Ruth Warburton - Witch Hunt

‘Will they recognize me?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know.’ He looked at her appraisingly, as if trying to see her with a stranger’s eyes. Rosa hung her head. She could guess what she looked like, walking through the streets at dawn, with her head bare and her hair loose and her gown ripped and filthy.

‘I must look like a tramp,’ she said bitterly. To her surprise, Luke’s worried face broke into a reluctant smile.

‘You ain’t seen many then. Or not many East End ones. No, you don’t look like a tramp. But you don’t look quite like a lady either. No, no, that’s good,’ he added hastily at the sight of her expression. ‘They’ll be looking for a lady, for Sebastian Knyvet’s fiancée. Hang on a minute.’ He pulled her into a quiet doorway, away from passers-by, and then took hold of the shawl, pulling it up around her face, covering her bright hair. ‘Your gown’s ripped and sooty from the fire, but the cut’s too good, and these flounces are too fancy. We can’t do much about the cut but . . .’ Rosa felt a tug, there was a ripping sound and Luke let some torn silk and lace flutter to the ground. ‘If only we could do something about that bloody ring. Phoebe’s right. If anyone sees it and thinks it’s real . . .’

‘I’ll hold the shawl like this.’ Rosa twined her left hand in the wool, hiding her fingers. ‘Is that better?’

‘It’ll have to do. Just don’t let the shawl slip.’ He turned up the collar of his coat and huddled into his muffler. ‘Listen, is it all right . . . ?’ He stopped.

‘What?’

He stepped towards her. It was hard to see his expression above the scarf, but she could have sworn there was a flush on his cheek.

‘It’d look better if . . . if we looked like . . . sweethearts. Like a married couple off somewhere.’ He was definitely blushing now; even in the thin winter dawn she could see his cheeks were scarlet. ‘I don’t want to be familiar, but . . . can I take your arm?’

She wanted to laugh, it was so preposterous that he was worrying about such things at a time like this.

‘Luke! Stop being ridiculous.’

He flinched as if she’d slapped him and began to walk away, his head down. He was muttering something under his breath.

‘. . . presumptuous . . . my place . . . servant . . .’

‘Luke!’ She ran to catch up. ‘Luke! I meant of course you must take my arm. For heaven’s sake, staying alive is the only thing that matters. I don’t give a damn about presumption or anything else.’

‘Really?’ He turned to face her, his expression doubtful above his tight-wound muffler.

‘Really.’ She held out her arm and he took it, tucking her hand beneath his arm. He didn’t mean to, but she couldn’t suppress a gasp of pain as he crushed her burnt skin.

He let go instantly.

‘My God, your arm, Rosa. I forgot.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, through gritted teeth. Then her racing heart slowed and she was able to smile through the stab of pain. ‘It’s all right. I’ll be able to heal it soon – when I’ve had some rest. Put your arm around my shoulders instead. It’ll look more natural.’

For a moment he hesitated, and she was not certain if it was because he was unsure of himself, or of her. Then he did it, letting his arm rest stiffly across the nape of her neck, as if he was afraid to touch her.

They began to walk, and slowly she felt his muscles relax, the weight of his arm began to rest on her shoulder, and he drew her into his side, as if they were a real couple.

How easy to pretend , Rosa thought. To just go on, pretending that this is the truth, just two people walking home, and all the rest, Sebastian, and the Malleus, and the factory – if only all of that were the crazy impossible fantasy .

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked again, as she had at the pub, but this time it was without curiosity, with a bleak hopelessness that didn’t expect an answer. ‘Sebastian will never let me go, I know that, Luke. He told me before he left, he would rather kill me than lose me.’

‘He thinks you’re dead.’ Luke’s voice was low and steady, close to her ear. She felt his breath on her hair, through the shawl. ‘Remember that. He has no reason to think we survived the fire at the factory. There’ll be bodies enough to keep him puzzled for a while; I didn’t get everyone out. It’ll be a long time before anyone comes looking for us.’

She didn’t believe him. An outwith might have been fooled – but not Sebastian. But she didn’t argue. Instead she felt Luke squeeze her shoulders, a rough, comforting gesture that made tears spring to her eyes.

‘It’ll be all right, Rosa. We’ll get the ring off at the forge, and then we’ll sell it, and use the money to get a horse from somewhere. It’ll be all right, I promise.’

His promise comforted her, not because she believed him, but because she knew he lied for her sake.

The forge was still in darkness. There were no sparks coming from the chimney as they walked quietly up the lane. Luke lifted his arm from Rosa’s shoulders and put his finger to his lips as he lifted the latch of the gate and pulled it ajar, holding its weight so that the hinges wouldn’t squeal out and wake William.

Rosa slipped through the gap into the cobbled yard, and Luke pulled the gate shut behind her, latching it so that no one would see the open gate and think the forge open. The snow was still falling and the cobbles were slick with ice as they crossed them carefully. Luke glanced up at his uncle’s window as they passed, but it was still dark. He had no watch, but it must be gone seven, and even when he was sleeping off a hangover William rarely slept past eight.

Inside the forge he pulled the door shut against the cold and began to search through William’s tools. He laid the likeliest out on the bench – a narrow rasp, nippers, the smallest hacksaw . . . He and Rosa stood looking at them, and he could see the fear in Rosa’s face. He felt it himself, looking from the huge heavy tools down at her small hand, bloodied and dusted with soot.

‘It’s not going to work,’ he said at last. ‘William’s got nothing small enough. We need a goldsmith’s tools, not these.’

‘Try,’ she said. ‘At least try.’

With a sick heart he picked up the nippers and tried to angle them to pinch just the gold band of the ring, keeping clear of the skin of her finger, but it was nearly impossible. They were too large and too heavy, and the ring dug so tightly into Rosa’s finger that he couldn’t get a purchase on the metal without pinching her flesh. At last he thought he had it, and began to tighten, gently, and then harder.

‘Stop!’ she screamed, and he let the nippers clatter to the floor. There was sweat on her forehead, sticking the red-gold hair to her face. She closed her eyes. Blood was running down her finger. ‘No, take no notice of me,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Try again.’

‘No.’ Sickness rose in Luke’s throat, the sight of her blood turning his stomach. ‘No, I won’t.’

‘Coward,’ she said bitterly, and Luke’s stomach clenched as if he’d been punched.

‘ What did you say?’ His voice came out louder and more dangerous than he’d meant. ‘If you were a man, I’d—’

He broke off, suddenly hot with shame. Had it come to this, that he was so afraid of his own cowardice that he was reduced to shouting threats at an injured girl? Not just a coward, but a bully too. At least Knyvet, loathsome though he was, was brave in his own way.

‘I’m sorry.’ He couldn’t bear to look at her as he walked back to the tool rack to put them away, avoiding her gaze. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s tightened,’ she said in a small voice, breaking into his stumbling apology. ‘That was why I screamed. It wasn’t the cut – I could have stood that. But the ring – when you tried to clip it off, it tightened.’