and they surveyed the room.

‘I know it’s not what you’re used to . . .’ Luke said uneasily. There was no space for anything except the bed, pushed hard against the wall, a single stool that doubled as a bedside table, and a narrow washstand wedged into the alcove by the fire.

‘It’s fine,’ Rosa said in a low voice. But the only thing she could think as she gazed around the cramped chamber was how small the bed was. Smaller than her bed at home. The thought of her and Luke sharing the narrow mattress . . . She felt blood flood her face again and turned away, hoping he couldn’t see her furious blush and misunderstand it for shame or anger. She walked to the window to press her face against the cold glass, trying to cool her burning cheeks and quell the ache in her head. He’s Luke , she told herself as she stared out into the night. He is your brother . For now.

‘Rosa . . .’ Luke came up behind her, and in the dark reflection of the window she saw his hand hover over her shoulder, not quite touching. ‘I—’

‘Bread and cheese.’ The voice came from the doorway. ‘And beer.’ Rosa turned to see the landlady bang the plate down on the stool by the bed, and the tankard after it, the beer slopping as she did.

‘Thank you,’ Rosa said automatically and without thinking. Almost at the door, the landlady stopped and looked back, as if puzzled. Then she shook her head and left, banging the door shut behind her.

Rosa felt herself go hot and then cold with horror as she realized what she’d done.

‘Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry – I forgot! Do you think . . .’

‘It doesn’t matter. It was just “thank you”,’ Luke said, but his face was uneasy. ‘She won’t remember tomorrow. But we should get away as early as we can. Before dawn, if possible.’

He sat on the edge of the bed, the springs squeaking, and rubbed his face, his hands rasping against his unshaven cheeks.

‘Well, at least she didn’t stint on the bread.’

It was true. The cheese was nothing but a cracked noggin, ‘fit for the mice’, Mrs Ramsbottom would have said. But the bread was piled high and was fresh, or reasonably so. Rosa took the piece that Luke held out to her, but suddenly she was not sure if she could eat it.

Perhaps it was the landlady’s gaze, but she suddenly felt sick with the realization of what she was doing. You are alone with him, alone in a bedroom with a strange man . . . The thought made her almost dizzy with disbelief. It was against everything her mother had drilled into her – and Luke was not just a man, but a servant, a witch finder, an outwith : everything alien and forbidden.

But when she bit into the bread, feeling the taste flood her mouth, she realized how hungry she was, and she took another bite, and another, all thoughts driven out of her head except for her hunger and the taste of the bread. The crust crunched between her teeth and she thought that nothing, not the finest smoked salmon or the creamiest foie gras, had ever tasted so good.

There was silence as they both crunched, and then, as she swallowed the last salty crumb of cheese, she realized something else.

‘I’m thirsty.’

‘D’you drink beer?’ Luke said shortly, around a mouthful of bread. ‘Sorry there’s only one glass.’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve never tried it.’

‘Here.’ He held it out, tankard handle towards her.

Rosa took it from his hand and sniffed at the golden liquid. The smell was not particularly pleasant, but she was horribly thirsty and, wrinkling her nose, she took a great swig.

Her first impulse was to spit it out, but she screwed up her face, pressed her lips together and swallowed heroically.

‘Urgh!’ she spluttered when her mouth was clear. ‘That’s revolting !’

‘Your face!’ Luke was laughing properly now, but not too hard to grab the tankard before she spilt it in revulsion. ‘You’ve really never tried it?’

‘How can you drink that stuff? It’s so – so sour !’

‘It’s not sour! It’s – well, it’s beer. It’s the hops that make it bitter. I suppose I can remember not liking it much when I was a kid. But I was six, I didn’t like cabbage or Brussels sprouts, neither!’

Rosa shuddered, and went over to the washstand to see if the ewer had water in it to wash her mouth out. The jug was half full, but there was a layer of dust on the surface and a dead fly floating in it.

‘Come on,’ Luke said, his face still twisted in a grin. She saw that the dimple was back, skewered deep into his right cheek. He patted the bed beside him. ‘It’s not that bad. Try another go.’

‘I’d rather die of thirst!’ Rosa retorted as she sat beside him, the mattress squeaking. But she took the glass and managed a tiny sip. It was not so bad, now she was expecting the bitterness and she took another, slightly larger mouthful. ‘It’s still revolting. But it’s better than drinking dead flies, I suppose.’

‘Glad you approve.’ He took a gulp himself and then passed her back the tankard.

‘Do you think Brimstone’s all right?’ Rosa asked. Luke nodded.

‘He’ll be fine. They had a good stables round the back. Nice and clean. Four other horses besides him.’

‘I wonder what Alexis is doing right now.’ The thought made her draw her knees up to her chest, hugging them uneasily. ‘Scrying maybe.’