The Stolen One (4 page)

T
here were two now. Two wolves sitting under our chestnut tree when Christian and I made it back to Blackchurch Cottage a little while later. And the new one, a female, growled at us ferociously. Christian started at them with his shovel, but I bade him no. “Leave them be. It’s in there.” I motioned with my head at our cottage, my eyes still frozen on the wolves.

He started for the door and I called after him, remembering. “Wait, Christian. It’s the plague. I’ll go.” But he had already walked inside. I ran after him.

The hearth fire was in a full-blown blaze. Immediately we were thrown back by its fierce warmth. Grace sat near the fire, clutching something in her lap, her face wet
with the heat. Amidst the red flames I caught a glimpse of gold. She was burning the child’s gown.

“Where’s Anna?” I asked. Christian stood next to me, so close I could feel the warmth of his wool coat.

“Still in the larder,” Grace answered. “I wouldn’t let her come in.” She stood up and I saw that she held the linen from our bed. She threw the bundle into the fire and the flames roared up to greet the new offering. “Have you ever buried a body, young Christian?” she asked. Her eyes shone golden red.

“No, Aunt,” he replied calmly. “Only one of my lambs once, last Michaelmas.”

“Well, then,” she said, looking over at him. “That’ll do. You’ll be able to bury her.” She motioned with her head to our sleeping room.

Christian walked toward the bedchamber. “But the plague,” I called. “He can’t touch her. He’ll get the plague!”

“I have faith. He will not get it again. It’s you I’m worried about, Kat,” she said as she carefully sat back down on her chair, wiping at her brow. “Go to Anna. You need not see any of this.”

Or she didn’t want me to see any of it. I suddenly did not trust her anymore. Not after what I had seen and
heard. But I held my tongue, for once. I glanced back at Christian, who was lifting the tiny figure off the bed. Grace had shrouded her. At least she’d given Jane that dignity. I turned my eyes and ran from the cottage.

I found Anna huddled in the larder, grasping her knees. “I brought Christian,” I told her. “All will be fine.” But I was not so sure myself. Something, light as a devil’s kiss, went up my back.

“Someone is here, Kat,” she said, her eyes glowing in the dark corner. “I can hear her. Aye, I can.”

The shivers ran up my arms as I peered around the empty larder. “No, Anna. You’ve been dreaming.”

“She’s here, Kat,” Anna persisted. “And she’s come for you.”

“Who? Jane the fool?”

“No. Someone else.”

Christian was walking away from the cottage, the shrouded figure in his arms. “Stay here,” I said to Anna. His shovel was still by the front door, and I ran for it. I picked it up and went after him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he yelled over his shoulder.

“I want to help you!” I called after him. “And you can’t speak to me like that, I tell you, Christian.”

“I can speak to you any way I please. You are acting the fool. This is man’s work, Kat,” he said more softly. “Go to Anna.”

“I will not. I want to help you!”

He shifted the bundle in his arms and grabbed the shovel. “Go now!” he said, his voice low and threatening.

I stood staring at his back, my hands still feeling the soft wool of his coat as he walked off into the woods. Finally I glanced back at Blackchurch Cottage. My truth, my destiny, was in there.

I went to Anna first. I lifted her head. “Christian is burying Jane. I’m going to help Grace clean up. You must at all costs stay out here. Do you understand me, Wren?” She nodded.

“I’ll be back for you soon, I promise,” I said as I left the larder.

A moment later I found Grace, collapsed on the hay of our stripped bed. An arrow of fear coursed through me as I slowly walked to her side. The smell of juniper had returned, intermingling with the sweet smell of death. I stood there watching her heavy breathing. She stared back at me, and for the first time ever I saw that she was scared.

“I saw a ghost tonight, Grace, walking up Sudeley Lane,” I told her. She watched me carefully, but her eyes seemed somehow empty. I described the figure and her dress.

“Ahh, it was her favorite. In crimson, her favorite color. Henry gave it to her. She loved that gown even though it belonged to his former wife, who was a little minx and got her head chopped off. It didn’t matter to her. She loved beautiful things, and that gown was lovely.”

“Will you tell me now, Grace?”

Grace coughed, and spittle ran down the side of her mouth. I grabbed a cloth from the bedside and wiped it away. “Who was my mother, Grace?” I asked calmly. “And my father. Who were they? I’ve a right to know.”

“I’ve sinned,” she said, her eyes starting to roll. “I’m stained with my sins. Can you see them, Kat? My stains?”

I could only see the signs of death marching its way through her body. “Grace, tell me what to do.” I grabbed both of her hands. They were icy, dead. “How can I save you?” I pleaded.

“I was already dying, Kat. Of the cancer,” she said. “Aye, and I’m glad of it. God is calling me and I will do as he bids.” She shivered, and I pulled the remaining
blanket up to her. “You must marry Christian immediately or there will be talk….”

I laughed. “There’s always talk of us, Grace.”

She grabbed my arm with such force that I felt as though a lightning bolt ran through me. “Heed my words, Spirit,” she said, trying to pull herself up. “You have no choice. You must marry Christian. He’ll make you a fine husband and will take care of Anna. You’ll have a good life here, Kat. It’s all that I’ve worked for.”

“You said you would tell me the truth someday, Grace,” I said quietly. “You promised.”

“I made lots of promises in my life, Kat. But I kept the most important one. I took care of you. Loved you as my own,” she said.

Yes, I had known that my entire life. But it was a love hued with many things—regret, guilt, and something else I never could perceive. I heard a muffled sob behind me in the shadows of our keeping room. Anna. Could she see Grace’s lips from where she stood? I glanced very slowly over my shoulder and could see the tip of her boot in the doorway.

“Yes, Grace,” I said to her. “I know you love
us
. I know.” Tears began to run down my face.

“Anna,” she cried. “I tried to love her too, Kat. I did.
But every time I looked at her, I saw him and what he did to me.”

“Who was her father, Grace?” I said.

“I can’t speak of that,” she choked. “She’s marked with my stains. I’m so ashamed. God forgive me. God forgive me.”

“Shhhh, Grace,” I stopped her. “Speak no more of it.” I glanced again to the doorway. Anna was gone. Grace had closed her eyes. She was breathing heavily, and I heard the rattle. The death rattle. God’s me. “No, Grace, don’t die. Don’t die!” I was shouting. I couldn’t help it.

She smiled. “That tongue of yours will get you in trouble someday. And you’ll suffer more than the duck pond, I warn you.”

“Grace,” I said more calmly. “Please tell me. Please.”

“Your mother was lovely, Kat,” she started, her eyes still shut. “Such a good woman. She would have loved you. She didn’t deserve what he did to her. A no-good nasty beast, he was. Handsome as the devil, and a devil he was.”

I took her hand and held it tightly. She went on. “Your mother died of the childbed fever, not long after you were born. I tried to help her. God help me, I did. But it
was too late. And after she was gone, much later, it was dangerous for you. So I saved you.”

“Where is my mother buried, Grace?” I asked.

“You…staring all the time. They never marked it.”

“My father, where is he?”

“He got his just rewards.” She laughed. “The bastard.” She coughed again, and I heard a growl. The wolf was standing in our doorway. Strangely, I was not scared, even though Grace had taught me my whole life to be afraid of wolves. I clapped my hands wildly at it. It turned and ran, its tail tucked low.

“Grace?” I whispered.

“Go for your uncle. I’m ready,” she said softly. “But do not tell him of Jane.”

“Grace. You know I heard her. Everything. There’s more you are not telling me. Where is the pendant? She said it was worth a queen’s fortune. Anna and I could live off it perhaps for the rest of our lives.”

“You do not need it. I’ve given you a trade. And a husband who will adore you.”

“I shall not marry,” I proclaimed.

“It’s buried. Buried where no one will find it.”

“I know your hiding places, Grace,” I confessed.

“Not all of them, I assure you, Kat.” Grace’s laugh was
low. “You always were a cunning girl. But I was more cunning. Don’t go searching, Kat. Don’t. It’s dangerous, it is. Marry Christian and be content. You owe me that. The real wolves are there, not here. Mark my word, with that tongue of yours you’d likely get your head chopped off.”

My hand went up to my neck.

“I’m ready now, Kat,” she said. “Go for Godfrey. Poor sweet Godfrey. He’ll take it hard, he will. Agnes and I barely a year apart.”

“Is there something I should know of Uncle Godfrey?” I asked her.

“Nothing that is any of your business. It shall go with me to the grave as some things in life should.”

“And what of Anna, Grace? Shouldn’t you be thinking of Anna?”

“No.” She sighed. “I know you’ll take care of her. She’s part of you, Kat. You do know that, don’t you? She’s the other side of your heart, as Agnes was to me. Swear you’ll marry Christian. Swear to me now. I shall not rest in peace until you do.”

I waited a few moments. “I promise,” I stuttered. God forgive me. I would not marry him. “Grace, shall we go for Father Bigg? Perhaps he can ease your worries.”

“God’s death, no,” she murmured. “What good would
that do? He can say a few words over my grave. Wrap me in a farm sack if you may; burn the bed and my clothing. Tell everyone I died of the apoplexy.” She coughed again violently.

“Will Anna and I fall sick?” I asked her.

“No.” She smiled wanly. “I’ll make sure of that from the other side. You’ll be safe.”

I started for the door. “Kat,” she called after me. I turned back. “Don’t let them.”

“Do what, Grace?”

“Don’t let them take my hands.”

A
s I ran from the cottage, the sun was rising, setting a defiant amber glint across the dew on the downs. A sob escaped my throat as Christian emerged from the woods, shovel in hand. I could see the telltale clods of dirt and mud stuck to it—gravedigger’s gold, it’s called around here. Anna followed quickly behind him. I ran and threw my arms around her. I leaned back and tenderly put my hands on her cheeks. “Anna. Grace is fading fast. Go to her.” She pushed my hands away and burst into tears before running toward the cottage.

“Grace is worried for her soul, but doesn’t want Father Bigg,” I said to Christian. “She wants me to fetch your father.” Christian stared at me, his shoulders set square and firm.

“Do you want me to get him?” he asked.

I nodded. “Christian,” I said. “It’s terrible. All of it.”

He reached for my cheek, his hand warm. “What happened? Was it the child who brought the sickness?”

“No, not a child.” I shook my head. “She was a fool, a little person. She was already deathly ill when we found her.”

“Why? Why Blackchurch Cottage?”

I looked him clear in the eyes and, not quite sure why, I lied. “I don’t know. She was mad with the sickness. We could hardly understand a word she uttered.”

“And Grace couldn’t save her?” he asked, looking over my shoulder toward the cottage.

“No,” I said. But I was still not sure myself. “Grace says she was too far gone. And now Grace is dying too. Oh God, Christian. What will we do?”

He pulled me close and held me. “I’ll take care of you, Kat.” His voice was low.

I melted into the warmth of him and whispered into his chest, “You must go for your father, Christian. It may be too late already.” He kissed my forehead before running down the lane that led to Nutmeg Farm.

As a child, I once accompanied Grace while she birthed a babe in the middle of the night. It was Farmer Beachum’s wife, Lyddie, birthing her last child, another dreaded
daughter. I well remember the cries of the mother, animal-like shrieks of terror as Grace desperately tried to pull the turned child from the womb. The mother died not long after. Grace had sobbed as she held the babe in her arms. It was the only mother she’d ever lost, she told me, and she vowed to never midwife again.

But Grace had not told me of my own mother, who died after giving birth to me. Did Grace raise me out of guilt for not saving my mother? Did she let her die, as she did Jane the fool? Did she steal me from my loved ones?
No one wanted you
—she’d said it often enough. But perhaps everything had been a lie all these years. Perhaps she was truly the witch everyone talked about endlessly in the village. The witch with the dirty hands.

Later in the deep, dark morning, for a storm threatened, I stood in the bedroom doorway watching Uncle Godfrey, Christian, and Anna surrounding the bed, weeping with grief. Uncle Godfrey was on his knees, grasping Grace’s limp hands. Christian had his arm around Anna. And for a brief moment I thought my heart might rend in two.

But I turned from them and walked out of the cottage into the gloom. I could not share in their grief. If she had truly loved me, she would have told me the truth.

W
e buried Grace Bab the very next morning in the churchyard next to Agnes. It was imperative we do so, for her body deteriorated quickly, as though she were anxious to join the earth. It was Anna who laid her out, tenderly wrapping her in the fresh white linen I’d purchased from one of the weavers in the village—we burned every remaining scrap that Grace had not burned the night before. I shall never forget it as long as I live, Grace’s contorted face. Where is she now? Poor Grace, will you haunt the earth? Will you haunt us?

But in the end Grace’s face in death served us well, for when Father Bigg came himself to see her, for there had been tales of mad wickedness that night, he declared her face just the same as his own mama’s who died after she
spotted a fairy in the hedgerow. And after Father Bigg spread the word, someone remembered that indeed a fairy had been spotted that night on Cahill Road, mad as a poxed hare. And it was proclaimed that indeed, poor Grace Bab did have an unlucky star.

It was raining—a hard, pelting rain. Everyone came, even the old creatures who shun funerals for fear God shall choose them next. But Old Hookey said the morning was fitting since “blessed be the corpse who’s laid in the rain.” Even an old crippled ancient, who everyone had assumed died twenty years ago, was wheeled around the churchyard in a wheelbarrow to see the spectacle himself.

Father Bigg murmured his sermon over the pelting raindrops as Christian and Uncle Godfrey lowered the coffin into the ground. Anna was a statue, so stiff I pinched her to see if she was still breathing. I glanced at Hannah’s Elm and wondered if perhaps Grace should be there instead of here, for I thought her greatest sin of all, beyond lying to me all those years, was not loving Anna as she should, blaming Anna for sins that were her own.

Afterward the old creatures brought Anna and me back to Blackchurch Cottage and sat with us a good long
while, staring at us out of the corners of their rheumy eyes until one by one they returned to the village. They’d brought food, a good portion of food, but no one seemed of an appetite, and soon Uncle Godfrey and Christian, who ate only a little, excused themselves, too. Christian had his lambs to tend to, and Uncle Godfrey was not much for sitting around mooning anyway.

I walked them outside, and Uncle Godfrey gave me one of his giant hugs. He looked at me a long time, and regret filled his eyes. I saw him wipe a tear before he turned and walked away.

I turned to Christian. “Thank you” was all I could say. “Thank you.”

“Father wants you to come stay with us tonight,” he said, reaching for my hand. “He heard the wolves howling last night.”

“Did you tell him anything?” I asked, pulling my hand away.

He stared at me hard until I looked away. “No, of course not. He’s more worried about Anna than anything.”

“Yes, I am too,” I said, thinking of how she’d sat in her chair all night after she’d finished tending Grace, how she’d sat unblinking, staring out the window to the woods.

“Come to me later,” he said. “At Belas Knap.”

I looked away. “I don’t know, Christian. I’ll try. Anna has not slept. I’m very fearful for her.”

He lifted my hand then and kissed it, and a shiver raced down my spine. Then he turned and followed his father into the woods.

We’d nearly lost Anna once, when she was but a child. Her beloved rabbit Satin had taken sick, and although Grace had tried to save it with freshly picked herbs, he wouldn’t eat. “It wants to die. There’s only so much one can do when something wants to go,” Grace had said. And alas, he’d died in Anna’s arms. I’d had a rabbit too, Velvet. They’d both been gifts as orphaned babies from Christian, who’d found them abandoned under a pear tree. Only mine had disappeared within a week because I forgot to cover the little basket I kept her in.

“You’d forget your own baby if it was strapped to your head,” Grace had proclaimed. And she was right. But I said
fa
, that was one road I’d never travel.

But poor Anna, she took losing Satin very hard. So hard she wouldn’t eat or sleep for five days, and Grace had to force a sleeping potion down her throat. She was lost to us for a week after that, stiff as a corpse. But
when I peered at her sleeping face, I swore I’d never seen her more at peace. Poor sweet Wren. She’s always been attached to this world by a tender thread. Even back then I knew that. Only Grace in her infinitely obtuse way refused to believe that perhaps she was the true cause. “All this trouble,” she’d muttered. “Over a silly-brained rabbit. What’ll she do when the real world turns on her?”

And it’s almost as though Anna knew she wouldn’t be able to handle this cruel world, for she stayed tiny and small, never getting a full woman’s body, while I seemed to get more “alluring” day by day. Grace had started to slap my hand if I reached for more porridge or a crusty roll—nasty as it was, I was always hungry. Rump-fed, she called me.

I found Anna inside the cottage, sitting in Grace’s chair. She was staring out the window, toward the chestnut tree. I followed her gaze, but there was nothing there. The wolves were long gone. I went to her and knelt at her feet. “Anna.” She didn’t respond, so I grasped her chin and looked at her straight in the eyes. “We are leaving this blasted place for good. We are going to London!”

She blinked. “Both of us?”

“Of course! I could never leave you behind. Grace has
hidden many things from us. And you must help me find her hiding places. I know where she kept the key to the chest. In the yew cross, right?”

She nodded her head.

“Did you know of anything else? Anything?” She nodded her head again, and I could feel my heart beat. “Where, Anna? You must show me.”

She rose slowly, like one of the old creatures, and took my hand. She led me outside to the larder. I frowned, for I had spent many a day in here cleaning and scrubbing, penance for my sharp tongue. And I’d never seen anything but the occasional mouse that crossed my path.

She went to the back wall, knelt down, and pulled out a large stone. She stood up and stepped to the side. She kept her head bowed.

In the dark, musty cavity was a beautifully carved wooden box. I sat down and pulled it out of the crevice and onto my lap. I opened the lid, breathing heavily as I did so. On top there was a small golden cushion with the initials MS elaborately embroidered in tiny perfect stitches. I picked it up and held it to my cheek.
Your mother was a very skilled needlewoman
. Was this her work? Next was a baby’s quilt in white linen, embroidered with lilies. I inhaled it, and it smelled sweet, like someone had
just sprinkled it with lily water. Something underneath caught my eye. A shock of red—a small counterpane of some sort, in crimson silk taffeta.
Your mother loved crimson.
Had this surrounded my little bed so many years ago?

There were several tiny silver goblets and silver spoons, all tarnished. I picked one up and held it to my lips, wondering if I’d ever drunk from it. Then, curiously, a cup, gilded wood, painted with high-sailed ships upon the seas. Next I found a spiraled carved horn, and several small gold rings. I held one up to Anna. She shrugged her shoulders. And finally, a small bound book—a prayer book. The inscription read, “To my most righteous mother.” The signature was bold and elaborate—assured and noble. It read “Elizabeth.”

I looked at Anna. There were tears in her eyes now. “How long have you known of the box?”

She shook her head back and forth. “I don’t know. Years.”

“Do you know what all this means?”

“Only that you would leave us, Kat. Forever. I couldn’t let that happen. I would have died without you.”

“I would have never left you, Anna,” I mumbled as I looked carefully through the box one more time. “There
is something missing,” I murmured. “A pendant.” I looked up at her and pointed to my throat.

Anna stepped forward. “It’s not there?”

“It was here before?” I asked.

“Yes, beautiful,” she croaked. “Rubies and pearls. Royal. I used to play with it while you were with Christian and Grace had gone to town.”

“How long has it been gone?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It’s been a long while since I played with it. A year or two.”

“And is there anything else, anything you can remember that was here with the necklace?” I asked her.

She turned her face before answering. “No, no, nothing,” she said while peering out the window again, her shoulders slumped.

“We’ll leave tonight, Anna,” I said. “Our destiny has never been here.”

“But aren’t you to marry Christian?” she asked, swiftly turning back to me, her eyes hungrily fixed upon my lips for my answer.

“No,” I said, and I couldn’t help but see a glimmer of something—intense relief, perhaps—slide across her countenance. “We are destined for better things, you and I, and I shall never marry.”

Christian was waiting for me, standing with his arms behind his back, at the top of Belas Knap.

“I knew you’d come,” he said softly. He pulled something from his shoe and smiled. “Lad’s love,” he said as he held it up between us. The moon gilded it. “Perhaps it’s true what they say of its powers.” His face was so sweet that I couldn’t look at him as I handed him a man’s long jerkin. It was a fine piece of work, a dove-gray silver silk, leaves and vines stitched all over. It was meant for a gentleman, but I wanted him to have it as a parting gift.

He glanced down at it and smiled. “A wedding gift?” he asked softly.

I couldn’t answer him, but I suppose my lack of response was enough.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Kat,” he said, his eyes glowing in the moonlight. “But tomorrow we shall marry. We will meet Father Bigg in the abbey in the morn.”

“Oh Christian,” I said. “I can’t marry you. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

He blinked. “You will marry me, Kat,” he said lifting his chin. “You and Anna are unprotected. I’ve heard Old Man Dar has been asking of you today to Father Bigg.
Is that what you want? An old smelly pig like that?”

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

“Then marry me.”

“I thought you’d changed your mind,” I said, and regretted the words once they were out of my mouth.

He threw the jerkin down and on top of it, the lad’s love. He grabbed my arms and pulled me to him. “I love you, Kat,” he said before lowering his lips to mine. I struggled to pull away at first, then hungrily kissed him back. But I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t. I had to leave and find the truth, no matter the burning in my heart. I leaned back and looked up into his eyes. I shook my head no. His eyes flashed and he pushed me away. “If not you, then Anna,” he said stiffly. And I felt a small arrow in my heart at his words. “One of you, by God, will show up tomorrow.”

A little while later, I crept to the churchyard to say good-bye to Grace. I knelt down a moment and then fell forward, my arms spread across the newly sown dirt. “I hate you, Grace,” I sobbed. “I hate you.” I thought back to when I was a child and she had held me tight after I’d seen a ghost in the meadow—long streak of ethereal white hovering in the morning hush. It was the day
after Emma Townsend’s funeral. Grace, who believed in ghosts, had not said a word, but only rocked me back and forth, and I soaked in her warmth. I lay on Grace’s grave a long time, hoping I’d feel her warmth now through the hard earth, but it was only coldness I felt, and it seeped through my bones until I began to shiver. I sobbed for Grace, for Christian, and for what I must do. Finally I sat up, searching for my shawl. Something caught my eye, something not right. Agnes’s grave. I peered closer and saw it matched Grace’s, as though it had been newly dug. A mound of dirt, heaped like a miniature barrow.

Minutes later, breathing hard, I reached Blackchurch Cottage. I flung the door open. Anna stood there, her arms outstretched, dirtied with the gravedigger’s gold. In them she held a shimmering necklace of gold and pearls, its ruby pendant flashing a teasing glint around the room.