Syd Moore - Witch Hunt

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street,

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright © Syd Moore 2012

Syd Moore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Version 1

FIRST EDITION

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Source ISBN: 9781847562692

Ebook Edition © October 2012 ISBN: 9780007478484

Version: 2018-06-29

For those who were prevented from telling their story. And for Granddad York.

‘Besides, when any Errour is committed

Whereby wee may Incurre or losse or shame,

That wee ourselves thereof may be acquitted

Wee are too ready to transferre the blame

Upon some Witch: That made us does the same.

It is the vulgar Plea that weake ones use

I was bewitch’d: I could nor will: nor chuse.

But my affection was not caus’d by Art:

The witch that wrought on mee was in my brest.’

Sir Francis Hubert Quoted in Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England by Alan MacFarlane

‘The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, ideas, prejudices, to be found only in the minds of men. For the record, prejudices can kill and suspicion can destroy. A thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own for the children yet unborn.’

Rod Serling, creator of The Twilight Zone and civil rights activist

Table of Contents

Title Page SYD MOORE Witch Hunt

Copyright Copyright This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Published by AVON A Division of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk Copyright © Syd Moore 2012 Syd Moore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Version 1 FIRST EDITION All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. Source ISBN: 9781847562692 Ebook Edition © October 2012 ISBN: 9780007478484 Version: 2018-06-29

Dedication For those who were prevented from telling their story. And for Granddad York.

Epigraph ‘Besides, when any Errour is committed Whereby wee may Incurre or losse or shame, That wee ourselves thereof may be acquitted Wee are too ready to transferre the blame Upon some Witch: That made us does the same. It is the vulgar Plea that weake ones use I was bewitch’d: I could nor will: nor chuse. But my affection was not caus’d by Art: The witch that wrought on mee was in my brest.’ Sir Francis Hubert Quoted in Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England by Alan MacFarlane ‘The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, ideas, prejudices, to be found only in the minds of men. For the record, prejudices can kill and suspicion can destroy. A thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all its own for the children yet unborn.’ Rod Serling, creator of The Twilight Zone and civil rights activist

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Note to the Reader

Q & A with Syd Moore

For discussion

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

They told me not to come.

He said ‘Twill do no good. Nay more.’ And he tried to touch my shoulder and bring me back into the court but I was too quick and ran pushing through the crowd. Some saw me and stepped aside, unwilling to be touched, as if they might catch my sin. Others shrieked.

I made off through the side lane.

And then I came here.

I have put on my cap and wrapped a shawl over too. So none may see me.

Though I see all.

And I see them: bound and tethered in a pen.

Like sheep.

Then there are the others, the eager spectators.

So many cluster before me, edging their way forward, craning to get a good view, that I can only catch glimpses through the space between my neighbours’ shoulders. On their faces some have smiles. The girl beside me, only two or three years younger than I, licks her lips and stands up on her toes. Her father, in starched lace and black, pulls her back down and, with a stare, admonishes her excitement. But the woman beside him, whom I saw at a stall selling nuts for the crowd, has a face full of glory. Her eyes are wide in anticipation. In her hands she has a knife and fingers it greedily. She will try to get some hair from the dead for keepsakes to sell on.

A hush falls over the crowd as the first is helped up to the scaffold. I can see from the way she stumbles it is Old Mother Clarke. Her ancient face is creased with lines of age and knots of confusion. Two of the men assisting the execution have taken an arm each to support her, for she cannot stand firm with but one leg. She staggers forward and clutches the man on her right to steady herself as the hangman puts the noose over her head.